#restart with safe mode | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drtyelvisfantasy · 2 months ago

Text

OH, BABY, BABY

CHAPTER TWO

note: Sorry for the long wait. I scrapped the original version of chapter ,2 which I immediately regretted, because it was right around exams, so I barely had time to restart it. Please reblog and like🩵

summary: Rafe is just stressing the poor girl out lol

warnings: emotional abuse, manipulation, distress related to pregnancy, toxic family dynamics, reader doesn't really have authority over her own body :(

Even with all the time that’s passed, not much has really changed. Rafe's still around, but his presence feels exactly the same—distant, somehow. As Margaret’s gotten older, Rafe suggested we move to Florida, said it would be better for her, that she’d have more opportunities, and that it would bring the three of us closer together.

So, we made the move. And while it sounded good in theory, the adjustment was hard. Everything felt unfamiliar, like I was suddenly living someone else’s life. I had to leave my job behind, which wasn’t easy, but Rafe told me not to worry about working—that he had everything handled. He says it’s all under control.

It’s eight in the morning, and the day begins like any other school day. Margaret comes downstairs for breakfast, still rubbing sleep from her eyes. She’s thirteen now—growing up fast, but still so innocent in ways that almost feel too rare for this world. There’s something about her, the way she carries this lightness, this sweetness, that feels untouched by the weight that seems to hang between me and Rafe. Her laughter, her joy—they fill the room in a way that makes the contrast all the more striking. Where she brings warmth and ease, there’s often tension and silence between Rafe and I, a quiet heaviness we can never quite shake.

Margaret sits at the table, quietly eating her breakfast, eyes on her plate. Even though it’s still early, she seems wide awake—calm, collected, like she’s already settled into the rhythm of the day.

“How did you sleep last night?” I ask Margaret.

“I slept fine. Woke up a few times, but nothing major,” she says, already turning her attention back to her food.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I slept the same way,” I reply with a small smile.

She looks up at me, smiling back, then takes another bite. She seems much more interested in finishing her breakfast than talking about sleep.

“Um… I talked to your dad,” I say, a little hesitant.

Margaret pauses mid-bite, her fork hovering in the air as she looks up, suddenly alert. “Yeah? About what?”

“He said he’s planning to spend spring break with us.”

Her whole face lights up, eyes wide and sparkling. “He is? Really?” she says, a big smile spreading across her face. The excitement in her voice is impossible to miss.

I respond with a small nod. Margaret’s excitement becomes more apparent. A wide smile spreading across her face. There’s a sense of joy and anticipation in her eyes as she processes the news.

“You should probably go put your clothes on for school now, I don’t want you to be late.”

Margaret nods and quickly responds to my reminder to get ready. She finishes the last bite of her breakfast, then hops up from the table, already shifting into school mode as she heads off to get ready.

—

While Margaret’s at school, I spend the morning getting the house ready for Rafe’s arrival. I’m in the middle of cleaning when my phone starts ringing. I glance at the screen—it’s Rafe.

His voice comes through the line, a little reserved. “Hey. How are you?”

“I’m good. Margaret’s at school, so I’m just cleaning up,” I say, trying to keep it light.

He lets out a soft chuckle, his tone loosening up a bit. “Cleaning, huh? I’m about to hit the road—it’s gonna be a long-ass drive.”

“Well, be safe,” I reply gently. “Don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Rafe responds in a calm, reassuring voice. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I’ve done this drive plenty of times—I’ll be fine.”

I don’t even bother asking if he’s ever going to leave his wife. I already know how that conversation goes. The same vague answers, the same guilt he throws back at me like I’m the one doing something wrong for even bringing it up.

Rafe’s voice comes through clearly, his tone laced with genuine concern. “How’s the little one doing? Are you feeling any better?”

I rest my hand on my growing baby bump, gently tracing small circles without thinking. “I’m alright... just a little nauseous.”

It wasn’t supposed to happen again. I promised myself I wouldn’t let it. Another pregnancy, another responsibility—I didn’t think I could take that on. But Rafe told me to keep the baby, said he’d handle everything. I’m trying to believe him. I really am. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe it won’t end the way it did last time.

Rafe’s voice stays soft, full of sympathy. “Morning sickness again, huh? Are you taking care of yourself?”

“Yeah... m’tryin’,” I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper.

He pauses for a second, then replies even more gently, “Alright. I’ll let you go. Just rest, okay? I’ll see you in a few hours.”

As I hang up the phone, I sink quietly onto the couch, my thoughts spinning. Worry creeps in, soft but relentless. I can’t help but think about how all of this—my choices, my mistakes—might shape Margaret’s future. I pray she doesn’t follow in my footsteps. That she never has to carry the same kind of weight, or face the same struggles I’ve had to. The fear of history repeating itself—of my past becoming her path—sits heavy on my chest, harder to ignore with every passing day.

