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tup-ika-5385 · 2 years ago

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Fic Complete!

Chapter Summary:

Hardcase has been in a bit of a funk lately. After finally being released from medbay, he feels like he’s just treading water, only making himself more frustrated as the shoreline gets farther and farther away. What does recovery even look like for him?

“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Jesse mused from his seat in the mess hall, scooting over to make room for Hardcase, who was stubbornly juggling both his food tray and his crutches with a determined frown on his face.

“More like the wrong bed entirely,” Hardcase grumbled before he could stop himself. His left arm was shaking with effort as he moved to set down his tray. A few drops of juice spilled before Jesse could intervene, but Hardcase had insisted on grabbing his food himself and gave him a warning look even as the drink sloshed threateningly when he put it down. He growled in frustration, using a few napkins to mop up the worst of it.

Jesse blinked at his uncharacteristic response, eyeing him carefully. “You good, vod?”

Hardcase sighed, wincing internally. Even if he was in a bad mood, he shouldn’t take it out on his brothers. “Yeah, sorry Jess…”

It was Hardcase’s second night sleeping in the barracks, and to his unending frustration, his well-loved top-bunk wasn’t something he could get into by himself anymore. Jesse had been more than happy to swap bunks, but Hardcase couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness pooling in his stomach every time he tried to relax in the lower bunk. Recovery had been so painfully slow, and he’d known it would be, but so many big things had been changing recently. Was it too much to ask for this one thing to stay the same?

Using his good arm, he repositioned his bad arm on the table so it was holding his tray steady. His left hand was mostly recovered, and his elbow could bend by itself without too much trouble, but his shoulder was still stiff and weak in a way that made doing most things difficult.

At least he could put on his blacks by himself now with minimal assistance from his vode, compression shirt only slightly impeding their fit now that most of his bandages had been removed. Patch had walked him through the steps a couple days ago: dressing his injured limb first, then pulling his shirt over his head, shoving his good hand through the sleeve, twisting it to fit, and hoping for the best. He’d managed to get about 2/3 of his armor on himself, and usually Dogma would help him with the rest, but he’d sensed Hardcase’s mood this morning and wisely thought better of it, meaning Hardcase was only partially kitted up at the moment.

His armor was another point of contention, now that he was thinking about it. Fives and Jesse had done a great job preserving his armor, and had cleaned it as best they could after Umbara, but his new backplates and shoulder pad were as shiny as… well, a shiny. His arms still shook with fatigue if he held them up too long, which would inevitably ruin his usual meticulous armor patterns if he ever decided to fix them, but he hadn’t even been down to the firing range yet since his injury, so who knows if it’d ever be needed if he couldn’t ever fight again.

“So I was thinking of going to the training room later, if you wanted to join me,” Jesse offered with a carefully casual tone.

Hardcase gave a self-deprecating snort. “So you want me to sit and watch? No thanks.”

Jesse shook his head. “There’s weights and– and other exercises, you know. And if you brought the hoverchair, we could probably adjust the punching bag for you to go a few rounds. You look like you could stand to punch something, vod.”

Hardcase was silent for a moment, mulling it over in his head. He’d been itching to punch something for nearly a month now, but it would be just as frustrating to go and find that he couldn’t do anything. There were so many little tasks that he never used to think about, like putting on his socks or brushing his teeth that he now had to plan out to the smallest detail. And he tried– he tried to put on a brave face, but nothing was the same, and neither was he.

So he hesitated before finally responding, “I dunno… maybe.”

Jesse gave him a half-smile, accepting his answer for now and pushing down a pang of concern for his brother. “Well, let me know when you decide. I’ve missed my workout buddy.”

“Yeah, me too.” Hardcase responded, returning the smile reluctantly.

_______________

Sitting in a circle in the too-quiet barracks, a couple of troopers from the rehab group busied themselves by playing a game of sabacc. Exempt from duty while they were still recovering, Hardcase and the other injured troopers were left with more free-time than they knew what to do with.

Thankfully, a few of their brothers were off-duty at the moment, so Attie, Tup, and one of Sev’s batchmates had joined the group, even if Dogma wasn’t playing at the moment. It had been fun getting to know the other troopers recently. They’d had a couple assignments together, but Hardcase hadn’t really had a serious conversation with Nax or Attie before the past month. They had some pretty interesting stories of their time in the 501st.

Sev was the one who had originally wheedled them into a game of sabacc, especially now that Patch had made Sev a little card-holder so he could play without too much difficulty. The shiny had a surprisingly good sabacc face, earning himself a sizable stash of sweets. Last round, he’d won with a sylop card and a positive and negative seven, canceling each other out for a winning hand.

Presenting his cards with a grin, he gloated, “What can I say? Seven’s my lucky number.” Cackling, he raised his seven uninjured fingers for emphasis, earning an exasperated sigh from Nax, who had the worst luck of the group.

An atmosphere of easy camaraderie filled the barracks, only to be interrupted by a chirping timer. “Hardcase, time to take your meds.” Dogma said gruffly, barely bothering to look up from his datapad. Ever since being given his new posting, he’d been pretty absorbed in learning all he could.

Hardcase groaned in annoyance before putting down his hand of cards and leaning over to grab his small container of muscle-relaxers and anti-inflammatories from his bunk. Dogma had already refilled his canteen earlier so he didn’t swallow them dry… again.

Distracted by the group’s lighthearted banter, Hardcase leaned back to grab the container with one hand. For a brief second, he forgot– he forgot that his left arm couldn’t support his weight, even while sitting, and he let out a strangled yelp as it buckled underneath him, quickly followed by a wave of sharp discomfort.

Upper body unbalanced and half-laying on his bad arm, Hardcase hissed in pain as he tried to reposition himself. He screwed his eyes shut and yelled, “Kriff!”

Reaction half pain and half frustration, he banged his good hand on the floor, startling the group with his outburst. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one of the bottles of meds spinning slowly across the floor, coming to a stop in front of Attie.

“You okay, Hardcase? That looked like a pretty good fall.” Tup asked, concerned. He’d noticed Hardcase’s mood this morning too, but it had almost disappeared while they played sabacc, until now, that is.

“I’m fine!” He ground out stubbornly, struggling to get back up on his own. Dogma got up from his perch on a nearby bunk, offering him a hand, but Hardcase batted it away with a growl, insisting on getting back up on his own. Dogma looked briefly conflicted, but relented after another glare from Hardcase.

“There’s pain meds in here too if you need them,” Dogma offered slowly, trying to gauge Hardcase’s response.

