#bad batch preferences

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Dark Water” pt.11

The Bad Batch x Reader

Tipoca City slept.

At least, it pretended to.

The halls hummed with low light, blue and sterile. Rain beat against the windows in a constant rhythm. But inside your quarters, all was silent—except for the scrape of armor plating being set into its case. Quiet, methodical.

You’d packed half your gear already. The rest would follow.

You didn’t know why exactly. Jango hadn’t said anything since returning. The Kaminoans were cold as ever, but that wasn’t new. Nothing had been said. But it didn’t matter.

You were a Mandalorian.

You didn’t need to hear danger to feel it.

You moved without sound, folding flight gloves, sheathing vibroblades, powering down datapads and redirecting comm channels. Not rushing—but not wasting time either.

You weren’t deserting.

You were surviving.

A soft knock made you freeze.

Not your door. The common one.

You palmed the sidearm at your hip.

“…It’s me.”

Wrecker.

You didn’t holster the blaster—but you didn’t point it either. You keyed the door open.

The boy stood there blinking, hair damp, hands shoved into the sleeves of a training jacket three sizes too small. Behind him, the corridor was quiet. He was alone.

“You’re packin’,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer.

Wrecker looked down at the floor. “You leavin’?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to.”

He stepped into the room and sat on your bunk like it was still his. You left your gear half-packed and crossed your arms.

“I’ve got drills scheduled with you tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah. That’s what I figured you’d say,” Wrecker mumbled. “But we all know. Somethin’ changed.”

You glanced at the door.

“Where are the others?”

Wrecker shrugged. “Hunter’s in the sim deck. Probably punching walls again. Crosshair’s off sulking in the tower. Tech’s got a new slicer mod, hasn’t looked up in hours.” He paused. “They’re all actin’ weird. Since Serenno.”

You stiffened. “That’s none of your business.”

Wrecker’s brow furrowed. His voice was soft.

“…Are you in trouble?”

That hit harder than it should have.

You looked away.

“I don’t know,” you said truthfully. “But I think someone wants me gone.”

Wrecker didn’t speak right away. Then: “Like gone gone?”

You gave him a look. “I told you. I don’t know.”

He sat with it.

Wrecker was loud and brash and never knew when to shut up—but he’d always been more emotionally aware than the others gave him credit for. He could sense your tension like he sensed explosive charge.

He swallowed. “We’ll help you.”

“No.” The word came out harsher than you intended. “You won’t. You’re not soldiers yet. You’re not mine.”

“You’re the only one who treats us like we’re not broken.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

You didn’t answer.

You crouched in front of him and rested a hand on his knee. “That’s why I have to go, Wrecker. Because I know what’s coming, and you don’t. And if I stay, it’ll land on you.”

“But—”

“I’ll be fine,” you lied.

Wrecker leaned forward and hugged you fiercely, nearly knocking you over.

“I don’t want you to go,” he mumbled into your shoulder.

“I don’t want to go either.”

He pulled back. “Are you gonna say goodbye to the others?”

You hesitated.

“Not yet.”

Wrecker nodded slowly. Then stood, turned to the door, and paused.

“You’ll come back?” he asked. “Promise?”

You couldn’t answer.

So you just smiled.

Wrecker left.

You stayed in the doorway a moment longer.

Then turned back to your pack, and kept going.

The rain against the window didn’t stop.

⸻

The simulation room was silent but for the hiss of the environment system and the hum of training droids powering up.

Clone Force 99 was already moving. Four dark silhouettes darted across the simulated cityscape of Kamino’s lower platforms, rain lashing holographic walls, thunder booming in the ceiling’s audio vents. You watched them from behind the thick transparisteel of the observation deck.

Your armor was full, scratched from a dozen missions, black and blue with the sigil of your clan marked proud across your pauldron. A helmet hung at your side. You’d strapped it on the moment you woke.

Instinct.

Something had been coming.

And now it was here.

The doors behind you hissed open.

Jango Fett entered first.

Helmet on. Blaster on his hip.

Walon Vau came next, quiet and precise in black armor, his strill Ghost pacing beside him. Kal Skirata was behind them—older, weary, eyes shadowed. Six guards followed. Kaminoans trailed at the rear, their long necks high, expressions unreadable.

“[Y/N],” said Chief Scientist Nala Se. “You are under arrest for conspiracy with the Separatists.”

You didn’t turn.

You kept your eyes on the field below.

Tech was slicing into a security panel with childlike precision. Crosshair held position on a vantage point, muttering about “terrible cover.” Wrecker was laughing mid-simulation like he didn’t have a care in the world. And Hunter…

Hunter stopped.

Looked up.

Met your eyes through the glass.

“[Y/N],” Jango repeated. “Remove your weapons. Now.”

You turned. Slowly.

“Jango,” you said. “You sure about this?”

His helmet tilted.

“You were seen on Serenno. With Dooku.”

“I didn’t betray anyone.”

“That’s not how the Kaminoans see it.”

“The Kaminoans,” you snapped, “aren’t Mandalorian. We don’t turn on our own.”

“You’re not one of us anymore,” said Walon Vau coolly. “If you ever were.”

The guards raised their blasters.

Kal didn’t.

Kal looked you in the eyes. You couldn’t read him.

But you nodded once.

Then threw your helmet on.

Blasterfire lit up the observation deck.

You dropped flat and rolled.

Glass shattered as you dove sideways and slammed into the emergency override. The simulation floor erupted in klaxons as the system glitched out. Cadets scattered. Crosshair fired blindly at droids. Hunter shoved Wrecker down.

They didn’t know what was happening.

You sprinted through the exit tunnel.

Jango’s voice roared behind you: “Kill on sight!”

You didn’t wait to hear more.

The halls were chaos. Red lights strobed. Trainers and guards poured from side corridors, comms barking. Kaminoans squawked in alarm. You darted through side service accessways, ducked into ventilation shafts, vaulted over catwalks that rattled beneath you.

You were being hunted.

Every movement became sharper. Every breath louder.

