Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“General Kenobi, I have received intel regarding a … situation, on Krystar.”

Cody remained silent as his General carefully regarding the flickering blue hologram before him, the familiar face of Senator Padme Amidala gazing back.

“What manner of intel, Senator Amidala?”

The Senator took a deep, fortifying breath before responding.

“Krystar’s Regent, an Ovissian Male by the name of Queb, has constructed a compound to house clone troopers as prisoners of war,” the Senator explained, the disdain in her voice evident even through the hologram.

Cody bit back the bile that threatened to rise in his throat.

His vod’e, prisoners of war.

And he hadn’t even known.

How could he not have known?

His General, apparently, had the same concerns – though he voiced them much more diplomatically than Cody was apt to do at the moment.

“Excuse my hesitance, Senator, but how can we be certain that the intel you received is accurate?” Obi-wan parried. “Krystar is aligned with the Galactic Republic – Vishar Koss represents Krystar in the Senate.”

“Because the intel came from Senator Vishar Koss herself,” Senator Amidala replied grimly. “To the best of her knowledge, Regent Queb has been housing clone troopers as prisoners of war in the compound on Krystar on behalf of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.”

The Separatists were holding his vod’e hostage.

Right under their karking noses.

Cody knew that Obi-wan could likely feel the rage and fury pouring off of him, but he fought to keep his expression neutral for Senator Amidala’s sake. She didn’t seem like the fragile type – but one could never tell how natborns would react to another openly plotting murder.

Rescue, though, was a different matter entirely.

“We have to rescue them,” Cody interjected, no longer able to contain himself.

The Senator smiled kindly at him.

“I quite agree, Commander,” she concurred. “Which is why I am already enroute to rendezvous with the Negotiator.”

“How – nevermind,” Obi-wan cut off, muttering something about Anakin and protocol. “I will send you our exact coordinates, and inform the hangar bay of your imminent arrival. We will proceed to Krystar once you have joined us.”

“Excellent,” Senator Amidala nodded. Before signing off, she turned her attention back to Cody.

“We will bring your brothers home, Commander.”

~~~

Krystar had been a nightmare.

The mission itself had been a success - the clones being held hostage in Queb’s nightmarish compound had been rescued, and Queb himself had been taken into custody. The Senator and Obi-wan were questioning Queb further now, after Obi-wan had been forced to all but bodily thrown Cody from the room when it had become clear that his Commander was hanging on to his morality by the thinnest of threads.

From what Cody had gathered before his ejection, Queb had held numerous clone troopers as prisoners throughout the war, either as prisoners of war at the behest of the Separatists, or so that he could sell them to Trandoshan hunters to be gunned down like livestock.

Sometimes both.

Cody had thought he knew the horrors of war by now – had thought that he had seen the worst that sentience had to offer and had overcome it.

But the conditions his vod’e had suffered on Krystar…

It made Cody’s stomach roil.

“Do you need an anti-nausea, Commander?” Helix asked drily, from where he was stationed at Cody’s elbow.

Cody shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

He knew that he must look a wreck.

Helix hummed, but didn’t comment further, following Cody’s gaze to where the youngest trooper they had recovered was still laying unconscious.

“He’ll wake up,” Helix soothed as gently as he could. “None of his injuries are life-threatening, and now that we have him, the dehydration and malnutrition will be taken care of too. He’ll wake up.”

Cody nodded but didn’t look away, content to simply hover like a nervous buir over the frailest verd’ika he’d ever seen. He’d come straight to the medbay, after Obi-wan had thrown him out of Queb’s questioning, and had all but begged Helix to let him help.

He needed to help.

Needed to not feel useless.

Cody had counted every single one of the verd’ika’s ribs when he helped Helix settle him into his cot. Even now, he could clearly see the harsh points of his shoulders through the threadbare blanket Helix had thrown over him. His cheeks were sunken and sallow, the pallor of his skin far to pale and sickly for a vod’e.

It was a miracle that he was alive.

A few more days, and he likely wouldn’t have been.

His body had already been shutting down when they had rescued him, Helix had explained bluntly. There was no telling how long he’d been imprisoned, but Helix had explained that within days, faced with nothing to eat, his body would have begun feeding on itself. His metabolism would have slows, his body would have become unable to regulate its temperature, his kidney function would have been impaired, and his immune system would have weakened even further.

Eventually, his body would have attacked his muscles – including those in his heart, causing hallucinations, convulsions and disruptions in heart rhythm.

Eventually, the verd’ika’s heart would have simply stopped.

So, Cody was hovering, unable to tear his eyes away from his unmoving form, despite every logical part of his brain knowing that the younger clone was in good hands with Helix.

“When – when will he wake up?” Cody asked, well aware that he had been silent for too long.

Helix shrugged.

Politely ignored the waver in Cody’s voice.

“It’s hard to tell definitively,” Helix explained, still gentle and calm. “His body needs time to heal. It does that best when it has time to heal – sleep gives it that time.”

“And the others?”

Another shrug.

“Healing as well as can be expected,” Helix responded carefully. “I’ve already contacted the Commanding Officers of the troopers who were assigned to specific battalions before their capture – most are sending detachments to pick them up once we rendezvous on Coruscant.”

“That – that’s good,” Cody murmured, eyes fixed on the verd’ika.

Something had changed, while Helix spoke.

He could swear he had moved – that his expression had tightened, ever so slightly.

So, Cody stepped forward cautiously, careful to let his boots scrape the ground as he moved forward, so that if the verd’ika was conscious, he would hear the Commander approaching.

Without so much as a flinch, the verd’ika launched himself off of the cot, flailing wildly as he tore IV’s from his skin, scrambling away from the sound of Cody’s approach. Once he had his back to the wall he settled, hackles clearly raised.

Kark.

“Verd’ika, I am not going to hurt you,” Cody tried, softening his voice and holding his hands up. Whatever – whoever the younger clone was seeing – it wasn’t him. The wild fear in his eyes, the tension in his body – his mind was trapped on Krystar, and whatever horrors he had experienced there.

“Usen’ye,” the verd’ika snarled, brandishing a thin piece of metal.

Karking hells, he was using one of his IV needles as a karking weapon.

“Udesii, verd’ika,” Cody barked, lunging forward to grab the younger clone before he could do more damage.

Only to have to reel back as the younger vod stabbed at him with terrifying accuracy.

“Kark,” Cody growled, narrowly missing being impaled on a sharp, bloody needle.

Helix chuckled.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Helix observe airily. “Let me know if you want me to sedate him.”

Cody glowered at his Commanding Medical Officer’s back as he retreated to check on his other patients, leaving Cody with a feral verd’ika and no karking back-up.

Karking aruetii.

Cody sighed and began to disarm, shedding his armour and weapons without so much as a second thought. He had absolutely no intention of shooting the injured verd’ika, and even less inclination to stun him within Helix’s line of sight.

That done, Cody approached the injured trooper until he was just out of arms reach, moving slowly and keeping his hands where the verd’ika could see them.

“K’uur, verd’ika,” Cody cooed softly.

The younger vod didn’t relax a single muscle, maintaining a definitely defensive stance where he was crouched in the corner.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cody continued gently as he crouched down to the same level, still carefully keeping his hands in sight. “My name is Cody. CC-2224.  I am the Marshal Commander of the 7^th Sky Corps – and the 212^th Attack Battalion.”

Nothing.

“Ghost Company and I, along with General Kenobi, rescued you and several other vod’e from Krystar,” Cody continued, his voice gentle and soothing. “General Kenobi and Senator Amidala have taken Regent Queb into custody, and the compound has been completely destroyed.”

Thoroughly destroyed.

Blasted to bits until not a hint remained of the horrors his vod’e had suffered.

Sometime during his rambling, the verd’ika had let his grip on the needle lighten – had relaxed ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly so.

Cody didn’t hesitate.

He lunged, knocking the needle out of the verd’ika’s hand before quickly grappling him into a firm hold, arms and legs wrapped around the almost skeletal frame of the other clone. For his part, the younger clone writhed and snarled and snapped, trying desperately to break free of Cody’s grip. Finally, he exhausted what little energy that initial burst of adrenaline had given him, slumping in Cody’s hold.

Cody couldn’t help but sigh in relief.  

“Do you have a name, verd’ika?”

No response.

That was fine – Cody hadn’t really expected one.

“Or a number – that’s fine too,” Cody continued, tone slipping from calming to conversational, urging the younger trooper in his arms to respond.

“No number,” the verd’ika growled back vehemently, a hint of a snarl still lingering in his voice.

“No number – that’s fine,” Cody soothed agreeably. “I prefer to use my name as well – most vod’e do, once they’ve picked a name.”

Silence, again, for several long moments while Cody scrambled for what else to say, until finally –

“Am I really – did you really… You destroyed the compound on Krystar?”

The verd’ika’s voice was impossibly small, and Cody couldn’t help but let the hold settle into something that was distinctly more of a hug – or a cuddle – as the younger clone slowly relaxed in his arms.

“The entire thing,” Cody confirmed. “Blasted in to bits – General Kenobi even let us call in an orbital bombardment, once we’d cleared off the planet.”

Another long moment of silence, and then –

“I’m free?”

Cody could feel his karking heart breaking as he shifted the younger clone in his arms into something that was definitively a cuddle, snuggling impossibly closer.

“You’re free, verd’ika,” Cody confirmed, and the soldier in his arms feel to pieces, sobbing with abandon as he clung to Cody’s blacks, skeletal frame shaking his each great, heaving sob. Cody clung back, crushing the younger vod to him without hesitation, offering whatever comfort that he could.

Eventually, his sobs gentled and faded, his face still tucked under Cody’s chin. The Commander suspected that his verd’ika had drifted back to sleep, until a small voice spoke against his chest, almost imperceptibly quiet – had Cody not been listening for it.

“My name is Wooley.”

Chapter Text

Consciousness was a fleeting thing, now.

Wooley had long since ceased wondering about the whereabouts of his squadmates. If they were lucky, they had died in the initial attack, rather than being subjected to the routine torture and imprisonment that now faced Wooley each time he opened his eyes.

At first, the Ovissians had tried questioning him, going so far as to use an Interrogator Droid when Wooley failed to provide any useful intel regarding the Grand Army of the Republic.

Not that he could have, even if he wanted to.

He was as fresh off Kamino as they came – hadn’t even been permanently assigned to a battalion yet. Didn’t have a jetii to betray, or know even the most inane of details about the inner functioning of the GAR, beyond what was included in the mandatory curriculum on Kamino.

It didn’t seem to matter.

However, the interrogation sessions had eventually ceased. Perhaps the Ovissians had realized that Wooley knew nothing – perhaps they had simply grown bored of subjecting him to routine torture.

Wooley couldn’t be sure.

Regardless, it had been days since the last time an Ovissian had dragged him from his cell, and Wooley couldn’t help but be slightly grateful for the reprieve.

Even if he hadn’t eaten in nearly as many days.

“You with us, Shiny?” one of the older vod asked softly.

He was one of the good ones, Wooley had quickly learned, as he forced his eyes open to gaze blearily at the older trooper leaning against the durasteel bars of their ramshackle prison. It was a duty they all played, taking turns mimicking guards so that they could at least warn the others if one of the Ovissians – or worse, a Trandoshan – was approaching.

No one ever returned after a Trandoshan took them.

“Of course, sir,” Wooley slurred, doing his best to scramble into a more upright position, rather than the slumped back position against the wall as he’d been previously. Every muscle screamed in protest as he did so, but Wooley gritted his teeth and bore the pain.

He was a soldier.

The older vod raised an eyebrow skeptically, but didn’t comment.

“You’ve got the next watch,” he said instead, turning his gaze back to the hallway. “If you’re thirsty, grab a few mouthfuls of water from my canteen.”

It was a kindness that most of the older troopers wouldn’t have extended to Wooley – water and food were scarce, and very few had deemed Wooley worth their time.

Wooley nodded and began to untangle his limbs, slowly sliding upwards into a standing position – though the wall seemed to be doing most of the work, if Wooley was being honest. The older vod on guard passed him the aforementioned canteen, and Wooley took a few mouthfuls of the stale water before closing the cap.

It did little more than soothe his parched throat.

“Vor entye,” Wooley gritted out as he passed the canteen back.

They had so little to give, even those who had been snatched while equipped for long-term missions, that even a few mouthfuls of water was worth accepting a debt.

Wooley would be dead without the kindness of a few.

Others hadn’t been as kind – had made their displeasure at being “shackled” with a shiny barely off of Kamino well known. Had ensured that his rations and water were quickly commandeered for their own personal uses.

Even a well-meaning ori’vod couldn’t stop the inevitable.

“Ni vaabir not vorer gar entye,” I do not accept your debt, the older trooper quipped back.

Just as he did every time.

Wooley didn’t waste the energy responding, instead focusing on struggling to his feet so that he could stumble across the cell to where the older trooper was standing guard.

“Stop babying the shiny, Spitfire,” another trooper grumbled, jostling Wooley as he struggled to remain upright and prove that he was, in fact, fit for duty.

Wooley didn’t bother to acknowledge the other trooper. He’d proven himself to be mean-spirited and reticent on the good days – and there weren’t many of those, here. Regardless, his opinion didn’t matter.

Wooley was a soldier.

He would do his duty.

