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levi-venn · 10 days

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The First Toothpick

Chapter Seven: Blasterslingers

Characters: Cad Bane, Crosshair, Tech (Flashbacks), Jango Fett (Flashbacks)

Gen Fic - Mentor/Protege

Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapter Summary: For the first time in his life, Crosshair disobeys orders

Read the previous chapters here:

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 (Coming soon)

Also Available on AO3

Night stalked the ranch, smothering the last orange sunlight with a glittery indigo blanket.

Cad and the kid sat in the belltower, their sniper rifles side-by-side as their scopes scanned the only road in or out of the ranch, waiting for Skatter’s gang.

The wheat field flickered blue as stalker lizards tested their luck, hoping to get at the fabools for an easy meal.

“How long will that shield last?” Cad quizzed.

“All night,” the kid said. “Or until someone shoots out three of the sensors.”

“Which Skatter will,” Cad added.

“Because he was the one who set them up,” the kid answered.

“Where will I be?”

“You’ll be on the ground, drawing fire away from the house and steer them into the mines we set up today.”

“And you?”

The kid sighed. “I will stay here in the tower and wait for your signal”

“Exactly.”

Of course, Cad had no intention on giving any signal. This was Cad’s fight, not the kid's.

"Are you sure the fabools will be okay?" the kid asked.

“Skatter knows their value, he ain’t goin’ anywhere near those fabools and Todo’ll take care of the stalker lizards. They'll stay right here n' aim for a short fight.”

The kid fidgeted with the settings of his scope. “When are they gonna be here?"

“No idea, but he’s comin’. And we’ll be ready.”

“Roger,” the kid said.

Cad fished a toothpick out of his pouch and…paused when he saw the kid pull a piece of brittle wheat from his jumpsuit pocket.

“Trade ya,” Cad said, offering his toothpick.

The kid’s eyes doubled in size like Cad just handed him a hundred credits. He took the toothpick and gave it an experimental pressure test between his thumbs. It held firm.

“Kashyyyk wood,” Cad said, flicking the piece of wheat out the window. “Takes a lotta punishment before it breaks. When you line up a difficult shot, clench down on it, then relax your jaw as you pull the trigger.”

The kid put the toothpick in his mouth and immediately wiggled it with his tongue.

“Don’t fuck around with it too much,” Cad huffed, showing him a second toothpick and putting it between his left main incisor and his front fang. “Rest it on your lip, slide in, let it hang. If ya gotta tongue it, just don’t be obvious. Too much jostlin’ makes ya look fidgety. Ain’t good for negotiations.”

“When will I need to negotiate anything?” The kid asked.

“When you take on your first bounty hunt,” Cad sneered.

It was a joke, but the kid’s eyes went round again with hope, then his whole expression deflated. “I'm a soldier. Soldiers don't hunt bounties.”

“Wouldn't count on anything bein’ a sure thing. Ya never know what life's got planned for ya, no matter what the Kaminoans say.”

The kid shrugged, the toothpick moving around a little, but no longer wiggling.

“Here,” Cad huffed and pulled out a cluster of toothpicks. “In case ya swallow that first one.”

The kid shot him an annoyed look, but Cad could see the underlying smirk. He took the toothpicks and opened up a pouch on his utility belt.

Cad spied a familiar wrapper in the pouch. A wrapper he would see littering the Firespray , when Jango was particularly stressed.

“That a starsbar? Thought you didn’t like candy.”

“It's not for me, it's for Tech. He has a sweet tooth when he gets stressed.”

The kid’s expression went dour and he tucked the toothpicks away next to the crumpled up candy bar.”

“You’re gonna see him soon,” Cad said, though he wasn't being paid to make the kid feel better.

“I’ve never been away from my brothers this long. Someone was always within touching distance. Even when Pynk pulls one of us into his office for reprimands, Hunter or I sneak into the vents to let our brother know they aren’t alone.”

“Who’s Hunter?”

“My oldest brother. I have three. Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech.”

Cad waited to hear this kid’s name.

The kid seemed to sense it and shrank away.

“Where do y’all get these names?”

“We just get them. Wrecker breaks things, Tech likes to say things like ‘technically’ plus he’s good at slicing. Hunter is a natural tracker. These names stick, and sometimes you can’t get rid of them. There is a cadet who got scared in training and ran screaming from a training droid. They call him Droid Bait. He’ll never be called anything else.”

Cad was starting to get it.

“So someone gave you a name ya don’t like, huh?”

The kid focused real hard on everything except Cad’s studious gaze.

Shit, I hit a nerve…not that I’m paid to- aw who am I kiddin’.

“Hey, kid,” he said with a gentle tone that was odd to his own ears. “ just tryin’ to-”

“Misfire.”

Cad blinked. “You’re shittin’ me.”

The kid shot him a look. “It’s not my name…or I mean…it isn't what my brother’s call me, but…it’s what everyone else calls me.”

“Well, that’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard. When you get back to those cadets, you can shoot that name right between their eyes.”

The kid raised a salt and pepper eyebrow.

“Metaphorically speaking,” Cad sneered. “I ain't callin' ya Misfire. You're 'Kid'.”

“I like…Kiddo too,” the kid murmured.

Bane pointed his toothpick at the kid. “You're Kiddo only if you ain’t bein’ a lil shit. Cursin’ me in Mando’a when ya think I ain’t listenin.”

The kid’s sneer looked a whole lot like Bane’s.

“Roger that,” and the kid gave a sarcastic salute.

That little gesture he definitely got from Cad.

Call ‘em soldiers all you want, Jango, Cad thought. They’re still just kids n’ they deserve better than threats of retirement and bullies who're probably scared too.

“Am I your son?”

Cad almost swallowed his toothpick and he coughed it out into his palm. “What?”

“Skatter called me your son. You didn’t correct him.”

Cad knew that Skatter was trying to rattle Cad. Arguing would've made him look defensive.

But to this kid, Cad thought, born out of some fuckin’ test tube…shit, guess it looked like somethin' different.

“Do you want kids, Cad?”

Cad lifted his hat off his face. Jango always managed to ask him the damndest questions just as started to doze off.

“What?”

“Just a simple question from a simple man,” Jango hummed, gazing up at the stars.

“Ain’t nothin’ ever simple with you,” Cad snorted. “And no. Hell no. The hell am I gonna do with a kid in tow?”

“Start a legacy? Pass on what you’ve learned to someone who can grow beyond you?”

“There ain’t no legacy to be made,” Cad said. “I’m an orphaned Duros with whippin’ scars and a handful of bounties under my belt. No one’s gonna look up to this fuckin’ disaster.”

Jango turned his head towards Cad. He looked…disappointed. “You have more to give than you realize.”

“Yeah,” Cad frowned. “So ya keep tellin' me.”

"It's the truth, Caddy."

“Tell ya what. You make all the kids ya want and I’ll just be the fun uncle that hypes ‘em up with candy and a loaded blaster. Deal?”

It was supposed to be a joke.

But Jango still looked disappointed.

“Kiddo...” Cad started. It is was hard at those big watery human eyes. “If…you were my son, I’d tell ya that in this galaxy ya don’t have to be anything you don’t wanna be.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a soldier now, but that don’t mean you gotta take any orders blindly. Question orders. Don’t walk in blind. If it don’t sit right, don’t fuckin’ do it. Trust no one. Keep your guard up. And…”

Caddy, seriously, don’t say it…Jango ain’t payin’ you to turn this kid into an anarchist like you.

“And...fuck the establishment.”

“What’s an Establishment?”

The woop woop woop of the alarms flashed on Cad’s gauntlet.

“Focus up, kiddo, we got company.”

***

“Technically,” Tech said, “Our father is Jango Fett since he supplied the DNA.”

“And our mom?” Crosshair asked.

“Hmm…I suppose she’s the pre-natal tank that preserved us during gestation.”

“What about Nala Se?” Crosshair asked. “She feeds us, tutors us, and she hums to Wrecker when he has trouble sleeping.”

“She is our caretaker.”

“In your book, the mom sang to the children.”

“What book?”

Crosshair pulled up Little House in the Big Field on his datapad.

Tech looked at the book, then looked at Crosshair. “We are clones, Crosshair,” he said, adjusting his brand new goggles that didn't quite fit his face yet. “We do not need parents like the children in that book. Our path is one of military efficiency. Those natborns are far more helpless than we ever were. They need nurturing to survive, we only need what is provided by this facility.”

“Oh,” Crosshair said, scrolling through the pages. He stopped at his favorite illustration, the little girl riding her father’s shoulders. They are both laughing.

“Does that make sense?” Tech asked.

“We’re clones,” Crosshair murmured. “We don’t need parents.”

“Crosshair...” Tech said.

Crosshair didn’t look up. The father in the book would do anything for his kids. He hunt puma, he built them toy forts, he gave them piggyback rides.

Tech leaned forward until he was in Crosshair’s vision. “We don't have parents. But we do have each other.”

Crosshair looked at his brother. Older than him, technically, but inseparable since birth. Crosshair liked to call them twins. Tech never corrected him.

“I know, Tech.”

Tech leaned his head against Crosshair's shoulder. “These goggles make my eyes hurt. Will you read tonight?”

“What book?”

“Whatever you want.”

Crosshair held up Little House in the Big Field .

"Acceptable."

Tech wrapped the blanket around both of them and Crosshair began to read.

Crosshair chewed on his toothpick, mindful not to move it around too much like Bane said. His aim was steady, the scope spewing out readings of the distance, speed, and predicted trajectory of the speeders charging down the winding road towards the ranch.

A month ago he’d be nervous. A month ago he’d hear “Misfire” echo in his mind.

Tonight, his mind was quiet. He was ready.

And more importantly, Bane believes I’m ready too. Just have to wait for his signal.

“Why can’t we shoot them now?” Crosshair asked.

“You got Skatter in your sights?” Bane asked.

“I do.”

“Shift your scope a little to the left, nearest speeder.”

Crosshair moved to the next speeder. It was full of dowutins.

“His people are loyal, and two of his cousins are in this gang. Killing Skatter ain’t gonna cut the head off the snake. It’ll only give away our position. Far as Skatter knows, this is still an ornamental tower with a weather vane.”

“I won't strike until you give the signal,” Crosshair promised.

“Atta boy.” Bane said.

Crosshair cracked a smile.

"Show time." Bane stood up, his spurs jingling as he walked backwards towards the fake chimney's chute. “See ya soon, kiddo.”

And with that Bane gave a sarcastic salute and dropped backwards and disappeared out of sight.

So wizard, Crosshair thought. He turned his attention to the rows of surveillance cameras.

For a few long moments, everything was quiet except for the distant hum of speeders approaching like an angry swarm of bees.

Crosshair could practically see the fight in his head. Any moment, Bane would appear, wide-brim hat lowered, hands resting on his blasters, maybe a tumbleweed rolling by. Bane would say something intimidating and badass that shook up the bad guys, then he'd give Crosshair the signal! Crosshair didn't know what the signal looked like, but it was probably equally badass. Then Crosshair would shoot the hats off all the outlaws and they’d run for the hills.

That’s how it happens in the holofilms he and Wrecker liked to watch.

And Bane was practically a living, breathing Wild Space holofilm star.

And I'm his trusty sideki-

An explosion rattled the fantasy out of Crosshair’s head. His chest shook, the whole house vibrated, and suddenly only four speeder were hurdling towards the ranch house. Three more explosions followed and Crosshair saw the shield flicker then die just as the speeders entered the wheat field.

Black smoke billowed out of the speeders, mixing with the gray plumes from the sizzling wheat stalks, filling the moonlit night with black and silver humorless clouds. Like blood red lightning, blaster fire pierced the night in a relentless barrage.

Todo zoomed by the tower, thrusters searing Crosshair’s vision as he dove towards the Fabool enclosure brandishing a pair of pistols. Stalker lizards hissed and skittered away as soon as he approached. Todo would keep the fabools safe for now, but this also meant Bane was alone.

The signal!

Crosshair looked at every monitor. There was no sign of the bounty hunter.

He peered through his scope, searching the field, the porch, everywhere and found no one.

Did I miss the signal? Is he waiting for me? Does he think I abandoned him?

There was too much smoke, too much blaster fire in too many directions. It was loud and bright and confusing. He tried to peer through his scope again, but another explosion turned his night vision a glaring white. He hissed in pain, blinking away the dancing lights in his retinas.

This wasn’t the plan. He and his brothers had ninety-nine plans, but none of them applied to Bane and this situation.

The only plan Bane ever gave him was…keep firing and keep running.

Keep running. I can do that.

Crosshair went to the control panel and flipped every switch attached to a mirrored panel on the field, then slung his rifle over his shoulder and slipped out of the tower.

“There’s someone on the roof!” An instant later, the blaster fire surrounded Crosshair. He was used to live blaster fire during training, but he wasn’t used to this much coming from so many directions. He kept running, his eyes trained on the trellis on the edge of the roof. That was his first mission. Climb down. Reassess. Don’t stays stationary for long.

“Kid! Down!”

Crosshair didn’t think.

He didn’t look.

He acted.

Throwing himself belly down onto the roof, a rocket whistled overhead and exploded the back porch in a fiery blaze. The hiss of Todo's fire extinguisher coming a moment later.

Don’t stop. Keep moving.

Crosshair slithered towards the ladder, then descended awkwardly, nearly twisting his ankle in the thick vines. As soon as he landed, he spied Bane pinned by blaster fire behind his speeder, shooting his twin blasters blindly overhead. The top of his hat was smoking from a blaster bolt that had narrowly missing his head.

Crosshair stared wide-eyed at him.

They shot Bane.

Then he narrowed his eyes.

They fucking shot Bane.

Crosshair peeked around the corner. One speeder had hit a sensor mine and was smoking. The four remaining skidded to a halt and they were carefully making their way forward. Two more explosions went off. Crosshair counted ten outlaws remaining.

The speeder that shielded Bane was also blocking them both from using the mirrored panels.

Crosshair needed to draw the blaster fire away from Bane. If he could get to the field, he could regain his line of sight. All he had to do was run and not stop running.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Bane shouted over the blaster fire as if knowing what Crosshair was thinking. “Get back in that tower. Now. ”

Crosshair almost obeyed the order.

He should have. Bane was his mentor. His word was law.

But leaving Bane behind was not an option.

He took the rifle off his shoulder.

He gave Bane a sarcastic salute.

And he ran.

If he saw an outlaw in the reflection of a mirror, he fired. If he missed, he fired again. If he hit the target, he kept running to seek the next target.

He fired one blaster bolt and hit three outlaws. Two of them went down.

That was so wizard…wait, shit, I’ll celebrate that later…

...But I hope Bane saw it, too.

“Down!” He heard Bane shout and he slid just in time to watch a rocket sail over his head. He rolled forward and kept running and dodging.

He glanced behind him only once to find Bane standing atop the speeder, firing his blasters. One...two...three...four weequay went down in quick succession.

Crosshair took down the last weequay and that just left the dowutins and Skatter who was holding that damn rocket launcher that tried to blow up Crosshair twice.

The dowutins turned their attention back on Bane who ran towards the porch, ducking behind one of the pillars, his skinny form practically vanishing except for the flash of silver from his blasters.

One of Skatter’s cousins fell over onto Skatter who shoved him away.

