Part 1

Plot: Captured by the Empire on Daro, Hunter fears what the Empire, and Crosshair, will do to him. He can handle torture. He can't handle being tortured by his brother. But the Empire's plans are worse. They want to take his wings, to forcibly reincorporate him into their ranks, and that is something he doesn't know if he can endure.

Author's Note: This is our fill for the square "Wing Fic" on the Bad Batch bingo. :D

And as often, this has a lot of Hunter-Crosshair drama. Lol. The second part will be posted next week. ^-^

Warning: Non-consensual body modification and drug use.

~ Amina Gila

The last time Hunter saw Crosshair on Kamino, he had been shooting at them. He'd been trying to kill them.

It had all been a blur, a panicked rush to get out before they were injured any further or killed, but he'd glanced back once to see Crosshair facing them on the other side of the hangar bay, rifle pointed at them, his light gray wings curving up behind him, in stark contrast to his dark gray armor. It had made something inside Hunter twist to see him like that, facing them, but he'd still kept moving and left, because it's what needed to be done for the safety of the rest of the squad, even if it had killed him a little to leave without even getting answers about what happened and why Crosshair turned on them like that, if he even wanted to do it in the first place.

The next time Hunter saw Crosshair again was on Bracca, and he was… different.

His wings were gone.

It threw him for a moment when he saw, and he could only stand there staring, because it looked so wrong. Crosshair's wings are as much a part of him as his hands and rifle, and seeing them gone was – it was… hard. He couldn't understand how that could have happened, why that would have happened. Did he want it? Did he choose it?

He couldn't, and still can't, imagine Crosshair choosing such a thing, but then, he always thought that they'd always be together at each other's sides. Despite all the mockery and teasing Crosshair got throughout his life, for having wings of such a light, unusual color, he loved them. He loved flying, too, and sometimes, they would fly together through the skies, just the two of them, having fun.

Wrecker is scared of heights, and he's scared of flying, by default, unless someone is next to him, touching him, holding onto him, so usually, when Tech stayed behind with him when Hunter and Crosshair took to the skies. It was always their thing, and Hunter had enjoyed it more than he could ever truly express.

And then the Empire happened, and they lost Crosshair, and he didn't really get any chance to fly. He missed it, true, but he missed flying with Crosshair even more.

Seeing Crosshair on Bracca, his wings gone, broke something inside of him, because it meant that even if – even when they manage to get him back, things will never be same. They'll never be able to go back to the way it used to be. Never.

But they didn't get Crosshair on Bracca or on Ryloth, and the next time Hunter sees him, it's on the other side of the ray shield on Daro.

Being captured by the Empire has always been one of Hunter's greatest fears, not because he's afraid of torture, but because he's afraid of who will torture him. Torture he can handle. He was trained for it, trained to be resistant to it. He's not afraid of pain. He's just afraid of Crosshair causing him that pain.

Crosshair takes him to Kamino, activating his comm along the way to lure the others into a trap, and Hunter is terrified that they will come for him and walk right into it. Of course, they'll come for him. They would never leave him to suffer any more than he would leave them to suffer, and that includes Crosshair. The only reason they never tried going back for him was because he was working with the Empire. He wasn't a prisoner, wasn't being tortured. He was working with them, so it made going after him that much harder and more unrealistic, even if it cut a deeper wound each day he was gone.

"Where are you taking me?" Hunter asks, a little confused as Crosshair and one of the members of his new squad push him down the halls of Kamino, towards the medbay. He definitely doesn't remember there being any holding cells in this area. He also doesn't like how empty the place is. It's unnerving to see the Kaminoan halls devoid of any troopers or Kaminoans. This is the place he grew up, for all that he might loathe it sometimes, and seeing it like this hurts for some inexplicable reason. It scares him a little, too, if he's being honest.

"You'll find out soon enough," Crosshair answers, nudging his back with the tip of his blaster.

"And where are all the regs?" he queries, feeling increasingly uneasy the further they go with almost no one in sight.

"When did you start caring about them?" his brother replies caustically, but Hunter ignores it. This is hardly the first time he's dealt with Crosshair when he's in a mood, and he understands that this isn't fully Crosshair's fault. He's being controlled by his inhibitor chip.

