A/N: You see it starts out with fluff. You create a cute little OC who's going to appear for about three sentences in one story. He's a sweet, innocent cinnamon roll. He has friends, a hobby - a well-adjusted, happy life. Now that just won't do. You need to spice things up. So you add a pinch of angst. But you were raised with Indian ideas of cooking so a pinch is really a generous helping. What you end up with is a lot of angst and a very traumatised OC. And by 'you' I mean me.
Written for prompt no. 6: "Do or die, you'll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart."
Recording Made to Watch "It should have been me."
Warnings: torture, blood (non-graphic), mentions of discrimination and dehumanisation. Let me know if I should add anything else. I'm really tired, so I apologise in advance for any mistakes.
Stitch stands at parade rest in front of Commander Fox's desk, his eyes fixed resolutely on the opposite wall.
"What happened, Stitch?" Fox asks. He sounds tired.
"I submitted my report, sir -"
"I don't give a kriff about the report. I want to hear it from you. What happened?"
Stitch takes a deep breath.
"There was a protest on level 42, sir. Civilians were injured so the medics who were in the area were called in to assist."
He doesn't add that they were ordered to prioritise the natborns' injuries over the injuries of their own troops. He doesn't say that he was stuck treating a man with a scraped arm while only a few metres away one of his brothers bled to death.
"The civilian I was treating was being -" a kriffing shabuir, "- difficult. He said that he didn't want help from clones."
Subsentient, military dogs, he'd called them.
"I lost my temper, sir. I - I sewed his mouth shut."
He had removed the sutures as soon as he finished treating the man. It won't cause permanent damage. That doesn't matter though. The fact remains that he - a clone - committed an act of violence against a Republic citizen.
Fox sighs, a deep and exhausted sound.
"What were you thinking, trooper?"
Stitch doesn't answer. He isn't sure if the question is rhetorical or not and the years under his huutunla trainer on Kamino have made him wary of such questions. Besides, the truth is that he hadn't been thinking. Saying that out loud would likely only get him into more trouble. And he is already up to his ears in osik.
"Sir, I take full responsibility for my actions and accept whatever punishment you deem fit."
Fox looks at him. Stitch keeps his gaze fixed ahead.
"No, you won't."
Stitch finally tears his eyes away from the wall to look at his CO.
"Sir-"
Fox holds up a hand to silence him before continuing.
"The Chancellor is livid over this incident. He's looking to personally punish those responsible."
Stitch tries to interrupt again, but the stern look Fox gives him make his words die in his throat. Fox's eyes soften slightly.
"I'm not going to let that happen. As your commanding officer, I am ultimately responsible for your actions. So any repercussions for said actions falls on me."
Guilt twists and knots his insides.
"I - I didn't mean for this to happen," he says quietly.
"I know you didn't," Fox says, "you were angry. It's - understandable. But it can never happen again, understood?"
Stitch nodded. "Yes, sir. It won't."
Fox smiles, a small smile that barely tugs at the corners of his mouth but makes him look younger than the grey in his hair says he is.
"See that it doesn't," he says, expression once again grim, "Dismissed."
Fox is scheduled to meet with the Chancellor at 10:00. At 10:05, all Coruscant Guard troopers not on active duty receive a compulsory comm. It's not the first time they've gotten a call like this; the universal comm code is sometimes used for emergency announcements.
Stitch is on shift in the medbay, but they have relatively few injured at the moment so he doesn't really have anything he needs to do. He might as well see what's going on. He sees the CMO - Cobalt - reach out towards him, but he has already put on his helmet and accepted the comm.
The air is intantly knocked out of his lungs.
It's a live video feed from Commander Thorn's helmet cam. It shows Commander Fox in the Chancellor's office. His hands are tied above his head and someone removed his upper armour and blacks. At the edge of the frame, one of the Chancellor's Red Guards stands with a whip.
Oh kriff - no - they can't -
Stitch's thoughts spin in a dizzying torrent. He feels sick, suddenly hot and cold at the same time. This can't be happening. This can't be real.
"Commander Thorn," the Chancellor's voice echoes slightly over the comm line, "are you relaying this to the rest of the Guard?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good."
The first lash comes without warning. The whip cracks and everyone - Fox, Thorn, and all the troopers assembled in the medbay - flinches. A line of red runs down Fox's back.
The sight of blood jolts Stitch out of his stupor. He moves towards the medbay doors. He needs to get to the Chancellor's office. He needs to stop this.
Cobalt grabs him before he can make it more than two steps. He tries to pull away but Cobalt has the advantage of being both older and stronger.