—

Margaret walks through the door, her school backpack hanging loosely off one shoulder. She takes a few steps inside before slowing down, her eyes flicking toward me. Even without saying a word, she can feel it—the tension in the air. She’s always been quick to pick up on things, sensitive in ways that catch me off guard. The stress I thought I was hiding so well suddenly feels obvious, hanging in the space between us.

“Oh hey, baby—you’re back,” I say with a smile, trying to sound light as I greet Margaret.

Margaret smiles as she steps further into the house, her backpack sliding off her shoulders. Her voice is bright, her good mood shining through. “Yeah, I’m back. How was your day, Mom?”

“Oh, good... you know, nothing new,” I reply, forcing a small smile.

Margaret nods, still cheerful, the brightness in her voice untouched by the heaviness hanging in the room. She senses it—just a flicker—but she’s still too young, too trusting, to ask. Instead, she speaks casually, like everything’s normal.

“Oh, I’m hungry. Is there anything to eat?”

“Shit, I forgot to cook something—I'm so sorry, honey.”

Margaret catches the guilt on my face before I can even try to hide it. But she just smiles softly, her voice calm and reassuring.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to apologize. Let’s just order something instead.”

“Yeah… um, just take my card and order some pizza,” I say, rubbing my temples.

She nods, no fuss, no questions—just understanding. Then she takes my card and heads into the kitchen to place the order, like it's the most natural thing in the world

—

A couple of hours pass, and Rafe finally arrives. He barely makes it through the door before Margaret is already in his arms.

“Dad! I missed you!” she exclaims, her voice bubbling with excitement.

Rafe chuckles, the sound of her voice clearly softening him. The tension in the house seems to lift just a little.

“I missed you too, little lady,” he says with a warm grin.

Margaret pulls back just enough to look up at him. “Did you get me anything?” she asks, eyes wide with curiosity.

Rafe shoots her a sly smile, his tone playful. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

Margaret gives her dad a small smile.

“Go grab my bags from the car,” he says,

nodding toward the driveway. “There should be something for you in there.”

Without hesitation, Margaret runs outside, eager to dig through his things, hoping to find a surprise waiting for her.

As she disappears out the door, Rafe’s gaze shifts to me. I step closer, and his eyes lock onto mine. His expression is neutral, unreadable, but there’s something guarded in the way he holds himself. When he speaks, his tone is careful—measured.

He takes a moment to look me over, and I can tell he notices. The way his eyes linger says enough—I’m not as “put together” as he’s used to. No makeup, hair pulled back in a rush, just the bare version of me. Normally, I’d make the effort—especially around him.

I see the flicker of annoyance in his eyes, subtle but familiar. Still, he doesn’t say anything. Not this time. Maybe he knows better than to start something, or maybe he just doesn’t have the energy. Either way, the silence between us says more than words ever could.

“So… um, how was your drive?” I ask, my voice a little uncertain.

Rafe’s reply comes in a neutral tone, but I can tell his thoughts are elsewhere—still caught on the way I look. “It was fine. Just the usual. Traffic was a mess, but I got here in one piece.”

He exhales softly, eyes still scanning me with quiet disapproval. Then, as if trying to shake it off, he clears his throat and walks past me into the kitchen.

The moment he spots the pizza box on the counter, I feel the shift in his energy. I don’t even need to look at him to know what he’s thinking. In his mind, a hot, home-cooked meal should’ve been waiting for him. The box of takeout feels like a personal offense.

He mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear the edge in it.

“Pizza… seriously?”

“I’m sorry—I forgot to cook. It slipped my mind,” I say, my voice heavy with exhaustion.

Rafe’s frustration sharpens. His tone cuts a little deeper than usual. “Forgot to cook, huh? It just slipped your mind?”

“Yeah, it did,” I snap back, my tone matching his, just as sharp.

Before he can say anything else, Margaret walks back in, a little breathless from carrying the bags.

“Just put those in my room, sweetie,” I say quickly, my voice softening as I turn to her, trying to shield her from the tension lingering in the air.

Margaret nods and grabs the bags, heading toward my bedroom without a word. As soon as she disappears down the hallway, Rafe’s eyes snap back to me, lingering again on my disheveled appearance.

I turn to walk away, hoping to escape the moment, but his hand shoots out, gripping my wrist tightly. I freeze. His hold is firm—too firm—and his tone turns sharp, almost biting.

“What’s wrong with you? You look like a hot mess,” he says, his voice low but cutting.

I try to pull away, but the words come out of me before I can stop them, choked by tears rising fast.

“I don’t want to do this,” I whisper, then louder—broken. “I never wanted to get pregnant again.”

Rafe’s expression hardens as my tears begin to fall. There’s no softness in his eyes, no trace of concern. His voice turns cold, detached.

“Save the tears, okay? I don’t care whether you wanted this pregnancy or not. The fact is, it’s happening—whether you like it or not.”

I shake my head, struggling to hold myself together. “You don’t even take me seriously. Why would I want to bring another child into this?”

He scoffs, the sound sharp and dismissive. His tone drips with annoyance, completely void of empathy.