“I don’t need pain-meds, and I’m not a kriffing invalid.” Hardcase shook his head, protesting even as he tried to steady his breathing from his half-fall. He tried to ignore the feeling of eyes on him as his cheeks turned red with embarrassment. He hated feeling like this.

The group was silent for a long moment before Nax eventually spoke.

“... the other day, I slipped in the fresher, completely wiped out. Attie had to drag my naked shebs back up onto the shower chair. It was slippery and embarrassing as kriff.” Nax offered gruffly, giving a half-smile to Attie, who was sitting next to him. “... ‘s okay to need help, and to have off-days.”

Attie responded by nudging him with his shoulder before looking back at Hardcase with understanding, knowing what it was to be broken and then learning to remake himself, even if their circumstances were very different.

Hardcase sighed, anger and self-recrimination fading. Nodding reluctantly, he muttered, “Feels like every day’s been an off-day, lately…”

This time Attie was the one to speak, reaching to hand Hardcase back his meds. “Some battles… they stay with you. Teth was like that. Umbara too.”

Hardcase looked up in surprise, taking the bottle from Attie. It was almost an unofficial rule that nobody talked about Teth, especially around Attie. So for Attie to bring it up himself was pretty significant.

He listened intently as the older trooper continued to speak. “We can’t change it, or stop it from changing us, but we can start to move on… just a little bit.”

Attie took a slow breath, lost in thought. Sometimes he’d think back to those times after Teth, even two years later, remembering “anniversaries” of times that he’d been really bad off. Now, he’d just sit back and marvel at how different he felt, compared to how he did then. Things got better; they really did, and they would for Hardcase too.

Before he could stop himself, Hardcase found himself asking, “How do I do that?”

Attie gave him a half-smile before shrugging. “Honestly, a lot of it just takes time… but it doesn’t hurt to lean on your brothers, or let them drag your naked shebs off the shower floor, like Nax here.” He elbowed his brother in the ribs, prompting a good-natured grumble.

Hardcase huffed in amusement before sighing. He wasn’t known for his patience, and this whole recovery process had already taken much longer than he wanted it to. But when it came to his brothers, spending time with them and leaning on them for support, he knew how to do that. So he accepted Dogma’s help unscrewing the caps of his medications, giving Tup a grateful smile as he passed out the next round of cards. Thankfully, his vode had more patience than he did, and were willing to be there for him, no matter how long it took.

____________________

Peeking his head into the fresher, Tup finally located his missing batchmate. “There you are, Dogma! Come on, we’re going to miss first-meal!”

He hadn’t seen much of his batchmate the past couple days, but he’d noticed that Dogma had been a little on-edge. He wasn’t sure if it was his new posting, or the General’s upcoming visit with the rehab group, but he’d been keeping a closer eye on Dogma, just in case.

“In a minute.” Dogma nodded without looking up from washing his hands, gaze laser-focused on the task.

“What are you doing?” Tup had been waiting for him the last ten minutes; usually Dogma left the fresher in less than three.

“Washing my hands.” Dogma stated redundantly, reapplying soap for the second time since Tup came in.

“Well, I can see that. Why are you still doing it?”

Silence.

“Dogma?”

“… it helps.”

“Helps what?” Tup's voice took on a concerned tone.

“I don’t know, it just does. Go on ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

Despite Dogma’s dismissal, Tup stayed in the doorway, watching as Dogma’s hands turned red from the hot water. His normally short fingernails were clipped practically down to the skin, but he still scrubbed underneath them like his life depended on it.

“Dogma, I think your hands are clean enough.” He spoke cautiously, like he’d spook his batchmate by calling him out on it.

Dogma’s breath hitched, and finally, he paused his scrubbing, muscles tight under his blacks. Tup took the opportunity to walk to the sink before shutting the faucet off with careful hands.

Resting his hands on Dogma’s arms, above where he’d been washing them, Tup questioned his batchmate with a quiet tone. “Dogma?”

“… I can still feel it sometimes. Their blood on my hands. Y-Your blood; Krell’s blood…” Dogma’s voice was thready and his eyes refused to focus as Tup guided him to the flimsi dispenser to dry his hands.

Tup gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You never fired a shot at me, vod. My blood was never on your hands.”

Dogma’s voice shook. “B-But I could’ve—“

“And you didn’t, right? It took you some time, but you made the right decision… any blood spilt on Umbara was Krell’s doing and Krell’s alone.” Tup gave Dogma a wobbly smile, trying just as hard to convince himself of that fact, that the troopers he’d gunned down on Umbara weren’t their faults.

When Dogma still looked unconvinced, Tup brought their foreheads together in a light tap. Tup continued, “Remember what Patch’s been saying? Thinking about doing something is different than actually doing it, especially if it’s something you never wanted to do in the first place. It’s like…” He thought for a moment before coming up with an example.

“It’s like…the other day, I wondered what my hair would look like if I dyed it mustard yellow, like that brother from the 212th with questionable hair decisions. That doesn’t mean my hair will instantly turn yellow, or that I’ll dye it that color in the future.” Tup made a face of disgust, expression exaggerated for comedic effect, earning a small huff of amusement from Dogma.

“Sometimes thoughts are just thoughts, vod. They don’t have to become anything more than that– n-not that your thoughts aren’t important to me though.” Backtracking slightly, Tup gave Dogma a sheepish smile. This conversation broached on a lot of topics that really weren’t his expertise, but understanding Dogma was something of a science itself, and Tup had been training in that since he was decanted.

Dogma, for his part, gave a slow exhale, attempting to calm his racing thoughts as he relaxed in Tup’s hold. He nodded at Tup’s statement and tried to accept it himself. “Y-You’re right… thanks, Tup.”

After a moment, he pulled away, looking down with a grimace to examine his hands, still red with irritation. Tup followed his gaze before making a noise and using one hand to nudge him towards the door. He kept his tone free of judgment as he herded his batchmate down the hall. “Let’s head down to medbay really quick. Should probably get that looked at, just in case.”

Dogma frowned, but didn’t fight the gentle hand on his shoulder. Sighing reluctantly, he mumbled, “Lead the way.”

______________________

Hardcase grinned to himself from his seat in the rehab room as he listened to the General’s stories. Apparently there’d been a mission where a magnet attracted his metal prosthetic so strongly that it lifted him up off the ground.

That story had nothing on the time Commander Tano found out about the prosthetic. Apparently nobody had bothered to tell her that General Skywalker was missing an arm until a month later, when she woke up at 2 am to use the fresher and found him pulling one of his fingers off to make an adjustment. Her scream had even woken the Captain, Skywalker reported with a grin.