“Bane!” Skatter roared, struggling to reload the launcher which seemed to be jammed. “You’re just wastin’ time. You can either leave now and the ranch survives or I just blow y’all up with this here launcher. Neither one of us wants that. Last warnin’!”

“The ranch’s mine, sleemo,” Bane shouted. “And your runnin’ outta boys a lot quicker than I am.”

“Then let’s even the playin’ field,” Skatter grinned, throwing down the launcher and pulling something small from his pouch.

Crosshair heard the familiar beep of a thermal detonator before he saw the red and blue flicker streak through the night sky.

It landed with a dull thud next to him.

Crosshair didn’t think.

He didn’t look.

He acted.

It was like he was outside of himself, instinct taking over as his hand snatch the det and flung it right back towards the dowutins.

Oh shit.

Crosshair rolled behind one of the mirror panels which provided...no cover at all.

Shit.

He hugged his rifle against his chest protectively.

The concussive blast hit him before the deafening sound slammed against his eardrums. He was airborn. His body went into cold shock, then screamed in pain.

He landed hard on his back, his vision was doubling, quadrupling, there were too many stars in the sky and they were all swimming at nauseating speed.

Through the ringing in his ears, he thought he heard more blaster fire and then nothing at all.

Everything had gone quiet.

Which meant either he went deaf or the fight was over.

A figure loomed over him, blacking out the blurry stars.

“Looks like your bell got rung, kiddo,” he heard Bane say, a flash of white fangs told Crosshair he was smiling.

“Is it over?” Crosshair coughed.

“Well ya blew Skatter and his cousins to pieces. So yeah, I’d say it’s as over as it gets.”

Crosshair started to sit up to get a better look at the carnage. Bane blocked his path. “Ain’t no reason to see that shitshow right now. Can ya stand?”

“I am standing,” Crosshair said only to realize that not only was he still sitting, but the ground felt like it was made of mashed potatoes.

“Climb up.”

Crosshair blinked up at Bane. “What?”

“Climb up.” Bane repeated, kneeling down and patting his own back. “Up.”

Crosshair’s eyes went wide. “I can have…a piggyback ride?”

Bane’s head tilted, one brow ridge raised “A what?”

“Nothing!” Crosshair lunged forward and clung to Bane’s neck. Bane hooked his arms under Crosshair’s leg, lifting him easily.

Pressing his cheek against the rough leather collar of Bane’s coat, Crosshair looked over at the smoking speeders. There was a piece of…something charred on the ground. He quickly decided to look the other way, towards the Fabool enclosure where Todo had managed to chase off the rest of the stalker lizards and was repairing the shield.

Bane crossed the threshold into the house and the smoky night air was replaced by the warm scent of wood and remnants of the stew Bane made them that afternoon.

Crosshair wondered if this is what the house from Little House in the Big Field smelled like?

Bane knelt beside the floral couch that neither Bane nor Crosshair used since he arrived. The couch was stiff and smelled musty, clearly for decoration. Bane pulled the quilt off the back of the couch and draped it over Crosshair's shoulders. It was surprisingly soft and warm, and unlike the couch it smelled clean, faintly of fabric softener and lavender. The weight of it felt like a gentle hug.

For the first time since the bell tower, Crosshair felt like he could breathe.

Bane pulled out the med kit hidden under the couch and examined Crosshair’s wounds. There were scrapes all over his body, his head was sticky with blood, and apparently a piece of shrapnel stuck out of his calf that Crosshair didn’t feel until Bane tugged experimentally at it.

Bane left the shrapnel alone and started with the cut on Crosshair’s head. “Well, my contract didn’t say nothin’ about bringin’ ya back unharmed, but think this’ll be gone by the time I do bring ya back.”

Crosshair lowered his eyes and said nothing.

Waiting...

Bane stopped dabbing at the cut on Crosshair’s forehead. “Kid? You get your ears blown off?”

Crosshair kept waiting.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about your fuckin’ percentages tonight of all nights.”

Crosshair raised his eyes briefly. “I disobeyed your orders.”

“Ya sure did,” Bane hummed, dabbing bacta over the wound and then pulling out tweezers to pull the shrapnel from Crosshair’s leg. “And it was a fuckin’ dumbass move. I had a pair of traps I was gonna spring on the dowutins, just needed them to come a lil closer. You runnin' out into the field like a wild heaadless chicken stopped 'em in their tracks.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“That’s because,” Bane pulled the shrapnel out slowly, then soothed it with bacta gel. Crosshair hissed, but didn’t complain. “I didn’t count on Skatter forgettin’ those traps were there. He’s the one who planted them in the first place, the idiot. But that’s the thing, ain’t it? Can’t account for everythin’. Ya gotta be ready to improvise even in the best laid plans.”

“Oh…” Crosshair deflated. “I’m sor-”

“Shut up, kiddo,” Bane said, but his tone was gentle. He carefully wrapped the leg up in a soft bandage. “Don’t you go bein’ sorry for listenin’ to your gut. Fool decision or not, ya went for it. I had to improvise when you went runnin' and you improvised by blowin’ up Skatter and his cousins to smithereens. Woulda liked to pull the trigger on Skatter myself, but hell I ain’t interested in a vengeance plot unless I’m gettin’ paid for it.”

Crosshair was quiet for a moment. “So I did good?”

Bane threw Crosshair a sideways smile, baring his pearly fangs. “Ain’t no good fishin’ for compliments in shark-infested waters, kiddo.”

Crosshair smirked. “Fine.”

“How do you think you did?”

Crosshair immediately went to the numbers. “My percent-Ow! Haar’chak !”

Bane shot him with antibiotics without warning.

“Fuck the numbers,” Bane said. “How’d it feel?”

Crosshair rubbed his sore arm. “Good. Scary, but good. Didn’t stop when I missed a target. I lined the shot up again and again until I hit my mark. I drew fire away from you. That was my main mission. I don’t leave my own behind.”

Bane threw Crosshair a look, confused maybe, but Crosshair thought he saw a twinkle in those glowing red eyes.

"Huh..." Bane said thoughtfully, then sat on the floor, leaning against the couch. It looked like he was catching his breath, and Crosshair realized he had a few cauterized blaster bolt burns and some shrapnel in his own leg. “The lesson you should get outta this experience, kiddo,” Bane said as he tended to his own wounds. “is that you listened to your gut. It worked out this time and maybe that ain’t the case next time. Don’t matter. I’d rather die listening to my own instincts than risk my life on someone else’s orders that don’t sit right.”

“A good soldier follows orders,” Crosshair said. It felt like someone else’s words, but he didn’t remember where he’d heard it.

“Yeah, well, the best mercs often make the shittiest soldiers,” Bane said, and stood up with a pained groan. “Sit here and stay awake. Ya got a concussion and I ain’t lugging a comatose kid back to Jango.”

Crosshair’s heart sank. “You’re sending me back?”

“In a couple of days when you’re healed proper.” Bane raised an eyebrow. “I’d say taking out Skatter’s Ferocious Fourteen is about as good a test score as any. After tonight you’re ready for anythin’ Pynk throws at ya.”

Crosshair felt his heart twist in confusion. He missed Tech every day he was gone. He missed Wrecker and Hunter too, but…

...he missed his twin the most.

“Okay.”

Bane looked at Crosshair for a long time, brow furrowed, but not angrily. It was the kind of thoughtful look he had on Kamino when he talked to Jango about Crosshair’s future.

“Sit tight. Watch a holo. Don’t fall asleep. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

“Bane?” Crosshair asked as Bane started to walk away.

Can I be a merc?

Can Tech be a merc?

Can I bring my brothers with me and we can all be mercs? And not soldiers? And live by our guts and not by what Lt. Pynk says?

“Yeah, kiddo?” Bane asked, toothpick moving lazily in his teeth.

Would my brothers come with me if I asked them?

Crosshair already knew the answer.

He sank back into the couch.

“Thanks for training me.”

“I just did it for the credits, kiddo,” Bane said, tilting his head up and giving Crosshair a wink.

Crosshair rolled his eyes with a grin, then snuggled under the blanket and turned on the holoprojector.

He watched the entire Duros with No Name series before he was finally allowed to sleep.

#bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #the bad batch #tbb tech #bad batch tech #star wars the clone wars #cad bane #tbb #jango fett

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levi-venn · 24 days

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Years from now I'm going to look back on Spring 2024 as "Spring of the CX-2 Conspiracy"

It's all I can think about.

Also, he's Fives.

Anyway...

#CX-2 #cx2 #bb cx-2 #bad batch cx-2 #Tech #Cody #Crosshair Clone #Fives #Soup Clone #Bisk #BUT...no matter who CX-2 is #I'm really enjoying the character #and everyone's thoughts #every theory is valid #and has good points!

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levi-venn · 1 month

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Master List

Cross and Crow

(Crosshair, Tech, Omega, and Egg the Crow) Summary: Crosshair tries to give up on hope, but the persistent crow that visits his cell won't allow this.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (Final) | Bonus (Tech & TAY-0) Available also on AO3

The First Toothpick

(Cad Bane, Crosshair (cadet), Jango Fett, Tech (cadet), Hunter (cadet), Wrecker (cadet)) Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 (Coming soon) Available on AO3 here

Error: Detective Not Found (A Cake Pop Noir)

If you enjoy my writing, please check out my original Novel - Buy it on Amazon or check out Ellyhazel.com

Summary: A queer meet-cute between an android baker and the human agent protecting him from a serial killer.

#the bad batch #bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #bad batch tech #tbb #star wars the clone wars #cad bane #crosshair #egg the crow #jango fett #tcw cad bane #tcw jango fett #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker

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levi-venn · 1 month

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The First Toothpick

Chapter Six: Oh, He's Much Worse...

Characters: Cad Bane, Crosshair, Tech (Flashbacks), Hunter (Flashbacks), Wrecker (Flashbacks)

Gen Fic - Mentor/Protege

Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapter Summary: When Crosshair finds Bane outnumbered, he disobeys orders to protect his mentor.

Read the previous chapters here:

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 (Coming soon)

Also Available on AO3

Crosshair bolted past the spring-loaded mirrored panels breaching the wheat field like glassy-eyed sea snakes. There was no pattern to the way the panels appeared, and in the month he had trained here, they never popped out of the same place twice.

But he didn’t have time to think about that…or anything else.

Not with Bane watching him in the bell tower, the Duros's blaster fire hot on Crosshair's heels, searing past his ankles, his legs, and sometimes his ears if he stopped moving entirely.

Three panels suddenly burst around him, and Crosshair leapt forward, missing the bolt flying past his back. He fired his rifle three times.

He hit two targets.

He missed the third target by a mile.

A month ago, Crosshair would have frozen up over a miss like that, but then again, Bane wasn’t firing live blaster bolts at him before a month ago.

Crosshair dropped into a backward roll, hopped to his feet, and fired again.

Perfect bullseye.

I did it! I-

He ducked as a bolt sizzled over his head.

He kept running.

Run. Dodge. Roll. Fire. Miss. Run! Dodge. Fire. Hit!

The exercise lasted all day, every day, and his accuracy soared to the low nineties as of this week. Bane told Crosshair to ignore the “damn numbers”, but Todo still snuck him the statistics after every session.

Yesterday it was ninety-two percent. Today, felt like-

The panels suddenly vanished. Crosshair skidded to a halt. He stood in the middle of the field, his lungs on fire, sweat trickling down his back, muscles coiled, ready for the next challenge.

But no panels came.

Crosshair looked up at the bell tower and pulled his comm out. “I can continue,” Crosshair panted, trying (and failing) not to overanalyze the sudden end to his training.

Did I miss too many targets today? Has he given up on me?

“Get inside,” Bane said, through the comms.

Crosshair’s heart dropped.

Ninety-two isn’t good enough. I knew it. It’s not enough.

“I can do better.”

He saw the glow of Bane’s eyes glare at him from the bell tower. “Dank farrik, kid, you did great. Now get inside, now .”

Great? Crosshair thought, looking around the field as if expecting Bane to talk to anyone but him. He's never called me "great" before. Was I really-

A blaster bolt shot just past his pant leg, the fabric sizzling noisily.

With an angry hiss, Crosshair ran inside the house.

The false wall within the fireplace slid open and Bane leapt down from the bell tower, firing his boot thrusters to cushion his landing. He pushed past Crosshair and pulled out his monoculars, looking at something past the field Crosshair couldn’t see.

Crosshair tried to stand beside Bane, but Bane grabbed the top of his head and pushed him back. “Get upstairs.”

With a snarl of protest, Crosshair instead moved to the bay window beside the front door. He aimed his scope through the curtain, searching the field.

Todo into the house from the back door. “Mr. Bane! Skatter is here.”

“I see that.”

Crosshair didn’t see…wait…there was a speeder in the distance ignoring the winding roads and cutting directly through the expansive wheat field.

Todo floated beside Bane, his little hands on his blocky hips. “I don’t suppose he’s forgiven you for stealing his contracts from the Hutts.”

“Didn’t steal ‘em,” Bane said, tucking the monoculars away and leaning in the doorway. “They were Jango’s contracts to give away. Not my fault Skatter didn’t earn ‘em like I did.”

“Mmm…” Todo hummed. “I don’t think he saw it that way.”

“Move the Fabools to the storm cellar, then hide out of sight in the field. Be ready to fight if it comes to that.”

“Finally, a little excitement,” Todo said, cheerfully and flew off.

Crosshair could see the speeder better now. There were four weequays in the back of the speeder and a dowutin driving, taking up the entire front seat.

They all looked mean, and much bigger than Bane.

“You,” Bane snapped. “Go upstairs and stay in your room.”

Crosshair blinked. “But there’s five of them. You need backup-”

“I ain’t askin’, I’m tellin’. Now git.”

Crosshair held Bane’s gaze defiantly for a few seconds, before slinging his rifle over his shoulder and making a show of walking upstairs, his boot falls heavy and noisy. As soon as Bane went outside, however, Crosshair slid silently down the bannister and back to the bay window, peeking through the curtain.

Bane walked to the edge of the porch platform, leaning against one of the columns, pulling back his duster to reveal a pair of LL-30 blaster pistols at his hips. The brim of his hat was low, but Crosshair glimpsed a small, fearless smirk baring sharp, white fangs.

Crosshair didn't have fangs, but he curled his lip up all the same, checking his reflection against Bane's perfect sneer. He would try the expression when he got home. A Bane-quality sneer would definitely scare the shit out of the Regs.

Bane produced a toothpick from the pouch on his belt and set it casually between his teeth, resting his hands on his belt buckle as if he was getting ready to watch a sunset.

Crosshair could mimic the sneer, and even fished his own wheat stalk toothpick from his pocket, but he didn’t feel Bane’s ease. He was a coiled spring, his heart pounding and palms sweaty. There were five mercenaries and one Bane by himself on the porch. He didn’t like the odds.

The speeder burned through the wheat field leaving a stinking trail of burnt grass and exhaust fumes in its wake. It slid to a halt in front of the porch and the dowutin climbed out, his duster dragging heavily behind him, weighed down by half-hidden weapons, detonators, and blades.

Crosshair had never seen a dowutin in person, but his Humanoid Studies Class didn’t prepare him for how large one was in person. Bane was on the top step of the elevated porch and the dowutin still towered over him. He was built like a carbonite tank, muscled arms and legs that were round like barrels, and a pair of blunt tusks protruded from his chin like a pair of ball hammers. There was a black lightning bolt tattooed over the dowutin's left eye.