~~~

Wooley jolted awake, gasping for air as he struggled to escape the lingering vestiges of a dream that was more memory than anything else. He was covered in a cold sheen of sweat, and he could feel where his curls clung to his forehead as he panted for air.

“Easy there, shiny,” a familiar voice – the voice of a vod – soothed.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, and Wooley bodily flinched away from the contact, scrambling to press his back to the wall as he prepared to face the unknown threat.

Vod’e couldn’t always be trusted.

When he hadn’t been able to sleep, Marshal Commander Cody had negotiated with his Commanding Medical Officer, Helix, to be allowed to push Wooley’s cot against the wall, giving him a semblance of security he hadn’t had in the middle of the space.

Helix had grumbled about hypos and sedation throughout the entire process, but Marshal Commander Cody had assured Wooley that that was normal.

“Woah, there, udesii, verd’ika,” the voice cautioned, and Wooley trained his eyes on the two men sitting next to his cot.

While neither were Marshal Commander Cody, they were both clearly clones. The one had shaved his head and was sporting a small patch of hair under his lower lip, while the other had opted to keep his naturally black hair in a regulation cut, while also growing out something approximating a goatee. Both sported white and gold armour, just like the Marshal Commander.

“Ve'ganir norac,” Stay back, Wooley snarled, pressing his back more firmly against the wall, if only to give himself a few more centimetres of space from the unknown troopers.

Vod’e couldn’t always be trusted.

“Naak, verd’ika,” the bald trooper soothed, holding his hands up and away from Wooley. After a small nudge, the other followed suite, grumbling something inaudible under his breath.

Wooley didn’t relax.

“Where is Marshal Commander Cody?” he asked instead.

He was relatively certain that he could trust the Marshal Commander. At very least, he was almost positive that the Marshal Commander wouldn’t hurt him.

The two exchanged glances before the bald one sighed.

“He had to report to the Bridge to share his findings regarding the situation on Krystar,” the bald vod explained. “He asked us to keep an eye on you until he made it back – didn’t really want to leave you, though.”

“More likely he just didn’t want to report to the Jedi Council, Waxer,” the one with the goatee countered, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Waxer.

“Is he… is he coming back?” Wooley asked, his back still pressed against the wall, his muscles still tense as a bowstring.

Vod’e couldn’t always be trusted.

“Of course,” Waxer assured him. “In the meantime, is there anything we can get you? Water? Rations? Helix?”

Wooley winced slightly at the mention of the Commanding Medical Officer, and both of the older vod’e clocked his reaction, chuckling slightly.

“Yeah, maybe not Helix,” Waxer assured him. “He can be a karking menace, and I heard that you pulled quite the stunt earlier. Even Boil here was impressed – and he’s tried just about every trick in the book to escape the medbay.”

Boil.

“I – I… What?”

Waxer and Boil exchanged glances again, communicating silently in a way that only troopers could, before Boil pushed himself into a standing position, groaning as he did so.

“I’ll be back in a moment with some water and rations,” he announced to no one in particular, striding off out of view.

Which left just Wooley and Waxer.

The older vod cleared his throat, clearly at a loss for words, before rallying and diving back into the fray.

“I’m not going to come any closer, or try to touch you again,” Waxer promised gently. “So you can relax, if you want.”

Wooley did no such thing.

“Right, well…” Waxer paused, thinking. “I was part of the detachment that went with Cody, General Kenobi, and Senator Amidala to Krystar, you know. We were just supposed to be determining if there were prisoners being detained in the compound – a reconnaissance mission, the General called it.”

Despite himself, Wooley found himself listening, lulled by the familiar sound of a vod’s voice, and driven by a need to know more about his liberation from Krystar.

“While General Kenobi, Senator Amidala, and Senator Koss met with Regent Queb, Cody, Boil, and I – along with a few other troopers – snuck off the shuttle and into the compound,” Waxer continued, something akin to fury in his voice. “Regent Queb wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was holding clones as prisoners of war.”

“Why would he?” Wooley asked quietly. “No one had ever come looking for us before.”

Waxer’s expression looked pained at that, but he continued his tale regardless.

“We dispatched the battle droids without much problem – a battalion of clankers is hardly a match for the 212^th, especially once the Commander starts karking kicking the things,” Waxer explained. “Didn’t take much convincing to get those troopers that were able to help us return to the shuttle. Between us, we carried and supported those who couldn’t.”

Like Wooley, who had been unconscious.

“Vor entye,” Wooley breathed.

It was a debt he would never be able to repay, but he would gladly accept it, regardless. This vod – and his battalion – had risked their lives to save Wooley and the other clones being held as prisoners of war.

“Ni vaabir not vorer gar entye,” I do not accept your debt, Waxer quipped back, the phrase so familiar that Wooley almost – almost – smiled.

Without realizing it, the younger trooper had slowly relaxed back onto his cot, his back no longer pressed against the cool durasteel. Despite that, Waxer had held true to his word. He hadn’t tried to come any closer, or tried to touch Wooley again.

Vod’e couldn’t always be trusted – but maybe this one could.

“My name is Wooley,” the younger clone offered tentatively.

He got a beaming smile in return.

Wooley smiled back.

“Aw, you made a friend,” Boil drawled as he made his way back to the cot, a canteen of water and a ration bar in hand. “Mission accomplished."

Waxer rolled his eyes, but snatched the water and rations out of Boil’s hands regardless, turning to offer them to Wooley while Boil settled back into his chair.

Wooley reached out to take them tentatively, eyes never leaving Waxer’s as he snatched the water and rations.

Neither clone commented.

As Wooley ate and drank, he realized that he still had another thank-you to offer. Swallowing quickly, he turned his attention to Boil.

“Vor entye,” Wooley said.

“Ni vaabir not vorer gar entye,” I do not accept your debt, Boil responded without hesitation, rolling his eyes as he spoke. “We should have liberated you from Krystar sooner, verd’ika.”

Wooley blinked away tears at that, cursing his own weakness.

It wasn’t safe, to show weakness.

He didn’t know these vod’e.

Not really.

But Waxer had been kind, and honest, and he had been true to his word. And Boil had given him both food and water, and hadn’t begrudged him even a moment of his time.

A sob ripped through Wooley’s chest.

“Kuur, verd’ika,” Waxer soothed softly.

“Gar cuyir morut'yc,” Boil added, just as gently.

Neither one tried to touch Wooley.

Perhaps it was that that broke his resolve – their respect of his wishes. Or perhaps it was simply Wooley’s need for a gentle touch, after so going so long living in a space where touch only meant pain and suffering.

Wooley crawled out of his cot into Waxer’s arms, sobbing as the older trooper wrapped him up in a tight hug. Boil’s hand rubbed gently at his back as he continued to make soothing sounds, reassuring Wooley of his safety in Mando’a.

Wooley clung to them desperately as he shook apart.

Vod’e couldn’t always be trusted – but Wooley believed that these ones could be.

Chapter Text

Waxer watched in careful silence as Marshall Commander Cody moved to stand near the cockpit of the LAAT/i currently carrying members of the 212^th Attack Battalion – notably Ghost Company – towards the surface of Krystar.

