#tbb void

[levi-venn]

Mirror Squad

An HC I need to get out of my head so I can move on with my life (Hah, jokes on you, Levi, Bad Batch is your life).

So...Hemlock created a mirror image of the Bad Batch called the Mirror Squad, but it's not what you think. Turns out these clones were the ORIGINAL Bad Batch.

Their names: Crunch (Wrecker), Striker (Hunter), Circuit (Tech), Void (Echo/Memento - See Notes), and CX-2 aka Headshot (Crosshair).

Striker and Hunter

Circuit and Tech

Void and Echo

Crunch and Wrecker

Headshot and Crosshair

The Mirror Squad - Origin Story Concept

The Mirror Squad were the first batch of Experimental Unit Clone Commandos created on Kamino: Striker, Crunch, Circuit, Void, and Headshot. They were decommissioned due to their rebellious and unpredictable nature which made them a liability rather than an asset to the future Clone Army.

Because the Experimental Clone Program was an expensive endeavor, the Kaminoans did not decommission these clones, but rather put them in stasis for later research. They tried again another batch of experimental clones and this time only four clones survived: Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, Memento (see note) and Crosshair.

Note: Memento did not survive past his cadet years. Void and Echo's parallel are a coincidence.

When Kamino was evacuated, Hemlock scooped up the original Bad Batch squad, still in stasis within their pods. These clones were the first to be brainwashed and reprogrammed by Hemlock. Although their memories were wiped, their instincts to work as a cohesive unit remained.

Technically, the Bad Batch is a mirror image of what the original Clone Force 99 almost was, but this squad's official name is Mirror Squad.

[nahoney22]

All he needs now is some booty shorts and a crop top and then he’s basically Lara Croft

[the-bi-space-ace]

Why is Echo so important to me?

It's simple really: he is everything I want to be.

Life has a way of giving you pain you don't deserve. Sometimes people hurt you and they do so on purpose because they don't really see you as a person. They see you as a possession to be played with. A toy, if you will. Some people choose to hurt others and it can happen to anyone at any time. It doesn't matter how 'good' you are.

Echo is the ‘perfect soldier’. He's strong, brave, he follows orders, he's smart, he's loyal, he's hard working, but above all: he's kind. He wants to do the right thing. And still, he was put through torture, autonomy taken away and body changed against his will. His mind was stolen from him. No one cared about how 'good' he was.

They hurt him because they could.

This experience changed him but he is still Echo. He's still brave, he's still strong, he's still loyal and kind and all of the things that make Echo Echo. His imprisonment came with changes, physically and mentally. Outbursts when confronted with medical equipment, discomfort in solitude, a stronger distrust of Separatists, and an even stronger connection to people being mistreated or held against their will. I'm sure with that came a lot of anger, resentment, confusion. He's still him but things are different now.

Things are different and he knows that. He knows but he keeps going anyway. His heart is still kind. He's still strong and true and he still wants to do the right thing.

He was hurt, and he was hurt on purpose, but he chooses not to lead with that hurt. He chooses every single day to still be kind. His heart is still big, it's still open, he's still him.

There's something about it, ya know? Being put through the unimaginable and coming out of it bruised and bloody but still kind. There is nothing wrong with being angry, and I'm sure Echo is angry, but that anger can't be an excuse to do the same hurt to others that was done to you. Even when it hurts. Even when it's hard.

At the core of it I think that's why I love him so much. He suffered, he lives despite the suffering, and he doesn't allow his own pain to be a catalyst to harm others. He doesn't let the pain stop him. Things are different, life is different, he is different, but it doesn't ever stop him.

He's everything I want to be. He's the kind of person I wish I was. He's selfless and kindhearted. He's steadfast and brave, stubborn as all hell. He's loyal, the kind of loyal you only see every once in awhile. The kind of loyal that sticks with you. He's a promise that hardship doesn't define you. That you are not a carbon copy of those that harmed you. That you are not less than because of things that other people put you through. Your life may be different than it was before but that doesn't make you wrong or less than.

Maybe, if Echo can be brave, then I can be brave too.