“Well lookee here, boys,” the dowutin snickered. “It’s little Caddy, lookin’ all big n’ tough on his boss’s ranch.”

Bane tilted the brim of his hat up, his glowing red eyes boring into Skatter, though that sneer remained on his face. “You’ve been gone a long time, Skatter, so maybe you ain’t up on current events. This ranch belongs to me n’ the name’s Bane, now.”

“Ohh, I heard all about your name. Cad Bane. Real cute. You think that makes you a real merc?”

Crosshair’s teeth clenched in anger. No one talked to Bane like that.

“You don’t get to talk to my brother like that, reg” Crosshair snarled, standing in front of Wrecker who was still kneeling over his broken tooka doll. “Back off.”

Both cadets laughed. “Ohh, look, Wrench! Another ‘Defective’. This one’s barely got a voice.”

“Sounds like a leaky faucet to me, Gutter,” Wrench laughed.

“They hurt Lula, Crosshair,” Wrecker whimpered, cradling the tooka’s head in his large hands.

“That’s what you get for snoopin’ around our mess hall,” Gutter said.

“Yeah! This mess hall’s for real clones,” Wrench said, “not broken tube rejects,”

“I said back off, regs” Crosshair’s fists clenched, “Final warning.”

Wrench stepped forward. “And I said, you’re defective.”

“Defective…” Crosshair sneered, his fists relaxing. “...but effective.”

He threw his forehead forward, hearing a satisfying crunch as he hit Wrench on the nose. As the cadet stumbled back, clutching his bleeding face, Crosshair ducked Gutter’s left hook and slammed his shoulder into his sternum, knocking him to the ground.

Wrench yanked Gutter to his feet and the two ran off down the hallway.

Wiping the blood from his forehead, Crosshair knelt beside Wrecker. “You good?”

Though his good eye was round and glassy with tears, Wrecker was still smiling ear-to-ear. “Hehehe, I liked that! We’re defective and effective!”

Crosshair smirked. “Well, I was at least. Next time, feel free to jump in.”

“I couldn’t leave Lula!” Wrecker sniffled. “She’s still broken.”

“Ugh, that stupid doll,” Crosshair sighed. “Come with me. Tech has a sewing kit.”

Crosshair waited for Bane to take a swing. To pull a blaster. To answer that insult with violence.

Instead, Bane sounded almost bored. “Nah, I let the bounties I collect for the Hutts do the talkin’ for me.”

The words seemed to hit Skatter harder than any headbutt.

“Those were my contracts and you know it,” Skatter said, face going red, his lip curling higher than Crosshair could mimic. Then suddenly, the duwotin’s expression eased into a too-nice smile. “But hey, that’s all water under the walkway. Listen, me n’ the boys gotta lay low for a few days. We uh…had a lil disagreement with the authorities down South. You don’t mind us stayin' here, do ya? Only eight of us.”

Over my dead body, Crosshair said, rechecking his menacing lip curl in the reflective mirror.

Good, still looks fearsome.

“Just eight huh? Don't y'all call yourself the Feisty Fourteen?”

“Fearless Fifteen,” Skatter growled.

“In any case, I can’t help ya. We’re full up here.”

“Funny, Caddy, last I heard you work alone except for that bucket of bolts that follows you around. Maybe we can be of some used to ya. Notice that lil enclosure behind the house. What's behind that curtain, huh? It ain't fabools is it? Cuz y'know, me n' the boys could look after them while we stay here.”

“Only thing in that enclosure are my collection of weequay heads that ask too many questions,” Bane said, giving the weequays in the speeder a little wink.

The weequays glared murderously from the back seat, their hands twitching near their blasters as if one wrong move meant a hail of blaster bolts aimed at Bane.

Kriff that, Crosshair thought. I won’t let them hurt him.

Bane may not be his brother, but he was Crosshair’s…someone. It didn’t matter that Bane was getting paid to do train him, he helped Crosshair find his confidence and that meant something. Even when Lt. Pynk gave up on him, even when Crosshair gave up on himself, Bane never stopped believing in what he could do. Bane may not know it yet, but he just earned Crosshair’s loyalty for life.

Crosshair slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked boldly out of the front door.

“Cross, get out of here.” Hunter panted, clutching his leg.

“Not gonna happen,” Crosshair said, grabbing Hunter’s blaster off the ground and taking cover the barrier. He pressed the blaster into Hunter’s hand and the two of them took down the second wave of training droids together.

“I just bruised my ankle,” Hunter grimaced.

“I saw you fall off the platform. It’s fractured and you know it,” Crosshair said. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No.”

Crosshair glared at Hunter. "Don't lie to me.”

Hunter held that glare for half a second, then dropped his gaze. “I think I broke my wrist, too.”

Crosshair turned around and patted his own back. “Climb on. I’m carrying you out of here.”

“Like hell you are. You have to focus on your scores. Pynk said-”

“Fuck my scores. We don’t leave our own behind. Even when they’re being idiots.”

The next wave of clankers started their approach towards the barricade. "Either climb on or I stun you and fireman carry you out of here. I prefer not to haul dead weight,” Crosshair looked back with a cheeky grin, “but it’s your choice.”

Hunter chose to wrap his good arm around Crosshair. “Thank you,” Hunter mumbled.

“Shut up,” Crosshair snipped, and fired wildly behind him as he ran to the next checkpoint, trying to ignore his score plummeting on the holoboard overhead.

“I’m done talkin’, Skatter,” Bane said, pulling out the toothpick and flicking it at the dowutin. It bounced off his broad chest and disappeared into the grass. “If I were you, I’d skedaddle before you say somethin’ you n’ yer boys’ll regret.”

As Crosshair walked out of the house, he realized Bane was already leaning against one of the porch pillars looking badass. There wasn't another spot to lean and look equally as menacing. So, Crosshair decided to stand in the center of the porch, arms folded, a piece of grass between his teeth and executing a perfectly threatening sneer.

Bane didn’t seem to notice his arrival, but Skatter’s beady black eyes zeroed in on him with laser focus. Crosshair had hoped his appearance would make the dowutin think twice before messing with this ranch…

…but Skatter just sneered right back.

“Huh…well, ain’t that interestin’...”

Bane’s head shifted ever so slightly to cast his scarlet gaze at Crosshair.

“Didn’t know you were a family man now, Caddy. Be a real shame if we made some violence in front of yer son. He could get hurt.”

Son…?

Crosshair was no one’s son. Clones didn’t have parents and all they needed was a trainer and the brothers in their squad. Still, Crosshair understood the concept, and when he thought of a "son", he imagined still images from his old picture books. Boys riding on their father’s shoulders, being taught how to shoot a blaster, how to shave, how to be strong and brave and…and all that kraytshit.

Bane did give me a new blaster rifle. And I feel stronger around him.

…I feel braver, too.

He’d probably say no to a piggyback ride, though.

Crosshair waited for Bane to correct Skatter.

Instead, Bane wore an easy smile. “The kid’s gotta learn sometime. Might as well take the trainin’ wheels off now.”

The duwotin didn’t respond.

No one moved.

The weequays looked from Skatter to Bane and back again.

Crosshair didn't breathe.

Skatter laughed suddenly. “Now, now, ain’t no need for that today. C’mon, boys, let’s leave this little family to their business. Sorry for disturbin’ ya, Caddy. No hard feelin's.” He looked directly at Crosshair and gave him a little wink. “I’ll see y’all real soon, though.”

And with that, Skatter hopped back into the speeder and tore out of the golden field, leaving oily black smoke behind.

Bane whirled around, the leather of his duster snapping angrily. “I told you to stay inside.”

Crosshair took a step back, the wheat wiggling loosely in his lips as he spoke. “You needed backup.”

Bane snatched the “toothpick” out of Crosshair’s mouth and pointed it at him. “How exactly were ya gonna do that, huh? Your rifle’s on your shoulder. You’re standing in the middle of the damn porch like a sittin’ porg. You think Skatter and his boys are gonna wait for you to find cover and line up a shot?" he threw Crosshair's toothpick into the grass. "What were ya thinkin’?”

An icy devastation froze Crosshair’s nerves.

“I thought…” Tears stung his eyes, his voice went quiet. “...I was your backup."

He said I was doing great…I failed him.

“Shit, kid,” Bane sighed. He knelt down to Crosshair's level. From this close, Bane’s pupiless eyes, while still unrelenting blood red pools, were far from emotionless. “You saw me outnumbered and you wanted to help, I get that, but Skatter’s ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle on my own. Besides, this ain’t your fight.”

“This isn’t your fight,” Tech said, dabbing the cut over his own eyebrow with a bacta swab.

“Your fight is always my fight,” Crosshair said, pulling out a bandage from the first aid kit.

“I have other goggles.”

“But you liked those goggles,” Crosshair insisted, swatting Tech’s hand away from the bandage. “The black straps are softer than the brown and don’t make your head itch.”

“True.” Tech sighed. He remained still while Crosshair fitted the bandage carefully over the cut. “But this is not a fight you can win. These Regs are older and bigger than us. You are as outnumbered as you are out-skilled.”

“I don’t need to win the fight, Tech,” Crosshair shrugged, standing up. “I just need to get your goggles back.”

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” Tech asked.

Crosshair gave an answer in the form of a snarky salute as he walked backwards out the door.

A half-hour later, Crosshair came back with a bloody grin, Tech’s goggles, and a Reg’s lunchbox filled with Tech’s favorite candy.

“Are those caramel Starsbars? Where did you get them?” Tech asked. He ripped the brown-band goggles off his head and fit his beloved black-band goggles on with a relieved sigh.

“I found them,” Crosshair lied.

“I find your answer vague…and amusing. Thank you.”

Crosshair was about to say “shut up” like he usually did when his brothers gave him gratitude, but he was cut off by Tech lunging at him, wrapping his arms around Crosshair’s neck.

Crosshair and Tech were often mistaken for twins being close to the same size and stature. Technically, Tech was born second, then Wrecker, then Crosshair. Still, when Tech hugged him, it felt like those moments when Crosshair would hug himself, especially during the scarier lightning storms rattling the windows above his bunk. It may be incorrect, but...Tech was as closest thing to a twin Crosshair had. It was a comfort.

“You can still tell me to shut up if you want,” Tech said, as if knowing what Crosshair was thinking.

Crosshair smirked and hugged his brother back. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Your fight is my fight,” Crosshair said, folding his arms. A charging reek couldn’t move him from this position. Maybe he wasn't a badass mercenary, and maybe he only had a ninety-two percent accuracy rate, and maybe this wasn’t a mess hall fight over stolen goggles, but Crosshair was here for Bane regardless. Loyalty was loyalty, and he wasn’t going to leave one of his own behind.

Bane’s brow ridge furrowed, but it didn’t seem like a frown. “You got some real bent loyalty, if you’re willin’ to defend a bastard like me, but…” he stood up and folded his arms thoughtfully. “...maybe we can make this a real teachin’ moment. How about it, kiddo? Wanna kill some bad guys?”

Crosshair couldn't remember a time he smiled this big. It wasn't close to a Wrecker-sized smile, but it was bright for a storm cloud like him.

“Hell yess,” he hissed, excitedly.

When Bane smiled it wasn't exactly made of sunshine, either but there was less snark to it than usual. "Atta boy. Now go get Todo. We got a lotta work to do."

#bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #the bad batch #tbb tech #tbb #bad batch tech #star wars the clone wars #cad bane #crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #The First Toothpick

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levi-venn · 2 months

Text

The First Toothpick

Chapter Five: Toothpicks

Characters: Cad Bane, Crosshair ("the kid"), Jango Fett (flashbacks) Gen Fic - Mentor/Protege

Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapter Summary: Cad pushes Crosshair a little too far.

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 (Coming soon)

Available also on AO3

“And who are you again?” Jabba asked, reaching for another paddy frog from the scummy jar.

“The name’s Cad Bane,” Cad said, tilting the brim of his hat. “The only bounty hunter you'll ever need.”

“But not the bounty hunter we asked for,” Bokku the Hutt said. “Where is Fett?”

“Fett’s long gone,” Cad drawled. “Retired. Fled. However you want to spin it. His jobs are mine now.”

The twins sneered from their shared platform, whispering to each other. The brother spoke. “Fett’s Huttese was better.”

“An ugnaught’s Huttese is better.” Bokku said.

Jabba’s laugh boomed inside the council chambers, bouncing off the slimy stone walls, rattling Cad’s spine. The rest of the council snickered and sneered.

Cad remained perfectly still, an easy smile on his face despite his nerves frayed like live wires whipping inside his chest.

“Tell ya what,” Cad said, hooking his thumbs in his belt. “I’ll do this job on a discount. Pay me half and if I come through, you keep me on retainer.”

The mood changed instantly. The Hutts whispered amongst themselves, too fast for Cad to translate, but he recognized “bargain” and “discount” surfacing. Two of a hutt’s favorite words.

And words Cad couldn't afford. He barely had the fuel to get off this mudhole planet. But he'd rather go hungry than risk losing Fett’s contracts. He needed them to build his reputation. And his reputation was all that mattered.

“You have a deal, Mr. Bane.”

Cad tipped the brim of his hat. “Esteemed Hutts of the Grand Hutt Council, this is the start of a profitable arrangement for us both. You will be hearing from me soon.”

The echo of Cad’s spurs jingled and jangled at a steady pace all the way back to the Justifier, Todo 360 floating quietly beside him.

As soon as the ship’s ramp closed behind him, Cad slumped heavily against the wall. “Fuck Jango for not telling these sleemos that I was coming. That’s the third time I had to introduce myself like a fucking greenhorn.”

“Mr. Bane?”

“Not now,” Bane growled. “Pull every contact Jango has with the Black Sun. We’re visiting them next.”

“I will, but Mr. Bane?”

“I need to make this damn speech four more times before we can work these contracts. I need as many-”

“Mr. Bane!”

“What?” Cad growled.

“Your lip is bleeding.”

“Shit, again?” Cad touched his lip. It stung. “Was it bleeding during the meeting?” “No. It started as we were leaving.”

Cad sighed and patted the various pockets of his new duster.

Todo held up the small leather pouch. “Perhaps you should use one before entering the room.”

Cad snatched the pouch and flipped it open. The inside flap had a mythosaur skull branded into it. He pulled out a toothpick, putting it between his teeth. “Ain’t professional. Tryin’ to make a good impression here.”

“Maybe it shouldn’t be professional,” Todo held up a finger. “A little insolence can command great respect. Or so Mr. Fett used to say.”

Cad thumbed the brand, thoughtfully. “Jango said a lot of things.” He clipped the pouch to his belt. “We’ll try it at the next meeting. Set a course for Falleen.”

The toothpick clicked in Cad’s teeth as he trained his scope on the kid skulking through the golden wheat field. The sun was low in the sky, setting the field ablaze with menacing orange light.

“It’s too bright,” the kid complained through the comms.

“That’s the point,” Cad smirked from the shade of the belltower. “Yer environment ain’t always yer friend, kid. Now quit belly achin’ and focus.”

The comm crackled with a mando’a curse telling Cad where to stick the environment.

“I speak Mando, kid,” Cad sneered. “Don’t get cute.”

Through the scope he could see the kid grimace with embarrassment.

Cad managed to mute the comm before snorting a laugh.