You activated your vambrace tracker, jammed their signal, but you knew it wouldn’t last.

Clones were trained to chase.

But you were trained to disappear.

You moved like water through the bones of Tipoca City, vanishing into the endless rain and stormlight. Behind you, alarms howled. Blaster bolts scorched the walls. Guards yelled. Someone shouted that they’d spotted you on the lower levels—but you were already two decks above.

You didn’t know where you were going.

Only that if they caught you, you’d die.

And you weren’t ready to die.

Not yet.

Not while your boys still didn’t know the truth.

Not while you still had time to give them a chance to survive what was coming.

Not while Jango Fett’s shadow still loomed over it all.

⸻

The simulation abruptly powered down.

Holograms fizzled. Rain cut short. Droids froze mid-fire. The training deck lit with emergency red as klaxons blared overhead.

“Exercise suspended,” came the mechanical voice over the intercom. “All cadets return to quarters immediately. Security lockdown in effect.”

“What the hell was that?” Crosshair muttered, stepping down from his sniper perch.

“I didn’t even get to blow anything up,” Wrecker complained, hauling a stuck simulation drone over and tossing it across the deck.

Hunter stood still.

Eyes locked on the shattered observation deck.

“I think… something’s wrong.”

Tech was already sprinting for the edge. “That glass wasn’t broken at the start of the sim,” he said, adjusting his goggles. “And look at the scorch marks—there was blaster fire.”

“Someone attacked the observation deck?” Wrecker asked, blinking.

“No,” said Hunter, jaw tightening. “She ran.”

The doors slammed shut before they could leave the sim floor.

Troopers moved in — not cadets, not instructors, but Kaminoan guards and full-armored clones. There were more than usual. More than made sense.

The boys stiffened.

Walon Vau descended the stairs, followed by Kal Skirata.

Delta Squad filed in behind them.

“Stand down,” Skirata barked, not unkindly. “Back to quarters. You’re done for today.”

“No, we’re not,” Crosshair growled, eyes narrowing. “What happened to our trainer?”

Hunter’s voice was low. Controlled. “Where is she?”

Vau didn’t blink. “She’s been arrested for treason.”

Wrecker’s face fell. “What…?”

“She’s been conspiring with the Separatists,” said Fixer coldly. “We got word she met with Dooku on Serenno.”

“Impossible,” Tech said immediately. “I reviewed her mission logs. There’s nothing indicating—”

“Because she scrubbed them,” Scorch cut in, unusually serious. “You don’t know what you don’t know, kid.”

Hunter shook his head. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“She’s Mandalorian,” Skirata said evenly. “And sometimes, Mandalorians choose the wrong cause.”

“She chose us,” Wrecker said quietly. “She took care of us.”

“She taught us,” Tech added. “She helped shape our protocols. Our tactics.”

Crosshair’s mouth twisted. “She lied.”

“Or you were just too blind to see it,” said Walon Vau.

A pause.

Then:

“You’re wrong,” Hunter said.

The room was silent.

Wrecker looked like he was trying not to cry.

Tech had already pulled out his datapad, hands trembling slightly.

Crosshair didn’t speak again.

Kal’s voice was lower when he finally said, “We don’t know what her endgame was. But for now, she’s gone. And you four better figure out where your loyalties lie.”

⸻

Back in their barracks, the boys didn’t talk much.

Wrecker clutched Lula so tight the seams stretched.

Tech kept scrolling. Researching. Digging.

Hunter stared at the ceiling, lying on his bunk like a corpse. “If she’s alive,” he muttered finally, “she’ll come back.”

Crosshair, sitting by the door, barely looked up. “And if she does—what are we supposed to do? Trust her again?”

No one answered.

⸻

The halls of Tipoca City blurred past in a tunnel of white and silver.

Your lungs burned. Your heart pounded. Boots thundered down polished corridors as you sprinted through the compound you had once called a second home—now a maze of enemies. Sirens howled behind you. Blaster bolts whined overhead, searing past your armor, exploding against the walls.

“Subject has breached corridor Cresh-nine. Intercept immediately.”

You ducked behind a supply terminal as more fire rang out. A clone patrol swept past, too focused to see you in the shadows. The lights flickered, bathing the hallway in a red strobe that made every movement surreal. Dreamlike.

You weren’t dreaming.

You were being hunted.

By the man who brought you here.

By Jango.

A flash of movement up ahead.

You knew that silhouette before your brain caught up. The confident gait, the heavy Beskar armor, the raised WESTAR-34 pistols.

Jango Fett stepped out from the fogged corridor. Alone.

“You should’ve run further,” he said coolly.

“I didn’t expect you to sell me out this fast,” you answered, slowly rising.

“Orders are orders.”

“No,” you said. “You agreed to this.”

He said nothing.

The silence between you cracked like ice underfoot.

“You told me you’d protect them,” you hissed. “The boys. You told me I was helping them.”

“You were,” he said. “Until you started caring more about them than the mission.”

Something in you broke then.

You drew.

So did he.

The fight wasn’t graceful. It was brutal, fast, full of history and rage. Fists clashed against durasteel. Armor sparked and buckled. You tackled him into the outer corridor door—glass shattered as both your bodies smashed through it, crashing onto the elevated landing pad above Kamino’s roaring waters.

Rain pounded down.

Lightning cracked overhead.

Jango staggered back, blood at the corner of his mouth. “You can’t save them.”

“They were never yours to command,” you spat.

He didn’t answer.

He fired.

The blaster bolt hit square in your chest.

Your world exploded in white heat.

You hit the railing with a sickening crack. Blood filled your mouth. You saw stars.

And then—voices.

“NO!”

Wrecker’s.

“Hold on!”

Crosshair.

A cable hissed through the storm and latched onto your wrist plate just as your body slipped over the edge. You were too numb to be grateful. The wind screamed in your ears. You were suspended by a thread over the crashing ocean below.

Wrecker was leaning dangerously over the railing, hauling you back with shaking arms. Tech behind him, guiding the winch. Crosshair’s sniper still smoking.