"No Kaminoans either. This facility's being decommissioned," he realizes with growing dread. "You don't seem too concerned."

"Why would I be?" Crosshair demands lazily, as though it truly doesn't matter to him.

"Because the Empire will be phasing out clones next," he points out.

"Not the ones that matter," comes the answer as they stop in front of the door to an examination room, not unlike the ones that Hunter has been to thousands of times in the past.

Unease creeps down his spine as he's pushed inside. Unease and dread. That dread only grows when he's pushed onto the edge of the examination table and a med droid whirs up to them, the first droid he's seen since they arrived.

"He's ready," Crosshair says, almost disinterestedly, leaning back against the wall and pulling off his helmet, tucking it under one arm, keeping his hand blaster out and trained unerringly on Hunter. The other trooper is, too, Hunter notes, as if they expect him to – to fight back or something. That would be foolish, though, when two more of the troopers are standing guard outside the door.

He curls inward a little, his shifting wings betraying his uneasiness, no matter how hard he tries to keep them steady and unmoving. Some consider wings to be a weakness, an extra set of limbs that can be difficult to manage and which are very sensitive to changes in emotion. But they're also useful for making quick escapes, no matter how vulnerable they are to blaster fire, and that's probably the reason why the clones were allowed to keep their wings, instead of having that part of their genetic material being written out entirely.

The droid hovers closer, withdrawing a syringe filled with a grayish-green liquid that looks toxic. Hunter's senses are telling him that it's harmful, and he instinctively shuffles back, trying to get away as the droid comes toward him. What are they planning to do to him?!

"You will need to spread your wings for this procedure," the droid tells him in a monotone, and a surge of panic slams into him, making him instinctively flinch back.

No.

No.

Is that…?

It must be the same compound that Echo told them about, the one that he was injected with by the Separatists after his capture at the Citadel. It destroyed his wings, withered them away, and when the Techno Union got him, they severed them. Tech created something which they hoped would stimulate them to regrow, and though it's worked, Echo still isn't capable of flying anymore, not like he used to. His wings are weak, unsteady, and he can't travel long distances or go very high – there's too big of a risk of his wings giving out and him falling to his death.

"You can't be serious," Hunter exclaims, a little incredulous, turning towards Crosshair. "It'll destroy them!"

He can't lose them. He can't. His wings were the one thing that let him feel free during his childhood, letting him fly high with his youngest brother at his side, and he can't – he can't lose that. They're too important to him; they hold so much meaning and memories, and they're a part of him.

"They're a weakness, Hunter," Crosshair drawls in answer, narrowing his eyes. "That's not what you were made for. We're soldiers. You can become part of something bigger again. You can find purpose. It's not a huge sacrifice."

It is. It is, and Crosshair knows that. He knows what these wings mean to Hunter, what they meant to them. He knows it, and he's still –

Hunter's breath catches in his lungs as he nearly chokes on air, fighting back the very real need to scream, though whether from hurt or anger, he doesn't know. Maybe both. It feels like Crosshair is denying what they meant to each other, everything they've been through. He can still remember comforting Crosshair when he was a young cadet after some of the regs cornered him, taunting him about the color of his wings.

They're stupid, Crosshair had said miserably, trying not to cry. And they look stupid, too. He hadn't been terribly eloquent back then, maybe around six or seven.

They're beautiful, Hunter had argued, lightly petting one of Crosshair's wings as his brother borrowed into his side. The wing twitched at the touch before Crosshair curled closer, and Hunter had shifted his own wings, tucking one around his younger brother, brushing the feathers over his head. Don't listen to what they say. They don't know anything. They're just jealous of us cuz they know we're better.

Crosshair had sniffled, rubbed at his eyes, and given Hunter a look of gratitude, slowly reaching out to stroke his fingers along Hunter's wing where it wrapped around him. They're not a weakness. He'd said the words carefully, as if testing them, and Hunter had nodded, agreeing. They make us… free.

Hunter doubts that Crosshair forgot that conversation, so he doesn't understand –

"Crosshair, please," he says, begs, and it's the first time he ever has. He doesn't beg. He never begs. It's something that he's never done, something that he never thought he would do, but he is now, because – because he can't – he can't lose them. He can't lose something else after having already lost Crosshair.