“Oh, don’t start with that bullshit again. I’ve had enough of your emotional breakdowns. It’s been happening a lot lately, and honestly, it’s really starting to piss me off.—“

Rafe’s harsh words are abruptly cut off as Margaret walks into the room. Her eyes widen the moment she sees the tears streaming down my face. The lightness from earlier is gone in an instant, replaced by panic.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her voice trembling with concern as she steps closer.

I quickly pull away from Rafe, wiping at my face. “Nothing, Margaret… just go up to your room and finish your homework, okay?”

But she doesn’t move. She stands frozen, her eyes flicking between the two of us, sensing something deeper—something wrong.

“Are you sure? You’re crying,” she says softly, her voice small but insistent.

“Go upstairs. Now.” Rafe snaps, his tone sharp and unforgiving.

Margaret flinches at his voice, hurt flashing across her face. She hesitates for a beat before turning and quietly walking away, glancing back at me one last time.

Once Margaret disappears upstairs, Rafe’s eyes snap back to me. His expression is tight, a mix of annoyance and exasperation carved into his face.

“Get it together, okay? I can’t deal with your breakdowns right now,” he says, his voice firm and cold.

Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and storms off down the hallway. The bedroom door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing through the quiet house.

And just like that, I’m alone—again—standing in the middle of the living room with the weight of everything pressing down on me.

For the first time in my life, I wish I could go back. Back to before I ever met Rafe. Before I ever set foot in that fucking strip club. I wish I’d walked away the moment I found out he was married. I wish I’d had the strength to leave before all of this got so tangled.

There are so many things I wish I’d done differently. But it’s too late now. I’m already in too deep—and there’s no easy way out.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe x oc #rafe x y/n #rafe angst #lineman!rafe x stripper!reader #bluecollar!rafe #oh baby baby🍼

232 notes · View notes

stellarbit · 1 year ago

Text

Shadows of the Order

the sad batch x reader

5.5k words themes hurt and comfort

You were separated from the Batch when Order 66 was executed on Kaller. Even as a Jedi dropout you weren't safe. Left behind, you have to recover and restart in the world after the Republic. You'd hoped to never run into Clone Force 99 again, but that hope ran out one day. featuring: a b1 battle droid

You know who deserved better? The clones. You know who else? The B1 battle droids. So I stuck a clanker in here for funsies. Had a ton of fun writing this. Hope y'all enjoy a little anguish. I'll be doin a spicy one next.

You fought alongside Clone Force 99 for a long time before the Battle of Kaller. Before Order 66. After meeting the padawan, Caleb, at the rendezvous point, you’d split off from the group to assist a team of troopers on the mountain while the boys joined General Bilaba.

The troopers you encountered recognized you from your days with the 501st. Despite your repeated efforts to clarify that you were no longer a Jedi, they seemed unconvinced. Fortunately, after dispatching a group of droids, the remaining Separatist forces were routed towards the main front, allowing your group to do the same.

As you neared the midway point down you noticed the troopers falling back. Sliding to a stop in the snow, you turned back. There were about 10 of them, all standing around one holding a holocomm of a hooded figure. Half of them looked at you in sync, fixing the grip on their guns, the rest followed a heartbeat later.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Somewhere far down the mountain you heard screaming and blaster fire at the same moment the troopers turned their guns on you. You took off away from the troopers before the first shot rang out.

“Get the Jedi!” A lone trooper pierced through the chaos.

Quick thinking led you to drop a stun grenade, followed by another, as you sprinted onward. The explosions managed to incapacitate some of the troopers, but not enough. Switching your blaster to stun mode, you sought cover behind a nearby tree, emerging only to neutralize the nearest clones before a shot hit your right shoulder, propelling you into a desperate sprint away from them.

With escape and evasion as your only viable options, the Marauder seemed too distant to reach in time. Instead you aimed for a waterfall you spotted while landing. It was a slim chance, but your best hope for losing the troopers.

As you fled, you deliberately dug your fingers into the wound on your shoulder, leaving a trail of blood in your wake. It was a risky move, but if you had any hope of evading capture, they needed to track you. When you saw the water through the trees you wasted no time in ripping away your chest plate. As soon as you got to the crest of the waterfall you launched your chest plate over the edge.

With one glance over the cliff, you gritted your teeth, pressing into your injured shoulder, crouched, and lowered yourself over the ledge. You grabbed high over the ledge and drug your bloody hand back down over. One more look below to ensure a safe landing spot and let go. Relying on the Force to guide your descent into an alcove leading behind the cascading water.

Once there, you swiftly shed the remaining pieces of armor, discarding them into the rushing stream as you shifted farther into the veil of the waterfall.

When you finally heard the troopers at the cliff edge, all you could do was listen, wait, and hope they fell for it.

“Looks like she tried to scale down,” one of them remarked, his voice carrying over the sound of rushing water.

“There! In the water, I see her armor!” Another trooper's voice rang out, sending a jolt of panic through you as you desperately sought cover. Their voices dropped too low to hear before you caught the tail end of the conversation.