General Kenobi, Senator Amidala, and Senator Koss had descended earlier in a dropship of their own to meet with Krystar’s Regent, Queb. For a diplomatic meeting, followed by a state dinner, they had said when they had commed the Regent. Simply because they had been in the Sector, and Senator Koss wanted to host the renowned Negotiator and Senator from Naboo on her home planet.

In reality, the entire thing was a ruse.

A distraction.

So that the 212^th could scout out the compound that Senator Koss insisted had been constructed to house clone troopers as prisoners of war by Regent Queb.

For the Separatists.

But quietly, of course, because until they confirmed the presence of clone troopers being held as prisoners of war, General Kenobi had insisted that they not ruffle too many metaphorical feathers.

Just in case Senator Koss was wrong.

Just in case there was some other explanation.

“Listen up, vod’e,” Cody called, instantly drawing the attention of every clone in the LAAT/i to him.

Waxer suspected that even Barlex, who was currently piloting the karking dropship, shifted his attention to hear what their Commander said next.

This mission was personal for the clones.

“Crys will be on comms throughout the mission,” Cody began. “He has General Kenobi on standby as well, waiting for our report.”

The blonde clone merely nodded distractedly, already fixated on his datapad and comlink.

“Waxer, Boil, you’ll scout ahead – quietly – to confirm whether or not there are clone troopers being held against their will in the compound,” Cody instructed, earning himself two sharp nods from his Scouts. “Eyeball, you and Longshot will head up to the ridge overlooking the compound, and establish a good lookout for incoming combatants.”

“Yes, sir!”

“The rest of you will remain here with me until Waxer and Boil report in,” Cody ordered, his bucket shifting from side to side as he let his gaze sweep over the rest of the crew – Cale, Gearshift, Helix, Reed, and Threepwood – before taking one more deep, steadying breath.

“No one else moves in until General Kenobi gives the command,” Cody ordered. “Regardless of what Waxer and Boil report – we wait for the General to give us the all clear. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

With that, Waxer and Boil prepared to disembark, standing shoulder to shoulder, plastoid armour clanking together as Barlex set the dropship down.

As they landed, Crys looked up sharply, drawing Cody’s attention as effectively as if he had screamed aloud.

"Commander, I'm picking up a lot of unusual static,” the 212^th resident slicer report grimly. “Could be a signal jammer."

Cody nodded, glancing back to Waxer and Boil, who were poised to leave.

“Short-range comms shouldn’t be effected,” Cody reassured his scouts. “Worse comes to worse, signal Eyeball and Longshot, and they’ll relay the message back to us.”

“And General Kenobi, sir?”

“If I have to, I’ll make the decision myself.”

With that, Waxer and Boil disembarked. They were the best scouts that the 212^th had – they knew it, and so did their squad.

They wouldn’t fail.

Not when the mission was this important.

~~~

Boil gently drew Waxer away after the latter had gently transferred a still shaking and whimpering Wooley back into Cody’s arms.

That their Commander hadn’t even hesitated to drop the data pad in his hand in favour of wrapping the younger clone up in his arms so he could be bundled back into his medical cot. Such a simple choice spoke volumes though.

The Commander was adopting that verd’ika.

It was up for debate if Cody knew that yet, though.

Still, Waxer kept his gaze fixed on Wooley, his mind running through their interaction from earlier over and over again. That first flinch, when Waxer had first tried to calm him. The lingering fear and resistance to touch, even when he saw that they were vod’e. The thought and difficulty that had gone into choosing to let his guard down even slightly.

“Waxer?”

Boil was gentle, his voice soft, as he prodded his cyare. He knew him well enough to know that something was on his mind, after all.

And Waxer rarely kept anything of importance from him for long.

Waxer merely shook his head, as though he was trying to clear it, and looked around the med bay, which was surprisingly empty. Most of the vod’e they had picked up on Krystar had been deemed well enough to bunk in the general barracks, and had been released earlier in the day.

With strict instructions to rest, of course.

Despite that, it was unlikely that Helix had left the med bay though, so his auspicious absence had Waxer’s brow knitting when he didn’t immediately spot their CMO.

“I need to talk to Helix,” Waxer muttered, already striding towards the baar’ur’s makeshift office. With so many injured and healing vod’e in the med bay, it was unlikely that he had gone far.

Boil trailed behind the bald clone without comment.

Helix looked up in exasperation as the two scouts burst into his office, but paused at whatever he saw on Waxer’s face.

“What do you have on the shiny?” Waxer asked. “Wooley.”

Helix leaned back and crossed his arms, brows raised in disdain.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” Helix drawled. “Patient-Medic Confidentiality and all that. Plus, you two were the first on-scene; you’re the one who called in the Med Evac for him, Waxer.”

~~~

“Cody, Helix, we need a Med Evac ASAP,” Waxer barked into his comm, eyes fixed on the impossibly thin, unconscious body in front of him.

If the scout hadn’t checked for a pulse himself, he wouldn’t have believed that the trooper was still alive.

“Copy that,” Helix’s voice crackled through the comm, barely audible over the ever-present static.

Behind him, Waxer could hear Boil organizing the rest of the survivors into pairs, assigning them to other members of the 212^th so that they would always have a vod to watch their backs.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of the shiny in front of him.

“Just leave him,” an unfamiliar voice grumbled behind him. “He’s as good as dead anyways.”

Waxer opened his mouth to snarl at the trooper – but Threepwood beat him to it.

“We’re not leaving anyone behind,” Threepwood growled, shoving the offending trooper back into position. “Lieutenant Waxer will carry him out himself, if it comes to that.”

The trooper grumbled something unintelligible, but thankfully backed down, despite the loathsome glower he sent Waxer’s way as Boil finished organizing the remaining survivors.

Without another word, Waxer lifted the prone trooper – barely more than a cadet, judging by his size and the youthfulness of his features – into his arms as gently as he could.