He sees the flicker in his younger brother's eyes, but his face remains unchanged, impassive. "Go ahead," he orders, and Hunter instinctively tightens his wings against the back of his armor, pulling them closer and refusing to let the droid have access to the base of them. An injection of that will poison them, and he doesn't know that he'll ever get them back if that happens.

The droid extends an arm towards him, and he flinches away, even the blasters trained on him not enough to stop him from scrambling off the examination table and backing towards the wall so it's securely at his back. The other trooper fires at him, and he ducks the stunbolt, but strangely, Crosshair doesn't. He just keeps the blaster aimed, the slightest tightening in his expression as if he's warring with himself.

Fighting the chip, probably.

Hopefully.

"Crosshair, this isn't you," Hunter tries desperately, because it might be his only chance. If they stun him, it'll all be over, and with his hands cuffed, his mobility is severely limited. He'd never be able to take both of them, not when one of them is Crosshair. "It's your inhibitor chip. You don't want to do this." It's only because of his training that his voice doesn't waver with hurt or betrayal or panic. But he has no doubt that Crosshair can see all three, and more, in his eyes.

"What if I do?" Crosshair asks, voice silky soft and pointed, his grip on the blaster tightening.

No.

The brother Hunter knew wouldn't do this on his own. He wouldn't. He spent so long helping Echo recover from the loss of his wings, helping him learn how to fly again. He and Hunter spent so long in the skies together, enjoying their limited freedom. He wouldn't do this on his own. He would never take Hunter's wings.

"You don't," he says with feeling. "I know you. You wouldn't."

A pause, and then, "Will you be difficult about this, or do you need to be restrained?"

Hunter presses back against the wall further, his panic only growing. No. Please no. It would be stupid to try and fight, but he doesn't know what else to do, and his eyes dart around the room, calculating his odds.

"Hunter, don't try it," warns Crosshair, tapping his comm, undoubtedly to notify the troopers outside. Hunter lunges forwards anyway, tackling the other trooper to the floor before he can even attempt to fire, wrestling with him for the blaster, rolling them over when the door opens and the two outside enter. They try to stun him, but he ducks just in time, and they end up stunning the trooper who Hunter tackled.

The stun bolt that hits him is from behind, from Crosshair, and he crashes to his knees, fighting against the unconscious that threatens to claim him. He needs to be conscious, needs to know what they're going to do to him. The other two troopers drag him to the table, pinning him down on his chest, and he kicks and struggles.

"Crosshair, don't!" he yells, the plea in the words obvious. He can hear the two troopers laughing quietly to each other, one of them making a snide remark about it, but he doesn't care. He's used to the natborns looking down on him, because he's a clone, or because he has wings, or both.

He can't see Crosshair to know how he reacts, but he can hear the cold deadness in the order, "do it," as if Hunter's plea means nothing to him.

"Please," he whispers, defeated, but he knows it's too late, knows Crosshair isn't going to listen, and he hates himself a little when tears prick at his eyes when he feels the droid pry his wing away his back, no matter how hard he fights it, and when he feels the sharp pinprick of a needle.

A cold wrongness floods into his veins, burning through his wings, and he grits his teeth, refusing to make a sound no matter how much it hurts. He doesn't think he'll even be able to use them now without feeling excruciating pain, and soon, they'll begin to wither away entirely. Allegedly, the drug makes it easier to surgically remove them, and he can't let himself think about that right now, or he'll break down entirely.

Another piece of himself is being ripped away violently, and he refuses to let his mind drift to how he'd been teaching Omega to fly. It had somehow soothed the gutting pain of Crosshair's loss a little, taken off the edge, and to lose that entirely…

He breathes out shallowly, not moving, even when the troopers let go of him, a deep-seated feeling of defeat sweeping through him. It will be worth it if they can find a way to get Crosshair back, but only if they can.

It's not as though Crosshair has wings anymore, so their flights of the past will remain a thing of the past. (So he doesn't know why it feels like he's losing that chance all over again.)