“Hah! I remember that one, sir! I swear between you and the Captain, she didn’t stop hearing about it for a tenday!” Hardcase laughed; he’d only been a shiny when that happened, but it wasn’t the kind of story you forgot.

Looking around the room, he was pleased to see that most of the other troopers had started to relax after the first few tense minutes of the Jedi walking in the door. The chairs were organized in a rough circle, and Hardcase had positioned himself right next to the General, with Patch on his other side. Given the timing of his injury, Hardcase had missed the worst of Umbara, and while he really didn’t need to be there for the prosthetic advice, he hoped his presence would help the more anxious troopers to relax around their General. After all, it wouldn’t be long before they were deployed again, and they’d have to learn to trust the Jedi again.

When he’d first arrived at today’s meeting, Dogma’s entire body had been rigid with nerves. He hadn’t even given a response to their daily check-in. But as he sat across the circle next to Nax, holding one of the stress balls that Patch had scattered around the room, Hardcase noted that he looked a little better than he had earlier, listening with interest instead of looking trapped in his seat.

So far, the General had told a couple stories to put the group at ease, and then gave some general advice on prosthetic maintenance. Apparently he was supposed to put lotion on his residual limb when he took it off at nights, but he forgot often enough that Captain Rex had taken to carrying extra in his pack when they went on campaigns. He’d also mentioned that some people noticed that they sweat more after an amputation, with their overall skin surface area decreasing, making it harder for them to stay cool. Hardcase had grimaced at that part, wondering if he’d have similar issues with his burns.

Finally, he opened the floor for questions, looking patiently around the room. There were a few moments of nervous silence before Sev asked, “So… do you put on your pants first, or your arm first when you get up in the morning, sir?”

A couple troopers groaned in exasperation, but he retorted, “It’s a serious question!”

Anakin chuckled before responding. “Usually I’ll put on my arm first, so it can help. I’ve tried it the other way around before, and it usually gets caught in my robes.”

Another trooper, a shiny, raised their hand to ask a question, biting his lip with nervousness. “Sir, is it– h-how did you get used to it? Living with a prosthetic arm instead of your own? I-I’ve tried to get used to it, but I still can’t– can’t look at it without feeling like I’m part clanker.” He curled in on himself a little, gaze turned away from the prosthetic arm in his lap.

The General’s tone softened as he answered, “For a while, I didn’t. I was really angry; angry at Dooku, angry at Obi-Wan, and at myself. I was restricted to either the temple or the Negotiator for nearly a month, between waiting for the swelling to go down and starting rehab myself. This was at the very beginning of the war; it felt wrong to just sit around or do flimsi-work while my master was out fighting battle droids.”

A couple troopers nodded in agreement, having felt much the same way for the past couple weeks. He continued. “Even after I got my prosthetic, I didn’t really get comfortable with it until after I accidentally short-circuited the thing. It was in the middle of a deployment, so I had to fix it myself if I wanted to get anything done. And once I got started, I… went a little overboard.” He gave a sheepish grin, removing his glove to show it off. Golden chrome and shiny servos greeted the troopers, looking distinctly Skywalker-esque.

“My arm wasn’t going to grow back anytime soon; not even the Force could manage that. But I started finding ways to live with this one, make it my own.” He gave a reassuring nod to the trooper that had asked the question.

“I also learned a lot of new ways to do things. Honestly, I probably supplement with the Force more often than most jedi, but if it means I can do maintenance on R2 without needing help every two minutes, I’ll take it. No need to make my life harder just because I’ve always done things a certain way.”

The group continued for about an hour longer than usual, asking questions and chatting as they became more comfortable with their commanding officer. Hardcase listened with half an ear, but he kept thinking about the General’s response and the idea of making his injuries, his disability, his own.

Two days later, Hardcase came into the barracks with a new tattoo, a krayt dragon sprawled across his back and snaking down his arm. He straightened with pride as Tup and Sev gushed over the new tattoo. He’d gotten some advice from the General about the tattoo’s placement and design, and he'd checked with Kix to make sure that it wouldn’t set back his recovery, but as he looked at himself in the mirror that night, he gave himself a confident grin. He always knew it was going to be a cool scar.

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toschestationed · 2 years ago

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Summary:

Group sessions continue as Patch starts a new system to help the recovering troopers readjust to life on the Resolute. Dogma has the unexpected opportunity to practice his bedside manner. A Patch-centric chapter with some angst in the mix.

Chapter 14:

“Well, I still don’t get why the sinks in the freshers are so high! I swear I get splashed in the face every time I try to use ‘em in this kriffing hoverchair.” One trooper grumbled in annoyance, while a few others nodded in agreement.

It was group session time again, and everyone was commiserating over the relative inaccessibility of the Resolute. With the commonality of droids onboard, at least they didn’t have to worry about stairs or steep inclines for the most part, but many were discovering just how little the Republic thought about things like accessibility. It was group session time again, and everyone was commiserating over the relative inaccessibility of the Resolute. With the commonality of droids onboard, at least they didn’t have to worry about stairs or steep inclines for the most part, but many were discovering just how little the Republic thought about things like accessibility.

“Also, who decided that the mess hall benches needed to be permanently attached to the ground. What if I wanna sit in the middle for once?”

Patch nodded, taking notes in a datapad as they spoke. “That’s a good point. I’ll see if I can ask mechanics if they have any solutions, but it might have to wait until we get reinforcements at our next stop. If nothing else, maybe General Skywalker could put that lightsaber of his to good use and cut some hoverchair spaces into the mess hall tables.”

“There’s an idea!” Hardcase grinned, joining in the conversation. “I’ve only been out of the medbay a couple times, but when I went with Jesse to the mess hall the other day, I couldn’t even tell if they were serving green mush or brown mush, the counter’s so high.”

Patch nodded, changing the subject slightly. “Is everyone adjusting alright to sleeping in the barracks? No issues getting into or out of your bunks? Dogma’s been helping me set up a buddy system for anyone who needs it, so if you’ve got squadmates that are interested in helping out with the basics, send them our way.”

Hardcase gave Dogma a friendly nudge, wrapping his good arm around his shoulder before he could protest. “I’ve got the best buddy in the whole GAR! Dogma helps me remember meds and helps with dressing changes, and I bug him if he starts looking too bored or depressed. And…” He gave a cheeky grin, voice lowering into a stage whisper. “He gives the best massages in the 501st,” earning a couple chuckles from the surrounding troopers.

“Shut up,” Dogma grumbled, ears turning pink, but there was zero bite to his tone.