Hunter stood frozen, eyes locked on Jango.

Jango raised his blaster again.

“She’s under execution orders,” he barked. “Let her go.”

“She didn’t betray us!” Wrecker yelled.

“She saved our lives,” Hunter growled.

“She’s not Republic,” Jango shouted. “She’s not loyal.”

“She’s ours,” Crosshair muttered, deadly calm.

The rain fell harder.

You looked up at them—at your boys. Their eyes locked on yours, desperate, torn, terrified.

And you knew what you had to do.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Your hand shifted, slipped to the cable—

—and cut it.

“NO!”

You plummeted.

The storm swallowed you whole.

The last thing you heard was Wrecker screaming your name before the sea dragged you down into black.

The cable hit the ground with a snap.

Rain battered the metal platform. Thunder split the sky.

No one moved.

Not the clones.

Not the Mandalorians.

Not even Jango.

Wrecker was the first to scream.

“NO! NO—NO NO NO!”

He scrambled toward the edge of the platform, half slipping on the rain-slick metal, trying to see into the black ocean below. “Get a spotlight—get something! We have to—”

Hunter grabbed him. It was instinct. It was desperation. He had no plan beyond stopping Wrecker from hurling himself into the sea after you.

“She’s still out there!” Wrecker sobbed, fists pounding against Hunter’s chest. “She wouldn’t—she wouldn’t leave us!”

“She didn’t,” Hunter choked out, voice hoarse. “She was trying to save us.”

Crosshair stepped forward slowly, staring down into the abyss below. He didn’t speak. Not even as Tech stumbled to his side and tried to activate a scanner.

“Visibility: zero,” Tech said after a moment. “Currents are strong. The suit might protect her from the fall, but the water—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Wrecker growled.

Across the deck, Kaminoan guards slowly lowered their weapons. Some looked surprised. Others didn’t look at all. To them, you had been just another anomaly. A data point.

But to Clone Force 99, you had been something entirely different.

You’d been theirs.

And now you were gone.

⸻

The barracks felt wrong.

Empty, even with all four of them inside.

Hunter sat on his bunk, back hunched, hands shaking. “She didn’t tell us,” he said, to no one in particular. “She didn’t say a word.”

“Because we would’ve stopped her,” Wrecker snapped.

Crosshair was cleaning his rifle in slow, deliberate movements. Too slow. Too deliberate. “She lied,” he said flatly. “Not about everything, maybe. But enough.”

“She cut the cable,” Wrecker muttered. “She was scared we’d get punished for helping her.”

“She saved us from making a choice,” Tech said quietly. “That was the point.”

No one replied.

Wrecker curled into the corner of the room, Lula pressed to his chest. “She said bad dreams feel better if you don’t have them alone.”

“She wasn’t supposed to be alone,” Tech said, voice tight.

Hunter stood up, pacing like a caged beast. “This isn’t over. You know that, right? Jango tried to kill her. The Kaminoans wanted her gone. Why?”

Crosshair looked up, gaze sharp.

“They said she was conspiring with Dooku.”

“Then why didn’t they arrest her sooner?” Tech asked. “Why was it only now that this all fell apart?”

Wrecker’s voice trembled. “Because she knew something.”

Hunter stopped pacing.

“We need to find out what,” he said grimly.

Crosshair clicked his rifle back together.

“We need to find her.”

⸻

The storm had passed.

Kamino was quiet again.

Too quiet.

The observation deck overlooked the landing pad where you had fallen. Medical droids were combing the area—silent, meticulous, indifferent.

Kal Skirata stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a faint grimace carved into his features. Beside him, Walon Vau leaned against the durasteel frame, visor down, arms loose at his sides but always ready.

A low beep came from one of the deck’s control stations. The Kaminoan technician muttered something in their native tongue and moved on.

Another ship took off.

A scheduled departure.

But one, just one, earlier that morning had not been.

“Vau,” Kal muttered, pointing his chin toward the terminal. “Pull up the logs. Look at this.”

Walon stepped forward and tapped into the system.

“Unscheduled outbound transport, three hours before shift change. No pilot listed.” He paused. “Coordinates scrambled.”

Kal rubbed a hand over his face, sighing through his teeth. “That’s not a glitch.”

Walon narrowed his eyes beneath the helmet. “Medical team says they found blood at the edge of the launch pad.”

“No body,” Kal added. “No impact signature in the water. Nothing on sonar. And no one wants to admit there was a chase at all.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Walon said, “She was set up.”

Kal didn’t answer right away.

“She didn’t fall,” Walon continued. “She ran. And someone helped her finish the job. Whoever pulled the cable wanted her to survive.”

Kal grunted. “She was dangerous.”

“To the wrong people,” Walon agreed. “She asked questions. Spent too much time listening to those cadets. Especially Clone Force 99. That’s why they stuck to her like glue.”

“She wasn’t the only one,” Kal said. “You ever hear a reg speak about a trainer like that? Like family?”

“No.”

Kal leaned on the railing, voice lower now. “That’s the problem with bringing in real Mandos to do a Kaminoan’s job. They thought we’d mold the clones into perfect soldiers without giving a damn. They thought we wouldn’t care.”

“And yet here we are,” Walon said dryly, “risking reprimand to gossip like worried aunties.”

Kal snorted, just once. “Don’t get soft on me.”

“I’m not the one hiding vials from Ko Sai.”

That silenced them both.

Walon turned his helmet to Kal. “You’re still working on it, aren’t you? The aging.”

Kal’s jaw clenched. “Not here to watch a generation of boys die young just because they were born into someone else’s war.”

“Careful,” Walon said. “That’s not very subtle.”

Kal looked sideways at him. “And running ops to find missing bloodwork from a ‘traitorous’ Mando trainer is?”

Walon shrugged. “Subtlety is subjective.”

They stared out at the sea.

Kal sighed. “If she made it out alive…”

“She’ll be hunted,” Walon said. “By more than the Kaminoans.”