Crosshair's voice filters into his awareness, but he doesn't care to try listening. It doesn't even matter, and he's not talking to him anyway. Hunter hears it as the troopers leave the room, all three of them, and then, light, familiar footsteps approach him. He tenses despite himself, bracing himself for… something. Something bad probably. But instead, Crosshair just stands there watching him.

"Hunter," he says, and Hunter turns his head to look at him, trying not to jostle his wings too much. They ache. They ache the way they did when he broke one of them once. It had been awful and painful, and he hadn't been able to fly for a full month.

Crosshair's expression is blank, carefully neutral, but there's a flicker of some emotion in his brown eyes that Hunter can't name. "It was necessary," he continues once Hunter looks at him. "You can come back. You can join the Empire, find purpose again. We were brothers once, and we can be again." He touches Hunter's shoulder, right above where his wing lies, and it feels like a mockery of gentleness, though there is nothing harsh or unkind about the touch. Hunter twitches back, and Crosshair pulls back, something in his expression twisting to unhappiness. "This is what we were made for. Think of everything we could do together."

Hunter tries to stay calm and level-headed, the way he always is, but he just – he can't, and a tidal wave of anger rises up, bursting out. "What the Empire is doing is wrong," he snarls, levering himself upright, his angry tirade cut off before it can even begin when pain crashes into him as his wings move. He gasps in a breath, closing his eyes, and breathing through the white-hot agony. Force, it hurts it burns make it stop.

"The Empire is wrong," he states, a little more calmly, ignoring the pain still tearing at him. "I've seen what the Empire's doing, occupying planets and silencing anyone who stands against them. You know it's not right. You know this wasn't right."

Crosshair's expression is closed-off, but there's an emotion in his eyes that Hunter can't quite name. Or maybe it's that he doesn't want to. "You still don't see the bigger picture, but you will." He doesn't sound very confident, though. He sounds like he's repeating something that he's been told, something that he doesn't even fully believe himself.

"They're just using you, Crosshair," Hunter points out tiredly. "Even if we wanted to come back, they would never let us. We're going to be killed here, and I think you know that."

His expression tightens. "Wrong. I was ordered to capture you, not kill you. The Empire has seen what you are capable of. You're being given a chance."

Crosshair really believes that, and Hunter can only stare at him, wishing that he knew what to say to get through to him. He used to be the only one who could get through to Crosshair if he was struggling deeply or very upset about something, and now… words are failing him. He's their leader. He's supposed to know what to do, what to say, but he's – he doesn't know what to say now.

"You don't really believe that," he answers, a little helplessly. "It's the inhibitor chip. It's making you follow orders. We've never been ones for following orders, even if we got the job done. We're loyal to each other, Crosshair, not some Empire."

His brother's eyes narrow, and Hunter knows that he misspoke. "You weren't loyal to me," he hisses venomously. "You left. You betrayed everything we stood for! I was one of you. You may have forgotten, but I haven't."

Hunter shakes his head. "You really don't get who we are, do you? It's never been about the Empire for us. Or the Republic. It's always been each other."

He didn't leave just because he saw what the Empire was doing and thought it was wrong. Sure, it was a part of it, but he left because the orders they were given were wrong, and following through with them would have changed them. It would have hurt them. And as their leader, he had to protect them from that. That was why they walked away and left. He had to protect them, no matter the cost, and the cost was Crosshair, something he'll always regret, but they have a chance to fix that now.

If – if they can get his chip out, then –

He stills as the thought enters his mind, along with the realization of where he is. He and Crosshair are alone here, in the medbay, and a quick, sideways glance at the room tells him that the machines here are very similar to what they used on Bracca. And he's got a med droid here which he can persuade to help him. But to do that, he needs to subdue Crosshair without making noise and alerting the troopers outside that something is happening.

Crosshair's eyes narrow. "Don't make the same mistake twice, Hunter. Don't become my enemy."

Hunter scoots closer to the edge of the examination table, swinging his legs over the edge so his feet are on the floor. He's ready to jump at Crosshair while trying not to make it look like it. Maybe if he goes for an emotional appeal, it'll distract his brother enough to take him off guard. "Crosshair, we never were," he says, trying to throw every bit of pleading and conviction that he can into the words. "All I've ever wanted is to keep you all safe." He shifts his hands in his lap, ignoring the pain spearing up and down his wings from the agony of moving. He never knew the injection would hurt this much, but he should have guessed, because the drug is literally poisoning his wings. It's killing them.