The first few weeks were hard on the kid, but not because Cad was particularly hard on him. In fact, Cad barely had to do anything at all. The kid worked hard, trained hard, was unyielding and resilient to everything Cad threw at him.

Yet the moment the kid made a mistake, he destroyed any hope of recovering for the rest of the day. It didn’t matter if it was his fault or not. A stalker lizard once leapt onto his trousers in the middle of the day and interrupted his shot. Cad explained that was a one in a million chance since those lizards were nocturnal, but the kid wouldn’t hear it. He shot for shit the rest of the day.

Today was going too well for it to last.

“Just focus up. Head on a swivel or find your six or whatever the hell soldiers call it.”

“It’s called Watching your s-”

Cad flicked a switch, interrupting the kid’s cheeky response. A target burst out of the grass twenty yards away. The kid fired in record time. Bullseye.

Cad flipped more switches, two seconds apart in random parts of the field. Some of the targets were mirrored. Some not. The point of the exercise was to shoot the target and avoid the ricochets.

Three weeks of this and the kid only shot himself twice.

Not bad.

Cad had more scars from this field in less time.

The kid fired a mirrored panel and rolled to avoid the ricocheting bolt as it hit the panel behind him.

Cad muted his comm again before exclaiming “fuck yeah!” He promised himself he wouldn’t praise the kid, only call out fuck ups.

But that shot was wizard and fuck you Lieutenant Pynk for gettin’ into this kiddo’s head.

He flipped three switches and three panels came up at once.

All the kid has to do is hit the north panel and-

The kid shot the south panel.

Well…shit.

The south panel’s mirror ricocheted the blaster bolt between the north and east panels.

The kid froze, staring at the unharmed panels.

C’mon, kid, recover.

The kid looked down at his own rifle. Then back at the belltower, an openly worried crease across his dark brow.

“Dank farrik,” Cad sighed and fired a shot at the ground in front of the kid.

The kid leapt back and looked, wide-eyed at the belltower.

Another shot inches from the kid’s boots.

The kid lifted his sniper rifle and aimed at the north panel again. The bolt went wide.

He could already see the kid was losing focus.

Sorry, kid, I gotta snap ya outta this somehow.

Two more shots near the kid’s feet.

The kid jumped back again and fired at the north panel again.

Missed again…

…and dodged another shot from Cad.

He fired. He missed. He dodged.

Fired. Missed. Dodged.

An angry, rattling hiss crackled from the comm, just as the kid’s rifle took aim…but not at the panel.

A bolt flew into the belltower.

Cad felt the heat of the bolt sear past his hat and into the back of the belltower. The stench of burning leather filled his nose. He lowered his rifle and removed his hat. “Huh,” he smirked, blowing out the embers.

When he looked back at the wheat field, the kid was gone.

***

“We need to talk, Cad.”

“The hell we do, Jango.”

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, how am I supposed to help?”

Cad sank out of sight, hiding in the belltower. He could hear Jango’s boots clink against the roof tiles away from the belltower and towards the ledge. He sat down with a quiet groan.

Cad winced. Jango was groaning from pain. Because of him.

“How about this?” Jango said. “You tell me what’s going on and if you don’t feel better afterwards…you can punch me in the face.”

Cad peeked out of the belltower. “In the face?”

“Right on the nose if that’s what you want.”

Cad slipped out of the belltower, and sat beside Jango, legs dangling over the ledge.

“You’ve been chewing your lip again.”

Cad licked his lip. He hadn’t noticed the coppery taste until now. “I do that when I’m...antsy”

“And anxious and nervous and excited and…?” Jango prompted.

“And…” Cad shrugged. “And…I dunno.”

“Right in the nose,” Jango reminded him.

With a sigh, Cad laid on his back, staring up at the sky, a shitty black canvas stained with white dots that painfully reminded him of all the worlds that were too far beyond his reach.

“And…guilty.”

Cad looked over at Jango who was gazing up at the stars like he was gazing at his first love.

“…I shot you today.”

“You shot my chest plate,” Jango corrected, rubbing his chest that was probably bruised to all hell at this point. “It was a shitty assassination attempt if that’s what you were after.”

“It wasn’t…I’m…”

“If you apologize to me, Cad, I’ll throw you off this roof.”

Cad stayed silent.

Jango sighed and rolled over on his side, propping his head up on his

“Cad, you shot for shit today. I know it. You know it. And you got angry. I warned you I’d push you to this point. Today, your lesson lead you to your biggest weakness. That hot-temper of yours. In the future, leave that shit behind. When you’re in training, when you’re on the job, hell, even just talking to clients. You think I’m an asshole? Wait until you talk to the Hutts. They love rattling new blood. Half the time they just feed them to starved rancors locked beneath their throne rooms. Here on this ranch, shoot me all you want, but at the end of the day, it’s only going to hurt you more than it hurts me.”

Cad knew it was true. He felt so out of control of his destiny before meeting Jango and now that he was here, he realized his anger didn’t just magically go away because he had a purpose in life.

He was pissed at himself for fucking up.

Pissed at his sniper rifle for jamming at a shitty time.

Pissed at Jango for pointing out that he still had a lot to learn…

…even if he was right.

“I got something for you,” Jango said, pulling out a small pouch.

“What is it?”

“Shut up and open it.”

Cad opened up the bag expecting a weapon, a data chip, a charm…but it was a bunch of sticks stuffed in a leather pouch with a mandalorian symbol branded in the inside flap.

“Sticks?”

“Toothpicks. Pop one in your mouth next time you feel antsy or nervous or…guilty. No client will take you seriously if you’re chewing your face off during negotiations. Just try it.”

Cad popped a toothpick in his mouth, rolling the smooth wood over the tip of his tongue, gnashing it gently with his fangs. It drew the focus away from the knot in his gut.

It brought things into focus.

He clipped the pouch to his belt.

“You still want to punch me?” Jango asked, elbowing Cad in the ribs.

Cad hissed and squirmed away. “Yeah, but…I’ll do it later.”

The kid didn’t come down for dinner that night.

The beef stew went cold.

The protein bar beside it was left uneaten.

Cad went out on the porch as the moon rose high over the field, cool air blanketing the grass with a ghostly fog.

He plucked the toothpick from his pouch and let it roll between his fingers before setting it between his fangs.

Probably shouldn’t’ve shot at the kid, Cad thought. Thought I could pull him outta this trench he keeps diggin’ for himself. Guess that was a shit plan.

And then he had another thought that nearly snapped his toothpick in half.

Jango would’ve known exactly what to do…

The floorboards creaked behind him.

Without looking back, Cad grabbed the rocking chair beside him and pulled it closer to the railing.

A moment later, the kid climbed into the chair and, with a little adjusting, rested his feet up on the rail next to Cad’s boots.

“Ya missed dinner,” Cad asked.

The kid said nothing.

“Ya missed my head, too,” Cad sneered. “A real sloppy assassination.”

“I aimed for your hat,” the kid said, his boots clicking together quietly. “And I hit your hat.”

“Well, in that case,” Cad took his hat off and showed the kid the burn mark along the side of the brim. “That…was a killer shot. Ya did good, kiddo.”

The kid looked up at Cad, hair as stark as the stars themselves, but his eyes were dark and round like an anooba pup. “You’re not mad?”

“You know how many times I shot Jango in the chest plate just for giving me shit during training? I’m just surprised it took ya this long to shoot me.”

The kid’s smile disappeared as he leaned back in the rocking chair, enveloped in shadows. “I missed a lot of shots today.”

“You hit a lot of targets today, too. Forget about all those?”

The kid shrugged again.

“Yer problem ain’t missin’ the shots, kiddo. It’s you poutin’ over it n’ not shootin’ again. It ain’t like yer gonna run outta blaster bolts. Keep firin’ until ya get it right.”

“But…I have to be perfect.”

“Ain’t no one’s perfect and sooner you learn that, the sooner you can quit beatin’ yerself up over the impossible.”

“Do you miss targets?”

“All the time,” Cad drawled with a sneer. “But nobody lives to tell about it.”

The kid thought about this for a moment…then sneered back.

“Tomorrow if you hesitate, ya get a shot to the boot, understand?”

“I won’t hesitate.”

“Don’t make promises you can't keep.”

“Then…I promise, I won’t shoot your hat again,” the kid said, in a tone too apologetic for Cad’s liking.

“Oh trust me, I’ll find ways to piss you off enough to fire at me again.”

The kid hissed quietly…or maybe it was a laugh.

“Bane?”

“What, kiddo?”

“Why do you chew on toothpicks?”

For the first time since he came to this ranch, Cad hesitated.

“It…keeps me from smokin’ death sticks,” Cad lied.

“Oh…”

The kid wriggled out of the rocking chair and walked down into the field. Cad couldn’t see what the kid was doing, but he heard some rustling, a crunch, and a faint snap.

A few moments later, the kid returned, hopped back into the rocking chair and, after studying how Cad was sitting, slouched in his chair and rested his boots beside Cad’s on the railing.

“I’m quitting death sticks, too,” the kid said, and stuck a piece of wheat between his teeth.

#bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #the bad batch #cad bane #star wars the clone wars #tbb #crosshair #The First Toothpick

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levi-venn · 2 months

Text

When CT-9904, the clone that would one day become "Crosshair", was first pulled from his birthing tank, he did not cry.

This was by design.

Engineered to become a “stealth soldier”, 04's vocal cords were shaped so that he could not raise his voice above a frustrated rasp. It was often muted by his incubator.

CT-9902, who would one day adopt the moniker "Tech", was also silent, but this was always a cause for concern. When 02 was quiet, he was most likely attempting his next escape. He had kicked the latch off his first incubator. He had poked the hinges off his second. By the third, Nala Se had nowhere to put the baby escape artist.

Putting 02 in 04's incubator was supposed to be a temporary solution.

A week later, when the new, reinforced incubator arrived, she picked up 02, and found his hand locked with 04's with an iron grip.

CT-9902 cried.

CT-9904 hissed.

And so, the ever patient Nala Se left 02 where he was there. There were no more escape attempts after that.

One day, CT-9902 began to cry.

Nala Se was in the middle of calming 05 who was trying to wreck the changing table with tiny, but mighty fists.

"Omega, see to 02, please, he needs to be changed."

Omega slid off her stool and without looking up from her datapad she said. "It's 04 who needs changing."

"How do you know?" Nala Se asked.

"02 cries louder when 04 needs help."

- Excerpt from Cross and Crow (Read series on AO3)

#bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #crosshair #the bad batch #tbb tech #bad batch tech #tbb #star wars the clone wars #Im having a lot of Tech feels lately #Sidenote: My headcannon about Crosshair's voicebox augmentation was obliterated in Season 3 when I heard him YELL for the first time. Oops.#Thats okay #Hissy Crosshair is still canon at least

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levi-venn · 2 months

Text

The First Toothpick

Chapter Four: A Little Juicy Gossip

Gen Fic - Mentor/Protege

Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapter Summary: Crosshair meets Todo 360 who does not know how to keep a secret.

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 (Coming soon)

Available also on AO3

“Great callouts, Hunter! You’re a natural leader. Wrecker, we’re gonna need stronger droids to handle your strength. Tech, you sliced those panels in record time! Now let's see," The lieutenant looked at his datapad, scrolling through the rest of the data.

Crosshair waited for his turn.

The lieutenant kept scrolling, frown deepening.

A brotherly hand squeezed Crosshair's shoulder. He pushed it away. He didn’t need comfort. He needed feedback.

“Alright, pack it up, soldiers,” the lieutenant said, tucking his datapad away. “The final test of the quarter is tomorrow.”

“Hey, wait,” Hunter said. “What about-”

Crosshair's elbow found Hunter's ribs, chasing the question away.

“Is there a problem, soldier?” The lieutenant asked, raising an imperious brow.

Hunter clutched his side. “No, sir.”

The lieutenant left.

Crosshair would have left too if not for his brothers surrounding him, blocking his escape.

“You did great , Crosshair,” Hunter insisted.

“You hit every single mark flawlessly,” Tech observed.

“Yeah! You’re wizard!” Wrecker shouted.

Molten anger heated Crosshair's cheeks. “It doesn’t matter what you think,” he hissed. “The lieutenant’s opinion is all that matters. They are going to retire me.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Hunter said.

“It’s not up to you, Hunter,” Crosshair said.

“Bugger this,” Hunter sighed and grabbed Crosshair’s wrist, tugging him towards a nearby ventilation grate. "Recon time. C’mon.”

Crosshair thought about kicking him, but...the recon may prove useful.

“Aww, recon?! I wanna come, too!” Wrecker whined.

“This mission requires more stealth than you are trained to handle, Wrecker” Tech indicated. “Also your size would break the air vent.”

“Hehe, yeah, I’m a real tank,” Wrecker grinned, proudly.

Hunter hoisted Crosshair up into the air ventilation tunnel before leaping up behind him. The tunnel ran in a dozen different directions like a many-armed rapthar, each path identical to the next. Hunter always knew instinctively where to go. It didn’t take long before they found the vent overlooking the lieutenant’s office.

There was another clone in the office with him.

No...not a clone...

“Is that Fett?” Hunter whispered. “Last time Fett was here, they took Radar away.”

“I know,” Crosshair snarled quietly.

“Oh yeah,” the Lieutenant snickered below, taking his seat at his desk. “He's the best in the facility.”

“Cut the sarcasm, Pynk,” Fett leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “We need a sniper in this squad.”

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good sniper, but we train good snipers every day. This squad needs someone extraordinary and he isn’t. It’ll save a lot of time and energy to just retire him and pick up a normal sniper for the team.”

A normal sniper…

Crosshair had heard enough. He shoved Hunter down the tunnel and followed him, angrily wiping his blurry, wet eyes as they went.

“Are they gonna retire Crosshair?” Wrecker whispered loudly to Tech as Crosshair climbed out of the vent.

“They will have to retire me first,” Tech said, adjusting his goggles, not bothering to lower his voice. “I won’t let them take him.”

“Yeah,” Wrecker slammed his fists together, “me neither.”

He ignored them both. He made a point to ignore them both. They were all idiots, thinking they could change anything by just wishing it wouldn't happen.

And Crosshair was an idiot for daring to think he could be extraordinary.

The next day, Crosshair earned the nickname “Misfire.”

Not long after that the bounty hunter, Cad Bane, took him away.

***

Crosshair couldn’t sleep.

The room was too quiet without Wrecker’s chest-rattling snores, too dark without the faint glow of Tech coding on his datapad, and even though Hunter was practically a ghost at night even when awake, Crosshair missed him, too.

Facing the fact sleep wasn’t going to find him, Crosshair slung his rifle over his shoulder, tip-toed down the hall past Bane's room, slid down the bannister, avoiding the creaky stairs altogether, and slipped soundlessly out the front door. The weather-beaten porch was barely held together by whatever rusted nails poked out of the cracked wood. He kept his steps light, but each footfall he could feel the threat of a creak beneath his boots. He leapt over the stairs entirely and landed in the dark soil with little more than a quiet squelch.

The moon was a meager sliver in the sky that didn't do much to illuminate the wheat field, but the way it moved in the wind reminded Crosshair of the black waves of a rarely calm nighttime Kaminoan sea.

“Goin’ somewhere?”

Crosshair hadn't heard anyone approach. How was this possible? And yet, as he turned, he found that Bane had been sitting in a rocking chair in the darkest corner of the porch, only his red eyes, half-moons obscured by the brim of his hat, could be seen.