“She’ll go dark.”

“Unless she finds someone she trusts.”

Kal didn’t speak again.

But his hand drifted to his comm, where a string of encrypted numbers sat unsent.

⸻

They weren’t supposed to be in the control tower.

Which made it even more exciting for Wrecker.

Hunter crouched low beside the access panel while Tech quietly bypassed the security lock. Crosshair leaned against the wall, arms crossed, casting occasional glances down the hall.

“You’re sure this is where the flight logs are stored?” Hunter asked quietly.

“I accessed the mainframe routing protocols two nights ago,” Tech whispered back. “Short of the Kaminoans’ private archives, this is where all docked and outbound activity is logged. If there’s anything off about her disappearance, it will be here.”

“And if there’s nothing?” Crosshair asked, eyebrow raised.

Hunter looked away. “Then we stop hoping.”

The door hissed open. They slipped inside.

The tower was silent except for the gentle thrum of energy monitors and blinking lights. Tech moved quickly, sliding into the chair and syncing into the terminal. His eyes danced across data.

“Okay… scheduled launches, inbound craft, maintenance logs…”

Wrecker leaned close. “What’s that one?”

Tech paused. A red line blinked at the bottom of the screen.

“Unscheduled departure,” he murmured. “No pilot ID. Scrambled coordinates. Three hours after she disappeared. Right before shift change.”

Crosshair moved beside him. “How convenient.”

Tech’s fingers flew. “The origin pad was… Platform 17. That’s where—”

“Where she fell,” Hunter finished.

Wrecker’s heart skipped.

They all went still.

“She made it to a ship,” Tech whispered.

“She survived,” Wrecker said, his voice thick with emotion.

“Maybe,” Crosshair muttered.

Hunter moved to the viewport, staring out into the stormy sea.

“Why wouldn’t they tell us?” Wrecker asked. “Why wouldn’t they say she got away?”

“Because they didn’t want us to know,” Hunter said. “Because they want us to believe she was a traitor. They want us to forget her.”

“Well that’s not gonna happen,” Wrecker growled.

“Agreed,” Tech added.

Crosshair stayed quiet. His expression was unreadable.

⸻

The four of them sat in a circle, the way they used to when they were little, when nightmares were loud and the world still felt like it could make sense.

Hunter rested his elbows on his knees. “We don’t tell the regs. Not Skirata, not Delta, no one. We don’t know who we can trust.”

“You think she’s in danger?” Wrecker asked.

“I think she already was,” Hunter replied.

“She didn’t tell us,” Crosshair said quietly.

“Because we would’ve followed her,” Tech said.

“And we still might,” Hunter added. “When the time comes.”

They all looked at each other.

The room was quiet.

Crosshair, for once, didn’t argue. He just nodded—once, slowly.

Hunter exhaled. “She was never just a trainer.”

Wrecker looked down at Lula in his lap, hugging the soft tooka close.

“She’s one of us.”

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[ineffablejaymee]

echo, telling the bad batch about how calm kind and cool General Kenobi was and that they were friends:

hunter, trying very hard not to show fear because the last time he saw kenobi was after a mission during which cody broke his arm. Obi-wan's calm passive agressive smile still haunts him in nightmares: uhuh :)

[archivewriter1ont]

I like that the armor that Echo wears after being rescued was already stamped with the CF99 skull. Maybe it was just a mark of who the armor belonged to, but it looks almost like it could have been painted on it a hurry, like the Batch was already saying "he's ours now"

On the other hand, if it was an old mark, it's kind of sweet and amusing to think of the Bad Batch as scrawny shinies wearing that kind of armor for their first few missions.

[collophora]

Quick test of magma Who instantly denied pressure sensitivity

[robotsandramblings]

spin the wheel of Bad Batch episodes (from both TBB and TCW). whichever one you land on is the ONLY episode you're allowed to rewatch for the rest of your life. you can't rewatch any other episodes.

don't forget to say in the tags which episode you got :)

[demigoddessqueens]

thinking of how Crosshair would unintentionally reach out for his s/o’s hand whenever his shakes, calming down for a moment but still feels too proud at times to admit it, but you still see a faint blush when he does

[vimse]

Hi friends. Weird request, but can anyone recommend me fics that feature protective Tech?

[niobiumao3]

Let us now consider, Tech with an ND classic: audio processing issues. Is this why he records everything? Maybe it is.

Hunter: Well, I don't see any better options, so plan 15 it is. Tech, confused: ...plan 50??? Four voices in comms: NO.

[thetravellerssnotebook]

Crosshair gives me "One black coffee" but once everyone turns away he leans over the counter and mutters "Make that an iced caramel latte but put it in a hot coffee cup" energy

[anthrotulip]

May the Force be with us all.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Happy Weekend! I was wondering if you could do an angst fic w/ TBB x Fem!Reader where they’re on a mission and the ground crumbles beneath her and she falls and they think she could be dead? Thanks! Xx

Happy Thursday! Sorry for the delay, I hope this is somewhat what you had in mind😊

“Echoes in the Dust”

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Falling, presumed death, grief, survivor’s guilt, panic

The ridge was narrow. Too narrow.

You moved with your blaster raised and your jaw set, following closely behind Wrecker as the team pushed forward. The rocky terrain was riddled with ravines, fault lines, and fractured earth—left scarred by years of shelling and seismic bombardments. The mission was supposed to be simple: infiltrate a Separatist holdout and extract data.

It was never simple.

“Movement on the northwest cliff,” you called into your comm. “Looks like clankers repositioning.”

“Copy that,” Echo’s voice crackled. “Tech, I’m sending coordinates to your pad.”

Hunter glanced back at you, just a flick of his head, a silent confirmation. You nodded. I’m good.

You were always good. Until the ground gave out beneath you.

It was subtle at first—just a soft shift under your boots, like loose gravel. But then came the snap. A hollow, wrenching crack that echoed through the canyon like thunder. The rock splintered beneath your feet. You didn’t have time to scream.