Patch nodded seriously, ignoring the room’s teasing tone. “Physical agent modalities like heat and massages are a common therapeutic technique for improving overall function. They’re also something I can teach; again, if anyone’s squadmates are interested in helping out.”

Another trooper spoke up, quieter than the others. “Sir, is it true that General Skywalker… also has a prosthetic limb?” He looked down at his own arm with trepidation, metal prosthetic as shiny as his armor.

Hardcase nodded before Patch could respond. “Yup! I’ve seen him tinkering with it himself. Usually, it’s covered by a glove, but it’s pretty neat! I offered to add some flame-throwers to the design, but he said it’d get in the way of all his jedi stuff.”

Patch held up a hand before anyone could get any ideas. “I just want to say that any and all prosthetic modifications have to go through me before they are implemented, and they need to be checked by at least one senior mechanical officer. Is that clear?” He asked, tone leaving no room for argument.

A few troopers groaned in defeat, but let the matter lie for now, at least until Nax offered his services as a senior mechanic. Finally, the excitement died down again so Patch continued.

“I’ve actually been thinking about inviting the General to one of our sessions, maybe at the end, to share some tips and tricks for managing prosthetics, but I wanted to check with everyone first, given the circumstances.”

Patch looked around the room, worried the suggestion would be taken badly, but to his relief the majority of troopers were nodding or smiling in agreement. Even a few of the shinies who hadn’t been with the 501st before Krell looked intrigued at the thought of asking their Jedi about their prosthetics.

Sev, in particular, looked like he was going to bounce out of his seat. “That’d be so cool!”

Another trooper, presumably Sev’s squadmate, snorted. “Sev, you don’t even have a prosthetic!”

Sev flipped him off, using his partially severed finger to do so, responding snarkily. “I give this many kriffs about your opinion, vod.” His joke even startled a muffled laugh out of Dogma, who was sitting nearby, before he could stop himself.

Sev shared a victorious look with Hardcase between fending off light-hearted jabs from his friend, and even Patch chuckled at the scene before him.

“Alright, if nobody’s against it, we’ll see if the General can stop by after our next session. You’re all free to go, but don’t let me stop you from spending time with your vode.” Patch nodded, releasing them to go do their various activities.

The group sessions tended to vary widely in mood from day to day, but it was always nice to see the injured troopers enjoying each other’s company, and even Dogma had started to come out of his shell a little.

His heart clenched as he thought of last time, with Dogma’s stuttering explanation of his visit to the Jedi temple, guilt bleeding through as he talked about believing Krell to the point of being tricked into killing his brothers, even aiming his blaster at Tup, and his shocked expression when nobody started berating him or attacking him afterwards, like he’d expected his ori’vode to immediately start hating him. The only reason he’d spoken up at all was because he felt like they deserved to know what he did before they trusted him with their own struggles.

Patch shook his head; it was just like Dogma, to put other’s feelings before his own, including his need for privacy. But it had turned out for the better, with Nax and a couple others giving him their comm numbers at the end, telling him to call them whenever, even for something as little as a late-night snack partner. According to Tup, Dogma was still a little restless sleeping in the barracks, but that night, he’d fallen asleep the moment his head hit his pillow, not waking up for ten hours straight.

Patch exited the rehab room, walking over to Kix, who looked much better than when he’d last seen him. It had taken two days for Kix to obtain the required 10 hours of sleep before he could return to medbay (which turned into 16 hours of sleep between those two days, so he really couldn’t complain). Once his squad-mates realized just how tired he was, they’d started dragging him out of medbay the minute his shift was over, making sure he ate something and even trapping him in his bunk on occasion with some well-timed cat-naps.

“Hey Kix, how’s medbay looking? I heard we had a few more ready to be discharged to the barracks?”

Kix nodded, sending Patch a grin. “Affirmative. Honestly, most of the recent transfers are pretty stable, so as soon as their squads are trained on transfers and they learn how to use crutches, a number of them should be able to leave medbay, with daily visits here. That buddy system’s really going to come in handy.”

Patch hummed in agreement, “Got the idea from your troopers, you know. You’re the one that originally paired Hardcase and Dogma, and both of them benefitted from the arrangement. I’ve actually been meaning to ask if you thought it’d be a good idea to open it up to the rest of the men as well, give them the opportunity to get support from someone outside their immediate circle.”

Making a noise of interest, Kix paused to think. “Wouldn’t that encourage codependency?” He grimaced as he thought of Fives and Echo, or himself and his batchmates, for that matter.

“I’m actually hoping this could help counter it, get some troopers to widen their circle of support. Was thinking we’d let Dogma devise a system for pairing troopers. He’s got a good eye for personalities, actually. He already seems to know who’s going to enable each other, or who’d work well, and he isn’t afraid to say it when troopers would be a terrible match.” He huffed in amusement.

Kix nodded, sharing a look with Patch. When Kix had offered to train Dogma as a medic’s assistant (instead of just an extra set of hands), he’d looked so surprised at the offer. The fact that they saw him as an asset rather than a nuisance was still something he needed to wrap his head around. And yeah, Dogma could stand to learn a couple things about adapting to new scenarios, force knows that treating patients out in the field never turned out quite like it did in the simulations, but he already had a lot of the right instincts.

“Well, if you think it’ll help, then I’m all for it.” Kix cracked a grin. It was about time the 501st got some kind of mental health support.

Patch always heard klaxons in his dreams. Wailing sirens, flashing lights, and shuddering ships were familiar to his subconscious mind. Maybe that’s why he didn’t wake up to the Resolute’s evacuation drill until Tup was shaking his shoulder, shouting, “Come on, Patch. We’ve gotta go!”

Reality crashed into Patch like a tidal wave, threatening to pull him under. Before his mind could process his surroundings, he was already standing, following the other troopers as they exited the barracks. Brain jolting in horror, his breath caught in his throat, and he could feel himself tremble with every blaring siren.

The flashing lights in the hallway were what brought him to a stuttering halt. Letting out a choked whimper, he leaned against a wall. His knees gave out underneath him, breaths coming in quick and shallow. Patch squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his empty forearms hard enough to hurt, entire body shaking.

Part of him knew he needed to get moving, that he couldn’t get left behind, but his armor was back in the barracks, along with every one of his favorite coping strategies, and his shaking limbs refused to support his weight. Hyperventilating, he could practically hear the escape pod groaning as the life-support systems broke down.

Meanwhile, Dogma was passing through the hallway near the barracks. It was his first week back in his own bunk, and it still felt wrong to be safely nestled above Tup, listening to the quiet snores of his brothers, so he’d been wandering the halls waiting for sleep to come when the drill started. Rounding the corner, he nearly tripped over Patch before he caught himself.