They wouldn’t leave a single vod behind.

~~~

Waxer scrubbed a hand over his face, dropping into the empty chair across from Helix with a resounding thud.

His expression was pained when he looked back up at their baar’ur.

“Did – did he have any physical wounds? Like… like…” Waxer struggled for words. “Like he’d been beaten by another vod?”

Helix’s entire posture changed at that, and Waxer felt, more than saw, Boil come to attention behind him as their baar’ur drew himself into an upright position, his eyes going sharp and tense.

“Explain.”

“He – he flinched away earlier, when I tried to comfort him,” Waxer explained. “Even after he saw that we were vod’e, he didn’t want to be touched. If anything, he seemed more afraid once he realized we were vod’e.”

Without another word, Helix pushed to his feet and stormed out of his office, leaving Waxer and Boil scrambling to follow him.

Cody looked up as they approached, tightening his grip on Wooley, who appeared to have finally fallen asleep. Whatever he saw on the Marshall Commander’s face had Helix drawing up short, but none of the tension and roiling energy left his body.

Waxer, for his part, stopped a few paces behind Helix, throwing an arm out to catch Boil before he barrelled into what was likely about to become a bloodbath.

“Whatever you need can wait, Helix,” Cody grumbled softly. “He just fell asleep.”

Helix huffed.

“He’s not asleep,” the medic snarked back.

As if on command, Wooley blinked his eyes open – but made no effort to move away from where he was cuddled against the Marshal Commander.

Helix snorted.

“You may have the Marshall Commander fooled, verd’ika, but it’ll take more than that to pull a fast one on me,” Helix grumbled as he stalked closer, reaching out to grasp Wooley’s arm as he moved.

Waxer opened his mouth to snarl out a warning, but Wooley was already reacting, jerking away from the baar’ur as though he’d been electrocuted, pressing his back to the durasteel wall as a panicked shout escaped his lips.

Cody moved without hesitation, his one hand coming up to grip Helix’s wrist as his other snapped up to collide with the baar’ur’s chest, roughly shoving him backwards into Waxer and Boil’s waiting arms.

Helix shook off the hit without much ceremony, crossing his arms to mirror Cody’s own stance. The Marshal Commander, for his part, had put himself squarely between Wooley’s cot (where Wooley was still cowering against the wall) and the baar’ur, his expression carefully controlled.

“Waxer, check on Wooley,” Cody ordered tersely. “Helix, karking explain. Now.”

Waxer didn’t hesitate to step around Cody’s tense frame, quickly moving to stand at the foot of Wooley’s cot. He made no move to touch the younger clone, merely held his hand out, palm up, and waited.

Wooley remained firmly pressed against the wall, his gaze fixed on Cody’s back.

“I’ve never seen a vod react like that to another vod,” Helix explained grimly. “But I have seen verd’ika react like that to those who have hurt them – first the Kaminiise and the trainers, then natborn officers.”

Waxer swallowed the lump in his throat.

“He’s recovering, he’s still in shock,” Cody reasoned, his voice almost desperate.

He understood, then, what Helix was getting at.

Judging by his grim expression, Wooley did too.

“We’re enough alike, Cody, and I’ve treated enough vod’e. We always seek out the comfort of our vod’e – unless they were the ones who hurt us,” Helix spoke gently.

When Cody turned, his expression was carefully neutral.

“Wooley, did – did a vod hurt you?”

Wooley looked down, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Cody’s expression when he finally spoke.

Waxer couldn’t really blame him.

“At first, it was just the – the Ovissians, and their Interrogation Droids,” Wooley explained softly. “They – they kept me in isolation, while they were questioning me. But once they realized that I either didn’t know anything, or wouldn’t tell them, they threw me in with the rest of the vod’e.”

A deep breath, and then –

“Initially, it wasn’t much. They would just take my rations and my water. I stopped fighting them once I realized that was all they wanted,” Wooley explained. “But after… after the Trandoshans took Spitfire, it got worse.”

When Helix stepped forward, his expression was pained.

“Should I have – do I need to do a – a rape kit?”

Waxer nearly gave himself whiplash as he jerked his head to look at the baar’ur, his expression incredulous.

Surely no vod would have…

Wooley was already shaking his head vehemently.

“No, no, it wasn’t like that,” the younger clone assured them quickly, as if sensing the increase in tension and fear around him. “They just – they blamed me, for Spitfire. Said that it should have been me in his place. Made sure that I regretted not being chosen.”

Waxer couldn’t help the wounded sound that escaped him then, and Wooley finally looked over at him before unpeeling himself from the wall and moving to snuggle up against the Scout’s chest. As he moved, Cody returned to the cot, pressing himself against Wooley’s other side protectively.

“No one in the 212^th will hurt you,” Cody promised. “I would never stand for it – and neither would General Kenobi.”

“Regardless, he’s not bunking in the barracks,” Helix decided aloud, looking around at the gathered vod’e as if daring them to contradict him. “At least, not until we return the rest of the vod’e we picked up on Krystar to their rightful Battalions.”

Right, because the vod’e that had hurt Wooley could be among them.

Could hurt him again.

“Could you – would you tell us who hurt you?” Cody asked softly.

Waxer expected Wooley’s response, but it still grated when he shook his head.

His response riled the Scout even more.

“They – it wasn’t them,” Wooley reasoned. “They were desperate – starving, hurt, scared. They wouldn’t have hurt me, otherwise.”

Over Wooley’s head, Waxer met Boil’s eyes, and saw some of the same pain he was feeling reflected in his cyare’s expression.

“That’s banthashit,” Boil argued without hesitation, finally breaking his silence. “You were starving, hurt, and scared too, verd’ika. But you didn’t hurt others, didn’t steal their water or rations.”

Wooley made a choked sound, and burrowed further into Waxer’s chest.

“Kuur, ver’dika,” Cody soothed. “Boil doesn’t mean offence – that’s just how he shows he’s worried.”

Helix snorted, but didn’t comment. Instead, he stepped forward and began fussing with the blankets and pillows on Wooley’s bed, appearing for all the galaxy like the mother tooka he often denied being.

“Now, I’d like for you to get some actual rest,” Helix explained as he unnecessarily fluffed the single pillow on the cot – again. “I can give you a Sleep Pack, if you don’t think that you can fall asleep on your own.”

Wooley immediately shook his head, a flash of fear crossing his face.

“I can’t – what if – it’s not safe…” Wooley blurted incoherently, pulling away from Waxer and Cody as he spoke to press back against the wall.

Helix responded in kind, immediately hushing the younger soldier – the gentle sounds and reassurances in Mando’a flowing off his tongue fluidly until Wooley relaxed slightly.

“Not a Sleep Pack, then,” Helix reasoned gently. “But what if I give you a hypo of Vutalamine to help you sleep instead? Vutalamine isn’t a Sleep Pack – it’s just meant to help you relax. If you do need to get up sooner than anticipated, it won’t make you drowsy.”

Wooley considered that for a moment before nodding hesitantly, drawing a relieved sigh from the baar’ur. Helix almost immediately hurried away, striding back with a hypo mere moments later.

But instead of immediately jabbing Wooley as he would his other vod’e – or General Kenobi – Helix waited patiently for a signal from Wooley that he was ready. It took several long moments, but Wooley finally sighed and tilted his head slightly to give Helix easier access to his neck. The baar’ur administered the hypo without hesitation, his hands gentle and steady as he did so.

“Now, I expect you to try to get some sleep,” Helix instructed, pulling away. “Boil and Waxer will make sure that you’re not disturbed unless absolutely necessary.”

Wooley nodded, wordlessly moving to lay down on his medical cot. As he did so, Cody made to stand, but he didn’t get far before Wooley’s arm snaked out, grabbing the Marshall Commander’s hand.

“Stay?” Wooley asked, his voice small.

Cody didn’t so much as hesitate, merely flowed back into the bunk, laying on his back before pulling his verd’ika to him, so that his head was resting on his chest. Almost immediately, Wooley snuggled deeper into his embrace.

Satisfied that the younger trooper wouldn’t be going anywhere for awhile, Helix nodded to Waxer and Boil before he turned and returned to his office.

Waxer and Boil moved without words, dropping into the chairs they had occupied earlier, Waxer quickly reaching out to snatch Cody’s abandoned data pad, ignoring the silent glare his Marshal Commander shot him in favour of getting to work on the paperwork he had left open.

If his verd’ika was going to take a nap, the Marshall Commander may as well too.

He and General Kenobi didn’t get enough sleep as it was.

Chapter Text

Longshot kept his eye glued to the scope of his DC-15x sniper rifle, gaze trained on the compound entrance that Boil and Waxer had slipped through several minutes earlier.

No matter how many times he did it, Longshot always found it difficult.

The waiting.

But he was good at what he did, and he knew that.

He was an exceptional sniper – as was Eyeball, at his shoulder – bred and trained for his role in the war. In his hands, the DC-15x sniper rifle boasted exceptional accuracy, its powerful blue hyper-ionized plasma bolts striking through the hearts of droids and organics alike.

But the waiting was hard.

“Any s… of …em?”

Crys’ voice was staticky, cutting out now and again, but Longshot got the gist of the message.

He let Eyeball answer anyways, preferring to keep his focus on his vod’e.

“No sign of them yet,” Eyeball responded shortly.

“…opy tha….”

Longshot fought back a sigh as Eyeball settled back in next to him. Nothing about this war was easy, but just once – just once – he wished that things would go according to plan.

At least signal jammers were just a moderate inconvenience.

The two snipers waited in companionable silence, occasionally checking back in with the rest of the team still lingering on the LAAT/I, as they waited for word from their scouts.

Finally, Boil emerged, eyes dragging over the ridge until he clocked Longshot and Eyeball’s location. He took his helmet off before he spoke, enunciating as clearly as he could – likely to make sure that the sniper’s could relay his message accurately, regardless of the signal jammers and interference.

“Sen… Koss was tell… truth. The …aratists have be… b…ing capt… clones …ere,” Boil confirmed grimly. “They … in rough sh... We … an ….diate extract... At … one batta… of …oids.”

“Copy that, Boil,” Eyeball confirmed. “Relaying the information to Commander Cody now. Stand by for additional directives.”

Longshot watched as Boil nodded firmly – message received.

They were going to get their vod’e back.

And make Regent Queb regret even thinking that he could hurt their vod’e for his own personal gain.

~~~

Longshot spotted Boil and Waxer the moment they entered the mess, shoulders pressed together as they made their way to gather their allotted rations for late meal.

The sniper half expected the two of them to join some of the other members of Ghost Company – notably himself, Trapper, Barlex, Crys, and Gearshift – where they were currently finishing up their own late meals, or simply lounging between shifts.

Instead, he watched in silence as they gathered five trays of rations, and began to make their way back out of the mess hall without so much as glancing towards the table Ghost had unofficially claimed as their own.

“What the kark?” Trapper muttered.

Without even looking at his vod, Longshot knew that they were both watching and talking about the same thing.

Mind made up, Longshot pushed to his feet and moved to follow the two scouts without a word to his tablemates.

He heard at least one vod move to follow him – likely Trapper, if he had to guess.

They always had worked best together. Plus, the younger scout all but hero-worshiped the other two, and wouldn’t miss out on the opportunity to spend even more time dogging their footsteps.

Smooth as could be, Longshot swooped in and liberated one of the trays of rations from Boil’s precarious grip, grinning at the scout as he deftly fell into step with them. One his other side, Trapper did the same, smiling adorably at Waxer.

“We can manage just fine on our own, vod’ikase,” Boil grumbled – though he made no move to grab the tray that Longshot had snatched.

“I’m sure you can,” Longshot agreed amicably. “But the Commander and Helix have been working overtime since Krystar, and I’d hate for their late meal to be, well, late.”

It was a guess – the sniper knew that the scouts knew it – but an educated one.

Commander Cody, Helix, and both Boil and Waxer had been auspiciously absent from the normal routines and going on’s aboard the Negotiator in the days following Krystar. Even now, enroute to Coruscant, with most of the vod’e they had picked up released from the Med Bay, the four of them were still missing in action more often than not.

And while the fifth tray could, potentially, be for General Kenobi, Longshot rather thought not.

Trapper, apparently, agreed.

“You could have just asked anyone from Ghost to bring them to the Med Bay,” Trapper piped up, falsely chipper and innocent. “I’m sure you all have your hands full with whichever vod is still recovering in the Med Bay.”

Waxer muttered something to low for Longshot to hear, but he got the gist of it.

“I’m assuming you two are going to insist on personally delivering those rations?” Boil grumbled, ignoring his cyare’s continued muttering to side-eye Longshot.

“Of course,” Longshot replied pertly.

That earned him a sigh, but neither scout pushed back, so he happily followed them with Trapper in tow.

Upon arriving at the Med Bay doors, Waxer stopped suddenly, turning to glower at the younger troopers. Longshot raised an eyebrow, but didn’t otherwise comment as he waited for Waxer to say his piece.

“Cody tells you to leave, you leave. Helix tells you to back off, you back off. No questions asked,” Waxer ordered, voice harsh and unrelenting in a way it rarely was. “Tayli'bac?”

“Vi suvarir,” Longshot replied firmly, Trapper echoing his statement a moment later.

Relaxing slightly, Waxer turned and led them into the Med Bay, heading towards the back corner nearest Helix’s office. Their Commander and baar’ur were already lounging on two of the chairs set up near the bed shoved into the corner, a significant distance from where Longshot remembered it being.

There was a vod on it, but not one that Longshot recognized.

He was skinny, skinnier than any vod Longshot had ever seen, with dark circles under his eyes. Even from a distance, Longshot could see bacta patches peeking out from under his medical gown.

He could also see the blatant distrust in his gaze.

“We got late meal,” Waxer announced to the group.

“And two stragglers,” Boil added, somewhat unnecessarily, since Cody and Helix were already glaring daggers at Longshot and Trapper.

“We thought they needed… help,” Trapper squeaked, nearly dropping the rations on the tray he was still holding as he gestured wildly with it. Thankfully, Helix had the foresight to snatch it from the younger scout’s hands before he actually dropped it – or sent it flying everywhere.

“You helped,” Helix intoned drily.

His tone heavily implied that he would like them to leave, but he didn’t say it – and neither did Cody – so Longshot pushed forward.

“Thought you might like some new company, too,” Longshot drawled, holding out the tray in his hands to the vod in the bed. “I imagine these four ruug'la shebs can get pretty dull.”

“Watch who you’re calling old, adiik,” Cody grumbled as he accepted his late meal tray from Boil.

The vod on the cot watched the by-play in silent consideration for several long moments before reaching forward to tentatively snatch the offered tray, curling back against the wall almost as soon as he had it.