Just time to look up—into Hunter’s eyes.

“[Y/N]—!”

You dropped.

The last thing you saw was his outstretched hand, just a second too late.

Then the world became air and stone and darkness.

⸻

Above, everything exploded into chaos.

Hunter hit the ridge on his knees, arms dragging at loose rock, clawing like an animal trying to dig you back out. “No, no, no—”

Echo slid in beside him, scanning with one cybernetic arm extended. “I can’t see her. It’s—kriff—it’s a vertical drop. She went straight down.”

“I should’ve grabbed her!” Wrecker was pacing in wild circles, fists clenched, eyes wet. “I was right in front of her—I should’ve—she was right there!”

“She didn’t even scream,” Echo murmured. “She just… vanished.”

“I’m scanning for vitals,” Tech said, already tapping furiously at his datapad, but his voice was thin. “There’s no signal. No movement. Her comm—either it was destroyed in the fall or… or she’s—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Hunter snapped, voice like a knife.

The wind howled through the crevice she’d fallen into, dragging dust and silence with it.

Crosshair stood several meters back, motionless, his DC-17M dangling loosely in his grip.

“Say it,” Echo growled, glaring at him. “You’ve been quiet this whole time. Just say whatever snide thing you’re thinking so we can all lose it together.”

Crosshair’s eyes flicked up, storm-gray and unreadable.

“She’s dead.”

“Shut your mouth!” Wrecker roared, storming toward him, but Echo shoved himself in between.

“She could be alive,” Echo said fiercely, though his voice cracked. “It’s possible. People survive worse.”

Crosshair didn’t move. “Not from that height.”

“I said shut it!” Wrecker shoved him back, but it was all broken fury—guilt bleeding through his rage. “She was smiling, dammit. Right before. She looked at me and said, ‘We’ll all get out of this,’ and I didn’t even answer her back—!”

“Stop.” Hunter’s voice cut clean through the storm.

He stood now, rigid and furious, his back to the team, staring into the void where you’d fallen.

“She’s alive,” he said.

Tech looked up from his pad slowly. “Statistically—”

“I don’t give a damn about statistics.” His voice was hoarse. “I felt her. She was right here. She’s part of us. She wouldn’t just be… gone.”

His hand trembled slightly. Not from fear. From the weight of it.

He was the one who told you to cover the flank. He was the one who said the ridge was stable enough.

She trusted you, Crosshair had said.

No. She trusted him.

And he’d failed her.

Hunter turned and began strapping a rope to his belt.

“Sergeant?” Tech asked cautiously.

“We’re going down there. All of us. We don’t stop until we find her. I don’t care if we have to tear the planet apart.”

Echo moved first. “I’m with you.”

Wrecker stepped up beside them, his breath hitching. “Me too. Always.”

Even Crosshair nodded, silent again.

As Hunter stood at the edge, ready to descend into the place where you vanished, a single thought thundered in his mind:

She can’t be gone.

Not you.

Not when your laugh was still echoing in his ears. Not when you told him last night, during watch, that you’d be careful. Not when he never got to tell you that he needed you more than he ever let on.

He’d find you.

Or die trying.

⸻

The descent into the ravine was slow, agonizing, and silent.

The team moved as one—Hunter leading with a lantern clipped to his belt, casting narrow beams over jagged rock and twisted earth. Echo and Tech followed with scanners, mapping every crevice. Wrecker moved boulders with his bare hands, gritting his teeth with each one. Crosshair, ever the rear guard, watched from behind, but his silence was sharp, eyes flicking everywhere.

Hunter’s voice echoed through the narrow stone corridor. “Check every ledge. Every outcropping.”

“She could’ve hit a rock shelf and rolled,” Echo said, carefully scanning below. “Or worse…”

“Don’t,” Wrecker said. “Don’t even say it. She’s alive. She has to be.”

They moved deeper into the ravine—until the beam of Hunter’s light caught something.

“Wait,” Tech whispered, grabbing Echo’s arm.

There—thirty feet below them, half-buried under collapsed shale and bloodied stone—was a figure.

Your figure.

You were sprawled on your side, your body twisted unnaturally, one leg crushed beneath a slab of rock. Blood soaked through your jacket. Your head had struck something hard—too hard—and you weren’t moving.

Hunter nearly dropped the lantern.

“[Y/N]—!”

He was down the rest of the way before anyone could stop him, crashing to his knees beside you.

“Don’t move her!” Echo shouted, sliding in behind. “Not yet. Let me check—”

But Hunter’s hands were already trembling as they hovered over you, too afraid to touch. Too afraid that this—this fragile, broken thing—was all that was left.

“She’s breathing,” Echo said. “Shallow. Pulse is—kriff—irregular. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Wrecker dropped beside them, tears already streaking the dust on his cheeks.

“Is she—? She’s gonna make it, right? Echo?”

“She’s unconscious,” Echo said quietly. “And we need to get her out now.”

“Spinal trauma is possible,” Tech added, eyes locked on his scanner. “Multiple fractures. Her femur is broken—bleeding into the tissue. Concussion. Rib damage. Internal bleeding likely.”

Crosshair didn’t come any closer. He stood just at the edge of the light, staring down at you with an unreadable expression.

“You said she was dead,” Wrecker growled, voice shaking.

Crosshair didn’t respond.

Because he knew now—death would’ve been kinder than this.

The med evac was chaotic.

Hunter carried you the entire climb back—refused to let anyone else even try. He held you close to his chest like something fragile, as if you’d fall again if he let go. Your blood had soaked through his armor by the time they reached the surface.

Back on the Marauder, the team worked together in silent urgency. Wrecker helped secure you to the gurney. Echo and Tech patched what they could. Crosshair kept watch, pacing like a trapped animal.

And Hunter… he sat beside you.

His hands were covered in your blood.

“I should’ve caught you,” he whispered.

No one argued. No one corrected him.

Because part of them believed it too.

You twitched in your sleep once—just a small movement, a flicker of pain across your brow—and Hunter nearly leapt out of his seat.

