Part 2

Author's Note: Enjoy the second part of this story! :D

~ Amina Gila

He tried to kill them. He tried to kill them. He –

Stars. It's a wonder that Hunter can even stand to be around him, much less look so relaxed about it. It's only through his training that Crosshair manages to keep his body as calm as he is when he really just wants to scream. But probably, if he starts, he'll never stop.

He tried to kill them. He tried to kill his brothers.

He hunted them for weeks. He – he did so many things to them, and that's what haunts him. The missions he did for the Empire, not so much. They were just missions, just nameless people who he killed. Yeah, he might regret it, but those weren't his brothers. They weren't people who mattered to him.

"I – I'm sorry," he blurts out, not looking at Hunter as he says it, a million moments flashing through his mind.

"Every choice you've made since Kaller has been wrong."

"Aim for the kid."

He shot Wrecker on Kamino, nearly shot Tech on Bracca, ordered his Imperial squad to activate the engines to incinerate them there. How can Hunter even look at him? He tried to kill them.

"It wasn't your fault, Crosshair," Hunter tells him, sitting down next to him on the table, but far enough away that they're not touching. He, of course, noticed the way Crosshair flinched away from him earlier, and he's respecting that, giving him distance. Hunter's always been good about that, giving him space when he needs it while still knowing when and where to push.

(Crosshair probably doesn't deserve it.)

"It was the chip," Hunter continues, even though Crosshair doesn't know how he can believe that. His brothers talked about it before, and so did the kid, but it didn't seem reasonable. They said it controlled him. It didn't feel like he was being controlled.

But he must have been, somehow, or he wouldn't feel so… different now.

At the time, it had seemed like such a good idea to fight them, to follow orders, even if it meant trying to kill them, because they were traitors. They disobeyed orders. But now? Now… Crosshair doesn't know what to think. They're his brothers. They're family. It – even if they're traitors, that doesn't change what they are to each other.

It – stars. He gave the order to have Hunter's wings injected with the same drug that they used on him before they had them surgically removed. He'd been numb to it at the time; it was just another order that he had to follow, even if it didn't make sense to him. Now? Now it fills him with a sick sense of horror, both what he did, and what he had done to him. He… lost them. He lost his wings. He can't – he can't fly anymore.

"It felt like me," he whispers, shaking his head. "It felt like me, the whole time. It – it seemed like… a good idea to – to… everything. I'm sorry." He tries to ignore the way his voice is shaking, but he can't help but tense when Hunter's hand lands on his thigh, very lightly, just enough to be there, offering him comfort.

"I know," Hunter replies gently, too gently, after everything Crosshair did. It would be easier if he was angry, or – or something. "It's not your fault. I know that. It… was a little different with Wrecker, when it happened."

Crosshair's stomach drops. "Wrecker's chip activated?"

Hunter hums an affirmation. "He… nearly killed all of us before we subdued him. I think he'll really understand how you feel about it."

He doesn't think any of them can understand how he feels, because he did so much more to them than Wrecker could have, and he swallows, feeling the lingering ache in his throat from where Hunter strangled him. He remembers Bracca, remembers the burning pain that had seared him when the engine exploded on him, remembers the betrayal he'd felt when he realized what they had done to him. He'd been so angry then, at the thought that they'd gone so far, that they'd hurt him. Not until now did he think of how they were only protecting themselves, because he had been the one to order the engine ignited in the first place.

It had made sense at the time.

Now, Crosshair wants to either cry or throw up, or maybe both.

"I'm sorry, too," Hunter says, still quiet. Crosshair risks glancing at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the regret, the pain. "We left you. It… wasn't a good situation, and we didn't really have a way of coming back, but – that's not really a good excuse. We left, and I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he answers numbly, though he doesn't know if he really thinks that or not, "You needed to look after them. It's – you know I'd have wanted you to." He would have, or at least the him of before Kaller would have. He doesn't know what he thinks or feels about anything right now. (He just wants to cry.)

Worry tightens Hunter's expression, and Crosshair's jaw clenches as he looks away. He feels… distant. Detached. It's too much for him to process right now, and he doesn't know where to start or how to start or –

Dimly, he registers the way his hands are trembling ever so slightly, and he crosses his arms to hide it. Hunter might not have his enhanced eyesight, but he's still very perceptive, and Crosshair really, really does not want to talk about emotions right now please.

"Crosshair, please."