Longshot didn’t expect much else from him, really –

“I’m pretty sure you were decanted before I was even in a tube,” the vod muttered, daring a cheeky grin at the Marshall Commander as he spoke.

Surprisingly, Cody didn’t rise to the bait – merely picked up his own fork and began to dig into his rations, gesturing grouchily at the vod when he didn’t follow suite.

“Eat your rations, verd’ika,” Cody grouched.

Perhaps even more surprisingly, the vod listened – though he did make a point of glowering distrustfully at Longshot and Trapper before digging in. Cody grinned – though he tried to keep it contained – into his own meal, smugness practically radiating off of him.  

Kark, they were adopting this one, weren’t they?

So, Longshot did what he did best – he watched.

He knew that everyone else cocked the shift in his demeanour – noted the way his eyes went sharp, assessing every movement, no matter how minute. The way he went preternaturally still, his breathing evening out as he observed the interactions going on around him, somehow part of and apart from them all at once.

No one had the shebs to call him on it.

Except –

“Have you seen enough yet?” the vod in the bed snarked, setting aside hid empty tray to glower at Longshot. And he looked defiant and fierce – truly – but Longshot knew his vod’e well enough to be able to see beyond a façade.

“What are you afraid of, vod?” Longshot asked softly.

Because this vod was afraid – his back pressed to the wall, eyes never staying still for too long, muscles tense and ready to fight or flee. Despite being surrounded by vod’e – some of the most capable vod’ethe GAR had to offer – he was afraid.

“Nothing,” the vod snarled.

Maybe, he was afraid because of it.

“One of the vod’e on Krystar hurt you,” Longshot realized, dread curling in his stomach as the suddenly shattered expression on the younger clone’s face all but confirmed Longshot’s assumption.

Beside him, Trapper drew in a sharp breath.

Cody was on his feet in an instant, Helix mirroring him as they pushed him and Trapper towards the med bay doors.

Both were too stunned to fight it.

“Wait,” the vod’s voice was soft, but not weak.

Longshot shrugged Cody off, ignoring his glower, and shouldered past Helix so that he could make eye contact. He felt, more than saw, Trapper come to stand at his shoulder.

“Why did you really bring late meal?”

Trapper didn’t hesitate – likely because his reason was simpler.

“Because I know Longshot, and there was no karking way I was going to dissuade him from whatever dini’la idea he had gotten into his head,” Trapper explained. “And we don’t let vod’e do stupid things alone in the 212^th.”

Longshot snorted, but kept his eyes fixed on the vod on the cot as he responded.

“Because our Commanding Officers have been acting oddly,” Longshot began. “Because I know exactly how many vod’e we pulled off of Krystar, and one was still accounted for. Because vod’e hiibir baatir be val vod’e.

Brothers take care of their brothers.

Several long moments passed in silence, then –

“I’m Wooley,” the vod – Wooley – said evenly, his eyes still fixed on Longshot. “If you’re going to call me vod, you may as well know my name.”

Longshot grinned at Wooley.

“That depends – are you planning on sticking around?”

Wooley paused, his gaze jumping over Longshot’s shoulder to where Cody – and Helix – were still standing. Whatever he saw there seemed to steady him, when he looked back at Longshot.

“I guess that depends on whether or not there’s a place for me in the 212^th.”

Longshot sighed dramatically as he flopped onto Wooley’s cot, careful to leave the younger vod space. They’d get there, he was sure, but for now – space.

“Of course there is,” Longshot drawled as he shifted, getting comfortable. “You’d hardly be the first stray we’ve picked up.”

“Longshot,” Cody’s voice was a warning – but Longshot didn’t bother to heed it.

No, he had a vod to win over.

And he was already so far behind.

“Have they told you about the time Waxer and Boil tried to smuggle a tooka onboard?”

Chapter Text

Wooley was pulled from sleep – if it could really be called that, anymore – by Crest’s warning call. The former 12^th Sector trooper was currently on watch, which could only mean one thing – incoming Ovissians and, likely, Trandoshans.

Wooley struggled to push himself to his feet, ignoring the way his vision went wobbly and black around the edges. Around him, the other clones who shared his captivity did the same.

Spitfire lined up to his right, gently knocking their shoulders together once Wooley had righted himself.

“Me'vaar ti gar?” How are you? Spitfire asked softly, not bothering to even glance at Wooley, his attention already focused on the cell door – and the incoming threat.

“Naas,” Wooley rasped back. It hurt to speak now – his throat too dry – so he rarely did. When he had to, he spoke minimally, usually in one- or two-word answers.

Spitfire never begrudged him that.

“Motir muninar, tengaanar nayc laandur,” Stand tall, and show no weakness, Spitfire reminded him, as if the younger trooper had the luxury of forgetting such things.

He could never show weakness here, not even among the men he should have been able to consider vod’e.

Not now.

Wooley didn’t bother responding. Couldn’t, even is he had wanted to, because at that moment the Ovissian called Queb and a familiar Trandoshan arrived at the doors to their cell, flanked by two B1 Battle Droids.

Wooley straightened.

“Are you sure that I can’t interest you in more than one today, Lo-Taren?” Queb asked conversationally, as though he were merely discussing the weather, and not the sale and purchase of more clone troopers for the Trandoshans perverse and twisted Hunt.

“Just the one, Queb,” Lo-Taren grunted. “They cause too much trouble in groups, and Garnac wants an easier Hunt for Gar and the other younglings as they sharpen their skills.”

“Understandable, of course,” Queb agreed. “Go on then, and let me know once you’ve made your selection.”

Queb proceeded to open the cell door, and the B1 Battle Droids that had accompanied the two entered first, blasters drawn to keep the clones within in line.

Wooley eyed their blasters with something akin to longing.

It would be a simpler death, at least.

Clean, and quick.

No more pain and hunger.

No being hunted for sport.

Just death.

A warning tap on his wrist drew Wooley from his thoughts, and again he felt Spitfire’s shoulder pressing against his.

Lo-Taren paced in front of their line, pausing occasionally to inspect a specific clone before moving on. For a long moment, Wooley thought that he would take Cannon, but then he moved along, coming to stand before Wooley, his sharp eyes roving over Wooley’s form.

“This one is younger,” Lo-Taren observed curiously.

“Yes,” Queb confirmed. “It’s my understanding that we caught him fresh off of Kamino. He has very little battle experience, and no ties to any specific Legion or Battalion.”

No one to miss him.

“Perfect,” Lo-Taren’s grin couldn’t be considered anything but predatory.

Wooley’s stomach sank, but only for a moment, because the next thing he knew, he was flailing as a sharp kick to the back of his knee send him falling backwards, Spitfire moving to place himself firmly between Wooley and the Trandoshan.

“You don’t want him,” Spitfire spoke disdainfully. Behind his back, he flashed a familiar battle sign.

Stand down.

“No?”

“He’s too weak – wouldn’t make for a good Hunt,” Spitefire confirmed. “Easy, sure, but nothing special. Nothing worth bragging about.”

Wooley tried to struggle to his feet, gasping for air. Spitfire lashed out with his foot without so much as looking, effectively putting Wooley back on the ground.

Lo-Taren hummed, interested, before speaking.

“And who would, clone?”

“Me,” Spitefire shot back.

A moment, and then –

“I’ll take this one, Queb,” Lo-Taren confirmed, reaching forward to pull Spitfire away from the others as Wooley righted himself, groaning. “I’ll enjoy seeing his spirit broken.”

“No,” Wooley rasped, reaching towards Spitefire.

The older clone spared him a backwards glance before he was dragged from the cell, his face unreadable.

“K'oyacyi, vod’ika.”

Stay alive.

~~~

Wooley was bored.

He was still cooped up in the Negotiator’s Med Bay, per Helix’s strict orders. Usually, that wasn’t a problem because he was rarely alone – usually at least Helix was bustling around, and more often than not either Cody, Waxer, Boil, Longshot, or Trapper would keep him company as he recovered.

Today, though, everyone had been otherwise occupied.

Cody was required in a meeting with the General, while Waxer and Boil were running training simulations for a rotating schedule of companies within the 212^th. Helix had gone to supervise the training simulations, in case of injury. Longshot and Trapper had training simulations to attend, and duty shifts to cover.

So, Wooley was alone.

He was also getting hungry, which was what finally pushed him to do something.

He was well enough now that Helix no longer had him on a continual IV drip, so leaving his cot was an easy enough task.

Finding blacks to wear was a bit harder, but Wooley refused to leave the Med Bay in his medical gown. He found them, eventually, stashed in a cupboard near Helix’s office – likely so that anyone trying to pilfer one would have to do so in Helix’s line of sight. It was still a bit loose, but Wooley had gained some of the weight he had lost back, so it wasn’t unwieldy.

Satisfied, Wooley peeked nervously out of the Med Bay.

The hallway itself was empty, so he ventured further out, running through his memory to dredge up the schematics he had memorized on Kamino for this specific make of Venator-class Star Destroyer. He’d hoped to end up stationed on one, eventually, with a Jedi General.

He'd never imagined the path he would have to take to get here.

Wooley set off without further ado, making his way towards the Mess Hall with an air of confidence that he certainly didn’t feel. Thankfully, the hallways were mostly empty, so Wooley was able to proceed mostly unimpeded until he has nearly arrived at the Mess Hall.

He drew up short, his heart pounding, as three familiar clones rounded the corner.

Blunt and Sten he didn’t mind overly much – they tended to stick together, both former members of the 44^th Special Operations Division under Jedi General Plo Koon who had been reported Missing in Action after the battle of Khorm. The two had never stopped the cruelty of the others, but they’d never initiated it either.

It was the clone in the middle of their trio that made his blood run cold.

Kaddak.

From what Wooley had learned on Krystar, both before and after Spitfire had been taken by the Trandoshans, Kaddak had been personal trained by members of the Cuy’val Dar before he had supposedly gone insane and killed his instructor with his bare hands. He’d been imprisoned on Kamino for his crimes, but managed to escape the confinement before he could be decommissioned.

Somehow, he had ended up on Krystar, imprisoned all the same.

“I was wondering when you would turn up,” Kaddak sneered, prowling towards Wooley.

The younger clone backed away, looking side to side for an escape, only to find the bland gray durasteel walls he had been expecting.

He could run, but Kaddak would be faster.

Stronger.

Meaner.

“Heard they were keeping you in medical while you healed up,” Kaddak continued, still advancing. “Wasn’t sure if we’d get a chance to see you before we arrived on Coruscant.”

“I was hungry,” Wooley offered meekly, putting his back to the wall.

He’d learned early on to keep his back to the wall.

Then, at least, he’d be able to see when they decided to hit him.

“You’re always hungry,” Kaddak continued, pushing his way into Wooley’s space. Behind him, Blunt and Sten settled on either shoulder, their faces masks of indifference. “Always taking more than you should, more than you deserve.”

Wooley’s breaths were coming faster now.

“N – no, that’s not – ” Wooley tried, but Kaddak cut him off, his voice harsh.

“Ne’johaa!” Kaddak snarled. “You don’t get an opinion, not after what you did to Spitfire.”

Not after you were too weak to be of use.

Not after you let him sacrifice himself for you.

Not after you got him killed.

Wooley knew the blow was coming before Kaddak even moved, but it still stung when the older clone’s fist made contact with his still healing ribs.

Wooley whimpered.

“You deserve this,” Kaddak continued, landing blow after blow until Wooley was hunched, arms clamped around his screaming ribs.

You’re not good enough.

You’re not worth it.

You should have died.

Wooley didn’t bother fighting back – knew that there was no point as he fell to his knees, curling into himself as Kaddak’s blows turned to kicks, his face set in a malicious snarl.

“Kaddak,” Blunt tried. He’d always been the braver of the two.

“He’s the reason Spitfire is dead,” Kaddak snarled, whirling dangerously on the pair behind him. “He would have gotten all of us killed, would have hidden behind each and every one of us, if it meant he got to live. He deserves this.”

Kaddak brought his boot down, and Wooley screamed as his wrist shattered under the impact.

“That’s enough,” Sten interjected, pulling Kaddak away from Wooley. “We need to go, before someone hears.”

Kaddak shrugged Sten off, kneeling beside Wooley before he turned to leave.

“Stay down.”