“What the– Patch?”

Shaking his head frantically, Patch sat crumpled on the hallway floor, lost in a flashback and muttering to himself, “No no no no no–!”

Dogma gave the medic a look of confusion, closely followed by a jolt of alarm, remembering his quiet admissions during group sessions about destroyed Venators and dying escape pods. Even now, he could see the older trooper hyperventilating, nails digging into his forearms hard enough to draw blood.

“H-Hey, don’t do that.” He exclaimed, trying to get Patch to stop gripping his arms so tightly, but Patch didn’t even acknowledge his existence, still shuddering in panic.

Dogma shook his head, trying to think of a new approach. At this rate, Patch’s tight grip was definitely going to leave a mark. “Stop that– uh, here!”

With a grunt of realization, he crouched next to the medic, unclipping his own bracers before starting to attach them to Patch’s arms to give him at least a little bit of protection. Thankfully, this seemed to jolt Patch back to reality, just a little, and he loosened his grip just long enough for Dogma to finish.

For a moment, this seemed to help, and Patch’s breathing slowed a little bit as he ran a hand along the armor pieces. But then, to Dogma’s alarm, his breath hitched and a few tears started to fall.

“Hey, d-don’t cry!” Dogma’s hands froze as he watched, but this only made him cry harder, just barely audible over the warning klaxons. Dogma’s breath caught in his throat; he was incredibly out of his depth.

Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed his comlink from his belt and tried to comm Tup. Tup would know what to do. He listened to it beep a few times, but the call refused to connect. ‘He must’ve left his comm in the barracks,’ Dogma thought with dismay.

But Patch was still shaking, eyes filled with unshed tears, so he tried again, this time calling Hardcase. Hopefully medbay hadn’t been dragged into the evacuation drill. When the comlink chirped, Dogma gave an audible sigh of relief.

“What is it, Dogma? It’s 0200.” Hardcase groaned, still sounding half-asleep.

“Patch is crying.” Dogma’s voice was tense with nerves as he watched the medic.

“What?! What happened?”

“I don’t know! Probably something to do with the evac drill. How— W-What do I do?”

“He’s crying right now? Like, in front of you?” Hardcase was sounding increasingly concerned, and not nearly awake enough for this.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“Then give him a hug or something! Don’t just stand there watching him!”

“A hug?”

He could practically hear Hardcase’s facepalm. “Yes, with your arms! Hang the kriff up and comfort him!”

Dogma’s eyes widened in trepidation. “Uh, I’ll try, but–”

“And get someone to turn the kriffing alarms off!” He heard Hardcase say something else, presumably to a medic in medbay, and then the comm call cut off, leaving him alone again.

In the short time it had taken to call Hardcase, it looked like Patch had calmed down a little more, but his hands still shook visibly as he sat curled up around his knees, letting out a quiet hiccup every now and then. Dogma took a deep breath, bracing himself before wrapping a stiff arm around Patch’s shoulders.

Patch flinched slightly before leaning into the touch, so Dogma offered him a hand, which he gripped tightly. Hardcase must’ve called someone, because the lights stopped flashing and the alarms petered off, and finally Patch could breathe again.

The medic opened his eyes, finally starting to register his surroundings. With an exhale of relief, he slumped into Dogma’s side. He looked up, blinking in surprise as he began to realize what happened.

“...H-Hey kid. Sorry about that.” His voice was hoarse, and his ears burned with embarrassment as he gave Dogma a sheepish look. He took a few grounding breaths, trying to look a bit less like he was falling apart at the seams.

“It’s okay… a-are you alright?” Dogma asked, stiffening slightly.

Patch quirked his head to one side, mentally scanning himself before answering honestly. “No, but I will be… c-can we head back to the barracks? I’d like to grab the rest of my armor before Kix or Coric drags me off to medical.” He could already feel his forearms burning, but he made a noise of surprise when he noticed that the bracers on his arms weren’t his own.

Dogma nodded, fumbling for a moment before standing up, giving Patch a hand. “Sure, uh– can you stand?”

Giving a grunt of affirmation, Patch took Dogma’s hand gratefully. He sniffled, trying to avoid getting any more tears and snot on Dogma’s loaned armor, if he could help it. “Yeah, ‘m good.”

With slow steps, the duo made it back to the barracks. Dogma was quick to help Patch locate his armor, awkwardly offering him a tissue when he sniffled for the 3rd time. “Ugh, thanks vod’ika.”

Dogma nodded, looking like he wanted to say something. “What is it, kid?” Patch asked, still feeling a little guilty at putting him in that situation. Even now, he was reliant on Dogma helping him put his armor back on. He let out a sigh of relief when he could breathe again, safe in its familiar weight.

Biting his lip in frustration, Dogma looked away, breath trembling. “I-I can’t – Is there… I’m not good at this! How do I help you?”

Patch blinked in surprise before letting out a huff of amusement. “You already have, vod’ika. You stayed, you found what worked, and you called someone who removed the triggers. Thanks for these, by the way.” He handed back the loaned armor bracers before reaching and grabbing his weighted blanket from his bunk to wrap around his shoulders.

“Oh…” Dogma blinked, realizing he had indeed done those things. He watched as Patch reached into his utility belt to grab a metal tin, helping him open it when his shaking hands gave him trouble.

Giving him a nod of thanks, Patch grabbed a mint before offering one to Dogma, which he hesitantly accepted. “Sorry for putting you in that situation, Dogma, but you did good.”

Dogma shook his head in refusal. “Y-You don’t need to apologize. I just– I’m not good at this…” He repeated himself, looking down at his hands. This whole medic assistant thing was pretty daunting, especially for an early-graduated trooper like himself. If it had been the start of the war, there’s a good chance he would still be on Kamino.

“Heh, nobody is, at first. The first time I helped someone with a blaster wound, I thought I was going to throw up.” Patch cracked a grin, relieved when Dogma returned it.

“Come ‘ere, kid.” He lifted one arm, raising the corner of his weighted blanket for Dogma to join him if he wanted. Dogma hesitated for a second before scooting closer to the medic, mirroring their earlier positions, if a bit less awkwardly.

A few minutes later, Coric came into the barracks with a couple bacta patches and a look of concern, followed by a wave of troopers more than ready to get back to their bunks. The next day, Captain Rex came by and set up a system for Patch to be alerted before drills, to give him time to put on his armor and use his coping strategies beforehand. They briefly discussed having a designated evacuation partner, in the case of an actual emergency, but settled on simply alerting the other medics (and his closest bunkmates) to be ready to assist Patch in the case of an evacuation.