Crosshair refused to be rattled. He planted his feet firmly in the soil and and puffed up his narrow chest. “I’m going to scout the perimeter.”

“Got sensors for that, kid” Bane replied. “Ain’t a soul out there except for us n’ the Fabools.”

“Then I’ll go check on the Fabools.”

“You don’t gotta worry about them until tomorrow mornin’. Todo will show ya what to do.”

Crosshair had no response. Wrecker's clumsy question floated in his head.

Are they gonna retire Crosshair?”

He needed to do this. He needed to do...something.

Bane’s head tilted slightly. “What?”

Crosshair didn’t respond.

I don’t want to be retired. I want to live… at least long enough to fight a real battle with Tech.

Bane let out a strained growled, his spurs jingling as his boots landed heavily on the porch. In the darkness his scarlet eyes cast harsh shadows against his scarred face.

“You n’ me are gonna get along a lot better if ya stop bein’ so fuckin’ timid. You’re a soldier, right? You’re an elite sniper? You’re a tough guy? Then stop bein’ afraid of everything. I’m bein’ paid to train ya, but I may ask Jango for extra cuz I gotta go lookin' for yer spine first before I can teach ya anything.” Rows of sharp teeth gleamed in the dark. “Start talkin’.”

I want to live.

I-

“I…don’t want to be retired.”

The teeth vanished. The eyes dimmed. Bane leaned forward and into the meager moonlight, confusion etched into his scarred face. “What do ya mean ‘retired’?”

“If soldiers don’t meet their lieutenant’s expectations, they’re retired and their data gets erased. Radar and Pintsize were retired last year. No trace of them anywhere. Like they never existed.” Crosshair scrubbed his sweaty palms against his pant legs. He couldn’t stop talking if he wanted to, like trying to fight momentum down a steep hill. “Radar was redundant. Hunter’s tracking skills were sharper than his. Pintsize could barely hold a blaster with his tremors. The lieutenant said I’m not ‘extraordinary’ like the rest of my squad. I dropped my sniper rifle last test. They started calling me-”

The name seized in his mind. Tech’s magnified eyes glaring at him as if he was somehow holding onto the name.

“That’s not who you are.”

“Jango knows about this? These retirements?”

Crosshair blinked. “What?”

“The retirements. Are they his decision or not?”

“It’s the lieutenant’s decision.”

Bane rested his elbows on his knees, his unyielding glare boring into Crosshair. “Who’s this lieutenant? What’s his story?”

“A first generation clone. Lieutenant Pynk,” Crosshair thought about how to describe him. “He’s an asshole.”

Bane snorted. “Yeah, I gathered that much. So when you told me you’re the best in the facility that was his sarcasm I was hearing?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, fuck Pynk. We’ll show him what extraordinary looks like.” he extended his hand. “Gimme your rifle.”

Crosshair tightened the grip on his rifle strap. “Why?”

“Oh yer full of questions now, huh?” Bane sneered. “Official inspection, soldier. Give it here.”

With a small hiss of protest, Crosshair handed the rifle over.

Bane gave the rifle a little spin as if testing the weight. He looked through the scope. He ran his fingers over the stock and gave it a good shake.

“No wonder you can’t razzle and dazzle anyone,” Bane snickered. “This here’s a piece of bantha poodoo .”

“There’s nothing wrong with my rifle.” Crosshair said. “I clean it everyday. I calibrated it this morning. It’s fine.”

“Yeah?” Bane tossed the rifle back to Crosshair. “Prove it.”

Bane stood up, reminding Crosshair just how tall the Duros was compared to him. He was taller than Pynk and somehow that was comforting to know. In one swift movement, Bane hopped over the porch railing and with a crisp snap of his leather duster, he vanished around the side of the house.

Crosshair followed. At first it looked like Bane had simply disappeared, but upon a closer look, the side of the house was covered with a wide wooden trellis far too reinforced to withstand just the weight of creeper vines. He looked up and saw a brief glimpse of the brim of Bane's hat on the roof. Crosshair slung the rifle over his shoulder and climbed.

Some of the roof tiles were flatter and smoother than they appeared, leading to an ornamental bell tower half the size of Crosshair and far too small for Bane to fit. Still, Crosshair peeked into the bell tower and found...a short chute leading into a spy holodrama.

It was one part sniper tower, one part high-tech surveillance bowl filled with panels and devices similar to the simulation models Tech ran through to practice slicing communications and monitoring air traffic.

Bane sneered up at him. "C'mon in, kiddo."

“What is this?” Crosshair asked, hoisting himself into the chute and using the short ladder to climb down.

“Crow’s nest, watchtower, sniper tower, reinforced bunker, whatever we need it for. There are a couple of cots under the false floor if we get swarmed and have to lay low for a while.”

“Who would attack us?”

“The local authorities, mercs lookin' to even the score, raiders aimin' to steal the Fabools which can sell for a pretty credit on the black market.” Bane pressed a switch under his seat and the blank wall flipped over to reveal a pair of LL-30 blaster pistols and a 773 Firepuncher rifle, the kind Crosshair had only seen in firearms databanks Tech sliced in for him.

Bane grabbed the rifle, charged it up, and checked the scope. “Don’t have to worry about any of that tonight though. Tonight, we’re doin’ some target practice...”

He dialed something into the control panel. A long opening slid 280 degrees around the tower at Crosshair’s eye-level, no taller than his fist, yet a screen flickered around the opening to reveal a holographic image of the surrounding area.

“I can see everything,” he said.

“That’s the idea,” Bane replied. “Watch the field.”

He flicked another switch and a blue light shimmered over the wheat field as the security shield went down.

The grass started to quiver almost immediately.

“What’s out there?” Crosshair asked, sliding the barrel of his rifle through the opening and peering through the scope.

“Stalker lizards,” Bane said. “Lookin’ for a free meal inside that Fabool enclosure. Tell me what ya see.”

Crosshair toggled the heat sensor display on and off, watching the heat signatures from the lizards and the dark shadows of the landscape. “Lizards about a meter long coming from the southwest.” He scanned the enclosure next, remembering his training. Always check doors, corners, exits, and blindspots.

“We have blindspots.”

“Where’re the blindspots?” Bane asked, clearly a test.

“South and East walls of the enclosure.”

“Already covered. Look again.”

The heat signatures didn’t change. The landscape didn’t change much either. Crosshair lowered his scope and leaned over the edge of the bell tower as if it would help. “How-”

Bane grabbed his jumpsuit and pulled him back. “Stay in here.” He pushed some monoculars into Crosshair’s hands. “Your little toy scope doesn’t have a range finder, use these.”

“It’s not a toy.”

“It surely is. You wanna be an extraordinary sniper? You gotta grow up n’ use a real sniper rifle. Now quit givin’ me that death glare n’ look at coords 233.32, 33.4.”

Fuming, Crosshair looked through the monoculars. “Coords 233.32, 33.4.” He repeated.

Crosshair dialed in the coordinates and let the cursor on the display guide his movements.

There were several panels in various parts of the field. Each panel was painted with a shiny yellow number and embedded with silver reflective discs. “Are those mirrors?”

“Tell me which one to shoot.”

“What?”

“Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but yer askin’ too many questions. Just do it.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes and shifted his scope from mirror to mirror until the caught the reflection of a stalker lizard climbing up the fabric wall of the enclosure.

“Panel two, center.”

A blaster shot rang out, it ricochet off the mirror and the low-power stun blast knocked the lizard off the enclosure, driving it back to the treeline.

“Again.”

Crosshair aligned his vision. Another panel. “Panel three, top left.”

The blaster bolt fired, ricocheted, and hit its target.

“Keep callin’ ‘em,” Cad said. "Faster."

“Six, low right. Four, center. Two, top center. Two, top left, no wait-”

“Two, middle left,” Cad corrected and took the shot.

“How do you see them without the monoculars?”

Bane snatched Crosshair’s monoculars and shoved the Firepuncher into his hands. “Built-in rangefinder in the scope. Give it a try.”

Bane’s rifle was heavier than his, but it also felt sturdier and a lot more powerful. He did a quick procedural check of the power cell, the scope angle, and acclimated himself to the weight before sliding the barrel through the opening. The scope was alive with readings. Rangefinder, coordinates scale, the crosshairs shifted as it looked for moving targets and returned to center when there was nothing.

“This is cheating,” Crosshair grumbled.

Bane snorted. “No such thing in this business. Besides, you can spend all the fancy credits in the galaxy and it don't make you the best. Yer greatest mod is yer eyes n' yer instincts. Now shut up n’ start firin’. Lizards are startin’ to swarm.”

The heat signatures doubled and Crosshair took shot after shot, chasing the lizards away.

“Good.” Bane said.

Good, but not extraordinary, Crosshair thought.

Two lizards scaled the corner of the enclosure. Crosshair hit the leader and it landed on its follower, scaring both away.

He waited for Bane to praise him. It was an impressive shot.

Bane remained silent.

Another lizard leapt from a panel onto the enclosure wall. He shot one mirror and it ricocheted off another mirror and hit the lizard between the eyes, sending it sprawling backwards before scurrying off.

That was impressive too. He waited for the Lieutenant...no...he waited for Bane to comment.

Bane said nothing.

“He’s a good sniper…This squad needs someone extraordinary.”

He took another shot. The blaster bolt bounced off the mirror and hit the tail of the lizard. It kept climbing.

He took another shot. The lizard dropped.

“Sloppy,” Bane said.

Crosshair’s bolt hit the edge of the enclosure, wool sizzled. The Fabools inside bleeted and honked irritably.

“Shit shot.”

“Are they gonna retire Crosshair?” Wrecker asked, eyes wet with tears.

Another miss.

“Worse,” Cad said.

And another.

“Shittier.”

He shot a mirror, it ricocheted into the night.

“Now yer takin’ yer failure out on the mirrors, huh?” Cad snickered. “Try again.”

The rifle felt heavier. Like the hands of a dozen laughing cadets and one unimpressed lieutenant was pushing it down.

“Look out, here comes Misfire.”

The heat signatures began to multiply through the scope.

“What’re you doing?” Bane asked. “I said try again.”

Shit shot…worse…failure…

The trigger refused to move.

“Misfire…Misfire…Misfire…”

“Dank farrick,” Bane swore and grabbed the rifle, firing five shots in quick succession. Blaster bolts soared and ricocheted off the mirrors, scaring away the rest of the lizards. He punched the control panel and the blue shimmering shield spread across the wheat field again. “What was that about? You forget how to shoot?”

Crosshair's hand twitched. He didn't move. He stared at the rifle.

“What the hell, kid?”

Crosshair couldn’t feel his fingers.

Hands shaking, he managed to hoist himself out of the bell tower. By the time he got to the bottom of the trellis he realized he had left his own rifle behind.

Tears blurring his eyes, he raced back to the front of the house, crashing through the door and stomping up the stairs.

He hid under the covers.

In a bed that wasn’t his.

Without the rifle that he didn’t deserve anyway.

***

The next morning, the house seemed empty. Bane wasn’t downstairs, but breakfast was waiting for Crosshair. A plate of bacon and eggs on a warming plate.

He ate quickly and guzzled the apple juice, politely pushing away the black caf and wondering if it was only there because he knew Fett was never far from a cup of caf.

He wandered outside to the sun sprinkling the wheat field with golden light. It made him squint. Climbing up the trellis, he poked his head in the bell tower. Neither rifle nor Bane was there.

His heart dropped. He felt sick. If Bane confiscated his rifle, then Crosshair was probably heading back home today. He hoped he’d be able to say bye to his brothers before they retired him. Then again, he didn’t get to say bye to Pintsize and Radar.

Climbing back down the trellis, he walked to the Fabool enclosure punching in the code he watched Bane use the day before. The gate swung open and before he could fall into a cuddle pile of Fabools, a stout droid flew directly at him, nearly slamming him against the gate.

“Who are you?!” The droid asked, round, unblinking yellow eyes flashing with suspicion, his thrusters hissing angrily as he floated in front of Crosshair’s face.

Crosshair pushed himself off the gate. “Bane told me to take care of the Fabools with Todo this morning.”

“I am Todo 360,” the droid declared, spindly arms flailing. “Did Mr. Bane order you to spy on me?”

“No. If I was going to spy on you,” Crosshair said, dryly. “You’d never know it.”

The droid’s three-fingered hand touched his non-existent chin thoughtfully. “Oh. Hmm. That’s…a valid point. Fine, you may stay, but I am in charge here and you will tell Mr. Bane that I am doing a perfectly good job and I don’t need any help.”

“Fine by me.”

“We’ll start with feeding practices!” Todo announced, shooing away the Fabools who seemed to hate the sound of his thrusters. They rolled towards Crosshair and away from the noisy droid. It was hard to worry about retirement when there were a dozen soft, bouncing balloons begging for his attention, and Crosshair decided to enjoy the moment, taking time to pet each one while Todo did all the work.

“Well, you’re already proving yourself to be an adequate assistant," Todo said, cleaning the water trough. "It takes me three times longer to fill their troughs when they try to bully me into their cuddle piles.” Todo floated towards the hose and dragged it across the enclosure, straining between words. “Your...reaction...to them...is...far…different…from…Mr. Bane’s…first…interaction.”

“What do you mean?” Crosshair asked.

“Oh, Mr. Bane was terrified of the Fabools when Fett brought him here. Practically climbed up on the fence to get away from them. He was scared of a lot of things back then though.”

Crosshair’s jaw dropped into his lap. “Bane? Cad Bane?”

“Well he wasn’t Mr. Bane back then. Just Cad. He hadn’t chosen a surname. Some Duros culture thing. I never understood it.”

“How long have you known Bane?”

“Many, many years.”

Crosshair cupped a Fabool chick in his hands and pressed it against his cheek. It snuffled at him, inquisitively. “Why was he afraid of the Fabools?”

“He full of paranoia when we met him,” Todo said, lightly. “Just distrustful of everything, in general.”

"But..." Crosshair stared dumbfounded at Todo. “How did he get so…”

“...so very 'Bane' ?” Todo asked.

“Yes.”

Todo held up an authoritative finger. “By eating his vegetables, little boy,” Todo hummed and floated towards the food sacks.

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “What else do you know about Bane?”

“Oh, I know lots about him. I’ve known him for a very long time. I’m his most trusted confidant. I am sworn to secrecy though so I couldn't possibly share anything with you.”

Considering how much Crosshair learned about Bane in the thirty seconds he knew Todo he decided to just nod. “Okay.”

“But…” Todo floated forward, hands rubbing together conspiratorially. “...I do have a few juicy tidbits I could share if you’re interested.”

Crosshair made a mental note to never tell Todo 360 anything about himself. “Sure.”

“Oh goodie! It’s so rare I find someone to gossip with that aren’t Fabools. Bossk and Aurra tell Mr. Bane everything .”

Crosshair scooted forward, setting the chick down on the ground only to have two fabools bounce into his lap and a third bounce against his back. Somehow all of the Fabools reminded him of Wrecker, only cuter and less annoying. “What else do you know?”

“Hmm…oh! Here's something. He didn’t know how to use a blaster when he met Mr. Fett. Mr. Fett taught him everything he knew about being a mercenary.”

“I figured that much.”

“But did you know that Mr. Fett and Mr. Bane engaged in a bar fight before Mr. Fett left for his secret project?”

“Why?”