~~~

Wooley had no concept of time as he lay prone on the cold durasteel floor, sobbing and clutching his broken wrist to his chest.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Wooley curled further into himself, hiding his arm from view.

“What the kark?”

“Wooley?”

Another clone dropped to their knees before him, white and gold plastoid armour ringing out against the durasteel floor.

Wooley snarled and pressed back against the wall.

“Wooley, Wooley, it’s just me,” the clone reassured hurriedly. “Longshot.”

A pause, and then –

“I have Crys with me as well. You – you can trust him, I promise.”

The other clone made no move to approach, and Wooley slowly unfurled from his ball – though he made no effort to stand or even sit. He wasn’t sure that he could, in all honesty.

“Vod, what happened?”

Wooley merely sobbed and reached out, pulling Longshot to him. The other clone came easily, wrapping himself around Wooley awkwardly.

“We need to get you back to the Med Bay,” Longshot murmured.

“No!”

“Wooley, you’re injured – ”

“They know,” Wooley sobbed. “They’ll find me. They’ll hurt me. Not the Med Bay.”

Longshot shifted, looking over his shoulder, before several more moments of silence and then –

“Crys says that you can use one of the spare bunks in the Command Barracks,” Longshot spoke gently. “No one really bunks there anyways, except Waxer and Boil.”

Wooley nodded.

It sounded better than the cold durasteel floor, at any rate.

“I – I can’t carry you,” Longshot admitted. “Us snipers are built small.”

“I can’t walk,” Wooley admitted quietly.

“I know – that’s okay,” Longshot reassured him. “Crys will carry you, if you’ll let him? I promise he’s safe.”

Wooley tensed, looking over Longshot’s shoulder at the aforementioned clone. He’d removed his helmet, revealing blonde hair and a familiar face.

Crys knelt holding out a hand.

“Hey, verd’ika,” Crys spoke gently. “Is it okay if I help get you somewhere safe?”

Somewhere safe.

Wooley nodded, and Longshot shifted to help move the injured clone into Crys’ waiting arms, carefully maneuvering his clearly broken wrist as they moved. Wooley whimpered nonetheless.

“Kuur, verd’ika,” Crys murmured softly. “We’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

When the message finally came through, it felt as though they had been waiting for hours.

“Sen… Koss was tell… truth,” Longshot relayed, his voice patchy over the static of the comms. “The …aratists have be… b…ing capt… clones …ere. They … in rough sh... We … an ….diate extract... At … one batta… of …oids.”

“Copy that, Longshot,” Crys confirmed. “Stand by for additional directives.”

“Copy.”

“Crys, comm General Kenobi,” Cody ordered. “Everyone else, prepare to disembark.”

All around him, his vod’e were already readying for battle, unholstering blasters and tightening their armour. There wasn’t a single unhelmet face in sight.

“General Kenobi, do you copy?”

For a moment, it looked like Cody would have to make the call, then –

“Go … Kenobi.”

“We have confirmation of clone hostages, sir,” Crys relayed. “Orders, sir?”

“Brin… em... home,” Kenobi’s voice rattled through the comms.

“You heard the General – move out!” Cody barked. “Barlex, keep the engines hot! Crys, you’re on comms.”

It chafed, being left behind on the LAAT/i as the other members of his squad quickly and efficiently filed out, hurrying to answer Waxer and Boil’s call for aid.

Crys knew why, of course, but it didn’t stop the glower from settling on his face.

Commander Cody glanced back before following most of his men, gaze settling on Crys’ disgruntled expression.

“Ears on the comms for anything from the General or Senators,” Cody commanded gently, drawing the blonde trooper’s attention back to him. “I know… You’re the best slicer we have, Crys. We need you here.”

Crys nodded sharply.

He wasn’t the only one being left behind as the others followed their Scouts into the compound that Waxer and Boil had just confirmed to be housing clone troopers being held as prisoners of war. Barlex was still in the cockpit, ready to take off at a moment’s notice, and Longshot and Eyeball were still up on the ridge, doing what the pair of snipers did best.

 But it still rankled.

Sitting, listening, relaying – but unable to do anything to actually help his vod’e. Crys had thought that he would get used to it as time went along. Being a technical specialist was, after all, critical to the success of numerous missions and assignments.

It just sucked, always being the one left behind.

Minutes ticked by uneventfully, and Crys couldn’t help it as he began to fidget, checking over all of his equipment. They should have heard something – anything – by now…

“Cod… lix… need a M… Evac…,” Waxer voice crackled through the comms, and Crys jumped into action, barking orders to Barlex, even though the pilot had undoubtedly heard the same thing that he had.

“Engines hot, Barlex,” Crys shouted. He barely had to wait a moment before the familiar roar of the LAAT/i surrounded him as it geared up.

“…opy tha…,” Helix’s voice crackled through the comm, barely audible over the ever-present static.

It soothed Crys’ nerves nevertheless, knowing that Helix was on-hand to tend to whichever vod’e needed immediate medical assistance. The hum of the engines soothed his nerves further.

Doing something would help more.

“General Kenobi, do you copy?” Crys tried.

There were several more long moments of silence, then –

“Copy.”

“Extraction is underway,” Crys confirmed. “At least one trooper in need of medical assistance, likely more.”

“I …ill info… th… …ego…tor.”

“Copy, sir.”

Crys settled back, listening for the familiar sounds of his vod’e approaching – blaster fire, boots on the ground, the clack of plastoid, and the omnipresent cursing.

And wondered who, exactly, they would bring with them.

~~~

Crys did his best to be gentle as he carried Wooley’s prone form through the Negotiator’s hallways. The younger clone was still whimpering quietly, his broken arm pressed tightly against his chest. The other was snaked out, clinging to Longshot’s hand.

It made for an awkward procession, but Crys wouldn’t have denied Wooley anything it that moment.

Someone – a vod – had hurt him in a space that was supposed to be safe.

Badly.

It had Crys’ blood boiling, even before Longshot somehow managed to maneuver himself around to comm Helix as they moved.

“Go for Helix,” their baar’ur barked, sounding irritated.

To be fair, he always sounded irritated.

“Crys and I have Wooley,” Longshot cut to the chase. “He – he was attacked. He needs medical attention immediately.”

“I’ll prep the Med Bay - ”

Wooley tensed in his arms, and Crys hugged him impossibly closer, turned to glower at Longshot’s already apologetic expression.

“Not the Med Bay,” Longshot cut in quickly. “Command Barracks – I’ll explain when you arrive.”

The sniper cut the call off before Helix could – inevitably – complain, returning his focus to Crys and Wooley.

“Almost there, verd’ika,” Longshot assured Wooley, squeezing his good hand reassuringly. “You’re doing great.”

They made the rest of their journey is silence, with the exception of Wooley’s continued whimpers and sobs. Upon arrival at the Command Barracks, Crys muttered the lock code to Longshot, who input it without hesitation, standing aside to let Crys and Wooley through first, before firmly sealing it behind them.

Helix could use his own code.

Crys had told the truth when he had said that the 212^th’s Command rarely bunked here, aside from Boil and Waxer. Crys himself preferred to bunk in the Main Barracks, and Helix usually just passed out in the Med Bay.

Crys still set Wooley down on his own bunk, respectful of the fact that the others may, at some point, want to use their bunks. Longshot flowed downwards with him, wrapping himself around the younger trooper. Wooley snuggled against him without hesitation, and Crys stepped back, giving the two some semblance of privacy.

Instead of hovering, like he wanted to, Crys stood guard, eyes fixed on the still locked and closed door to the Command Barracks.

It seemed unlikely that whoever had attacked Wooley would barge in here, but a lifetime as a soldier had Crys tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He nearly drew on Helix when the baar’ur shouldered his way into the barracks, Cody hot on his heels. Their Commander was radiating the same quiet fury that Crys felt, which (oddly) settled the technical specialist.

“Get out of my way,” Helix snapped, shoving past Crys to get to Wooley. Crys moved without a second thought, bumping into Cody as he did.

“How is he?” Cody asked tersely, settling in beside the blonde clone as they watched Helix work, Longshot gentling Wooley down as needed.

“He’s in rough shape,” Crys admitted. “When we found him, he was – he was curled up on the ground. There wasn’t too much blood, but his arm…”

“Broken?”

“Without a doubt,” Crys confirmed grimly. “Likely a couple ribs as well, if his reaction to being carried is anything to go by.”

“Did you see who did it?”

Crys shook his head.

“Seems like they – they beat him, then left him there,” Crys murmured, his throat tightening with rage.

Cody nodded, eyes snapping up as Helix finally moved away from the bunk, the baar’ur’s own expression that of carefully controlled violence.

“Who. Did. This.” Helix bit out.

“Is he okay?” Cody asked instead of answering.

“I set his wrist, bandaged his ribs, and gave him some painkillers,” Helix replied tersely. “I’d like to get him into bacta for the ribs, but apparently that isn’t an option right now.”

He said the last bit while glowering over his shoulder at Longshot, who was still curled protectively around Wooley. The sniper merely glowered back, refusing to back down.

Helix sighed.

Meanwhile, Cody nodded and turned to Crys, his expression dangerously neutral. Crys knew the look all to well – whoever had hurt the verd’ika in that bunk was going to severely regret it, once the Marshall Commander got his hands on them.

“Crys, find out who did this,” Cody ordered. “I suspect that at least one – if not more – of the vod’e we picked up on Krystar were involved.”

“Noted, sir.” Crys paused, and then – “Is there anything else that I need to know?”

Cody glanced over his shoulder at Wooley before responding, his voice low.

“They’ve hurt him before, on Krystar,” Cody confirmed. “He – he wouldn’t tell us who. He kept insisting that they only did it because they were desperate, but now…”

“Now it seems like malicious intent,” Crys agreed grimly.

He slipped out of the Command Barracks without another word, nodding at Boil and Waxer, who were standing guard on either side of the door.

Good.

It was one less thing for him to worry about.

He had a demagolka to catch.