Hunter doesn't beg. Hunter never begs, not them, at least. He's not supposed to beg. He's – he's their leader. He's the one who protects them. He sacrifices to keep them safe, and they repay him for it by watching his back, by protecting him when he can't protect himself.

(A wonderful job of that Crosshair has been doing. Truly astounding.)

"Do you want to tell me what you're thinking right now?" Hunter asks finally, still sounding worried, not to mention painfully uncertain.

No. Definitely not.

Crosshair pushes himself to his feet. "Can I have my blaster? We should leave in case Rampart sends someone after me."

Hunter's eyes narrow, and he studies him, assessing, but instead of arguing, like Crosshair half expects him to, he merely detaches the pack from his back and hands it back to him. Crosshair is glad to have his rifle back, even if it's not the specially modified one that he had before, with his brothers. But he definitely doesn't miss the pain that flashes across Hunter's face, the way he breathes deeply a few times to dispel it.

It's his wings, and despite himself, Crosshair can't stop his gaze from straying towards the extremities in question. Normally, the feathers are a shiny, deep brown that matches Hunter's hair perfectly. They're just as smooth and silky as they look, but now, they're dim, dull. They're dying. And it's all Crosshair's fault. He gave the order, despite knowing what would happen, and he shouldn't have done that. If he touches them, they'll probably be brittle, just like they look.

"It'll be fine," Hunter states, following the glance.

Crosshair scoffs and turns away, unslinging his rifle and sliding his helmet on – and he hates this helmet, hates how it isn't nearly as effective as the one that Tech customized for him. He doesn't miss the way Hunter instinctively tenses for a moment before relaxing, drawing his own blaster as they sweep from the room into the hall beyond.

"You know nothing will be fine," he replies bitterly. He'll stay with them; of course, he will, but he won't be delusional enough to believe it'll be easy. They've got a kid now, a kid who he doesn't know or care about, when before, they only ever had each other. They're different. He's different. They've all been through a lot, and they – nothing is the way it used to be, and if Hunter really thinks it'll be 'fine' then he's delusional.

"We'll figure it out," Hunter answers stubbornly.

Not like they have a choice about that.

He doesn't blame them for leaving, not exactly, but he also does, because they're not supposed to leave. Not each other. They don't leave their own behind. That was their promise to one another after Wrecker was injured, when he lost his eye. They promised they'd never leave each other behind, and he doesn't blame them, because it was a bad situation, and Hunter had to make the call to protect the others from the Empire, from him. But – but they still left. They still walked away, and he'd be lying if he said it didn't hurt.

And he hurt them, too.

"Which way should we go?" Hunter asks finally, looking at Crosshair.

It absurdly makes him feel better that he can't see Hunter's face, not when he's wearing his helmet, too. "I'm sure the others are here," he answers finally, scrolling through comm channels inside his helmet. He can see the report that they entered the system, and that there's an unauthorized entry on platform 5. Presuming that they're still tracking Hunter's comm, they'll meet halfway if they head in that direction.

"They're here," he confirms. "Follow me." It's easier than trying to update Hunter, and it's also a test to see how he'll respond.

To his credit, Hunter only pauses for a moment before nodding. "Lead the way."

And they set off at a half-run, because they need to find the others and get out of here before the Empire tries anything more drastic. Crosshair cannot say what exactly Rampart might be planning next. It could be anything. And he has a feeling that, whatever it is, it'll be bad.

They skid around another corner to see the rest of the squad rounding the end of the hall, and Crosshair's heart twists in his chest when he sees them, a myriad of emotions crashing over him. His eyes are instinctively drawn to Wrecker, as if he could somehow see the place where he'd shot him so long ago, and the guilt twinges stronger. It's not his fault, Hunter said, but it still feels like it was. It feels like it was him, and even knowing that it wasn't, he… can't accept it just like that.

At the beginning, right after the Order came out, he had known something wasn't quite right. He'd had thoughts and feelings towards his brothers, towards Hunter, that he'd never had before, and it didn't seem right. It made his skin crawl, that he was even thinking of hurting him, and he hadn't understood why. And then, they'd taken him, and when he woke up, everything felt so… simple. When his brothers spoke of the chip, Crosshair had wondered if his was actually gone, since he felt like himself, and he'd begun to believe that this was truly who he was.

He doesn't know how to feel now, with his entire worldview so thoroughly shattered.