“Confirmed, Commander Grey. The Jedi has been neutralized. Visual confirmation obtained,” a trooper reported, the cold finality of his words chilling you.

The clone trooper paused, most likely receiving transmission. “Yes sir. Alright boys, we are to rejoin Commander Grey and head out. His forces eliminated Bilaba and Clone Force 99 took care of the padawan. Gather the stunned troops and let’s move out.” That was the last thing you heard before the troopers left.

Your heart stopped. The blood in your veins froze. You lurched for something - anything - to steady yourself on. One moment everything was normal and the next you were being gunned down by clones you risked everything for. Clone Force 99 took care of the padawan.

There wasn’t enough air in the tiny alcove to think, the waterfall was too loud, the water hitting your face too cold. Desperately, you gripped the slippery rocks as your legs gave out.

Nothing made sense. Questions raced through you, each more unsettling than the last. Had all of the clones turned on the Republic? Why were they targeting Jedi specifically? Clones that served with General Bilaba for years suddenly gunned her down.

Nothing added up. If the orders affected all clones, there was a good possibility that the Bad Batch was also following them. Despite their independent streak, they were still clones, some orders had to be followed. It was a sobering realization - one that left you feeling vulnerable and nauseous. You weren’t going to be safe until they left. If they left.

The thought of aiming a weapon on the members of Clone Force 99 cracked something inside you. Besides, it was foolish to think you had a chance against all of them. With an entire army of reinforcements, attempting to take them on would be nothing short of suicidal.

Survival became your sole focus. There was no time to dwell on what went wrong or how to escape the planet's unforgiving terrain. For now, all you could do was stay hidden, biding your time until the coast was clear.

One by one, you discarded your armor and any identifiable markers into the water. It wasn’t about shedding your identity; it was a practical decision, one you could handle. Not long after, the sound of footsteps echoed from above. You pressed yourself against the rock again, your senses on high alert.

An eternity seemed to passed before the person moved. “The Jedi target was neutralized. If she’s not already dead, she’s as good as it.” It was Crosshair’s voice, cold and detached.

There was another moment of silence before you heard Tech’s voice, “Affirmative. Blood stains indicate she attempted to scale down the cliff and subsequently fell.” His tone was as clinical as ever but you almost fooled yourself into thinking there was something else to it. “Pieces of her armor are wedged in the rocks below. Crosshair is correct, if she did not perish on impact the likelihood of her survival is negligible. We need to leave.”

They weren't out there to rescue you; they were there to confirm you were dead.

It was all too much to process. Every muscle, every bone, every nerve in your body seemed to fail, leaving you a trembling mess. When the two men finally left, you didn’t know.

“We don’t leave our own behind.” You heard Hunter’s voice and heard his lie.

They left you. You fought for them, yet they hunted you down and abandoned you.

Long after night had fallen, you mustered the strength to climb out of the alcove, your injured shoulder protesting every movement. Descending into the battlefield, you searched for a salvageable ship and supplies. Amidst the wreckage, you stumbled upon the one thing you weren’t looking for.

General Bilaba’s lightsaber. She must’ve lost it in the struggle. Such a valuable thing lost to the snow and wreckage, not even retrieved. Disposable. You held the cold metal in your hand before tucking it away.

You found one ship that might manage to get off the ground. Nearby, you spotted a partially disabled battle droid, still in remarkably good condition despite its current state. It appeared to have been incapacitated by a stun grenade. As you examined it, Tech's lessons on droid maintenance flooded your mind, particularly the techniques for reprogramming them for combat purposes.

Kneeling beside the droid you flipped it onto its back to access programming. You’d pulled it off before, reprogramming battle droids to counter attack. You just never thought you’d need the skills like this.

The process was far from seamless. You electrocuted yourself on the power supply, nearly damaged a circuit board while removing the restraining bolt, and the rewiring process dragged on longer than expected, especially under the cover of darkness.

Eventually, the battle droid sprung to life, clutching its head as it sat up. You lowered yourself onto one knee as the droid adjusted itself. "Where am I?" its questioning began, its metallic voice filled with confusion. "Is the battle over? Did we win?"

Hearing the droid address you instead of immediately engaging in combat felt oddly surreal, but given the day's events, it was perhaps the least strange thing. "What is your primary directive?" you asked, trying to gauge its functionality.

It clunked a hand against its head. "Huh, that's odd. I don't seem to have one."

That was a start.

You rose to your feet and offered your hand. "In that case, how about we team up and find a way off this rock?"

Its head swiveled from side to side as it processed the proposal. "You mean, I get to choose?"

You let out a small scoff and maintained your outstretched hand. "Your options are coming with me or staying here to rust."

"Fair point," the droid responded, almost cheerfully, as it reached for your hand. "So, what's the plan for getting off this dump?"

You gestured toward the ship you hoped to salvage. "Can you handle starship repairs?"

“Sure thing, boss. Want me to clean it up?”