“Is it not obvious? Mr. Bane idolized Mr. Fett, followed him around like a fabool chick bounces after a feed bag. When Mr. Fett left mercenary work, he left Mr. Bane behind. Mr. Bane took it very personally, but I think it was the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“Why?” Crosshair pressed.

“Because that is when Mr. Bane found that cool confidence in himself. Mr. Fett was always there to lift him up, reward his victories, and tutor his failings. Mr. Bane had to figure out how to exist without Mr. Fett and it was then I noticed that confidence grow like a hmm…like a cactus blossom! He went from Mr. Fett’s shadow to being quite the opposing figure himself.”

Crosshair sat quietly, absorbing this fact. It was hard to imagine the Bane today cowering from Fabools or needing help from anyone.

Or starving for someone else's approval.

When he thought of Bane, he thought of the easy stance, arms relaxed and thumbs hanging over his belt buckle, a toothpick casually moving between his teeth, round eyes behind hooded lids that could see through a person with more accuracy than a scope. That nonchalant drawl, the cheeky turn of phrase, unrattled, and prickly.

All the things Crosshair wanted to be.

“Has Bane ever had an apprentice before?”

“Not to my knowledge. Mr. Fett’s request is unusual, but Bane would do anything for-”

“Kid, get up.”

Crosshair startled, whipping his head back to find Bane leaning against the wall, arms folded, toothpick rolling lazily in his teeth. How long had he been in the enclosure? A Fabool snuffled at his boot, lost interest than bounce against Crosshair's head.

“Come with me.” Bane left the enclosure without another word.

Crosshair didn’t move at first. Not because he was covered in Fabools, but because he knew this was the end.

Retirement…

He’d finally find out what happened to Pintsize and Radar.

“Nice to meet you, Todo,” he said, standing up and gently rolling the fabools away who happily bounded towards the droid.

“Oh! Well nice to meet you too, um… ‘Kid’.”

“Sit down,” Bane said, pointing to the rocking chair on the porch before going into the house.

Crosshair sank onto the flower-patterned cushioned seat, trying and failing to rest his boots on the railing. It was too far away. He sighed and drew his legs up, hugging his knees. He watched the skies for a ship to come and pick him up.

Bane came out a few minutes later and sat in the other rocking chair, boots landing with a jingle of his spurs on the railing. Crosshair’s rifle was in his hands. It took all of Crosshair’s self-control not to lunge for it, hug it, and promise he would never abandon it again.

He hugged his knees tighter.

“Doesn’t take a genius to know why you ran out last night,” Bane began, tilting his hat up to look Crosshair in the eyes. “You crave praise like a dying man thirstin’ of jocola . I don’t reckon you get a lot of positive reinforcement at the facility n’ ya know what? Tough shit. The sooner ya realize the galaxy ain’t gonna give ya validation is the day ya actually become the extraordinary sniper I know ya can be.

“This is the last and only time I’m gonna say this," Bane continued. "Yer real fuckin’ good, and yer gonna be the best. I ain't ever wrong about shit like this. Now...you hold onto that praise because after this conversation, I ain’t gonna be nice to ya anymore. Yer gonna get pushed n' pushed hard, yer gonna get shaken, and I’m gonna do everythin’ I can to get ya past this bullshit worry about what everyone else thinks. Maybe you’ll hate me, hell ya might even shoot me in the back, but it’ll be worth it because it’s gonna send ya past that kraytshit extraordinary standard Pynk’s got for ya.”

Bane offered the rifle back to Crosshair. “I promise, by the time ya get back home, yer gonna be tougher than a reek’s horn n’ twice as deadly.”

The moment Crosshair’s fingers touched his rifle, he knew it was augmented. It felt like a Firepunch. Better scope, heavier stock, a weapon for a real sniper. He peered through the scope.

“Whoa,” Crosshair murmured, scanning the field with his scope, toggling between more scanners than he knew existed. “Wizard.”

“Listen kid, in this galaxy there’ll be plenty of people tryin’ to put you down, break your spirit, break your bones. Only person you gotta trust is yourself. Yer all ya need, you understand me?”

Crosshair realized it was a lesson Bane had to learn when Jango left for Kamino. It would be a lesson Crosshair would carry with him the rest of his life.

Even if Bane was hired to train him, to be this mentor, it meant something to Crosshair. "Understood."

“Go clean up. Food’s in an hour. Beef stew minus the carrots. After that you start yer real trainin’. Deal?”

Crosshair hopped up, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “Deal.”

“One more thing, kid.”

“Yeah?”

“What did you and Todo talk about this morning?”

Crosshair didn’t bother lying. “You.”

Bane growled quietly. “That gossiping little shit. What did he say?”

Though Crosshair didn’t intend to lie, he also didn’t feel like ratting Todo out. So he was honest about the thing that mattered most.

“He said you’re better off without Fett around.”

The words seemed to splash cold water on Bane’s face. The mercenary looked away, out to the golden field, too bright in the noonday sun.

“Is it true?” Crosshair asked.

Bane’s glare didn’t skewer Crosshair as sharply as he expected. In fact, it looked like he may even answer.

“Target practice starts at dusk. Bring your A-game, kid. Not holding back on you. Now get outta here.”

And with that Bane sank into his rocking chair tilted his hat forward over his eyes.

The conversation was over.

Crosshair was happy he asked.

#tbb crosshair #bad batch crosshair #crosshair #the bad batch #tbb #star wars the clone wars #cad bane #tbb hunter #bad batch hunter #The First Toothpick

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levi-venn · 2 months

Text

Everything's the same in Bad Batch except Crosshair has my Watermelon Sniper Rifle from Division 2

#tbb crosshair #crosshair #bad batch crosshair #the bad batch

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levi-venn · 2 months

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“Another black eye?” Tech asked, not looking up from his datapad.

“Same eye, just more black,” Crosshair sneered, climbing past his own bunk and onto Tech’s. “What’re you reading?”

“Who hit you?”

“Does it matter? Regs are all the same."

“Hmm,” Tech flicked the holoprojector mode on and a planet, infected with an uninterrupted mass of buildings, floated in front of them. “I’m studying ecumenopolises.”

“What are they?”

“City-planets. Denon, Coruscant, Axxila, they cleared away the natural history of the planet making way for cities built upwards, the height depending on the population growth and class systems in place. Oftentimes the lower-income citizens are relegated to the lower levels of the city, or sent to the hemisphere opposite of the wealthier sectors. Weather patterns on these planets are regulated and usually temperate.

“Looks loud,” Crosshair said, not really understanding what he meant.

“Does it? Hmm…” Tech never made fun of Crosshair’s short, blunt statements, always considering each word carefully. Crosshair felt heard around his brother, even when he didn’t think anyone was listening. “That makes sense. Your eyes are designed to be sharper than most clones. As a sniper it’s an imperative feature. The bright flashes of lightning are too much for you. ‘Loud’ is a poetic way of looking at this planet. Yes, these cities are loud, especially Coruscant with many reflective solar-powered surfaces on their buildings. I’d hate to be stuck in traffic at dawn or dusk. I can only assume they have polarized shields for their speeders.”

Crosshair gingerly touched his cheek. It was swelling up. “Think we’ll see Coruscant one day?”

“I’m counting on it. It’s the heart of the Republic.” Tech looked up at Crosshair, brow knitting. “If Coruscant turns out to be too loud, tell me. I can construct polarized lenses for you until you grow used to it.”

Crosshair rested his chin on Tech’s shoulder, watching the planets cycle by. “Thanks, Tech.”

- Excerpt from Chapter 2, The First Toothpick on AO3

#badbatch crosshair #bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #bad batch tech #the bad batch #tbb #cad bane #star wars the clone wars

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levi-venn · 3 months

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🥹🥹🥹🥹 oh geez oh gosh. Thanks for noticing my lil fic 💙💙💙

Cross and Crow

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (Final) Available also on AO3

The Mount Tantiss cell where they kept Crosshair had a window, fortified with durasteel bars and a view that showed an indifferent blue sky with thin, half-hearted clouds.

The bastard scientists said the window was a show of kindness.

Crosshair found it cruel.

The view told him very little of his surroundings. He was facing North, two levels above ground. There was a docking bay to the East. No air traffic besides the occasional Imperial freighter carrying supplies.

He hated the view.

His eyes would snap to any movement outside, his heart betraying him with painful lurches, hoping that one of those damn supply ships would be the Marauder. His brothers swooping in to his rescue, forgetting every cruel thing he had said and done to them. End his nightmare. Take him back.

After two weeks of false hopes and bitter heartache, he sacrificed his thin blanket to cover the window.

Fuck them, he decided. They abandoned me first, anyway.

On that first blanketless night, his sleep was broken. He shivered through fractured dreams of a remote outpost, Mayday in his arms, staggering towards the warm light in the distance that seemed to drift farther away the longer he walked.

“Almost there…” He lied to his brother. “Hang on…Just a little farther.”

***

The next day, sunlight burst into the cell with laser precision, blinding him with thoughtless cheer. Crosshair snarled awake, squinting at the window.

There were holes in the blanket. It looked like the cheese he’d pull off his sandwiches and toss to Wrecker, only to have Tech point out the importance of calcium in Crosshair's diet.

He pulled back the blanket and peered out the window. The sky was empty. Even the clouds had abandoned him.

Still…something made these holes.

Breakfast came soon after. They fed him generously. Wanted him healthy for the experiments that came at him every three days.

He collected a piece of bread, a few bits of whatever the Empire considered "sausage", and a clump of egg whites. He placed the offerings on the sill.

At worst, ants would come.

At best...

The crow swooped in immediately, soundlessly landing, but cawing bombastically in Crosshair’s face. He nearly fell backwards into his cell.

He growled back at the corvid.

The crow ignored him and pecked at the food experimentally before accepting the eggs, knocking the bread and sausage back into the cell.

On training missions off-world, Crosshair would birdwatch through his rifle's scope. First out of boredom, then out of fascination. Birds didn’t thrive on Kamino so any chance he could, his scope would search for these creatures that took for granted the stormless skies.

More often than not, Hunter would toss something at him, pulling his brother’s focus back to their training. Once Crosshair deflected the pebble Hunter threw at him and it pinged Wrecker in the head. Wrecker turned and slapped the datapad out of Tech's hands. Tech, fuming at being wrongfully accused, tackled Wrecker and Hunter dove in to break them up. Crosshair sat in his perch, pleased with himself at the chaos below while above him two territorial hummingbirds fought over a tree too big for either of them.

The squad got black marks on their record that day. It was worth it.

After eating the eggs, the crow tilted its head left, then right, thoroughly examining Crosshair in every direction it could turn its large, midnight head. After its studies were complete, it flapped noisily away, leaving two black feathers behind.

Crosshair kept the feathers hidden under his pillow.

He didn’t know why.

The crow didn’t return for the rest of the day.

But Crosshair started looking out the window again.

Three days went by.

A full day of experiments. Poking. Prodding. Gassing. Drugging. Restraining. Isolating. Breaking. Rebuilding.

By nightfall he was dragged back to his cell without being told why they did any of it. They owed him no explanation.

And if I knew, would it be better? Worse?

They gave him stew. He could barely stomach smelling it.

Fighting the tremors in his hands, he plucked a piece of potato, shredded meat, and a few beans from the bowl and climbed onto his bed to the window. He placed the offering, then passed out onto his mattress, dead to the world.

The next day he awoke to a shrill caw.

His heart leapt in a dangerous way. He didn’t want to feel this. He didn’t want to experience a reprieve from this nightmare, a joy that could be ripped away at any moment. The crow was just a scavenger, a hungry opportunist. Eventually, it would move on and Crosshair would be alone again.

The crow looked at him and he scowled back.

It ate a bean.

It ate some meat.

It rolled the potato back into the room and onto Crosshair’s bed, which-

Wait...no...

Crosshair blinked. It wasn’t a potato the crow had give him.

It was a pinecone. Young. Unfurled. A little green.

When he looked up again, the crow was gone.

He hid the pinecone under his pillow, next to the two feathers.

He didn’t know why.

***

Dreams were more dangerous than hope. On nights after an experiment, he was usually too exhausted to dream. But this night he had pulled the pinecone from beneath his pillow. He clutched it as he slept.

And he dreamt of an ocean.

Loud waves crashing against the sturdy pillars of Kamino’s science facility. Crosshair and his brothers, too young to be soldiers and old enough to know better, sat preciously on a ledge overlooking the endless sea. They snacked from a tin of biscuits Tech and Hunter had stolen as a “stealth exercise”.

Crosshair balanced the tin lid on his finger and spun it for Wrecker, who giggled and clapped, getting biscuit crumbs everywhere.

Hunter said something to Crosshair, but the words were lost under the roar of relentless waves. Crosshair tried to shout back, but his words turned into a shrill-

Caw! Caw!

Crosshair snapped awake, his cheeks cold and wet.

He hissed and wiped the tears away, squinting up at the crow who was waiting for breakfast, beak pressed through the bars impatiently.

Breakfast came in the form of pastry discs, eggs, strips of meat that weren’t bacon.

The crow seemed to like the eggs best. Crosshair added more to the sill.

They ate together.

And the crow rolled another trinket onto Crosshair’s bed.

A piece of white plastoid.

It joined the pair of feathers beneath Crosshair’s pillow.

The pinecone stayed with Crosshair as he slept at night. It helped him sleep. It kept nightmares away.

He didn’t know why.

***

More experiments. Suffocating. Burning. Freezing. Breaking. Rebuilding.

When he was dragged back to his cell, he saw food was waiting for him. Some sort of egg hash, leftovers from the morning.

Egg will be pleased.

He left his offering on the sill for Egg, then he and the pinecone slept.

Too exhausted to dream, Crosshair woke to the sound of two loud caws. Always two.

Good morning.

Crosshair added more eggs to the sill and a piece of the terrible bacon.

Egg pecked at the bacon suspiciously, letting out a little disgruntled cluck that made Crosshair’s lips to twitch unexpectedly.

He didn’t smile. But he wasn’t scowling.

The tense knot of hopelessness was loosening in Crosshair’s chest as if Egg had been pecking at it each morning, fraying his sanity, giving him false peace.

Throw the tray at the window, he begged himself. Bang the cup on the bars. Shoo Egg - shoo the crow - away before reality kicks in. You’re in here. Egg’s out there. One day, he won’t come back.

Crosshair stared at his tray. It shook in his hands.

Do it. Get it over with.

But then something clattered on the tray.

Crosshair stared at the object.

Too late. Sanity gone. This isn’t real. It can’t be. I want this too much.

A piece of crudely crafted wood, a message carved in.

[Look down]

Crosshair stared at the words, struggling to keep his hope smothered.

[Look down]

He knew that handwriting. Meticulous. Precise. By a hand that taught Crosshair how to write, that comforted him when the thunder was too loud and the lightning too bright, that would ball into a fist when regs teased him about his hair, his lankiness, his uniqueness.

Crosshair climbed onto his bed.

Both he and Egg looked down together.

Crosshair hadn’t spoken in months, but there was no one else in the galaxy he wanted to speak to more than his brother at this moment.

With a raspy hiss he asked: “Where the hell are your goggles?”

Part Two: Tech and Crow

#crosshair #tech #tbb #the bad batch #my lil fic got some love #its just a lil guy #its its birthday #egg the crow #dont egg any crows

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levi-venn · 3 months

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The First Toothpick

Chapter 3: A Fistful of Carrots

Gen Fic - Mentor/Protege

Characters: Cad Bane, Crosshair (the kid), Jango (flashbacks).

Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapter Summary: The kid experiences dry land for the first time. His reaction surprises Cad...but it also gives him an idea.

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 (Coming soon)

Available on AO3 here

“It’s just grass.”

“The hell it is,” Cad said, retreating back up the ramp of the Firespray.

“C’mon, Cad, have a little faith in me. Watch.” Jango hopped out of the ship, landing waist deep in the field of golden brown wheat…

…like a damn fool.

So much wheat…stretching for as far as his scarlet globular eyes could see.

And that much wheat meant that many more places to hide.

“There’s things in there,” Cad warned, pointing to something rustling near Jango’s leg.

“Just critters. Predators don’t come out until nightfall and they prefer Fabools to humanoids. You’re safe, I promise.”

“Uh huh…” Cad took another step backwards. “...I’ll just stay here.”

It wasn’t that he missed his homeworld - fuck Duro - but at least he knew and accepted it for what it was: A world that had traded its soul for industry long before Cad was born. Clouds weren’t supposed to be white and fluffy like this. They should be oily and black belched from rusty smokestacks. Even the sky here was wrong, too blue, too bright, missing the stains of putrid orange and green. He’d been on this planet for less than a minute and already had his fill of the buzzing insects and…where the hell was that croaking coming from anyway?

“We got work to do, Cad. Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder like a bag of meilooruns.”

Cad sighed and stood on the edge of the ramp, staring down the untamed wilderness of what was supposedly a very tame ranch. The wheat stalks swooned in the breeze, like long fingers coaxing Cad into unseen jaws.

He sank one boot into the grass.

Something shrieked and shot up into the air.

Cad stumbled backwards, drawing one blaster only to have it slip from his fingers, sliding noisily down the ramp and out of sight into the wheat field. He pulled the second blaster and fired at the monster.

The convor flew away, unscathed.

“Aaaand this is why we’re here,” Jango frowned, picking up fumbled blaster and handing it back to Cad. “You’re jumpy as hell and can’t shoot for shit. If you want to keep calling me boss, get your shit together, Cad.”

“Yeah, boss,” Cad mumbled, holstering both blasters, embarrassment warming his face.

“Alright, enough lollygagging. Let’s go check on the Fabools.”

“What the hell is a Fabool?”

Cad found the kid curled up asleep in Bossk’s chair, cheek pressed against the scope of his rifle and a half-eaten protein bar in his hand.

Beneath the chair was the kid’s duffle bag, half-open. Cad nudged it with his boot. Jumpsuits, protein bars, packs of water purifying tablets. No toys, no music discs, no personality. Not a single candy bar.

Jango loved caramel Starsbars; always kept one on him, in a pouch next to his thermal dets. He also loved fried eggs and bacon, nerf stew with extra carrots, peach-flavored tihaar cocktails (though he always claimed he drank tihaar straight), and he bobbed his head to Figrin D'an And The Modal Nodes when he thought no one was looking.

Did all his clones experience the same joys he did? Were they even given a chance?

He kicked Bossk’s chair. “Get up, kid. We’re here.”

The kid sat upright, eyes still closed, a long, textured red line from the scope denting his cheek. “Where are we?”

“That’s classified,” Cad smirked.

“Haha, funny,” the kid yawned and slithered out of the chair. He took another bite of the protein bar, then tucked it back into his jumpsuit’s pocket.

I told him to find somethin’ to eat, Cad thought. Does he prefer his own rations?

“This hideout was Jango’s before it was mine. He taught me all I knew here n’ I’m gonna impart some of that know-how onto you.”

“I know how to shoot."

“Yeah, slower than molasses on Vandor,” Cad sneered. “We’re gonna fix that, but for now…” Cad activated the ramp. “...let’s just start with gettin’ out of the ship.”

The kid’s expression didn’t change.

Not when the door slid open.

Not when seeing, probably for the first time, an ocean of golden brown wheat, a clear sky, and a world alive with natural wonders.

Except that wasn’t exactly true. The kid's expression did change, if you knew where to look. Cad watched the kid's glassy brown eyes dart around the narrow view of the scenery, not like a frightened kid like Cad was all those years ago, but with a curious feline studying his new territory.

The kid ventured forward, standing on the edge of the ramp scanning the wheat field. He didn’t move for a long moment.

Cad stood beside him, studying his face. The kid didn’t look scared, but something was holding him back.

Finally, he looked up at Cad, brow knitted slightly.

Cad tilted his head. “What?”

“...is it safe?”

“C’mon, Cad, have a little faith in me,”

“Yeah, kid,” Cad said, Jango’s exasperated sigh burned in his memory. “It’s safe.”

As the kid took that first step forward, Cad leaned against the ship and popped a toothpick between his teeth. He expected to be here a while as the kid grew accustomed to the planet.

But the kid jumped in with two feet. Literally. And then took off like a blaster bolt, running through the fields like a wild lothcat and twice as silent, maneuvered through the grass with practiced efficiency.

Huh…engineered for stealth…created for war…

The kid chased some unseen varmint for a while before stopping to catch a butterfly in mid-air. As he cupped it in his hands, peeking through the fingers, a frog leapt onto his leg. The kid gasped, but even that was subdued. He eyed the frog with round, emotional eyes, then lifted his leg to show Cad.

Created for war…but still just a kid.

The frog disappeared into the kid’s pocket only to leap back out again as soon as the kid’s attention turned to a flock of ducks flying overhead.

“Believe it or not, Cad,” Jango said, arm draped loosely over Cad’s shoulder as they walked through the grass together. “There are some planets in this galaxy that aren’t a kriffing nightmare to live on.”

“Pretty planets can be dangerous too,” Cad mumbled.

“Hey,” Jango stopped in his tracks and made the sulking duros look him in the eye. Human eyes were always too emotional for Cad's liking. Jango's eyes weren't bad to look at though. Still, he scowled stubbornly. “I promised you a quiet place to train you and I meant it. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”

As the kid stood transfixed over a grasshopper crawling along his arm, Cad slung the kid’s rifle over his own shoulder, grabbed a few more bags, and exited the ship. He was halfway to the house when he realized the kid was following him, silent as the grave and his arm still extended giving the grasshopper a proper runway.

“Just goin’ to the house. Go play, kid.”

“I’m not playing,” the kid denied. “I’m here to learn.”

Cad sneered. “Like a good little soldier, huh?”

“I’m not just a soldier. I’m an elite-”

“Just be a kriffin’ kid today, okay?”

The kid’s neutral expression melted into something teetering on panic. He looked around again as if searching for something or someone to explain “playing” to him.

Made for war...

“How about this,” Cad sighed. “Do some recon. Get familiar with the territory. The perimeter extends to the barbed wire fence and the border of the lake. Report back when yer done.”

Seemingly satisfied with this “mission” he nodded and bounded off, the grasshopper flying behind him.

Fuck you, Jango, for givin’ just one special little Boba a childhood and leavin’ the rest behind.

Cad headed to the house and hoped Todo 360 had ordered the extra carrots for the nerf stew.

***

Cad remembered being disappointed when he first arrived at the hideout.

The word “hideout” made him think of a beaten up shack filled with illegal artillery, chests full of credits, and a bunch of mean-looking mercs he’d be glad to have on his side.

But this hideout was a farmhouse. A quaint home perched on a hill overlooking the wheat fields. Over the front door was a wooden sign with hand carved, flowery aurebesh reading: “The Stars Shine on This Home”. Rocking chairs moved with the cool breeze on the porch. Cheerful tulips welcomed bees in the front garden. Inside the house, there were floral quilts on the plush couches and horseshoes over every doorway. There was a ubiquitous scent of cinnamon and aged wood.

“Doesn’t look like much of a hideout,” Cad sulked, eyeing the pie cooling on the windowsill.

“And you don’t look like much of a mercenary,” Jango sneered, pulling out two plates and a pie server. “Looks can be deceiving.”

Three hours later, the kid showed up. Dirt caked his cheeks, burrs stuck to his jumpsuit. There was a scrape on his hand, and a few bugs and a frog peeked out of his pockets.

From the kitchen, Cad slid a heap of carrots into the simmering nerf stew and watched the kid carefully stalk the living room, eyeing everything, but touching nothing.

Well, almost nothing.

Cad’s wide-brimmed hat hung on the rack near the door.

The kid reached up for it.

“Take a seat, kid,” Cad said, his tone sharp. “Food’s almost ready.”

The kid snatched his hand back and scurried to the small table in the dining area. He sniffed the daisy bouquet centerpiece and looked shocked to realize it was real. He put one of the grasshoppers on one of the flowers. The grasshopper immediately hopped away.

Cad set the bowl of hearty nerf stew in front of the kid and brushed the grasshopper onto the floor. “Eat up. It’s tastier than those shitty protein bars ya got stowed away.”

The kid’s spoon poked experimentally at the stew.

“I like the protein bars,” he said, watching the hearty chunks of nerf bobbing in the sienna broth.

He took a bite of just broth at first, his face remaining neutral, but his brow rose a little lighter.

The second bite was a little more adventurous with a piece of nerf added to it.

The third bite was all carrots…

…and the kid immediately spat them out in his napkin, wrinkling his nose.

Cad nearly snickered.

Under any normal circumstance he would’ve found it funny.

But the disappointment hit his gut like a cheap shot.

It was just carrots. What would he care if the kid hated carrots and Jango ate them like candy?

Because this ain’t about carrots. If these clones ain’t like Jango, then they got free will, don’t they?

And if they got free will…

…what happens if they decide they don’t wanna be soldiers?

Questions far above his pay grade, but like Jango always said: “The day you stop asking questions is the day They win.”

Is that what you did, Jango? Cad wondered, bringing his own bowl of stew to the table. Did ya just stop askin’ questions?

Halfway through the quiet meal, Cad realized the kid was staring at him.

“Somethin’ on yer mind, kid?” He asked, not looking up.

The kid silently picked another carrot off his spoon and added it to the orange pile on his napkin.

“I asked ya a question.”

“I didn’t find any Fabool,” the kid murmured.

“Didja know where to look?”

“No.”

Cad raised his brow ridge. “Didja ask where they were?”

The kid shook his head.

“So? Ask me.”

“Where are they?”

“Behind the house. Finish your stew and I’ll show y-”

The kid dropped his spoon, grabbed the bowl and, in record time, gulped down the rest of the stew, chewing the last bits noisily and spitting out a final piece of carrot.

“Ready.” he said, deadpan, though his eyes sparkled as bright as Jango’s whenever Cad handed him a Starsbar.

Need Todo to order more Starsbar, Cad reminded himself. Just in case.

***

Behind the house was a square, quarter acre of land, sectioned off with a two meter high fence covered in thick brown wool. From the outside, it just looked like an extra storage shed, but as Cad and the kid drew nearer, it was evident something was moving around inside the enclosure.

The kid pressed his face against the fabric barrier trying to see through it without any luck. The Fabools snuffled inquisitively on the other side.

“Whats with the blankets?”

Huh…first question I didn’t have to pry outta him, Cad mused.

“Fabools are about as sensitive as they are stupid. In the wild they’re liable to get stuck on thorn bushes n' deflate, makin' 'em easy pickin's for predators. The goal is to keep ‘em safe n’ happy in here so they produce more eggs."

"Eggs?"

"These eggs ain't for eatin'. Not for us anyway. They fetch a pretty price on the black market since the egg whites got hallucinatory properties to 'em.” He unlocked the door but held it closed, his eyes narrowing at the kid. “Walk carefully n’ don’t bring anythin’ sharp in here. You deflate ‘em, I deflate you, got it?”

“Okay,” the kid said, with enough earnestness to ease Cad's mind. "Wait," he added suddenly, pulling out a small vibroblade from his boot, and stuck it in the ground outside the enclosure. "Okay, ready."

“Good kid,” Cad nodded.

The kid immediately looked away, but not before Cad noted the faintest trace of a smile in his cheeks.

Soon as the gate opened, the kid slipped through it and was immediately overwhelmed, disappearing beneath a bouncing avalanche of furry Fabools.

Fabools were balloon-like creatures in every way imaginable, perfectly round, airy and gentle, and navigated the world through bouncing and floating with vague intent on their destination. Short gray fur covered their bodies, and their two webbed feet may have once been used for swimming eons ago, but that evolutionary branch had long since broken off. Their flippers remained as an imperfect guidance system, and Fabools tended to flap out of sheer excitement than for propulsion.

While they didn't exactly have heads, their face was located flush against the upper hemisphere of their round form, a tiny upturned mouth sandwiched between two, round black eyes which blinked adoringly at the kid.

The kid sank into the grass in wide-eyed wonderment, opening his arms to gently hug however many Fabools he could while the rest rolled and bounced all around him.

Cad couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard the kid hiss out a small, brief laugh.

“What the fuck, Jango?” Cad growled, backing up as the creatures bounced closer and closer. “Get ‘em away from me.”

“They’re harmless.”

“Then why’re they chasin’ me?” He climbed up the fence, the little monsters hopping in the air obviously trying to bite him.

“They don’t even have teeth. I promise you, they're not dangerous, just curious. Trust me.”

"Trust me..."

Something clicked in Cad’s mind.

…Well shit. Now I know why Jango asked me to train this kid. Snipin’ isn’t this kid’s problem. Trust is.

Not trust in other people. This kid seemed to have an abundance of blind trust for authority figures…something Cad would train out of him in a heartbeat if he wasn’t getting paid for this job.

The thing is, the kid had trust for everyone outside of himself.

That’s why he shoots so slow. That’s why he’s so damn hesitant to speak his mind. He’s got that spark in him, but Jango hired me for one specific reason: I got trust for no one but myself.

“They’re so…helpless,” The kid said, watching one of the males roll by, webbed feet kicking uselessly in the air. The kid gave him a little push to help him to his feet.

So are you, kid, Cad thought, popping a toothpick in his mouth. But don’t worry. We’re gonna fix that. You may hate me afterwards…

…but either way you’ll be stronger for it, and I’ll get paid either way.

#bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #the bad batch #cad bane #star wars the clone wars #jango fett #tbb cad bane #The First Toothpick

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levi-venn · 3 months

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The First Toothpick

Chapter 2: "Misfire"

Gen Fic - Mentor/Protege

Characters: Cad Bane, Crosshair (the kid), Tech.

Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapter Summary: Crosshair can handle his first jump to hyperspace...until he can't.

Available on AO3 here

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 (Coming soon)

Crosshair knelt beside his bunk, packing his bag quietly.

The bag had actually been packed for months now. It was a standard bug-out bag filled with provisions, jumpsuits, a short-range comm set, and a first aid kit. Still, he moved the contents around. Checking and rechecking the inventory list. Drawing it out for as long as it took for Fett to look for him.

Behind him Hunter and Wrecker threw each other to the ground on the training mat, punching and tickling each other, challenging the other to say “I surrender” first. Half the time this game ends in exhaustion and no victor…or tears from Wrecker and Hunter relenting to calm him down.

Pulling out a small box hidden at the foot of his bunk, Crosshair looked through his Max Reebo discs, deciding which ones to bring. Would he have time to listen to music? It calmed him down during the worst storms on Kamino. Where was he going? Would it be loud? Would it be bright?

Am I being punished?