"Hunter!" cries the kid, and she's flying to him before Wrecker can grab her to hold her back. She throws her arms around Hunter's waist, clinging to him, and Crosshair clenches his jaw and looks away. He doesn't belong here – but he has nowhere else to be. He wishes things could be simple again, the way they used to be, but that's foolish. There's no going back, only forwards.untHunte

Hunter rests a hand on her back with a quiet, "Sorry, Omega. I know I promised you'd never have to come back here."

"You did the same for me

," she replies determinedly, and when Crosshair looks back at her again, her wings are twitching with her relief.

The others crowd in closer, closer to Hunter, closer to him, though he doesn't miss the uncertain looks that they're casting towards him.

"What happened to your wings?" asks Tech, and Crosshair flinches. His fault.

"I got an injection," Hunter answers matter-of-factly. "I think it was the same one that Echo was exposed to." A pause. "And Crosshair."

He can't help but feel tense as all eyes turn towards him. Once, he might have been able to say something. Once, he would have had some sort of snarky remark, but now, he's just quiet. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to say anything, and he doesn't – he doesn't even know how he feels about any of this. He doesn't know if he ever will.

"I still have some of the antidote that I gave to Echo, and we can obtain materials to manufacture more," Tech says.

"I got Crosshair's chip out," Hunter tells them. "We – First, we need to get out. How'd you get in? Where's the Marauder?"

"It's on a private landing platform," the kid answers, still standing next to him, half leaning on him, her bow strapped to her back.

There's a droid with them, a med droid, that's hovering near the kid. Another stray that they picked up, it would seem. It's Wrecker who finally approaches Crosshair, reaching out to pat his shoulder. "It's good to have ya back." The sincerity in his words is unmistakable. He means it, and Crosshair… has no idea how to feel about that either.

"Hm," is all he can muster, a scathing I shot you I tried to kill you why are you being like this rising up in his mind, but he's too afraid to say it, too afraid of the answer.

Tech gives him a searching look, before looking at his datapad and turning back to Hunter, not saying anything. "We should leave. Three Venators are descending on the city."

Crosshair's blood runs cold at the words, because he had expected Rampart to try and stop them, but this? This seems like something else entirely.

"C'mon, let's move," orders Hunter, and they take off running down the halls, towards the exit. There's no time to delay or think about feelings, which is just as well, because Crosshair does not want to think right now. Following Hunter's orders is instinctive, and so long as he focuses on his surroundings, instead of the limpness of his brother's wings, it's easy not to think.

They make it back to a place that Tech informs them is Nala Se's private lab. "Omega says this is where our mutations were manipulated and enhanced," he adds, and Crosshair pauses at that for a moment, even as Tech leads them towards an exit point.

"How would she know?" he asks, surprised, throwing the kid a look. She's so young.

"Because she was there. Omega was created before us. Technically, she is older than we are," Tech replies, and now, even Hunter is looking at her speculatively, though he looks away quickly, the severity of their situation more important than the revelation.

"C'mon," calls the kid, activating a pod, "We'll take this in the tube system back to the Marauder."

Crosshair doesn't know what that means, but he's not going to ask, and from the look on Hunter's face, he's similarly confused. It's at that moment when the structure they're standing on trembles. Violently. He catches his balance quickly, years of training kicking in as his hands tighten on his rifle, looking to Tech for answers.

"It appears the Empire has begun firing on Tipoca City," Tech states, dismayed.

"They – what?" splutters Echo, the first time he's actually spoken. "Why would they be doing that?"

"I don't know," Tech replies, "But I suggest we leave before we become casualties."

Crosshair couldn't agree more, and Hunter gestures sharply to them to move, obviously concurring with Tech's words. They take the tube system back to the landing platform, and for a moment, Crosshair is blinded by the rain and the blue streaks of laser fire that are tearing apart Tipoca City. Stars. If they'd been there still, they would have been killed. Rampart never tried to contact him again, not after one of his squad members told him that Hunter had subdued Crosshair, and they needed reinforcements.

"They're destroying everything," says the kid, her voice wavering, and Hunter touches her shoulder.

"We need to go," he replies, pulling her towards the Marauder.

They don't look back at the destruction as they board the ship. Tech fires up the engines, and they take off, angling upwards and away from the destruction. Crosshair has no doubt that the Empire will pick up their departure and know that they survived – or at least that most of them did – so they'll be on their trail again eventually, no doubt. But that's a worry for another time.

He can't help but look around the ship, seeing how different it is now. The traces of his presence are gone, at least visibly, and there's a curtain over the gunner's mount, with lights and blankets back there that must be the kid's. They really changed everything about their way of life for her, didn't they. And he… doesn't know how to feel about that. He doesn't even know her. What is it about her that made his brothers so… protective?