Kix gave him another once-over after firstmeal, changing his bacta patches with an unnecessary level of concern before returning the favor and taking him off of duty for the next 24 hours. He still didn’t take off his armor, probably wouldn’t for the next couple days. But as he sat in his bunk, curled up under his weighted blanket playing sabaac with Fives, Tup, Dogma, and Jesse, he couldn’t say he regretted it. It was nice to be the patient, the one being taken care of, for once.

#recently realized the comedic opportunities in a medic!dogma au #dogma has the bedside manner of a rock #and we love him for it #more patch angst #clone troopers dogma #clone medic patch #panic attacks #ptsd #swtcw fic #swtcw fanfic #hardcase survives umbara but has chronic pain #medic dogma #technically medic’s assistant but semantics #clone rehab group #clone trooper oc #my fics #my stuff #clone trooper sev #shiny oc not to be confused with the clone commando

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uwingdispatch · 2 months ago

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Clone trooper round up!!!!! I now have over 30 clones and I can only post 30 images in a tumblr post so let’s see how this goes. If your fave clone isn’t here, let me know and I’ll see what I can do. Shop is here. (And if you’re seeing this Jun 25 2025 thru July 9 2025, I’m having my big summer sale with 25% off earrings! So come on over!)

Not pictured: Season 2 Crosshair, Season 2 Hunter. <3

Shop is here. Love y'all!

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duo-ducks · 3 months ago

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NO ONE is listening to his briefing 💔

Clones.

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azure-cygni · 4 months ago

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⁠✷ Eyyy (anon is my sis ❤️💕) fierce hunter guyyy please find him again aaaaa

(⁠✷Clone Art Requests Open -RULES-)

💛 Any Clones will do + followers only ⁠✷

#cygni draws #star wars legends #star wars #republic commando #sev repcomm #repcomm #rc 1207 #clone troopers #tcw #clone wars #tcw fanart #delta squad

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melymigo · 11 months ago

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💖🩷💗💓💕💖🤌✨

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corrie-guard-things · 1 year ago

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Taught myself how to use the animation feature on CSP just to do this (inspired by this post by @alabyte)

it's unpolished af but idc i love them

#star wars #clone troopers #clones #mandalorians #kal skirata #walon vau #atin skirata #fi skirata #darman skirata #niner skirata #omega squad #sev republic commando #republic commando #republic commando boss #scorch #republic commando scorch #republic commando fixer #delta squad

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carbon-corrie · 1 month ago

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DELTA SQUAD WEEK IS HEREEEEEE!!! 🎉🎉

Day 1: Dinner

Where better to have a bite to eat than Vau’s? This is a collab with @orangez3st, please go read her awesome modern au fic - Welcome to Vau’s!

@deltasquadweek

#delta squad scorch #delta squad fixer #delta squad sev #delta squad boss #delta squad #modern au #welcome to vau’s #deltasquadweek #sw clones #star wars clone troopers #republic commando #Star Wars

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lobotomyvictim78 · 26 days ago

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SEV Republic Commandos

sucks we never saw these guys's faces. Good thing, imagination

suggestive..

I hope nothing bad happens to him on kashyyyk. star wars games man

#digital art #art #artwork #star wars #republic commando #republic commando sev #star wars fanart #star wars republic commando #star wars clone wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars clone troopers

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toschestationed · 2 years ago

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Summary:

Hardcase gets a good look in the mirror for the first time since his injury, and the injured troopers return from the Jedi temple, ready for their first session of rehab.

Chapter 11:

“I look like a di’kut.” Hardcase complained, looking down at his chest and the weird half-shirt the new medic had whipped up for him. Apparently it was supposed to compress his scars in a way that improved healing, but it didn’t match his skin tone and it looked like a weird inside-out one-sleeved crop-top, like he’d seen the Commander wear once.

Kix rolled his eyes. “It’s not meant to be comfortable; it’s meant to help you heal.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hardcase pouted. His movement restrictions post-surgery had ended a few hours ago, and he was itching to try getting out of bed, even just to the fresher, but not if he was looking like this! “Can I at least wear something over it?” He asked plaintively just as Patch was walking by.

“Eventually, yes.” Patch interjected, nodding. “But most standard blacks won’t fit over all your bandages and the compression shirt, and I’m worried about civvies causing a reaction with your immune system. More than 25% of your body’s natural barrier was damaged, and that isn’t something you bounce back from easily.”

He gave Hardcase a sympathetic smile before continuing, reaching inside a nearby closet to grab something, making a noise of success before returning with a single arm-crutch and a belt with some kind of energy shield projector.

“What do you say we get you out of that bed?”

“Finally!” Hardcase exclaimed with a grin, already trying to push himself up before a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Hold on, kid. This is a little more complicated than you’re used to. We’re going to do what’s called a Log Roll, to avoid jostling your back. You’re already on your side, which is the first part, but I’m going to help you scooch a little closer to the edge of the bed, yeah?” Patch asked, helping him move into the correct position.

“Good. Alright, next I’m going to put a hand on your hip and under your shoulder, and on three, I’m going to have you swing your legs down so they’re hanging off the bed. I’ll be lifting your upper body to help you sit, so help as much as you’re able to.” He explained, waiting for Hardcase to nod in acknowledgement before counting down.

“3, 2, 1, lift!” Hardcase felt himself being rotated upwards, his shaky limbs only doing part of the work. His head spun dizzily as he sat up unassisted for the first time since his injury.

“Easy there, vod. We’ll give it a few seconds before we try anything more.” Patch kept one hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady until the world stopped tilting.

“I’m good.” Hardcase said, already breathing heavier than usual. If this was what sitting up felt like, he was starting to dread what standing would do to his overtaxed body.

Checking his vitals briefly before continuing, Patch took out the belt from earlier. “This is called a gait-belt. It’s been modified so it won’t put pressure on your injury, that’s what this little shield emitter is for, but I’ll be wrapping it around your waist like a belt, and it’ll give me an extra handhold if you start needing help. Gotta protect my back, you know?” Patch added, giving a little stretch as Hardcase’s eyes caught on the faint spattering of gray hairs on his head.

Hardcase snorted, lifting his good arm obediently as Patch put on the gait belt, “You’re not that old. Maybe the Captain’s age at most.”

Patch shrugged with a grin. “Medbay adds five years, and my old squadmates added another three.”

“Is that true?” Hardcase smirked.

Nodding seriously, Patch continued. “Sometimes I swear I was the only sane one in my batch. One of my batchers was literally named “Gev” after being told to pack it in one-too-many times by our trainer.”