“She moved!” he barked.

“She’s still unconscious,” Tech reminded. “That doesn’t guarantee cognition. The swelling in her brain—”

“I don’t care what the scans say,” Hunter growled. “She’s fighting.”

He reached down and brushed a blood-matted strand of hair from your face.

“You hear me?” he whispered, voice cracking. “You hold on. You fight like you always do. You’re not going to leave us like this.”

Wrecker sat on the floor beside the cot, staring at your hand dangling off the edge.

“You’re not allowed to die, okay?” he said, softly, almost childlike. “You still owe me a rematch.”

Echo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight. “She shouldn’t have been the one to fall. It should’ve been—”

“Don’t,” Tech said, just as quiet. “We all blame ourselves. That’s not useful now.”

Only Crosshair said nothing.

But later—when the others had finally dozed off in shifts, and the med droid was running scans—he sat beside you alone.

“Idiots, all of them,” he muttered. “They think they lost you. I know better.”

He rested his hand beside yours.

“You’re not dead. You’re just too damn stubborn.”

There was a pause.

“…So come back. Or I’ll never forgive you.”

You didn’t wake up that night. Or the next.

But your vitals held.

You were still fighting.

And the squad—your family—never left your side.

⸻

It started with a sound.

A weak, choked wheeze from the medbay.

Wrecker heard it first—he’d been sitting on the floor beside your cot for the past hour, humming under his breath and telling you stories like he had every day since they pulled you from the ravine.

But when he heard your breathing stutter—heard that awful, wet gasp—he was on his feet in an instant.

“Tech!”

Footsteps thundered in from the cockpit.

Tech was there in seconds, datapad in one hand, expression already shifting from calculation to panic.

“Vitals are dropping. Pulse erratic. Respiratory distress—dammit—her lung may have collapsed.”

The med droid whirred a warning in binary, and Tech shoved it aside, already working to stabilize you. Wrecker stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides, helpless as machines blared and blood began soaking through your bandages again.

“She was getting better,” Wrecker whispered. “She was breathing normal yesterday. You said she was stabilizing!”

“I said her vitals were holding,” Tech snapped, voice tight and uncharacteristically sharp. “I also said we didn’t know the full extent of internal damage yet. The concussion is worsening. There’s pressure building against her brainstem. Her body is going into systemic shock.”

“Then fix it!” Wrecker’s voice cracked. “You fix everything! Please—”

Tech’s hands moved fast, too fast—grabbing gauze, recalibrating IV drips, re-administering stimulants. But beneath the precision was fear. A gnawing, brittle kind of fear that made his fingers shake.

“I’m trying,” Tech said, barely above a whisper now. “I’m trying, Wrecker.”

Your body jerked suddenly—just a twitch, but it sent a ripple of panic through them both.

Tech cursed under his breath. “She needs proper medical facilities. A bacta tank. A neuro-regeneration suite. This ship is not equipped to handle this kind of trauma long-term.”

“So what, we just wait and watch her die?” Wrecker whispered.

“No!” Tech snapped, louder this time. “We don’t let her die.”

He slammed his fist down on the console—just once—but the sound echoed like a gunshot through the Marauder. Wrecker flinched. Tech never lost control. Never raised his voice. Never made a sound unless it meant something.

And now, he looked like he was about to break.

“I’ve calculated a thousand outcomes,” Tech murmured, softer now. “And every variable keeps changing. Her body is unpredictable. She’s unstable. But she’s also resilient. She’s survived things that should’ve killed her ten times over.”

He looked up then, eyes glassy behind his goggles.

“But if we don’t find a way to get her real care—soon—we will lose her.”

Wrecker turned away, one massive hand covering his face. He’d never felt so useless. Not when they’d crashed on Ordo. Not when they’d been stranded on Ryloth. Never like this.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I’m strong. I can carry her. Fight for her. But I can’t fix her, Tech. I can’t even hold her without hurting her worse.”

Tech approached quietly, placing a hand on Wrecker’s shoulder—a rare gesture.

“You are helping,” he said. “You’re keeping her tethered. She needs that. She needs us.”

The med console beeped—soft, steady. A pause.

Then a spike.

Her heart rate surged. Your head tilted slightly to the side. Blood trickled from your nose. Another alarm.

“No, no, no—stay with us,” Tech muttered, already grabbing the stabilizer. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

Wrecker dropped to his knees beside you, voice trembling.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You don’t get to leave like this. You didn’t even finish your story about the time you pantsed Crosshair in front of the general. Remember that?”

He sniffed, brushing a strand of hair from your sweat-slicked face. “You said you’d tell me how you pulled it off without getting court-martialed. Said you’d sing me that dumb lullaby you like. Said you’d stay.”

Your fingers twitched.

A tiny movement. Almost nothing.

But Wrecker gasped.

“She moved!”

Tech’s head snapped up. “What?”

“She moved! Her hand—right here—she twitched.”

Tech scanned you again. “Neurological activity spiked. Minimal, but—”

You let out a weak, pained breath.

Another wheeze. Then a garbled sound—almost like a word, trapped somewhere deep in your throat.

“…H-Hun…ter…”

Both men froze.

Tears filled Wrecker’s eyes.

“She said his name…”

“She’s still in there,” Tech whispered, blinking quickly. “Cognitive reflexes are initiating. That’s… that’s something.”

He turned to Wrecker, and for once, there was nothing cold or clinical in his tone.

“There’s still time.”

They kept watch through the night. Neither slept.

Wrecker read to you from the old datapad you always teased him for hoarding.

Tech adjusted your vitals every hour, even when nothing had changed, just to keep his hands busy.

And in the silence between beeping monitors and heavy breaths, they both spoke to you—about nothing, about everything.

Wrecker told you about the time he and you almost got arrested on Corellia for stealing bad caf. How your laugh had made him feel human again.

Tech told you the probability of your survival was now sitting at 18.6%, up from 9%. And that statistically, if anyone could beat the odds, it was you.

