Author's Note: Hello there! This angsty chapter takes place soon after Umbara. In the heat of a campaign, Torrent Company struggles to keep their wounded captain, and themselves, alive long enough for help to arrive. Mando'a translations will be at the end. Thanks for reading! P.S.: I am planning a continuation to "Shadow of the 501st," so keep on the lookout!

Fives hated the trenches.

Dew clinging to his bare face, weighing down the night air in a veil of fog, made him want to tear his skin away. He longed to put on his helmet, shield himself from the sickening cold. But the oxygen here was thin, and breathing was a higher priority than comfort.

Then there was the waiting.

Kriff. The waiting.

There had been no word from General Skywalker or Commander Tano. Transmissions were jammed—whether by the bizarre weather conditions or by some enemy force, they didn't know. Rex's team, including Fives, had pushed through the hot zone to the rendezvous point; but the bulk of the battalion led by Skywalker had been caught in a crossfire.

Now their lines of defense were scattered and stretched thin, some of the men so exhausted they slept through the pain of their festering injuries. Very few had escaped the battle unscathed.

Mortars thundered in the distance, their explosions only faint rumbles and flashes of light through the dense atmosphere. They were safe, for the moment. But who knew when that would change? Who knew when reinforcements would arrive, or a comm come through, ordering them to retreat or push forward?

Fives rolled over onto his side. He wished, now more than ever, to feel the warm aura of a fire. But even if they managed to light one in these damp conditions, the risk of the enemy spotting them from above was too great.

He closed his eyes, trying to coax himself to sleep. To dream that he and his brothers were back home onboard The Resolute, far from the swampy ditches and cruel, biting cold of this foreign planet.

To dream…

Fives woke with a start, when the groans from one of his wounded brothers drifted past his ear. He looked around, blinking through the haze. His eyes scanned the ranks up and down. All around him, troopers lay asleep in huddles against the earthen tunnel walls. There was only soft snoring, the occasional pained noise of a trooper fighting off a nightmare.

But this was different—a string of strangled gasps, stifled coughs somewhere nearby.

Fives stumbled to his feet, one hand pressed to the wall to keep his balance. He stepped blindly over the still forms of his sleeping brothers. On and on he walked, following the winding trench for what seemed an eternity. The ranks thinned out considerably, until Fives began to wonder if the sound had only been a trick of his muddled imagination.

Then he noticed a crumpled figure partially hidden in the shadows. Tallied white armor, the familiar silhouette of a captain's pauldron…

"Vod?"

The ARC knelt down beside his older brother. Rex's frame shook as he doubled over in a fit of dry heaves, hand clasped over his mouth. Fives noticed with alarm the tears rolling freely down Rex's cheeks and onto the ground. His heart froze within him at the sight of his captain crying.

Rex never cries...Not when there's a chance of someone over-hearing.

Fives lay a securing arm across Rex's shoulders. The captain sat back on his heels, face drained and beaded with sweat. Rapid, shallow breaths escaped his lips.

"Rex, what…?"

Fives' gaze drifted to the stray drips of blood coursing from Rex's mouth, gathering in a small puddle on the clay ground.

Kriff.

"Kix!" Fives choked, unable to masquerade the panic in his voice.

"You're going to," Rex gasped, "to give away our position."

"It's alright."

Fives knew it was certainly not alright. But all he could bring himself to care about in the heat of the moment was keeping Rex alive.

He was fine just a few hours ago, right? He was fine. And now…

Fives pulled Rex close to his side, steadying him as he slumped into his brother's embrace. Rex managed to fight the fatigue long enough to keep his eyes open. He glanced around in a daze, as if he couldn't remember where he was.

"Don't worry," Rex offered weakly. He gave Fives' arm a less-than-reassuring pat, leaving a streak of crimson across his gauntlet.

"I'm not," Fives said. He could only hope that he did not sound as frantic as he felt. He called again for Kix, praying his voice carried far enough for the medic to hear.

"Don't worry," Rex repeated in a faint whisper. Fives felt the captain begin to go limp in his arms, and he held him fast. " 'm fine."

"Don't give me that, di'kut. Now, where does it hurt?"

Rex was unresponsive. For several pain-stakingly long moments, all Fives could hear was his brother's shaky breaths, and the distant quakes of cannon fire. Fear gripped at his chest when he did not get an immediate answer, so Fives shook him gently. Rex grunted and met his eyes, as if suddenly remembering his brother was still there. He reached for his midsection and fumbled to unstrap his armor.

"Here—" Fives eased him against the tunnel wall, clumsily tugging off his brother's chest plate. Rex shifted uncomfortably at the movement, but resisted the urge to jerk away. Fives pulled up the black undershirt. Beneath it, a dark, sprawling bruise stretched across the soldier's abdomen. The sight made Fives' own stomach churn.

"Rex—!" he gasped, but was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.

"How long has that been there?"

Tension laced Kix's words as he appeared at Fives' side. Rex gave only a half-hearted shrug in return. Irritation blazed in the medic's eyes, and Rex turned his attention away from the trooper's reproachful glare.

"You can't hide these things, vod. You'll get yourself killed," Kix hissed, agitated by his brother's stubbornness. He sighed, letting his voice resume a gentler tone. "How did it happen?"

"Today, blast...knocked me off my feet. Hit something…?" Rex's brow furrowed, as he racked his brain to remember. "Something... it's just a bruise."

Rex tried in vain to pull his shirt back down, but Kix stopped him.

"No, Rex. It isn't."

He made quick work of examining the wound. When Kix placed a hand on the captain's torso, Rex cried out in pain. Before he could even register his actions, Rex instinctively gave the medic a hard shove that sent him reeling back. Just as quickly, Fives caught hold of Rex's wrist and crossed his arms over his chest. He fought against the restraint, struggling to twist himself free.

"Easy, ori'vod," Fives soothed, squeezing his brother's gloved hand. "Ke'mot."

Fives felt the tension in Rex's muscles let up slightly, his strength sapped.

"Cody…" Rex swallowed back a sob, hugging his rib cage to relieve the pain. "I need Cody. Where...?"

"Cody isn't here, Rex."

"Oh." Rex blinked, confused. He looked over at Kix, who was back at his side once again. " 'm sorry," he murmured quietly. "Didn't mean to…"

"It's alright, brother. Calm down. Just let me do my job, ok?"

Kix held a hand to the captain's neck, injecting serum into his bloodstream. Rex flinched, his head nodding back against the tunnel wall. Fives' heart broke at the look of sheer desperation in Rex's eyes as sleep overtook him.

When Fives knew for sure that Rex could not hear, he whispered, "Well?"

Kix sighed and glanced up, meeting Fives' questioning eyes. His face was grave, full of unvoiced concern that Fives understood to mean, Not good.

"Blunt force trauma," Kix said. "He's got internal bleeding. I can't help him without the proper supplies. He needs an evac."

Slim chance, Fives thought. Our transmissions have been jammed for hours now.

"I'll try to reach General Skywalker again, or...or anyone I can get." Fives glanced over at his unconscious captain, whose pain was evident in every shallow breath, even in sleep. "I'll keep trying."

Because he couldn't lose Rex.

He wouldn't.

Mando'a Translations

• kriff—Mandalorian swear

• vod—brother

• ori'vod—older/big brother

• di'kut—idiot

• ke'mot—stay still