[anakin-warcrimes-skywalker]

Seeing all those Clones suffering from the experimentation in the new episodes got me sobbing... STOP HURTING MY BOYS

[niobiumao3]

Realistically, I get why people think the Pabu folks and Crosshair haven't been told about Tech. Taken within the bounds of the show, it looks like NO processing is going on, so does anyone even know? That seems absurd given the time jump presented in episode 1--which is masterfully handled--but still.

Yet Michelle Ang herself indicated we see none of Omega's processing ('there's not time for it with everything else going on') and the episode reviews for 1-8 confirm is it never addressed. That just makes no sense if they've not already been told.

So, they've been told, and we don't get to see it. But I totally grok why anyone not terminally online would be assuming those conversations haven't happened because the show is making it look like he only just died and word isn't out, when it's been 3-4 whole ass months.

In S3E1 Omega is in no way acting like someone mourning a beloved mentor and brother. She is literally not.

This is utterly unhinged writing if Tech is really dead. It erases the grief over such a loss and acts like 'well we all had to just move on' when the marketing was so, SO heavy handed on THE LOSS and THE SACRIFICE. What loss, what sacrifice? NO ONE IS UPSET ABOUT IT OR PROCESSING.

So. Like. They've been told. But I bet he's on his way back in some manner or another.

As @eriexplosion has pointed out, Kanan Jarrus got an entire episode about how he was definitely not coming back. Echo stepped off screen and Omega and Tech had an emotional arc about it that spanned two episodes. He wasn't even injured he was just off with his bro!

Tech yeets himself to save them and uh here are his goggles 'not all of us made it back' is the sum total of our commentary. ?!

[cc-tens]

Thinking abt Cody defecting from his service with The Empire. I'm trying to wrap my head around what the other Clones felt about this. Were they told he died in the line of duty as they all should, twisting the truth to further push them all into further blind loyalty and servitude? Or did they say it outright, CC-2224 abandoned them all, his squad, his men and fled to go what? Join the Rebellion? Die in a ditch? What was the gossip like after that? Any consequences? Crack down on security, lock down the Clones to keep them subservient and dissuade them from following their old Commander's steps? COME ON MAN, TELL ME THE TEA.

[ladyzirkonia]

Honestly Rampart is such a delight, his accent the whole mannerism, I loved it and cackled so much. Noshir Dalal absolutely nailed it.

I BEG YOU PARDON, I didn't make it to Vice Admiral on looks alone.

[dustmusings]

feel like I haven't put out something in ages so here, have an exerpt from my upcoming crosshair oneshot

A light flicked on, shining directly at him, and he groaned again, the hand of his uninjured arm lifting to cover his eyes. “Crosshair” your voice was a hoarse whisper, as if it had got caught in your throat, and it wasn't hard to guess why. He slumped forwards slightly, his back hunching as he dug his knees further into the ground to distract from the pain. “I know” he said quietly, not even having looked at the damage yet. He was far too concentrated on trying to ignore it. The light flicked off with the click of a button, and he heard you shuffling around, your knapsack hitting the ground with a thud that told him you were moving quickly, your actions rushed. Soon after, a warmer light started growing, and Crosshair realised you had taken out a lamp, and were now dragging it over to him with a medkit in hand. He looked up, the softer light not invading his vision in such a piercing way, and he could now see the worry in your eyes. His gut twisted, the uncomfortable feeling of guilt spreading through his body and only making his wound ache more. You knelt in front of him, ripping off his helmet before your hand gripped his pouldron and pulled it aside to get a proper look at the injury. The both of you sucked a breath through your teeth, Crosshair in pain and you no doubt because of how bad the damage was. You got to work quickly, silently, and unclipped the top half of his armour to get better access. Crosshair was glad that you weren't talking, he was already embarassed enough, feeling infantile, crumpled to his knees and completely weak in front of you. He was powerless to do anything else, his head pounding and vision hazy as blood gushed from his wound. “Hold this here” you said firmly, pushing a cloth into the wound and bringing him back to the present harshly, another pained noise leaving him. He followed your instruction without much thought, and when he took the fabric from you to hold in place, he felt the way your hand was shaking. His eyes snapped up to yours, and the distress he saw written into your expression was enough to shock him back into full consciousness. Crosshair watched your movements carefully, his keen eyes noticing every twitch and shiver as you fumbled with the syringe. He wanted to comfort you in any way he could, but truthfully, he didn't know how. It wasn't something he'd ever sought to do, and now faced with the challenge, he didn't know what would be the right thing to say. “It's just a scratch” he mumbled, a small chuckle passing his lips in an attempt to at least alleviate some of the tension. “A scratch?” you huffed, your voice disbelieving as you shot him a unimpressed look, “this isn't funny, Crosshair” “Hey—” “If I hadn't pulled you away you'd still be there. You'd be de—” Crosshair called your name sternly, and you stopped your fiddling with the syringe to look up at him, “it's going to be fine, do you hear me?”