Wrecker chuckled through his tears. “Told you, didn’t I? Too stubborn to die.”

Tech looked down at your still hand, then whispered—just once—“Please… don’t.”

⸻

The Marauder was silent.

Tech had finally collapsed from exhaustion in the co-pilot seat, goggles askew, still clutching the datapad with your vitals. Wrecker was curled on the floor next to your bed, snoring lightly with one hand near yours. Crosshair sat with his back to the far wall, arms crossed, eyes closed—but not asleep.

And Echo stayed awake.

He always did.

He was seated at your bedside, one cybernetic hand gently resting on the edge of the cot. The hum of the ship’s systems filled the space between the heart monitor’s steady rhythm. Your breathing—still shallow, but no longer ragged—was the only music Echo needed.

He hadn’t moved for hours.

You’d gotten worse. Then better. Then worse again. And through all of it, he’d held on. Let the others break. Let them rage. He had to be the one who didn’t fall apart.

But now, as he sat alone in the flickering light, his thumb brushed your bandaged hand—and he whispered, “You can’t keep scaring us like this.”

Your lips moved.

Barely.

He straightened. “Hey…?”

Your fingers twitched under his hand.

Your head shifted slightly on the pillow, a soft whimper escaping your throat. Your eyelashes fluttered—slow, disoriented, like your mind hadn’t caught up to your body.

“Hey.” Echo leaned closer, voice trembling now. “Come on… come on, mesh’la. You’re safe.”

Your eyes opened.

Just a sliver at first. Squinting into the low light.

“…Echo…?”

It was a rasp, a whisper, but it was real.

Echo’s mouth fell open.

And for the first time since the fall—since the screaming, the blood, the race against time—his composure cracked.

You blinked slowly, pain visible behind your glazed eyes. “W-Where…?”

“Still on the Marauder. We haven’t moved. We couldn’t.” His voice was low and hoarse. “You weren’t stable enough.”

Your brow furrowed faintly. “Hurts.”

“I know.” He gently adjusted your oxygen mask, smoothing your hair back. “You took a hell of a fall.”

You tried to shift, but your body betrayed you—wracked with weakness, ribs aching, limbs sluggish.

Echo placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Don’t move yet. Please. Just stay still.”

You obeyed—too tired to fight it.

“I thought…” You coughed, eyes fluttering. “Thought I heard Wrecker crying.”

Echo actually smiled, though his eyes were wet. “Yeah. That happened.”

You let out the faintest exhale—almost a laugh. “He’s a big softie.”

“Only for you,” Echo whispered, squeezing your hand carefully. “You scared him half to death.”

There was a long pause.

You looked up at him, brow knitting again.

“…You thought I was gone, didn’t you?”

Echo’s throat tightened. “We all did.”

“But you stayed.”

“Of course I stayed.”

Your gaze lingered on him. He looked exhausted. Hollowed out. His prosthetic arm twitched like he’d been clenching it too long.

“You haven’t slept.”

He laughed quietly—bitter and warm all at once. “Didn’t want to miss this.”

Another silence.

And then, so faint it barely reached him, you whispered—

“…I’m sorry.”

Echo stared at you, stunned.

“For what?” he breathed.

“For falling. For worrying you. For being weak.”

His expression broke. “No.”

He leaned in, voice rough. “Don’t ever say that. You didn’t fall because you were weak. You fell because the ground gave out. Because war is cruel. Because life isn’t fair.”

He blinked back tears. “But you lived. And that means more than anything.”

Your vision blurred—not from injury this time, but from the emotion in his voice.

He looked at you like you were the most important thing in the galaxy.

“I thought I lost you,” he said. “And I wasn’t ready.”

You let your eyes close again, overwhelmed by exhaustion—but you smiled softly through cracked lips.

“I’m here.”

He pressed his forehead gently to your hand, exhaling a shaky breath.

“You’re here.”

When the others returned—when Hunter stumbled in and dropped to his knees, when Wrecker cried again, when Crosshair stood frozen for a full minute, just staring—you were already asleep.

But Echo met Hunter’s gaze.

And nodded.

“She woke up.”

And for the first time in days, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

[clownery-and-fuckery]

PheeTech thoughts featuring the rest of Tech's family.

Wrecker is a major PheeTech shipper- whenever he sees them together he's giving them that exaggerated wink and thumbs up. He always makes an excuse to leave them alone. Even when he set up the situation he's like "Oh I have to..... I have to walk the ship..... I have to oil Batcher............ okay bYE" and while Tech and Phee don't mind... they like laughing at the excuses as they get more and more insane. But Phee and Wrecker love each other very much. They're chaos incarnate. Please separate.

Crosshair was an unintentional hater until he and Phee actually met. He didn't like the stories (and he had expectations... being told she's a pirate and all) so when Phee met him and was like "oh!!!! You're that Imperial LOSER who tried to murder Brown Eyes!!!!!! Fun :D" He's taken aback. But then again he isn't. Because of course his snarky brother would love a snarky woman. Especially one as brash and thrill-seeking as Phee. Crosshair became a PheeTech lover after the events of s3 (where it all ends happily ever after. of course.) And Phee's seen worrying about Tech (either recovering from the fall or recovering mentally from being CX/being under Hemlock, whichever you prefer). Her being that concerned really sold it for him.... she's okay in his books. Don't tell her. She won't leave him alone then.

Hunter appreciated Phee much more after Tech fell. At first, he was greatful for her opening Pabu up to them and all, but they didn't speak much unless there was a third party (Tech) around to give him a reason to. No bad blood or anything- they just didn't talk. After Tech, though? He learned how much they really loved each other, and through shared grief???? Hunter and Phee became besties. They shared stories from Tech's infamous yapping sprees that spilled some of his serious secrets- secrets you wouldn't know unless you really listened. Which they did :')

OBVIOUSLY Tech and Phee love each other. They kiss and hold hands. Duh. But Tech seeing how close she's gotten with the most important people in his life?? The people whose opinions he holds most dear and near to him???? Seeing her love and appreciate the people he lives by just as he does????????? Ough. Tech's falling so hard he doesn't even know it.