"We're soldiers –" Crosshair begins, almost coldly, and Hunter's heart twists in his chest.

"I know," he replies, cutting him off. "I know that, but – but we can be more than what we were created for. We're family, Crosshair. We'll never be safe with the Empire, not anymore, and yeah, maybe I made the wrong call to leave, but it's done, and I can't change the past. I can't undo what I've done. I can't – we left you, and we shouldn't have, but I can't change that anymore. And I – for what it's worth… I regret it."

His brother's expression tightens, and he glances away for a moment, his grip on the blaster loosening. It's lowering now, and just a little further down, and Hunter will have a chance.

"That doesn't change anything," Crosshair throws back, but it's more uncertain than it was before. "You still left."

The brother Hunter knew wouldn't be upset about them leaving him if it meant that they'd survive, so Hunter isn't certain that it's the leaving him part that Crosshair is upset about so much as the leaving. It… was terrifying to leave. They've always been soldiers, always had a direction, always had orders, and losing that had been… It was like nothing Hunter could have imagined.

"To be honest, things were clearer when we were just soldiers," he had told Rafa when they'd met, and that's never been more obvious than it is now. During the war, they just followed orders, or more accurately, they just carried out their mission objectives; their personal thoughts and feelings didn't matter. Orders were orders.

And then the Empire came, and Hunter had to choose between following the system and doing things that would haunt him, things that would slowly erode his brothers' minds and hearts and souls or walking away to protect them all.

Maybe it was never much of a choice in the first place, because he would do it all again if he had to. He can't put Crosshair over Tech and Wrecker, or even Echo or Omega.

"Yes," he agrees, because really, what else is there to say? "We did. Didn't have much of a choice, though, and I think you know that. They were trying to kill us. You were trying to kill us." It's a pointed reminder, and Crosshair's hands tighten on the blaster, though he doesn't raise it.

"You were traitors," Crosshair replies. "I did what needed to be done."

"Hm. Yes, and we still are traitors, Crosshair. Why wasn't I told about this… offer to rejoin when I got here?" he asks. "Kinda makes me wonder if you were deliberately being given a different impression of this situation than what the actual intention is."

"The destruction your squad caused on Ryloth got my attention," Rampart had said, and it did not sound like a compliment. Quite to the contrary, Hunter had been half afraid that Rampart would give the order for an immediate execution, his body used to draw the others into a trap. Force. He needs to make Crosshair understand.

Crosshair's jaw clenches. "No," he replies stubbornly, "The Empire sees your skills. They know how useful you can be. We're not like the regs. We never have been. We're superior. We're stronger. That is why you are being given this chance. Kamino, regs, the Republic… That time is over. The Empire will control the entire galaxy, and I am going to be a part of it. We can be a part of it together."

He keeps talking about them being together again, and it makes Hunter wonder if, somewhere deep inside, beneath the chip's programming, Crosshair can feel how wrong it is for them to be apart. He takes a deep breath, gambling on that as he reaches out, slowly enough that Crosshair won't perceive it as a threat, touching his brother's shoulder with his cuffed hands.

"You're just a number to them. That's all we've ever been. The Empire doesn't see us as people any more than the Republic did."

The blaster drops down as Crosshair looks at him, searching his face for… something. There's a chance that Hunter might be getting through to him, but the chip is still in there, and so long as it is, Crosshair will always be a threat to them. And it's with that knowledge in mind that Hunter springs into motion, shoving Crosshair sideways and spinning around behind him, looping his arms around his neck and tugging. The cuffs catch on his throat, cutting off his air supply, and Hunter drops his weight back as Crosshair scrabbles to break free, but he can't get through the durasteel of the restraints.

Hunter hates himself a little, knowing that his brother is panicking, that he's hurting him, but this is for his own good. It's for the good of all of them. Crosshair can't breathe in enough air to cry out, and his struggles aren't very effective when Hunter is leveraging his weight just so. It helps that his hands are cuffed, and he's using his wings – no matter how agonizing it is – to keep his balance.