You threw it a puzzled look, “Why would I-” You shook your head, “No, we need to repair it enough to get it off this planet.

“Well, that doesn’t make sense.” The B1 unit pointed at the ship. “That ship doesn’t need repairs, we just crashed it.”

Maybe picking a battle droid for an assistant wasn’t the best choice. “Was it your group that crashed it?”

“Yep!” It said too proudly. “Happens all the time. But I told you, this one doesn’t need repairs to fly.” The droid paused for a second, tapping a metal digit to the tip of its face, then added. “Yet.”

That didn’t bode well for survival. You waved for it to follow you, “Let’s see if you’re right.” Over your shoulder you asked. “What can I call you?”

“My identifier is OOM-672.”

Walking amongst dozens of disabled B1 units you mused, “Looks like you’re about to be one of the last OOM models in the galaxy. So why don’t we cut that down to O2?”

“Wow!” The way it vocalized almost added syllables to the word. “Yeah, O2 sounds much better! What do I call you? Master?”

You cringed at the sound of that. “I’m not your master, O2. We’re going to have to settle with being friends or buddies.”

“You got it, Buddy!”

Thankfully, O2 was right. The ship could fly and it had enough fuel to get you far from Kaller. Enough to get you all the way to the Outer Rim if you wanted. It was risky, but following the pattern of the day, it was your only chance at survival. You just didn’t let O2 pilot.

After the rise of the Galactic Empire, you and O2 settled on a planet in the Mid Rim. You scavenged and sold enough equipment from Kaller for a comfortable amount of credits to start off with. You pieced together a new identity, often concealing your face beneath a helmet and relying on a voice modulator. Being dead in the eyes of the Empire had its advantages.

The best way to stay hidden, you figured, was to stay in plain sight.

You wormed your way into ownership of a small inn. Although, your background as a Jedi and a soldier left you ill-prepared for running a business, and you struggled to turn a profit.

“O2!” You shouted from the lobby.

The battle droid sauntered in from the dining area. “Yes, Buddy?” The droid’s nickname for you always worked a smile out of you.

You tossed them a rusted-out metal part, which they scrambled to catch, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated. After a few failed attempts, they finally managed to grasp it securely. “The circulator for our boiler is busted. Can you head to the market and fetch a replacement? The parts dealer should have one available.”

“Roger, roger!” O2 chimed enthusiastically, ready to depart.

You yanked them by the shoulder. “O2,” You warned. “Do you remember how to pay?”

They rolled their head in an exaggerated display of weariness. “I know, I know - ‘charge it to the tab.’”

Raising an eyebrow, you waited for more. “And?”

O2 tapped a compartment on their chest, revealing a few credits inside. A result of some previous tinkering done by you. “And I have the extra credits.”

“And what’re they for?” You pressed.

“For ‘just in case.’” They replied

Stepping forward, you pushed the compartment closed. “In case of trouble, O2,” you reminded them firmly. Giving them a light knock with the back of your knuckles, you added, “Give me a call if you find yourself staring down the barrel of a blaster.”

As far as O2 was concerned, they had it easy. You rescued them from decommissioning and in return, all you asked for were simple tasks and the opportunity to tinker with their hardware. The tinkering, more often than not, turned out for the better - at least most of the time.

When you and O2 first arrived, the presence of a battle droid initially unnerved the townsfolk. However, they grew accustomed to O2's quirky demeanor. O2 was more goofy than intimidating almost by design. Plus, after a few instances of O2 causing trouble with the neighbors, they quickly learned to keep their hands off the droid. Often with a not so subtle reminder of a vibroblade at their throats.

O2 ambled through the town, exchanging waves with the occasional vendor. Stalls and shops lined the narrow, winding streets, colorful canopies providing shelter from the sun for the patrons below. Amidst the hustle and bustle, droids weaved through the crowds, delivering goods and providing services to customers.

As O2 approached the parts dealer, raised voices caught their attention. Nearby, at a fruit stand, a vendor held a pear just out of reach of a young girl. "That's not fair!" the girl protested, reaching for the fruit. "I already paid you!"

Deviating from their path, O2 made their way toward the girl. She appeared to be a young human with light hair, a visitor to the town.

"Hey, stop that!" O2 called out in their attempt at an authoritative tone. They reached the girl and bent slightly to address her. "Are you in trouble, young human?"

The girl turned to O2, visibly puzzled. After a moment of assessing the situation, she nodded slowly. "Uh, yeah," she replied, more confidently this time. "Yes. He's taking my money but insisting I still owe him more." She pointed a finger accusingly at the vendor.

O2 looked between the vendor and the little girl several times. When they finally grasped the situation, they exclaimed, “Ohh! You’re in trouble and need more credits. That’s perfect!” They poked open the compartment on their chest, revealing the credits.

The girl shook her head in disbelief. "N-no, I've already paid," she insisted, casting a disdainful glance at the vendor. "He's just trying to cheat me."