Anyway I always have more PheeTech thoughts but here <333 my beloveds

[kraftykelpie]

Two Omegas bc I like them both in their own ways (I like the sketch more, very glad I took a picture of it before I ever decided to colour it), and BONUS liddol sketch of Omega being a show off <3

[somestorythoughts]

Dehydration

Back with some vampire clones!

Echo's throat feels like the air on a desert planet. The nutrients the Techno Union were giving him must have been high in iron or something, because he's well aware that blood brothers don't survive this long with only rations, but he's still so thirsty.

"Rex. Thirsty."

His Captain glances around the room automatically before he turns back to Echo. The General navigating with Tech, it's only vod here. "Blood or water?" He murmurs, the arm around Echo's shoulder's squeezing gently.

"Blood. Please?"

The sergeant - crap what was his name? - glanced up. "You're, what did that medic call them? A redder brother?"

"Blood or redder brother." Rex confirmed. "If you're unfamiliar I guess you don't have any bitten with you?" Bitten, their terms for brothers who are willing to be go-to's for all the blood brothers. Fives had been one.

"I'm not sure what that means?"

Rex grimaced. "How close are we to the Resolute?"

"Tech!" The Sargent calls. "What's our ETA?"

"Twenty-five minutes!" Is the shouted response. The other two troopers are watching, clearly curious.

"And time to get to the medbay." Rex adds. "Thirty minutes Echo. Can you hold on for thirty minutes?" Echo nods, too tired to say more.

Thirty minutes later a surprised Tech watches the ARC trooper they rescued sink alarmingly sharp teeth into the wrist of the ARC who'd accompanied them earlier. "Huh."

"Don't work with the blood brothers a lot do ya?" The ARC asks from where he's carefully holding Echo, apparently very relaxed with the biting. "Echo. You've got to breathe."

There's a snarl and the ARC winces. "Okay maybe you don't."

"Might need another volunteer Jesse." The medic - Kix - muttered. "Echo I'm going to scan you. Stay calm." He waits till he gets an acknowledgement, then starts.

"I have questions." Tech decides.

"Run me through what you know of these prosthetics and we can talk once I know he's stable."

[phantom-of-the-501st]

"I don't enjoy solitude" Pt 2

I'm gonna call this a part two because it follows on from the post I made yesterday. Although I guess it is less of a follow up and more of a case of reworking what I said in the original post into something a little bit more fleshed out, because I feel like I glossed over a lot of stuff I wanted to say initially (and didn't because it was almost midnight when I wrote it @saturn-sends-hugs don't yell at me for not sleeping I know 😭)

I'll probably just recap everything I said in the other post in this one anyway so it doesn't matter whether or not this is the only one you see I guess

Like I said yesterday, this line is interesting because while it initially puts forward the idea that Echo doesn't like being alone, the actual context had nothing to do with Echo being put in a situation where he would be by himself. In fact, Omega is asking him if he wanted to join her in something. And yes, Echo does hate being by himself, but the line is more about Echo being left alone with his own thoughts. It isn't just being by himself physically, its being stuck in his head without any escape. That's what terrifies him.

And it makes sense. Echo went through some atrocious things and a lot of his memories are either bad or have likely been tainted by other circumstances in a way that means that he doesn't want to think about them. Outside of that one scene of Echo in the cockpit following Tech's death, we never see Echo not doing something or not being with someone. There is always something that is keeping him from his thoughts and that's the whole point. The last thing that Echo wants to do is confront what is in his head. Being alone with nothing but his own mind is exactly what he went through on Skako Minor and the last thing he ever wants to do is revisit that.

But the thing is, it isn't healthy (at least, not in the long run) because for as long as Echo keeps running from his thoughts, he's going to wear himself down. This man never stops. He just keeps going and going and going and half the time if he isn't doing anything "practical", it's against his own will. And so much of that is linked to survivor's guilt. As many other people brought up, Echo likely blames himself for the clones who died as a result of the Techno Union getting a hold of the battle strategies. We know that it's not his fault but to Echo the fact that he survived that entire ordeal, while it was his own plans that were used and manipulated to kill his brothers, must eat away at him.

Echo has never really taken the time to mentally process a lot of what he went through. By the end of the show, he is in a much better place than he was initially: he's physically healthier and he's actually cracking jokes again. A lot of that is thanks to the Bad Batch. They were integral in his healing journey. However, that doesn't mean he's okay. This is a man who can't be left alone with his thoughts because it will cause him to spiral. Not constantly being around people or constantly doing something leads him into a dark place and that isn't a great position for him to be in. This man doesn't really know peace because every part of his life, even his mind, runs at 300 miles an hour. And Hunter knows this. He wasn't wrong when he asked Echo when it will ever be enough. He's watching his brother run himself ragged trying to rescue the clones and to fight against the Empire, when realistically, it's not a battle they can win. Every time Echo leaves Pabu, the Batch are faced with the idea that it may be the last time they ever see him. Because if we're being completely honest here, unless Echo ever gets to the point where he is okay enough to sit down and actually relax for once in his life, there will be a point when it will be the last time they ever see him. Whether or not it's in two days or two years or two decades, this man will lose his life to the cause, even if it's as a result of him working himself down to the bone.

Echo will never value his own life over the life of his brothers. He won't retire because to him it will never be fair that he can live a life of peace when there are others out there who can't have that, and that means he will only stop the fight when there is no-one left worth fighting for. But there will never be a point where there is no-one left to fight for. Echo will continue to find a reason to stay in the fight, to keep working, to never keep still because that's just who he is. And we love him for that. We love his loyalty and his dedication and his endless ambition. But it's also to his detriment. I don't know if we will ever see Echo at a point where he is truly okay. He will keep going until he can't anymore and if that is at the cost of his own life, then that's what he'll take.

[verndusk]

Re-drawing a screenshot from The Bad Batch everday until season 3 comes out: day 46