~~~

When Crys slipped back into the Command Barracks later that night, it was Threepwood and Gearshift keeping watch outside the doors. Inside, Waxer, Boil, Cody, and Helix were playing a game of Sabaac – though it was obvious that all four had their actual attention elsewhere.

The focus of their attention was now sandwiched between Longshot and Trapper, the younger Scout having somehow wormed his way onto the bed during Crys’ absence.

Crys dropped down onto the ground between Cody and Helix, datapad in hand, expression grim.

“We picked up over a dozen vod’e on Krystar,” Crys began, needing to start somewhere. “Of those, a handful were imprisoned in the same cell as Wooley at the time of extraction.”

He projected the list and the images that he had in the middle of their little circle, the blue holo illuminating the otherwise dim space.

“Cannon previously served under Jedi General B'ink Utrila, and was reported Missing in Action after a mission to Draay 2,” Crys began. “Crest was previously assigned to the 12^th Sector Division, under Captain Wilhuff Tarkin, who reported him Missing in Action after the Battle of Murkhana.”

No one interrupted the blonde clone, so he barrelled onwards.

“Blunt and Sten were both previously assigned to the 44^th Special Operations Division under Jedi General Plo Koon, who reported the pair Missing in Action after the battle of Khorm,” Crys kept his voice even, despite the way his throat tightened. “The last clone identified himself as Knuckles, from the 182^nd Legion, who was reported Missing in Action after a reconnaissance mission to the planet of Belgaroth.”

“Identified himself as?”

“I ran the records, sir, and that trooper isn’t Knuckles,” Crys growled, fist clenching and unclenching. “I – I should have done it sooner. I should have known, or suspected, or checked just to be safe –”

“Crys,” Cody cut the technical specialist off firmly, but gently. “This isn’t your fault. You had no reason to suspect any of your vod’eof being anything less than truthful.”

It still grated, nonetheless.

“Do you know who he is?”

Crys opened his mouth to respond, but a small voice from across the Barracks cut him off.

“His name is Kaddak,” Wooley explained quietly. “He was personal trained by members of the Cuy’val Dar before he supposedly went insane and killed his instructor with his bare hands. Spitfire, he – he told me that Kaddak been imprisoned on Kamino for his crimes, but managed to escape the confinement before he could be decommissioned.”

“He’s the one who hurt you.”

Cody didn’t phrase it as a question, every word laced with deadly intent, a murderous glint in his eye. A quick glance around the circle showed that each and every one of Crys’ vod’e felt the same.

They really weren’t going to like the next bit.

“He wasn’t the only one,” Crys murmured, meeting Wooley’s gaze from across the room. The younger trooper merely swallowed, but didn’t object.

“What do you mean?”

Wordlessly, Crys handed his datapad to his Commander, the security footage of the attack already open and queued.

“You should probably go watch that in the hallway, sir.”

Wooley didn’t need to relive it.

Cody stood and strode away wordlessly, Helix scrambling to follow him. Boil and Waxer remained unmoved, eyes on Wooley. The younger trooper, for his part, remained frozen on his bunk, eyes wide and expression terrified.

Then –

“Don’t let him watch it,” Wooley pleaded. He tried to scramble out of the bunk, broken ribs and all, but Longshot and Trapper wrapped their arms around him, essentially crushing him in a hold that barely qualified as more than an aggressive snuggle.

“Please,” Wooley begged brokenly. “He can’t – he’ll see – ”

Crys moved without realizing that he was doing so, moving to crouch beside the bunk, positioning himself so that he could meet Wooley’s wild gaze over Trapper’s considerable mass.

“He’ll see what?” Crys questioned gently.

“He won’t want me,” Wooley sobbed, still struggling against Longshot and Trapper. “He won’t want me once he sees how weak I am.”

Crys smiled sadly.

“Do you know what I saw, verd’ika? When I watched that recording?” Crys asked. “I saw you standing your ground against three larger, stronger opponents. I saw you refusing to run in the face of certain pain.”

A pause, to be certain that Wooley was listening. Then - 

“I saw three demagolka taking advantage of an injured brother, who they should have been protecting instead.”

Wooley sobbed and went limp, letting Longshot and Trapper finally wrap him up properly. Crys couldn’t be sure, but he thought that Longshot was maybe crying as well.

In the hallway, a loud shout and thud reverberated, followed by muffled swearing and cursing. Crys snorted, not even bothering to look towards the still closed durasteel door.

He’d had much of the same reaction, earlier.

It seemed to be spooking Wooley, though, so Crys pushed himself up to feet and made his way to the door, slamming it open with a palm. The sight in the hallways was, to put it gently, a shitshow.

Helix had Cody on the ground, snarling and swearing, while Threepwood and Gearshift hovered awkwardly, clearly unsure of what to do.

“Karking let me go Helix,” Cody snarled. “Ni kelir kyr'amur te shabuir!”

I am going to kill the bastard.

“Cody, udesii!” Crys barked, startling his Commander enough that he paused. “There is a scared and hurting verd’ika in there who needs his ori’vod. Right now, he needs you more than he needs them dead.”

Helix muttered something else, low and quiet, directly into Cody’s ear, and the Commander went limp, panting hard under Helix’s weight. Satisfied, the medic got up, offering his Commander a hand once he was ready.

Cody struggled to his feet, running a hand over his face, before he turned to his men, face grim.

“I want eyes on Kaddak at all times,” Cody ordered. “The others too, if we can manage it.”

“Consider it done,” Crys promised as Helix, Threepwood and Gearshift nodded determinedly. With that, their Commander turned on his heel and marched back into the Command Barracks.

The last thing that Crys saw before the door slid shut again was Cody dropping to his knees next to Wooley’s cot, pulling the younger trooper to him as they both shook apart.

Chapter Text

Cody watched in silence as his men efficiently helped the vod’e they had rescued on Krystar disembark. Not a single vod was alone as they made their way off the LAAT/i onto the Negotiator. Most were flanked by two members of the 212^th, if not three or four.

Cody didn’t bother to hide his small smile at the sight, his bucket protecting him from curious eyes.

His men were good men, and they were good at what they did.

He watched as Crys and Threepwood helped a struggling vod with a topknot make his way towards a waiting hoverchair.

Felt pride flare in his chest as Gearshift and Barlex supported a bald vod with a goatee and shaking legs.

Nodded in approval as Cale and Reed gently passed a vod with greasy shoulder length hair a canteen of water.

Cody would have helped – wished he could, really – but he wasn’t sure how he would be received. As the Marshal Commander of the 7^th Sky Corps, and as General Obi-wan Kenobi’s Second in Command, he had often found that his presence unsettled vod’e who didn’t know him. And these vod’e needed comfort and safety right now – not to feel as though a Commanding Officer was breathing down their necks.

Then his eyes landed on Helix, and his feet moved of their own volition.

He dodged rescued vod’e and members of the 212^th alike as he purposefully made his way across the hangar bay to where Helix, Waxer, and Boil were carefully unloading the most emaciated vod Cody had ever seen onto a hover bed. That he was still alive was nothing short of a miracle – Cody was certain he had seen literal skeletons with more meat on their bones than the vod Helix was currently handling had.

Waxer had been able to carry him out of the compound with ease.

“How is he?” Cody asked, drawing up beside the trio and their charge.

“Honestly, sir?” Helix asked, his voice dry and just a bit furious. “I can’t believe he’s still alive.”

“He’s going to make it,” Waxer growled out, as if daring someone to contradict him.

No one did.

“Why don’t you two start making your way to the Med Bay?” Helix suggested instead. “I’ll follow behind as soon as everyone has cleared out of here.”

A nod from the two Scouts and they were off, flanking the hover bed and still unconscious vod between them.

“Helix?”

“Waxer said that one of the other vod suggested leaving him behind,” Helix spit out bitterly. “He couldn’t tell me who, but - ”

“They’re all hurting,” Cody reasoned, though he couldn’t help but frown.

“I don’t give a damn,” Helix snapped. “He’s barely old enough to be off of Kamino. They should have been protecting him.”

The medic wasn’t wrong.

“Be sure to run all of their identity codes,” Cody murmured softly. “We’ll need them to reach out to their Commanding Officers, and it will be good to know who, exactly, we have on board.

Every clone in the Grand Army of the Republic had an identification chip. With an army of identical soldiers, they were nothing short of a necessity when it came to identifying and distinguishing between vod’e – especially those who were less than fortunate on the battlefield. The identification chips were inserted into each trooper’s left wrist, and could be read by droids and scanners alike, quickly pulling up a clone’s military record in the GAR database.