None of them relax until they've successfully made the jump to hyperspace, and then, there's a moment where they just look at each other silently, taking stock of the fact that they're all here and okay and together, for the first time in weeks. It hardly seems real, and Crosshair suddenly feels terribly conscious of his presence and just… existence. He doesn't feel like he belongs here anymore, and he doesn't know what to do with that feeling. They've changed. They've… grown closer without him, no doubt, and it – it hurts.

All of this hurts.

They – they left, and they – and he was still there, and he – he doesn't… know. There was a time when it was always the four of them against the world. That time is gone, but he… a part of him still yearns for it back. He cares about Echo, of course, but it's different. He's one of them, but he's also a reg, and that – that past has shaped so much of him. He fits in with them, though not entirely. Never entirely. He had others he was once close to, other regs, and his General, and they… have only ever had each other.

"I'm glad you're here," the kid tells him sincerely, bouncing out of her seat.

"Stay there," Tech orders Hunter. "I need to scan you."

Crosshair slides a glance towards their leader and sees the way his wings are drooping, almost wilting, the tense lines of pain on his face, and the pit inside of him grows bigger. Echo helps Tech with the scan, and Wrecker and the kid are watching, too, so he takes the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. Unmissed.

The Marauder feels different, and he stands in the main hold for a moment, uncertain where to even go before finally retreating down to the cargo hold. It's relatively small and enclosed, and separate. He'll be alone there. Which is good. He wants to be alone. (Not really, but he needs to find a way of dealing with all of these thoughts and feelings, and he just – he wants to stop hurting.) It's easier this way.

He climbs onto the top of a pile of crates, pressing his back into the corner, letting his legs dangle down as he sits there. After a moment, he pulls off his helmet, setting it next to him and putting a toothpick in his mouth to chew on. It doesn't really help or do anything at all to diminish the gaping void inside of him.

Even if they're all right here, it still feels like an entire galaxy separates them, and he scrubs his hands over his face, trying to dispel the burning in his eyes. He's not a child. Crying doesn't fix anything. (But he still wants to.)

It could be minutes or hours – and he's gone through at least three toothpicks – before he hears the footsteps approaching his refuge.

He doesn't need to look up to know who it is.

Hunter.

Of course.

None of the others would come after him when he's… like this. It was always Hunter. Hunter, who felt the need to fix all of their problems, forever carrying the burden of being their oldest and their leader. Hunter, who always tried to help them when they struggled or faltered, no matter how much they might have tried to push him away.

Hunter doesn't turn on the light, for which Crosshair is grateful; he can see well in the dark, better than the average human at least, and he can hide in it. It's… easier like this, hiding in the shadows. "Tech said my wings will be fine," he says finally, leaning against the crates on which Crosshair is sitting. "It'll take a little time, but he has what he needs to… take care of them." A pause, "And he wants to scan you, too, when you're willing. He thinks he can… help them."

Crosshair bites down harder on the toothpick, looking away. He's tried very hard not to think about his wings, not to think about their obvious absence, the way he sometimes falters, expecting them to be there to help him balance. It's hard. It would be like losing a hand and never thinking about it again. Virtually impossible. His wings were a part of him; they symbolized something to him, something important, and now, they're just gone. He wants them back, but he doesn't know that he deserves it.

(He wants to fly through the skies again, with Hunter at his side, the way it was always meant to be. He wants – too much. He wants things he can never get.)

"Room for two?" Hunter asks when Crosshair doesn't say anything.

He picks up his helmet, resting it in his lap and sliding to the edge. "Could I really stop you?" he asks dryly.

"Well, if you really wanted to be alone…" he answers, climbing up to sit next to him.

The crate's not that wide, all things considered, so they're pressed side-by-side. It's comfortable, comforting, just having Hunter here, knowing that he's not actually alone down here. They haven't… forgotten him; they aren't moving on without him.

"I'm sure you have a lot of things on your mind," Hunter tries carefully when Crosshair continues to be quiet.

"Yeah," he admits, voice barely audible, but he knows Hunter will hear it, with his enhanced hearing. "I – I don't know where to start." He doesn't know if he wants to start, either, if he's being honest. It's too… messy.

"Start anywhere," Hunter states, as though it answers anything. It doesn't help much, but it still feels strangely like permission.