Raising a finger in a gesture of understanding, O2 interjected, "You're in trouble and these credits are for 'in case of trouble.'" They plucked out a few credits and pivoted at the hip to offer them to the vendor.

From behind the booth, the vendor's expression shifted to one of quiet annoyance, yet he begrudgingly began packing a bag with pears. "There's no trouble, O2," he retorted curtly, dropping the bag into the girl's arms. "Now, move along, kid."

The girl frowned at the man but did turn away. She looked up at O2 with a smile. “Thanks,” She pulled a curious face and stepped back from the droid for a better look. “You’re a B1 battle droid. What are you doing here?”

“I’m purchasing a new part.” O2 held up the broken circulator as proof.

She held back a smile. “No, no. I meant, weren’t all battle droids supposed to be decommissioned.” She gestured around her, “So what are you doing out here alone?”

O2 didn’t have time to respond when a man yelled, “Omega! Get away from that thing!” A male with a face tattoo shoved through the crowd and slammed the battle droid in the chest with the hilt of a blade.

“Whoa!” O2 yelled, stumbling backward into the fruit stand.

The little girl squeezed between O2 and the man. “Don’t hurt them, Hunter!” She threw her arms out to shield O2. “They were just helping !” Three other men arrived behind Hunter while O2 righted themself.

One of the men, with a socket for a hand, pushed to the front of the group and pointed his prosthetic at the droid. “Omega, you don’t know what that clanker is capable of.”

“Hey!” O2 whined in protest and shook a fist at him. “You can’t call me that!”

“Says who?” Growled the largest man of the group.

“Says my buddy!” O2 started reaching for its head to send out a comm when the fruit vendor grabbed his hand.

“O2!” He laughed nervously and patted the droid harshly, “There’s no trouble.” The vendor pointed a finger at the men. “I’m not dealing with their friend today, so move out.”

“Friend?” The big guy repeated incredulously.

The cyborg hovered his hand over the blaster at his hip. “Where’s your master, droid?”

O2 thrusted their head in a sassy manner, “I don’t have a master.”

Hunter moved Omega to the side and put his knife just below O2’s head. “Why don’t you take us to this friend of yours?”

“That depends.” O2 said skeptically. “Are you looking for an inn?”

Hunter passed a look to the men behind him. “An inn?”

“Only customers can come to the inn. So - are you looking for an inn?”

Hunter lowered the knife and jerked his head to say ‘get going’, “Sure thing. Now, let’s go.”

“Roger, roger.” The droid said with a little salute and then tapped his fingers to the tip of his face. “Say, do I know you guys?

“Move it, clanker.” The cyborg ordered again.

Back at the inn, you waited in the lobby reading through bank statements. The front door was open to the street, allowing you to hear O2’s distinctive footsteps approaching. You pushed away from and around the desk to greet them. “That may have been your fastest run yet. How much - oh!” You stopped mid sentence when a young girl trailed in behind the droid. Behind your headgear you smiled, “Did you make a friend?”

The little blonde waved up at you, “Hello.”

A dent in O2’s chest plate caught your eye. You motioned for the droid. “O2, what did you do to your chest plate?”

“Well, I didn’t do it.” The droid sassed, but moved forward and leaned down for you to inspect. You reached up, held their head, and moved it side to side for inspection. Other than the dent they were fine. You patted their face in relief when, from the corner of your eye four figures filed in.

You went stock-still at the sound of a familiar voice, Hunter’s voice. “You own this clanker?”

This was it. This was the day you died.

Giving O2 one last pat, you turned to face the Bad Batch standing in your doorway, as formidable as ever. Hunter led the group, with Echo on his left, Tech on his right, and Wrecker flanking Echo. Crosshair was conspicuously absent. Their mismatched armor was newly painted in vibrant colors.

Silently assessing them, you took a moment to compose yourself, shoving your fear and anger as deep as you could. Their demeanor said they didn't recognize you and you needed them gone before they did.

"Sure," you replied vaguely, your voice muffled by the voice modulator. Keeping your gaze fixed on the clones, you instructed O2, "O2, grab my satchels from the back." Without hesitation, the droid complied.

"What are you doing with a separatist battle droid?" Echo's voice bristled as he stepped forward. "Do you realize how dangerous that thing is?"

Images of Echo tending to your wounds flooded in, abruptly interrupted by the recollection of red blaster shots narrowly missing your head.

"OOM-672 has been reprogrammed," you replied, waving your hand dismissively. "They no longer pose a threat and wartime objectives have been nullified."

"Incorrect," Tech said as he tapped the side of his helmet to move his visor. "If the droid's reprogramming is faulty, it could revert to its original directives at any moment. Depending on the data stored in its memory, that could prove dangerous should it fall into the wrong hands." He advanced toward O2, pointing a finger. "Allow me to examine it—"

“Their programming is fine.” You instinctively took a step back, bumping into O2 with the bags you requested. One had spare credits for bribing them out of your parlor and, in case that didn’t work, the other contained a blaster and Bilaba’s lightsaber.