a little amuse bouche

the rest of this is more personal-ish rambling stuff

I feel like I'm in such a weird place with writing

I've been putting off the last chapter of TD for sooooo long omg, but that's just what I do, incapable of finishing a project and whatnot (it's coming, I thought I'd have it done but Sunday but stuff came up, it's mainly written I just need to edit) but yeah, that's been making me annoyed and getting me down about writing in general tbh

I've got a number of other oneshot WIPs but I think I'm gonna put them on the backburner cause I keep pushing back working on my next longfic to do them, which is annoying because I'm really passionate about it! but also it's very typical of me to put off doing something more daunting because I don't know if it will live up to what's in my head (hello again my old friend, crippling perfectionism)

anyway. I know I don't owe it to anyone, but I think the reason I feel some kinda pressure is really because I like participating in the fandom, so I do want to put stuff out! this crosshair fic is good I think :) writing from his perspective is super interesting, trying to get inside his head and stuff

this probably reads as a nervous stream of conciousness lol, my brain is so frazzled rn

ummmm yeah. by the end of the year I want to get out the last TD chapter, and this crosshair oneshot, and then I'll probably start trying to roll out some of my next longfic, but we shall see.

thus concludes my incoherent rambling :)

[5ome-7ype-0f-5hapeshifter]

fun fact I like Roblox battle brickies.

Battle brickers fandom if you find this tell me your favorite boss and your favorite unit, enemy or ally, minibosses counted!

My favs;

I think I'm actually tied between Doombringer and Turking for my fav boss... I think they're both really awesome. (honestly I feel like chap4 is going to quickly change who my fav boss is)

and. I like magerator. I think they're very joy and whimsypilled. fav overall guy. shoutouts to them.

[voidofthemoon]

Sinful Morning, Passionate Afternoon

Wrecker x Reader

18+

Length: Medium

Warnings: waking up with oral (male recieving), kinda sleepy sex, P in V, established relationship, established acceptance of sleepy fucks and waking up in this manner

You hadn't meant to wake up as needy as you did, but before you even really had a moment to really sit and clear your mind of the sleepy fog... you found yourself under the sheets and between his thick thighs.

You peeked out of the blanket, seeing your loving commando stirring a bit, groggily rubbing at an eye but still mostly asleep. You called to him softly then returned back below.

Your hands trailed up from his knees, delicately over his thighs and gripped softly there. Steadying yourself in your position. His body had been left bare from your adventures last night within these very same sheets.

Hidden from the slivers of sunlight by the blankets, your lips scrawled soft kisses up the inside of his left thigh. You delighted in his soft murmur and how his legs parted just a little more for you. Smiling softly, you let out a soft yawn as your lips travelled across his muscles and before long reached the end of their journey.

Your tongue dragged across the underside of his piece, all the way up until you reach the end of him. There you pressed a chaste kiss to the tip.

"Wreeeeeckerrrr~" You called out in a sing-song tone.

He grumbled in return, waking up at your call

"Time to wake up" you whispered peppering kisses back down his length.

Wrecker panted heavily as he stared down at you, already so riled up and proud from your attention. His gaze flitted across your form, your state then his brain caught up...

You could, not only hear, but feel his breath coming out in small pants as you continued lavishing him in kisses and licks.

Suddenly the blankets tore away and you shied away at the light now beaming into your face.

"Cyar'ika" he chuckled between pants "What are you hiding under the blankets for?"