Crosshair shoves backwards, but Hunter reacts faster, bracing himself against the wall, so he's not slammed into it, tugging harder. Only a little longer…

It feels like an eternity before Crosshair's struggles slow, and his body begins to slacken. It's only then that Hunter lets go, catching Crosshair's weight in his arms as he drops into unconsciousness. So far, so good.

He lugs his body to the table, dropping him onto it, and glancing at the med droid – which is still trying to figure out what to do – before activating the lock on the door. He'll hear it if, or rather when, the troopers outside figure out something's wrong, and try to enter, but for now, they're oblivious; Hunter can hear them talking amongst themselves, their voices muffled, words inaudible, and he turns back towards the room, picking up Crosshair's dropped blaster and turning to the med droid.

"Your primary objective is to treat patients, correct?"

The droid whirs, photoreceptors turning between Hunter and Crosshair. "That is correct," it finally affirms.

This isn't the first time Hunter has talked around a droid's programming, but he can only hope that this will work. "He's in danger," he says, gesturing to Crosshair. "There's something in his brain, and you need to find it to save him. Scan him. Locate his – locate it."

He watches warily while the droid processes that before finally beginning the scan. He doesn't relax – can't while he's still here, but he can still keep working. He rummages through Crosshair's weapon pack, finally locating his seized vibroblade and spinning it around, jamming the blade into the restraints, nearly slitting his own wrist as he manages to get them off. He slides the knife back into its sheath, retrieving his hand blasters and sliding them back into their holsters before attaching Crosshiar's pack to his back, moving his wings out of the way, though it hurts to move them. And then, he waits, his brother's blaster in hand.

"The scan is normal," reports the droid, "There is nothing there."

A chill skitters down Hunter's spine, and he clenches his jaw. "Give him something to calm his brain. It's there. He's in danger. You need to help him."

The droid injects Crosshair with something, running the scan again, and a wave of relief crashes into Hunter when the scanner finally locates the chip. "Can you remove it?"

"It will be risky," it answers, almost skeptically, "But it is possible."

"Do it," Hunter says firmly, moving closer to Crosshair's side. Unconscious like this, he looks so… young. Vulnerable. Hunter hates it when he or his brothers are in the medbay, hates when they're injured enough to need this place. Usually, they have Tech tend to their injuries unless they're too severe. None of them have good memories associated with places like this – their younger years were too filled with experiments and tests by the Kaminoans for them to ever be comfortable here.

He shifts anxiously as the droid gives Crosshair an injection to keep him under before activating the machine and rolling him inside it. Crosshair couldn't truly give his consent to this procedure, any more than Wrecker could on Bracca, but Hunter knows that this is what he'd want. He'd want his chip gone, so he can make his own choices, no matter what those choices are.

He'll come back to them, though. He has to. Why wouldn't he? They're brothers. Family.

His wings are on fire, burning and burning, but that ache is small compared to his fear for Crosshair. He knows that this procedure is dangerous, and it might be worth the risk, but he still… worries. He'll always worry about them.

The troopers realize something is wrong before the procedure is fully complete, and Hunter moves across the room, ducking down behind a piece of equipment, strategically as far from Crosshair as possible, before taking aim at the door and drawing his vibroblade. He shoots out the control panel before they can override the lock. It'll only slow them down for a few moments, but it's a few moments longer for him to figure out what to do.

And then, he focuses his senses, trying to pinpoint their locations on the other side of the door so he can attack the moment they get the door open. There's three of them and only one of him. Those aren't great odds, but they're not terrible, either. He's faced down worse. The only disadvantage he has is that he's injured – the pain in his wings is sapping his strength and energy, the worries about losing them nagging at him incessantly.

They get the door open, of course, setting an explosive to break through the lock which sends a cloud of smoke billowing into the room. It blinds them, but not him, because he can sense them well enough. He throws his vibroblade at the first trooper, simultaneously firing a blaster bolt through the second one's chest. Two down, one left.