As you sorted through the first bag for credits, you spat, “No one lays a hand on the droid except me. Especially not a bunch of clones." With a flick of your wrist, you tossed a handful of credits at Hunter. "Now get out of my lobby.” You made the mistake of addressing them as clones and hoped the odd comment passed over them. They obviously didn’t look like other clones to the untrained eye.

"Oh!" O2's voice chimed in recognition, but you swiftly raised a hand to silence the droid.

“Do we look like we work for the Empire?” Wrecker asked, almost growled, with hands on Omega’s shoulders.

Hunter glanced at the credits before tossing them back. “Just let us look at the droid,” he urged.

Without missing a beat you caught the credits, brandished the blaster, and aimed it at the leader. Immediately, the other brothers aimed their blasters at you. "Got a malfunction in those helmets?" You gestured toward the exit with your weapon. "I said leave. No stranger gets their hands on my droid."

“Strangers?” O2 stepped to your side and pointed at the group of clones. “They’re not strangers. We know them.”

Your blaster dipped for a moment, frustration nipping at you before you firmed up your grip. “O2, knowing someone for five minutes doesn’t mean you know them.”

“Just calm down.” Hunter said slowly.

“Five minutes?” The battle droid shook their head in confusion. “We go waaay back.” They hummed a thoughtful sound. “Although they did stun me on Kaller.” A chill gripped your spine at the mention of Kaller.

"Kaller?" Omega's gaze flitted between the men around her. "Where's that?" The rustle of shifting armor filled the lobby as the four men exchanged glances, their blasters trained still on you.

“Who are you and how did you get that droid?” Echo's voice carried a forceful edge as he pushed you.

“Get out.” You repeated with more venom. “Clones follow orders. That’s an order.”

Hunter slowly raised his hands, removing his helmet and revealing his tattooed face. The sight of him made it hard to breathe through.

"We're not with the Empire," Hunter declared. "And we're not big on following orders, either."

"Liar!" Your scream reverberated through the room, the voice modulator straining against your volume. Something flickered in Hunter's expression.

For someone with no skin in the war, you were proving to be awfully reactive.

"Hunter," Tech intervened firmly, prompting you to swing your blaster in his direction. "Look at that blaster." You glanced down at your weapon, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

“What about it, Tech?” Hunter asked.

“That blaster has nonstandard modifications. Only five like it exist.” Tech explained, his tone serious.

“Not the time to be admiring blasters.” Echo snapped.

“The issue is,” Tech shot an annoyed look at his brother. “They are my modifications.” His grip relaxed slightly. “We have four of them and the other was - ”

You fired a shot at Tech before he could finish and attempted to fire another when Hunter lunged at you. He knocked the blaster from your hand and swung for your head. Wrecker shoved the kid behind him while you and Hunter exchanged blows, his hitting much harder than you remembered.

You saw Tech activating a stun grenade as O2 reached for your blaster. Yanking a vibroblade from your hip, you rammed the hilt of it into the side of Hunter’s head, causing him to stumble back. Swiftly, you lurched in the way of the stun grenade, intercepted it, and threw as far as you could behind you.

Echo took no time in disarming and disabling O2 while Hunter regained his senses and grabbed for you. His touch was a breath away when you thrust out your hands and blew him back with the Force. Before Hunter could register what happened, Wrecker grabbed you by the neck, and yanked you from the ground.

You clawed at his hand but couldn’t stop the giant crushing your windpipe and ripping off your headgear.

Seeing your bare face, livid and unable to breathe, shook Wrecker and gave you the chance to slam your feet into his stomach. He dropped you to the ground where you writhed and gasped for air. Your dropped blaster was nowhere in sight, but the other satchel was.

Still retching for air, you threw a hand out and the lightsaber flew to you. Green light blasted out of the hilt, parallel to the ground and putting a thrumming barrier between you and the clones.

“A Jedi?” Omega said in wonder, poking her head around Wrecker. Wrecker, notably, didn’t push her back behind him.

They all lowered their weapons and Tech, Echo, and Wrecker removed their helmets. Different shades of shock on all of them. “Sarad?” Tech spoke softly.

“Stay away from me.” You growled from the ground. Slowly, you repositioned yourself, strengthening your stance to pounce or run.

“We thought you were-”

“Dead?” You cut Wrecker off and cut a look at Tech. “Guess you aren’t as thorough as you think.” At that, Tech’s eyebrows hit his hairline.

“We didn’t follow that order.” Hunter interjected.

“Liar!” You lashed out. “I heard the troopers. ‘Clone Force 99 took care of the padawan.’”

Hunter started lowering himself to your eye level. “We let him escape.”

Echo stepped forward, his eyes avoiding yours. “We thought you were dead,” he admitted. He closed his eyes for a moment before finally meeting your gaze. “We thought the other troopers got to you, but we came looking for you as soon as we could.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, in your eyes the only thing they deserved were holes through their chests.