“Ha! I think Fives’ had a batcher who got a name like that.” Hardcase grinned, accepting the hand-crutch as Patch put it in his right hand. “Uh… shouldn’t this go on my injured side?”

Patch shook his head. “Nope. That’s a common mistake, but your crutches are supposed to move at the same time as your injured side, and it increases your base of support by having it on the opposite side as your injury.”

He hummed for a moment. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t matter quite as much for you, since your upper-body is what we’re most concerned about, but that’s the general rule. Same as last time; I’m going to count to three, and then I’m going to lift, and if you feel steady, we can make our way to the fresher. If you feel like you’re going to fall at any time, we can sit right back down.”

Hardcase nodded, bracing himself. Thankfully, with Patch’s support, standing was tricky but still doable, although he was panting heavily by the time they made it to the fresher. Hardcase breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down, the shower chair a new addition to the space.

“You good, vod?” Patch checked his vitals for the third time since they started moving, but thankfully he was holding steady.

“Yeah,” Hardcase cleared his throat, still catching his breath. He looked around the fresher for a moment, noticing for the first time a large mirror on the wall, reflecting a pale, drawn vod with tattoos matching his. Red, angry scars gripped his left shoulder like claws, and part of him was afraid to look at the worst of them, which were still hidden by his compression shirt and a number of bandages, so he forced himself to look away.

“... You can’t avoid it forever, you know.” Hardcase startled at Patch’s gentle voice.

“Yeah, I know…” He sighed, grimacing at a spot on the wall next to the mirror. There’d been a point during his recovery where he decided that he just didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know how many surgeries he’d go through, how long he’d be stuck in medbay, or how long until he could take his heavy gun to the range again. He didn’t want to know what his scars looked like, what his actions on Umbara had turned him into, and that, more than anything else, terrified him.

But Hardcase was never one to run away in the face of fear, preferring to charge in headfirst before he had a chance to think it through, so he accepted the little handheld mirror as Patch handed it to him, and allowed the medic to scooch him closer to the mirror so he could see the extent of his injuries.

The moment his bandages were removed, his breath left his lungs like a punch to the chest. His familiar symmetrical tattoos were shriveled in some places and entirely gone in others. He could see where skin grafts had replaced the worst of the burnt tissue, but large portions of his back looked like krayt dragon scales. Hardcase could only imagine what it had looked like right after Umbara. He gave a choked inhale; he felt sick.

Vaguely, he became aware of Patch alongside him, rubbing his good arm in quiet reassurance. “Want me to grab Kix to keep you company?”

Hardcase shook his head, taking a moment to gather himself and just breathe. “No, ‘m okay…”

Eventually, the initial shock passed, and he turned back to face the medic, commenting, “I still look like kriff.”

Patch gave him a sympathetic smile. “Yep, you do.”

Hardcase spluttered a surprised laugh. “Y-you’re not supposed to agree with me!”

Chuckling slightly, Patch shrugged. “Maybe not, but you went through kriff to get here, vod. Only makes sense that your body would show it.”

“... yeah, I guess you’re right…” He looked back at his reflection one more time. His body looked different, but his eyes, his determination and mandokarla, were still the same. His scars were the mark of a survivor, and that’s what he was, regardless of his ability to stand on his own quite yet.

Looking back at Patch, his shoulders a little higher than when they’d been slumped at his sides, Hardcase asked, “So, what are we doing first?”

Patch helped Hardcase get to the fresher, and talked him through that endeavor with fairly minimal difficulty. It helped that his dominant hand was relatively uninjured. With Patch’s permission and careful supervision, Hardcase was allowed to take a short water shower. The medic managed the showerhead, making sure the lukewarm water never sprayed his burns directly, instead cleaning his uninjured skin and running down the scarred parts of his back. Hardcase himself was responsible for keeping himself upright, and listening to the medic give suggestions about cleaning himself without bending forward too far, using a long-handled scrub brush, and cleaning his uninjured side when he still had trouble crossing midline.

Finishing with a quick sonic to ensure that his left side was clean, Hardcase was flagging pretty significantly by the time he got back to his med-bed. Laying on his side with a tired groan, Hardcase felt like he’d just finished a campaign.

“Get some rest, Hardcase.” Patch said as he finished changing his bandages, giving his arm a small squeeze. “The rest of the recovering troopers will be getting here tomorrow. If you’re able to sit up by yourself for thirty minutes, you should be able to join our first group session then.”

Hardcase smiled at the thought, eyes already closing. Through a yawn, he murmured, “I’ll look forward to it, doc,” and before long, his breathing deepened into quiet snoring.

Giving Hardcase a small smile, Patch fished out his datapad, making some notes as he planned for the next couple days. He had a lot of work to do.

_____________________

The returning troopers took longer to arrive than Patch first thought. Half of them had been staying at the Jedi Temple’s Halls of Healing, and the other half at Coruscant Medical Center, where Patch had been stationed previously.

There’d been a bottleneck at the transport bay, apparently, with the landing pad managers unused to shipping out such a large number of troopers still needing mobility aids, hoverchairs, or even stretchers. A few of them still needed to stay in medical, but some were cleared to go back to their bunks, or find a new bunk, if their new limitations made it difficult to climb up to their old ones. Thankfully, the medics had compiled a list of troopers willing to switch bunks with their injured vode, making the process a little easier.

Hardcase himself was pretty excited to have some new brothers to chat with as he practiced moving around the medbay with his crutches and a modified hoverchair (the normal ones pressed against his back too much). He could barely do more than hobble at the moment, with Dogma close behind in case of a fall, but he already had plans for a hoverchair race once he got a little better at it.

He still tired pretty easily, but he felt a little more at-home now that his scar wasn’t the only one in the room. Dogma looked a little nervous at the sudden influx of strangers, keeping pretty close to Hardcase for most of the day, but didn’t protest when he got dragged into an emphatic conversation between Hardcase and a fellow heavy-gunner, and before long, it was time for the group therapy session.

Making their way to the new rehab room, Patch had set out a variety of chairs, leaving space for those in hover-chairs, and offering each trooper in attendance a pudding cup, making Hardcase extremely grateful that he was off diet restrictions.

Once everyone had gathered, Patch cleared his throat, getting their attention before starting. “Alright, thank you all for coming. I want to reiterate that this group session is completely optional; you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but I’ve found that it can often help to talk with vode who have gone through similar things as you, and it’s often a lot more fun than doing stretches in a room alone.” This garnered a few nods and grunts of agreement, so Patch continued.

“We’ll be starting with a brief introduction, how long you’ve been with the 501st, and anything else you feel like sharing, medical or otherwise. I’ll go first.”