The survivor ducks back, narrowly missing Hunter's next shots and returning fire at him. He ducks down, but there's not enough cover, so an extended fight would not be good. With that in mind, he fires several times into the hall to deter the man from trying to shoot back while rolling out from behind the equipment and moving towards the door. The trooper looks around the corner to fire at him again just as he reaches the entrance, and Hunter slams into him, shoving his blaster aside and kicking him hard, sending him staggering back a step, just enough to give him the opening he needs to shoot him.

They're all dead now, and Hunter glances around the hall, but no one is nearby, so he turns back and pulls his knife out of the dead trooper's neck, wiping the blood off before sliding it back into its sheath and turning towards where Crosshair is lying.

The procedure has been completed now, but he's still unconscious. Likely, it could take him some time to awaken, and that… could prove problematic if Rampart sends reinforcements. Hopefully, that doesn't happen, but there are no guarantees of anything right now, so Hunter picks up Crosshair's helmet, sliding it on and tapping into the comm channels to see if there's anything.

There isn't.

Which doesn't mean a whole lot, necessarily, but Crosshair was a commander. If there was something important, he should have been notified.

He picks up his own helmet next, tucking it under his arm, and putting Crosshair's helmet nearby before turning to the med droid. "What did you give me?"

"I'm afraid that information is classified," it replies.

Hunter clenches his jaw. "Is there an antidote?" But he already knows the answer to that, and it's too late anyway. The poison has already taken root, and it'll take time, a lot of time, for his wings to recover. He tries stretching his wings out, but the pain of it nearby brings him to his knees. Kriff. He'll never be able to fly with them in this state unless it becomes truly necessary.

"Not one that is currently available to you," the med droid tells him.

He needs to get to Tech, and it's with that thought in mind that he reaches for his comm and then hesitates. He doesn't know where they are, or if they've really come here yet, but trying to contact them could only draw the Empire's attention and let them know that he's escaped – sort of – which is the last thing they need. He'll be fine until they get out of here. It's fine, really. He doesn't need his wings to fight. He'll be fine.

(No, he won't be. He'll lose them, or at least he'll lose his ability to use them for a long time, if indeed it ever comes back. But then, he's hardly the only one. Echo can't really fly anymore, and Crosshair… He doesn't even have wings. Maybe they'll regrow like Echo's did, but Hunter finds it unlikely that they'll ever be able to go flying the way they used to ever again.)

On the table, Crosshair stirs, a quiet moan escaping from him, and instantly, Hunter is at his side. "Crosshair?"

His brother groans again, eyes partially opening, before he closes them again with a wince, reaching up to touch his head. "Ow. What – what did you do to me?"

"I took out your chip," Hunter tells him, reaching for the small container which the droid had put it into. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got my head cut open," Crosshair snarks, gingerly rubbing the area where the bacta patch is. Carefully, he pries his eyes open again, blinking rapidly as they adjust to the light, before he pushes himself upright.

For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Hunter knows that he should try to ask him something, see how he feels about everything, because they need to move, but he doesn't know if he can trust Crosshair with any weapons yet. He doesn't know how Crosshair feels about everything that's happened, and he'll need time to process it all. He remembers, of course, everything that he did – Wrecker did, too – but it'll take time for him to… deal with it.

"You up to moving yet?" he queries, reaching out to touch Crosshair's shoulder, pulling back when his brother flinches away from him. Okay, that's fair, even if it hurts. He did strangle him unconscious not all that long ago. And, of course, there's probably the whole issue of Crosshair having been forced to fight them, to hurt them. Wrecker struggled with it, too, after Bracca. "Do you think anyone will be coming after us here?"

Crosshair glances to the bodies on the floor, and then at the door, before shrugging one shoulder. "Possibly, but… I'm not sure Rampart would waste the resources. He probably thinks you killed me. He'll be waiting to shoot us down, though, if I had to guess."

That… is not terribly comforting either, and they still to find a way to find the others. And maybe see if they can talk about… everything, to see if they can find a way to salvage and rebuild the things that have been so badly broken. It'll be a little hard, true, but they can do it; Hunter is confident of that. Not even the Empire can wipe away years of brotherhood and growing up together.

Final Notes: Reviews are always appreciated! ^-^

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