“Where are you going?” Said a clipped Core World accent that his brother, Tech, had been practicing for weeks.

Crosshair didn’t turn around. “Out.”

“That…is evident,” Tech huffed, kneeling beside Crosshair. “Don’t take the discs. If you break them, they’ll be gone forever. It was hard enough smuggling them in.”

Crosshair put the discs away, and instead pulled out a small, torn poster of Figrin D'an And The Modal Nodes. Written in silver marker were the words: “To Crosshair, the best sniper - Figrin D’an”. Tech said the personalized autograph was authentic, but Crosshair recognized Tech’s handwriting when he saw it, the too-neat s’s, the perfectly circular o’s.

It was his prized possession.

He refolded the poster and tucked it into his pocket.

“They’re sending me away to train with a bounty hunter.”

“Well, that sounds exciting.”

Crosshair grunted quietly.

“Is it not exciting?” Tech pressed.

Crosshair recounted his ration bars.

“Crosshair?” Tech asked.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Well I’m not using what the Regs call you. It’s not accurate.”

“Yeah?” Crosshair snarled, defensively. “I knew your eyesight was bad, but even you saw how shitty I did in the last test. I dropped my rifle! It fell thirty meters and blasted a hole through the scoreboard.”

Tech flinched a little at the eyesight comment. Crosshair flinched, too.

“My sight isn’t the issue and your name isn’t ‘Misfire’. Mistakes happen. Everyone makes them.”

“Not Regs, apparently. Just me. I’m the reason they call us the Bad Batch.”

“That isn’t true. They call us that because…” Tech frowned as if searching for an adequate answer. The longer he stalled the worse Crosshair felt. “...Jealousy for one,” Tech said, finally. “ And I heard on some planets people say ‘bad’ when they mean ‘good’. ‘Badassery’ is a word I’ve heard the seasoned clones say many times.”

“You’re making that up.”

Tech tugged at his new goggles magnifying his eyes three fold. “I never make up fun facts, you know this.”

Crosshair didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t trust his voice not to crack.

Blinking away tears was second nature to Crosshair, especially recently with the slew of mistakes he’d been making. He blinked rapidly at Tech, then threw his arms around him in a gruff hug. “Take care of yourself while I’m gone. Don’t let Wrecker push you around. If he gets too rough, tell Hunter.”

“I can fight my own battles,” Tech huffed. “...But I’ll miss you too.”

The door slid open and Crosshair immediately let his brother go.

“Let’s go, CT-9904,” Fett said.

Crosshair gave Tech a gentle punch on the arm. “See you soon,” he lied. He had no idea when he’d be back. Maybe months or years .

What if I never see him again?

“What? Crosshair’s leaving?” Hunter asked, voice muffled through the headlock Wrecker trapped him in.

Crosshair walked out behind Fett, clutching the straps of his bug-out bag and sniper rifle tightly. He didn’t look back.

“Where’s he goin’?” Wrecker asked as the door closed behind him.

It was hard not to stare at the blue alien walking alongside him. His eyes were perfectly round glowing bulbs set behind mean, narrow slit eyelids. He had no nose, his lips were thin and grim, fangs razor sharp, and his brow was one long ridge that raised and lowered dramatically with his mood. The left ridge raised at Crosshair.

“What’s the matter, kid? Never seen a Duros before?”

Crosshair looked away. A Duros. He committed this to memory so he could tell Tech all about him when he got back.

If I come back…

The docking platform’s doors opened and suddenly the Duros was the second most interesting thing Crosshair had seen that day.

Ship designs were an important part of Crosshair’s daily studies, mostly how to take them down in a dogfight. He’s seen hundreds of ships in his lessons. He’s never seen any ship like this. It reminded him of the scorpions of Tatooine, the engine raised like a threatening stinger, wings spread like they’d sprout claws to grab unsuspecting prey.

He almost smiled.

The Duros must have noticed. “Welcome to the Justifier , kid.”

The ramp came down and Crosshair all but ran inside. His squad had been in simulation pods, but only Reg cadets were allowed trips on dropships. Hunter said they’d have plenty of time to fly in ships later, one day they’d have a ship of their own. For special missions. Crosshair remained skeptical. Hunter said a lot of things.

If Tech were here, he’d probably tell Crosshair exactly what kind of ship it was, the specs inside, how quickly it can prep a jump to hyperspace, the brand of the main compressor and what year it was made.

“Have a seat and strap in. Make yourself comfy, but not too comfy. This here’s temporary lodgings until we get to the ranch.”

Ranch? What’s a ranch?

Crosshair said nothing.

Cad hit the control panel and the ramp shrank back into the ship’s belly, the door sliding shut. Crosshair thought - too late - to take one last look at Kamino before it was gone. By the time he turned around, the door was shut. That was it. No goodbyes.

There was a small puddle at his feet where the cool, crisp rain had collected.

He put the toe of his boot in it.

It rippled.

“Strap in, kid. This ol’ girl gets a’might bumpy at Jump. Don’t reckon Jango’ll pay me if you’re a splatter on the wall.”

There were four seats in the common area with proper straps. Crosshair climbed into the largest one. There were claw marks on the edges of the armrest.

“That’s Bossk’s chair,” Cad said, grabbing the buckles and straps, handing them to Crosshair. “He ate the last person who tried to steal his spot.”

Crosshair snorted.

Cad wasn’t laughing.

Crosshair’s face fell.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him who sat here last,” Cad sneered.

While Crosshair strapped himself in, Cad watched, as if to make sure he did it properly. It was a four strap system that fastened to a disc over his chest. The disc was new, but the straps looked ancient. They didn’t fit crisply like they did in the simulation pods.

“Need help?”

“I know how to secure straps,” Crosshair said, irritably.

“Yeah? All I see are fumbling fingers. Hurry up, before the storm pushes us off the platform.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, his vision hitting a snag when he noticed the chair across from him was covered in small cuts, the leather melted as if assaulted by a vibroblade. “A.S. Wuz Here.” was carved in the chair back.

“Who is A.S.?” Crosshair asked, securing the fourth strap after a bit of adjusting. It popped out as soon as he let go.

Cad knelt down and batted Crosshair’s hand away, securing each strap then tightening them until Crosshair felt like he was part of the chair. “That’d be Aurra Sing. Be thankful Jango asked me to train you and not her. She hates kids.”

Crosshair raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And you like them?”

“No. Not really.”

“Me neither,” Crosshair said, thinking of the Regs whispering and snickering at him whenever he walked by.

Cad snorted or maybe scoffed. It was hard to tell. “Well, we’re gonna get along just fine then.” He tilted his hat up, his glowing red eyes seemed to give off a menacing heat, or maybe Crosshair was just nervous.

I want to make people nervous like this. With just a look. A mean look.

“I got two rules on this ship: Stay out of the cockpit. Stay out of my quarters. Everywhere else is fair game. Follow that n’ we’ll get along fine. Break a rule, you get a trip to the airlock. Sound good?”

Authority figures often threatened him and his brothers with punishment whenever they broke a rule, but this was the first time Crosshair actually believed an adult would follow through on a threat.

He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t sir me. Bane’s fine.”

Was Fett the only person allowed to call him “Cad”?

Crosshair decided not to ask.

“Yes, Bane,” Crosshair said.

Seemingly pleased, Bane gave a final tug to Crosshair’s straps and stood up. “Brace yourself.”

Brace himself? What did that mean? Panic was starting to sink into his bones. He had never been on a ship before. He had never been in hyperspace before. The clone troopers had armor for a reason when flying their ships. The g-forces could kill them without it. And Crosshair was in a jumpsuit. He wouldn’t get armor until he graduated to adulthood.

He shut his eyes as the ship started to hum and whirr all around him.

Tech wouldn’t panic.

Tech would adjust those new goggles of his.

What would Tech say?

Probably say something snarky like…“Obviously, you don’t need armor if Cad Bane is wearing clothes pulled directly out of a ‘Fistful of Credits’ holodrama.”

It made him feel better…

…for all of five seconds.

There was a high-pitched squeal like a broken valachord, the pressure hitting his chest like Wrecker was sitting on it.

Two Wreckers maybe…

…three…

Dark space clouded his vision.

I’m fine. Tech would be fine. I’m going to be f-

He passed out.

“Another black eye?” Tech asked, not looking up from his datapad.

“Same eye, just more black,” Crosshair sneered, climbing past his own bunk and onto Tech’s. “What’re you reading?”

“Who hit you?”

“Does it matter? Regs are all the same.”

“Hmm,” Tech flicked the holoprojector mode on and a planet, infected with an uninterrupted mass of buildings, floated in front of them. “I’m studying ecumenopolises.”

“What are they?”

“Looks loud,” Crosshair said, not really understanding what he meant.

Crosshair gingerly touched his cheek. It was swelling up. “Think we’ll see Coruscant one day?”

Crosshair rested his chin on Tech’s shoulder, watching the planets cycle by. “Thanks, Tech.”

“Kid?”

Five more minutes, Techie…

“Hey, kid. Wake up.”

Wake Wrecker up first...

There was a click and a sudden relief of pressure on his chest. Crosshair snapped awake with a gasp, muscles tensing, his hand reaching for his sniper rifle’s strap which…wasn’t there.

When his vision cleared, two glowing eyes stared at him under a furrowed brow. Bane was sneering again. “Welcome back. Y’know, Jango coulda warned me you’ve never made a jump to hyperspace before.”

“I’ve been in sssimulations,” Crosshair hissed.

Bane shoved a water bottle into Crosshair’s hands then plopped himself into Aurra Sing’s chair, leaning back. He rested his boot on his ankle, slouching like a holodrama blasterslinger.

Crosshair slouched too…but his legs were too short to pull off the same position.

“Drink.”

Crosshair did, not realizing how thirsty he was until the cold water hit his throat. It’s never cold in the facility. Everything is room temperature. Even the food.

“Guess they don’t add artificial G-forces to the sims, huh? I reckon, this old ship’ll probably hit ya harder than any government-issued starfighter would.”

“It’s no big deal,” Crosshair hissed again, his irritation showing through with the small impediment.

Bane tilted his head, amusement spreading across those thin lips. Somehow, the expression wasn’t as infuriating as the sneers the Regs threw at him. It felt…knowing. Maybe this was a normal reaction to someone’s first hyperspace jump.

“We’ll be on Dantooine in a couple of hours.”

Crosshair perked up. A location. Dantooine. It sounded familiar.

“Is that a…” Crosshair frowned. “An…Acutetopolis?”

By Bane’s blank stare, Crosshair knew he pronounced the damn word wrong. “Nevermind.”

“A what?” Bane asked, brow ridge raised.

Crosshair felt his ears grow hot with answer. “I sssaid nevermind.”

“Starsdamn, kid, you really give up too easy. You wanna know somethin’, just ask again.”

“Is it a city-planet?” Crosshair tried again.

“Ah, an ecumenopolis,” Bane said. “And no. It ain’t. The opposite actually. We’re goin’ to one of my old hideout for yer training. Somewhere you can get a real lesson of what life’s like outside yer little sterile world. By the time we’re done, you’ll be able to snipe shit off a fly’s back.”

Crosshair was a little disappointed it wasn’t a city-planet, but then again Tech hadn’t made him his special goggles yet. And with the promise of being a better sniper? Maybe this wasn’t a punishment after all.

He took another sip of water.

“So…” Bane reached into his belt and pulled out a toothpick, popping it into his mouth. “You've never been off-planet, but you know about ecumenopolises. What else did they teach ya about the galaxy at large?”

“That’s classified,” Crosshair responded automatically.

“Ya sound like yer old man.”

“My what?”

“Yer dad. Jango Fett.”

“We don’t have parents. I’m a copy of Fett. Engineered to be an elite sniper.”

Bane snorted a laugh. “Well ain't that some rote kraytspit.”

Crosshair wished Tech could tell him what “rote” meant. He stayed quiet.

“So is that why you look like that? Why you sound like that?”

Even the Regs had asked him why his voice was modulated. Someone said he sounded like a rabid rattlesnake. It wasn’t supposed to be a compliment, but Crosshair took it as one. “I’m engineered to be quiet. So I’m quiet.”

“Can’t call out for help then?”

“We have comms.”

“What if you need to shout, though?”

“My blaster rifle shouts for me.”

“Heh,” Bane cracked a smile. “Got an answer for everythin’, huh?”

Crosshair didn’t answer that.

“You ever meet Boba?”

“Who?”

“So…Jango keeps his precious little son away from the soldiers. Figures…”

“I’m not just a solider, that’s what the Regs are,” Crosshair snarled. “I’m in an elite squad. I’m built to be spec…special .” It was a shitty time for his voice to crack, but Crosshair hated that word. “Special”.

But it’s the word the trainers used. It’s the word the scientists used. If he wasn't Special, he was a failure.

Bane dropped his leg and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He noticed that slip-up too. “Special, huh? Best of the best?”

“Look out, here comes Misfire.”

All the Reg cadets hit the deck, then rolled over laughing.

“It’s just what they tell me.” Crosshair murmured.

“So ya don’t think yer all that special?” Bane asked.

“The bad batch! Why do they look like that? Why does he hiss like that? Were their tubes cracked? Bet they don’t last past year five.”

Crosshair shrugged, clutching the empty water bottle now. He picked at the label.

“That’s yer problem, kid. Ya lack conviction. No spine. Too embarrassed to ask about city-planets because you fucked up a mouthful of a word like ‘ecumenopolis’, ya get frazzled seein’ droids swarmin’ yer bell tower. Bet your head’s tellin’ ya all sorts of things. A whole heap of voices cloggin’ up your focus. Or maybe it’s not your voice…maybe it's the other kiddos? They got nicknames for ya, kid?”

“My name’s not kid,” Crosshair growled, the bottle crinkling in his grip.

“Oooh,” Bane sneered. “There’s a lil bite to your bark. Alright, fine, but I ain’t callin’ ya by a bunch of numbers. What’d ya wanna be called?”

“Crosshair? Nah, you’re Misfire. And that’s because “Shaky Sniper” is too long.”“We could call him Shaky.”

The whole table erupted in laughter.

Crosshair stopped at the table. He handed his milk to Tech. He calmly placed his sandwich and apple on the table, then tested the weight of the tray.

Satisfied, he slammed the tray into the laughing Regs’ faces. One, two, three Regs fell off the bench seat to the ground. The fourth Reg ran away reporting to the Lieutenant on duty.

The sight of Regs crying usually cheered Crosshair up, but he was branded “Misfire” now.

No one was going to see him differently.

“CT-9904,” he tried.

“Nope. 'Kid' it is,” Cad said, standing up. “Get some rest. Find somethin’ to eat. Soon as we land we’re gonna be up to our eyeballs in fabools. Better be ready.”

What’s a fabool?

Crosshair opened his mouth…could hear Regs laughing at the hiss in his voice...then shut his mouth again.

“Fuck’s sake, kid, stop bein’ yellabellied and ask me.”

“What’s a fabool?”

Bane sneered. “You’ll see.” And with that he climbed up the ladder towards the cockpit, shutting the hatch behind him.

Crosshair grumbled. “Cheeky prick.”

Whatever a fabool was, he hated was gonna hate it.

And I’m not yellabellied either , Crosshair thought. Whatever that means.

#bad batch crosshair #the bad batch #cad bane #star wars the clone wars #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #bad batch tech #The First Toothpick

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