"Let go," he demands, "you have to - I need to go and explain. It was my mistake. They can't punish him for what I did. Let me go."
"Not a chance, vod'ika. If you leave now, we're just going to end up with two injured brothers instead of one. There's nothing you can do."
The second lash is even louder than the first. Stitch crumples down to the floor as all the fight leaves him. Cobalt crouches down next to him. He holds on to Stitch even though he's no longer trying to flee the medbay.
Three, four, five - a dozen lashes of the whip. Stitch wants more than anything to squeeze his eyes shut to block out the sight of his brother's bloodied back. He can't though. This is his fault. He should at least have the decency to face it.
He can't stop the tears though. What starts as quiet crying soon devolves into choking sobs. Cobalt's arms tighten around his shoulders, tethering him.
One of the shinies in the medbay reaches up to tug off his helmet, but one of the older Guards - Raincloud - takes his wrist to stop him.
"Don't," he says, "they'll know if you do that."
"It will be over soon," Cobalt soothes, rocking him back and forth.
'Soon' turns out to be the longest ten minutes Stitch has ever experienced in his life.
He winces every time the whip cracks. He can hear Commander Thorn breathing over the comm line. Or rather, he hears Thorn not breathing. He inhales sharply with every lash, but other than that he is silent.
Fox never makes a sound. Stitch can see he is still conscious, but he doesn't let out so much as a whimper.
Finally, it's over. The Red Guard raises the whip again, but a voice - the Chancellor - stops him.
"That is enough."
His voice is calm. Stitch has never hated another human being's voice so much. Even his old trainer's voice never filled him with so much dread and loathing.
"I think Commander Fox - and his troops - have learnt their lesson."
The air in the medbay is tense as the medics wait for Thorn to return with Fox. Cobalt helps Stitch to his feet and tries to get him to sit down on one of the medbay cots, but he refuses.
"No, I caused this. I should at least try to help fix it."
"All right," Cobalt says. His eyes are sad, but he doesn't say anything else.
Once the doors open, the medbay is flung into a flurry of organised chaos. Stitch throws himself into it with abandon. He doesn't need to think here. He only needs to listen to Cobalt and do as he's told.
He runs back and forth, fetching supplies, doing whatever he can to help.
They don't have enough bacta. Or suture materials. Or bandages. The only thing they have enough of is blood. Stitch is intensely grateful that they all share the same blood type as he sets up a drip for Fox. It's about the only treatment they can give without worrying about supplies and requisition orders.
It's not enough. It will never be enough. There is no possible way for Stitch to atone for what he did.
Fox sleeps through the night. Stitch doesn't. He resists Cobalt's every attempt to get him to leave the medbay and stays by Fox's side.
Sometimes Fox stirs and whimpers in pain. Stitch feels his breath lodge in his throat every time it happens. He only relaxes minutely once Fox's own breathing evens out.
It's early, barely dawn, when Fox's eyes actually open for the first time. He frowns at Stitch, gaze bleary and unfocussed.
"Stitch? What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to apologise."
Fox's hand flops over the side of the bed as he tries to wave Stitch's words away. Stitches takes his hand to put it back and finds Fox gripping his hand with surprising strength.
"None of that, vod'ika. It's not your fault."
"It is. If I hadn't attacked that natborn -"
"Stitch, I didn't get hurt because of you. I made a choice. A choice I stand by. If I had to get up right now and take another twenty lashes, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I'm the ori'vod of the Coruscant Guard. It's my job to keep you safe."
Fox grips his hand tighter.
"You attacked that natborn for insulting your brothers. I took that whipping so you wouldn't have to. We protect each other - that's all there is to it."
Stitch doesn't know what to say. Tears well up in his eyes and he can't stop them.
Fox moves, slowly and painfully pushing himself upright. He really shouldn't be doing that, but Stitch can't figure out how to push him down without pressing on the wounds on his back. Before he can't stop him, Fox is up and hugging him. Stitch can't do anything but stand there.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Stitch keeps repeating.
"Shhh, it's okay. It will all be okay."
It's not okay. The whole situation is karked up beyond belief. But the fact that Fox can say that - say it with so much conviction - when his back is torn open because of Stitch's mistake... for some reason Stitch believes him.
A/N: The author feels the need to state for the record that despite the name of her OC, she has never actually watched 'Lilo and Stitch'. Hence any and all relations to mischievous, tiny blue aliens is entirely unintentional and coincidental.
This story was majorly inspired by both the crucifixion (the whole theme of someone else being punished for your mistakes) and the song 'Vergissmeinnicht' by Max Richter (it evokes exactly the sense of dawning horror that I was trying to convey).