"You're… different," Crosshair begins slowly, expression twisting. He can feel Hunter's thigh and shoulder touching his, and that he's there and real feels like enough to make the words start tumbling out. He isn't alone down here. "You're different," he repeats.

They've always been together. Always. They saw each other grow and change and become the people they were when the Empire formed. And then… they lost each other. Maybe it was only for a few weeks, but everything is different now, and – and Crosshair doesn't – he can't really explain how it makes him feel, can't put into words the tangled ball of emotions that have lodged in his throat.

Hunter's hand lands on his thigh, and it's a reminder of the comforting way he'd touched him earlier, when they were still in the medbay on Kamino. The one that's been destroyed, his mind reminds him darkly. Kamino's destruction… That's a whole other thing he hasn't even begun to start thinking about. They had so many memories there, both good and bad, and he doesn't – he has no idea how he feels about it.

"I – it – it feels like… I don't belong here." It feels like sacrilege to voice such a thought, but it's there, in his mind, and he has to say it. He needs to say it.

Hunter recoils next to him, jerking slightly at the words. "Of course, you belong here," he answers firmly. "We're family, Crosshair, and I know it'll… take a little time for us to all adjust, but we're family. We've… missed you. So much." He slides his hand over to lightly wrap around Crosshair's wrist, and after a heartbeat of consideration, Crosshair tugs at the grip until Hunter begins to let go, before taking Hunter's hand and squeezing it.

He knows it's true, because he's felt the same, but all the same, it still hurts, and he's still… confused. His breath catches in his lungs, though, and he swallows the noise that wants to escape, suddenly feeling like he's still a cadet, and – get a grip you're not a kriffing toddler anymore you don't need to be comforted like one.

Hunter hears it. Of course, he hears it. His hearing is phenomenal, and there's no way he didn't hear it, but he merely squeezes Crosshair's hand and doesn't comment. "We've got your old armor, if you want it back," he tells him, his head turning towards a lone crate off to the side which Crosshair had been wondering about. It was there, separate from the "orderly" chaos in the rest of the cargo hold, and he couldn't figure out why. It just – seemed important. He thought it might have something to do with the kid, not – not him.

They kept his armor, even after all this time, and he swallows hard as tears prickle at his eyes.

"We're gonna be okay," Hunter whispers, and Crosshair can't tell if it's more of a plea or a promise, but he chokes on an inhale anyway, biting down on the toothpick in his mouth hard enough to break it.

Carelessly, he flicks the pieces away – he'll have to clean it up later or Tech will have his head – trying to ignore the emotions that are raging inside of him, but he knows it's a lost cause even before he feels the first tear escape down his face.

So much has happened. So much has been done to them and by them, and he doesn't know how to fix it. He hurt them, all of them, and he hates that he did it, that he could ever have thought it was okay. Even Wrecker didn't go this far, did he? He wants to know, but he's too afraid to ask, at least right now, so all he can do is lean a little closer to Hunter and try to pretend that he isn't crying.

"It'll be okay," his brother murmurs, winding an arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer. His wings rustle, and Crosshair shivers when the warm, feathery weight of one of them drapes around him, too.

"Does it hurt?" he asks shakily, curling against Hunter's chest, clinging to him, "To move it?"

The pause is an answer enough. "I'll be fine," he answers, just like he said earlier, but the guilt still burrows into Crosshair's heart, lodging there, sharp and bitter and cutting.

"I'm sorry," he croaks, blinking as more tears spill down his face.

"Yeah," Hunter answers, still quietly, one hand pressed firmly against his back to keep him close. "Yeah, me too."

A strangled half-whine, half-sob escapes from him, and he tightens his grip on Hunter, shivering when a feather lightly brushes his head, the absence of his own wings glaringly obvious to him in this moment. He wants them back. He doesn't know if they'll ever truly work properly again, not after having been severed, but being able to fly again, reclaiming the part of him that the Empire tried to strip away, is more important than… anything else.

Once he's calmed himself, he can ask Tech to scan him. He can talk to Wrecker, try to explain, see if his brother is willing to open up about his experiences under the chip. He can open up to Echo, to see if he's still the steady, supporting presence he was in the past. He can – he can maybe reach out to the kid, to see what she's like, to see why his brothers are all so protective of her. And he'll do it all, to try and rekindle what the Empire thought it could break.

Just… not now.

Right now, he just needs Hunter. He needs his older brother to hold him while he falls apart and grieves what he's done and what's been done to him.

"We're gonna be okay," Hunter says again, hugging him tighter, and this time, Crosshair thinks he can believe it.

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