Patch cleared his throat, nervous despite himself as he continued to speak. “My name is Patch, I’m a temporary transfer from the 104th. I work as a rehab specialist, and before this I was in training for a year on Coruscant.”

His ears turned a little red as he continued, willing to be vulnerable but still scared of what it entailed. “I-I have aviophobia; I was stranded in a dying escape pod once, and my brain still gets a little jittery at some stuff shipside, but it’s a lot better than it used to be. I wear my armor pretty much all the time, unless I’m sleeping, so if you see me avoiding those fancy medic grays, that’s why.” Patch gave a self-deprecating grin before nodding that he was done, getting a pat on the back from Kix, who’d decided to join today’s session.

The room was silent for a long moment; Kamino trained soldiers, not skilled orators, but eventually, a trooper in shiny armor raised their hand and began speaking.

“Hi, my name’s Sev. I joined the 501st about a month ago; Umbara was my first real mission…” A few trooper’s winced; definitely not the ideal first battle.

Sev paused briefly, an unreadable expression on his face as he continued. “Sev’s short for “severed finger,” by the way.” At this, the shiny gestured to his right hand, which had its 3rd through 5th fingers partially amputated.

Patch inhaled sharply as the group froze in tense silence. Who in their right mind would name a shiny that way?! The silence only lasted for a second though, as “Sev” started laughing and then cackling. “Ahahaha– you, pfft!” Tears started forming as he chortled at their reactions, prompting a confused chuckle from the rest of the group.

Finally, Sev had calmed down enough to explain himself, still laughing occasionally. “Heh, Sev’s short for Seventy-seven. Lighten up, vode.” A grin threatened to split his face as a unilateral groan made its way through the group, one brother pausing to smack the shiny on the arm.

Eventually the exasperated sighs died down and he continued his introduction, a small smile still on his face. “I’m here for the obvious, along with some general rehab for a leg injury. I, uh, used to be right hand dominant, so I’ll be learning lots of new ways to do things. Apparently finger amputations don’t merit prosthetics unless I wanna chop off the rest of my hand.” He made a face at the last part.

Patch nodded, still sighing internally at the kid’s particular brand of humor. “Alright, thanks for sharing, vod’ika. Anyone feel like going next?”

They continued in this manner for a while, some choosing to speak and others choosing to listen, only giving their name. Finally, it was Dogma’s turn, and he had no idea what to say, or even if he was welcome. He’d been invited by Patch, and hadn’t found a reason to refuse, but still flinched visibly when his name was called. It took a few reassuring nods from the group, but eventually he decided to speak up.

He cleared his throat anxiously, hands shaking as he curled in on himself a little bit. “My name is Dogma… I’ve been with the 501st for about three months… I, uh, wasn’t injured on Umbara, exactly, but I’ve been confined to medbay since then, so I’ve been helping out here for now…” Dogma kept his hands in his lap, refusing to look up even as the next trooper began speaking.

While most of the younger troopers shrugged in confusion at Dogma’s story before moving on, a few of the older ones got a protective look in their eyes as they watched him shrink into himself. As a younger trooper himself, Dogma likely had no idea what he was implying, but Dogma’s actions on Umbara hadn’t been broadcast extensively thanks to Rex’s discretion, so outside of eyewitnesses, very few troopers knew about Dogma’s situation. One veteran trooper, Nax, patted his knee, giving him a reassuring look from his seat next to him as the group continued.

After everyone had finished speaking, Patch had them get into smaller groups, helping each other with a variety of stretches and exercises. Dogma ended up helping Hardcase and another trooper with a below-knee amputation, although Patch was there to give him advice for being mindful of any remaining swelling, or concerns with positioning.

While a number of troopers had already been fitted for their prosthetics, many still had to wait until their residual limbs were completely healed, and wouldn’t continue shrinking from earlier swelling, making their prosthetics fit badly. Sev, for his part, busied himself with a packet of hair-ties, stretching and strengthening his partially amputated fingers, occasionally flicking one at the troopers around him by “accident.” It wasn’t long before most of the troopers had finished their assigned exercises and started to meander out of medbay or to their assigned medbeds.

“Hey, vod.” Nax’s quiet voice was gruff as he addressed Dogma, now that most of the other troopers had left. The older trooper had an amputated foot, and had been relatively quiet during the group session.

Dogma looked up from his datapad, surprised at being addressed. “What?”

Nax shuffled slightly before speaking again. “Just… if you ever wanted to talk to someone that’s not a squad-mate or a medic, I’ll be here a lot, so...yeah.”

“Uh, thanks…?” If Dogma was confused before, he was even more so now.

Grumbling slightly, obviously not used to this kind of heart-to-heart, Nax muttered, “It’s just– I-I had a squadmate once, who was confined to medbay for a while, like you are now, and that can get pretty lonely. A-After Teth, he… needed more support than we could give him, at least those of us that were left… It was hard, for a while, but eventually he improved; started smiling again…” Nax went quiet for a little bit, face uncharacteristically emotional.

“What happened to him?” Dogma asked before he could stop himself.

At that, Nax gave Dogma a small grin. “He’s still kicking; an absolute pain in the shebs most days. Singing in the sonics at 0500 and giving me trouble to make sure I get to medbay on time. It took a while, but things got better, and he found things to look forward to again; we both did.” Nax gave him a meaningful look, at which Dogma made a few realizations.

Dogma blinked in shock, stuttering. “I-I’m not jareor!” Sure, his self-esteem was in the pits, and his motivation to take care of himself was minimal even before Krell happened, but that was entirely different.

Nax made a noise of surprise, sensing Dogma’s genuine confusion, and started to rethink his initial assessment. Even if the vod’ika wasn’t intent on eating his blaster, Dogma was still clearly struggling; anyone could see that.

“So you’re not.” Nax replied, tone reflecting gruff agreement, believing Dogma's statement. “But you don’t have to be jareor to lean on your brothers for support, you know?” Dogma bit his lip, conflicted, before reluctantly nodding in agreement.

“Speaking of,” Nax continued, wincing slightly. “These crutches weren’t made for comfort. Mind helping me to the nearest medbed? I’m due for a check-up.”

“Uh, sure!” Nodding near-frantically at the change in topic, Dogma was quick to help Nax make his way to a med-bed. Making to leave, Dogma paused for a moment, a thought on the tip of his tongue while Nax eyed him patiently.

“...Nax? Thanks.” Dogma mumbled, refusing to look up at the older trooper.

Nax simply nodded, quiet nature unthreatening as Dogma retreated for the time being. Struggling or not, he’d make sure none of his brothers felt alone.

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