You peeked back up at him and followed his single finger gesture to come closer. Abandoning your blissful victim and leaning over his torso, you pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Good morning" You whispered cheekily as his arms enveloped you

"'d mornin' to you too" he mumbled with a gentle smile "Still worked up?"

You hummed and shrugged softly

"Re-worked up..." you trailed a hand down his chest "How do you expect to keep to myself when you're right here next to me...?"

His body rumbled with a barely contained laugh that definitely would have woken up his brothers. Grin on his face, and a glimmer to his eyes, Wrecker pulled you in for another kiss.

"Well since you're all dressed for the occassion..." his breath fanned across your lips as he spoke.

Large hands trailed down your back, across your sides and settled low upon your body - one on your hip, while the other on your bare bottom.

You whined softly as his lips glided across your skin, leaving open mouthed searing kisses in a trail from your lips to your neck. His touch ellicitating more heat to pool in the pit of your being where it was already a ablaze and threatening to overcome you.

"I want to take care of you" You urged softly, already feeling yourself losing your will to deny what height his sinful touch always brought you to.

Wrecker's chest rumbled softly, voice tickling your skin as he sucked a dark hickey upon that devastating location that he knew would turn you to goo.

"Alright..." came the panted reply as he pulled back.

"Sorry" he mumbled as his lips covered your own, stealing what was left of the breath on your lips. Pulling a moan deep from your throat.

His strong hands moved across your form and held out to you. An offer to help you get settled upon his lap. And you quickly accepted with your own shakey hands. His grip was secure as you straddled his hips formally and began to settle.

But just as you began to sink, his leg moved, sweeping your left leg out and prying you further open. Your body quickly followed and you took him in in an easy, but breath-stealing, slide.

And that...is where your ride began. Where your absolutely sinfully, delicious morning morphed into a passionate early afternoon.

Dividers by @benkeibear

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

Every week I lose track of time and then Tuesday rolls around and I get the unexpected surprise of remembering that a new bad batch episode is tomorrow!!

[nahoney22]

A lot of things tugged on my heart with the premiere but this? This was the dealbreaker for me.

[swbbb6]

I am so mad at Disney for ending tbb. There is still so much that needs to happen/be resolved, and I just don’t see how they can possibly squeeze it all into the next 3 episodes 😭

[warsamongthestars]

... Damn.

Its been a bit time since I started shoveling coal into the rage train.

But the reason I started on this path, still stings.

I still get hit with Tech's Death. Usually in depictions of wind, sky, and falling, from art, to picture, to music. It was a helluva scene. Impactful.

So impactful, that its very existence, destroyed the lead up to it, and retroactively turned the entire show to shit, all the little problems went from small stones in a shoe to an entire gravel path one takes bare foot.

Its a beautiful and tragic scene for a deeply unpleasant, horrible piece of "art", whose concept calls me to comfort, but whose execution demands my rage.

In my personal set of stories, whether I'll get to writing them or not, he's not dead.

( In one set of these metaphorical stories--they're all dead. Because that's the only way you stop the metaphorical super duper squad from outbesting Luke Skywalker. )

One person or team's depiction of character death, no matter how budgeted and published, no matter how impactful, doesn't mean one has to accept it.

And I don't.

( Just because the lunch ladies served folks grit slop, doesn't mean that Lunch automatically means droopy grey grit slop with overboiled fruit bits (that might've been blue berries at some point maybe) all the time. It doesn't meant that I'll accept grit slop. I prefer classy garbage--like pepperoni pizza. Not stuff that melts the spoon to the bowl. )

( One can absolutely say that what one is given was horrible and wrong and that one doesn't have to accept it. Even if its just a shit star wars show. We can in fact tell them to take it the fuck back, and redo it. Art deserves that much, and Corporations must learn to Answer for their transgressions.)

It was, and still is, a meaningless fucking death and no amount of streaming services and merchandise and nice words, is gonna get me to accept it--its a beautiful thing that shouldn't exist.

( Dare not to go gently into the good night. Dare not to fall gently into the clouds below. )

[skygirlstars]

I’m going to try to stay off social media once the TBB finale drops until I can watch it (probably Wednesday evening) to avoid spoilers. not ready for this show to be over. godspeed, Bad Batch fans. see you on the other side 🫡

[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.