Out of all of them, Tech stood the straightest, his demeanor showing no sign of shame in their handling of the situation. Still, he thought carefully on how to say what he needed, his hands clenching and unclenching as he processed it.

When he locked eyes with you, it was clear he’d considered his words meticulously, repeating the process in his mind multiple times before coming to the same conclusion

“With your blood and broken armor, there were two plausible outcomes,” he began, counting them out with his fingers. “First, that you perished either by the troopers or the falls. The second, that you…” His gaze momentarily shifted away, seeing your armor in the rocks. “... that you escaped.” Returning his gaze to yours, he continued, “In both scenarios, our intervention would have only made things worse. And Crosshair-”

You jumped to your feet in a challenge, Hunter quickly positioning himself between you and the others. “I don’t believe you,” you hissed, swinging the saber to the side before snapping it back in front of you. “So finish what you started.”

Hunter maintained his steady gaze as his brothers holstered their blasters. “We won’t fight you,” he assured, his tone resolute. Your eyes darted between them, searching for any sign of aggression. Seconds stretched on but the men held their ground.

“He’s telling the truth,” Omega whispered, joining Hunter at his side. "All clones were programmed to follow that order." She cast a meaningful glance at the men surrounding her. "But their altered states made them immune to the order."

For months, anger had been your constant companion, fueling you through each passing rotation. Anger at the Jedi Purge, at the failures of the Republic, and most of all, the seething rage at the Bad Batch for leaving you behind to bear the weight of it all alone. Months of grief and pain don’t just disappear.

The room seemed to warp and blur around you, your grip on the saber beginning to falter. Clinging to it tightly, you gritted your teeth, fighting to maintain your composure. The world snapped back into focus when tears finally breached your resolve, slipping down your cheeks unchecked.

“Then….” your arm dipped before falling limply at your side. “You left me for dead.” Your voice cracked and the words came out in a sob. “You left me behind.”

You thought the pain of them hunting you was the worst thing you could experience. The realization of abandonment was worse. A tight knot formed in your stomach, threatening to make you sick.

Driven by months of simmering anger, you shook your head through your tears. , “I survived without you, and I’ll keep surviving without you.” You let the green light of the saber fade. “So just leave.” The last words came out less like the command you wanted it to be and more like plea.

Wrecker ‘s eyes went wide, “You think after all this time,” he gestured toward you, “when we just got you back, we’d just leave?” A defiant look passed over him. “Sorry, not happening.”

“Sarad,” Tech spoke like it was just the two of you. YoYou closed your eyes briefly, savoring the familiarity of his tone. For a moment, you thought they might all disappear, as if they were never there. “Leaving you was a choice we never wanted to make. But it was the choice that led us here and ensured your survival. Keeping you alive was more important than keeping you by our sides.” He nodded, standing firm in his choices. “Your survival was the only acceptable outcome.”

The lightsaber grew heavy in your hand.

Wrecker reached out with a pleading gesture. "The regs would've— we couldn't..." He faltered, searching for the right words, but Omega touched his forearm and urged him forward.

Wrecker stepped through his brothers and although you flinched like you might run he reached out and touched your face. First with one hand and then a second when you tried to turn away. Holding you like that, seeing you safe in his hands, made it hard for Wrecker to ever imagine letting go.

Tears continued to flow down your cheeks, falling over his hands. Wrecker swept them away with his thumbs before pulling you into his arms. "Sorry, Sarad. We're sorry."

Your hands hovered on either side of you, it was the first time you’d truly touched another organic lifeform since Kaller. The lightsaber hit the ground and you fell into Wrecker.

You’d let yourself feel angry at them all those months alone, but, in an instant, it was overshadowed by the grief of having been without them.

Pulling just out of Wrecker’s embrace you rubbed away the remaining tears. “I’ve missed you.”

“We missed you too.” Echo answered for the group.

Looking between them all, you felt like the world was a little safer. There were a few things standing out to you though. First being the little girl with them and Crosshair’s absence.

Immediately reading you, Hunter touched Omega’s shoulder. “A lot has changed.”

"I can see that," the girl smiled warmly at you, her expression oddly familiar despite never having met before.

Tech breezed past you, heading straight for O2. He knelt beside the droid, adjusting his goggles before turning to you. "So, you really salvaged this droid from Kaller?" You affirmed with a nod, prompting a look of mild disturbance from Tech. "And it's proven to be useful?" Another nod from you. "Well, that's just as surprising as your survival," he remarked, his tone tinged with genuine curiosity.

"Be kind to O2," you interjected, joining Tech by O2's side to rouse the droid. "They're my friend."

Echo scratched the back of his head, a sheepish expression crossing his features. "That's... going to take some getting used to."

Omega joined you and Tech, her eyes wide with fascination as Tech began to point out various features of the battle droid. A smile tugged at your lips as you watched the interaction unfold. The inn you had purchased never truly felt like home, much like Coruscant and the Jedi Order before it.

But here, amidst the Bad Batch, you finally felt a sense of belonging. You were home.

754 notes · View notes