“I already started scanning them on the way back,” Helix said with a nod. “Unfortunately, some of their chips seem to have been irreparably damaged – or entirely removed – during their imprisonment.”

It wasn’t unexpected, but something about it still made Cody uneasy.

“Take them at their word,” the Marshal Commander instructed. “But flag those without identity codes for later review.”

“Sir?”

“They’re vod’e, Helix, but we’ve seen vod’e turn against vod’e before,” Cody responded grimly. “Slick may have been the first, but he won’t be the last. I want to know who’s on my ship, and failing that, I want to know which ones I need to keep an eye on.”

Helix nodded grimly.

“Of course, sir,” the medic acknowledged. “I’ll make sure it gets done.”

“We’ll protect him,” Cody promised, gaze fixed on the still unmoving form between Waxer and Boil as they left the hangar. “We’ll protect all of them.”

He would make sure of it.

~~~

Cody startled slightly as he was drawn from his reverie. He had been pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Wooley whimpering at his side, the younger trooper clinging to him ever more tightly in his sleep.

“Hey, Wool’ika, it’s okay,” Cody murmured softly, shifting so that he could run a hand through Wooley’s sweaty curls. The younger trooper gave no indication of having heard him, too trapped in whatever nightmare – or memory – was currently tormenting him.

“Kuur, vod’ika,” Cody soothed as Wooley thrashed in his sleep, his breath coming in short, panicked pants now. “Gar're morut'yc; you’re safe.”

The Marshal Commander continued murmuring gentle assurances as he ran his hand through Wooley’s hair and up his back, voice soothing and gentle. Slowly, Wooley calmed.

He pointedly ignored his most senior Scouts snickering across the room.

Eventually, Wooley blinked his way back to consciousness, pulling back slightly from where he had been clinging to Cody to look up at the older clone.

“You called me vod’ika,” Wooley observed sleepily, his voice still rough from sleep.

Cody paused.

He had.

He –

“Do you mind sharing what’s so karking funny with the group, Boil?” Cody grumbled, not even bothering to turn and look at the other clones in the room.

It was always Boil.

And sometimes Waxer.

But usually it was Boil, in these instances.

“Well, I knew we’d decided to keep him, of course,” the Scout sounded far too smug for his own good. “I just didn’t realize that you were adopting him, as well.”

Cody wasn’t –

That wasn’t –

“You did call him vod’ika,” Helix prompted gently, amusement clear in his tone, even if Cody couldn’t see his expression.

Cody chose to ignore his sniggering, traitorous squad – for the moment – and instead focus on Wooley, who was still looking up at him questioningly.

“Is that okay?” Cody asked, uncertainly. “That I called you vod’ika?”

Wooley nodded, a shy smile on his face.

“No has – that is, I haven’t…” Wooley trailed off, uncertain, then – “I’ve missed being someone’s vod’ika.”

Well kark.

Cody smiled down at Wooley before drawing him back into a firm snuggle. He could hear his men snickering behind him again, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care.

Rex was never going to stop teasing him about this.

Eventually, Wooley drew back, and Cody let him, feeling the renewed tension and nervousness is his body. Cody waited, knowing that Wooley would get to it eventually.

“I didn’t think that you would still want me,” Wooley admitted. “Not after – not once you saw…”

Cody bit back a growl at the reminder.

“What Kaddak did has no bearing on your position in the 212^th,” Cody assured Wooley – again. “What he did… That affects him, and only him, do you understand?”

He tried to keep his voice calm and steady, but he knew that some of the lethal rage he had felt yesterday slipped into his tone when Wooley’s brows knitted together in concern and confusion.

“Cody?”

“I wanted to kill him,” Cody admitted, unable to lie to his vod’ika’s face. Karking tooka eyes and all that. “Probably would have, if Crys and Helix hadn’t talked me down.”

“I threatened to sedate him – forcefully – if he didn’t at least take the time to plan out his attempted homicide first,” Helix interjected helpfully.

Wooley was looking more alarmed by the moment.

“No, you can’t,” Wooley pleaded, suddenly frantic. “You don’t understand. He – he was trained by the Cuy'val Dar. He killed his trainer with his bare hands.”

“Wooley -”

“He’ll kill you,” Wooley gasped fearfully.

“Wool’ika,” Cody interrupted forcefully, tones of command wrapping around the endearment. The younger clone froze, eyes wide. Behind Cody, the room was suspiciously silent.

“Wooley,” Cody tried again, gently. “I am not a Marshal Commander without reason. I can fight, and I can fight well. I may not have been trained by the Cuy'val Dar themselves, but I imagine that Alpha-17 and the others would take offense to any implication that they are less than those shabuir’e.”

Wooley remained silent, eyes still wide and fearful.

“And I would gladly fight the worst demagolka if it meant keeping my vod’ikase safe,” Cody added as he gently pulled Wooley into a mirshmure'cya. “Do you understand?”

Wooley nodded even as he pressed back into the contact, still desperate for touch. When he pulled away, his gaze was still worried.

“Promise me that you won’t,” Wooley murmured.

Cody didn’t ask what – he knew.

“I can’t promise that, vod’ika,” Cody admitted reluctantly. “I can’t let him walk free – not after what he did to you.”

“But -”

 “Even if he never touched you again, he could do it to another,” Cody explained softly. “I would never forgive myself if I let him walk free and he hurt another one of my vod’e.”

“Then have him arrested, or – or warn the other Commanders,” Wooley pleaded. “But please – I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were killed trying to fight my battles.”

Cody sighed.

“Your battles are my battles, vod’ika,” Cody explained gently.

“He would do the same for any one of us,” Longshot interjected softly, reminding the pair that their conversation was far from private.

“He has done the same for us” Trapper asserted.

But Wooley was already shaking his head.

“Please, sir,” Wooley pleaded. “He – he may be a demagolka now, but he was a cadet like any of us, once. He was made into a monster by what his trainer, what the Kaminiise did to him. What was done to him on Krystar, too.”

Cody sighed again.

“I can’t let him walk free, vod’ika,” Cody pointed out. “But I will do my best to ensure my own safety, and to ensure that Kaddak is treated fairly.”

~~~

Cody stood shoulder to should with General Obi-wan Kenobi on an out of the way landing pad on Coruscant, awaiting the arrival of the vod’e they had rescued from Krystar, save for one.

Amid the nerves, Cody took a moment to be thankful that Obi-wan had approved Wooley’s transfer to the 212^th before the Negotiator arrived in orbit above Coruscant. Now, instead of walking among those who had abused and neglected him, the younger clone stood shoulder to shoulder with his vod’e, bracketed on either side by Waxer and Boil.

The other group awaiting the arrival of the vod’e from Krystar was an eclectic mix of clones, natborn officers, and jetii. Among them, Wolffe stood shoulder to shoulder with General Plo Koon, far closer to his jetii than was strictly necessary.

The sight of one of his closest vod only tempered Cody’s rage somewhat.

“Are you sure that you wouldn’t prefer if I handle this, Commander?” Obi-wan asked softly.

He knew.

Of course, he knew.

Cody had never been able to keep anything important from his General.

“No, sir,” Cody responded in kind. “This is a clone matter. We have it under control.”

As if summoned by his words, the Coruscant Guard speeder he had been awaiting arrived, Commander Fox at the wheel. He popped out of the speeder with a practiced grace, followed by three troopers in Coruscant Guard red. One, Cody recognized as Commander Thire, but the others were unfamiliar.

“Commander Cody,” Fox greeted, voice grim.

Cody had commed him the previous evening. He knew why he, Thire, and his men were here – and he didn’t like it.

Fox may be an irredeemable shebs, but he was also fiercely protective of his shinies.

“Commander Fox,” Cody greeted in return. “Commander Thire.”

“This is Jek and Rys,” Fox introduced each of his vod’e in turn. Cody nodded in greeting, but found himself incapable of speech as Barlex announced their descent over the comms. A LAAT/i quickly came into view, its rapid and slightly uncontrolled descent clearly all Barlex.

“Mack would love your pilot,” Fox observed drily.

The attempt at levity did little to soothe Cody’s nerves.

Then, he was glad for his helmet, when mere minutes later Kaddak and the other vod’e they had rescued from Krystar descended from the dropship onto the tarmac. He wasn’t sure that he could have controlled his expression.

Kaddak was smiling as he walked among the others he had been imprisoned with, laughing at something one of the others – Cody thought it was Cannon, but he wasn’t entirely sure – said, as carefree and self-indulgent as any other vod.

As the group neared, Cody tensed, and Fox shifted to bump their pauldrons together in a silent show of solidarity. Most of the vod’e broke off as they reached the waiting group, Cannon moving to reunite with his Jedi General B'ink Utrila, Crest shaking hands amicably with Captain Wilhuff Tarkin, Blunt and Sten being engulfed in a hug from both Jedi General Plo Koon and Wolffe, the latter clinging almost desperately to his recovered men.

Which left Kaddak standing stoically among the reunions around him, face tightly controlled, if a bit confused.

Cody had commed Sargeant Marrt himself, after he finished making plans with Fox, to let him know the truth. He knew that Marrt had been deeply affected by the loss of his squad on Belgaroth – the real Knuckles among them – carrying out the mission alone after their deaths. Cody didn’t want Marrt to have to face the demagolka who had pretended to be one of his fallen vod’e.

Without a word, Fox moved forward, his men flanking him without hesitation as they approached Kaddak.

“Kaddak, you are under arrest for crimes against the Grand Army of the Republic,” Fox announced, drawing the attention of everyone on the . “Including the murder of a superior officer, escaping from imprisonment, impersonation of a fellow trooper, and causing intentional harm to a fellow trooper.”

Kaddak froze, his expression slowly slipping into something feral and deadly.

“Karking aruetii,” Kaddak snarled as he turned with intent, eyes locking onto Wooley where he stood between Boil and Waxer.

Neither Scout hesitated to close ranks, putting themselves firmly between Wooley and Kaddak.

Cody also moved, entirely blocking Wooley from sight as he stepped in front of Kaddak, every muscle tense and prepared for attack.

Kaddak didn’t disappoint.

He launched himself at Cody without hesitation – but the Marshal Commander was expecting the move. He dodged effortlessly, bringing a fist up to slam into Kaddak’s collarbone as he moved, sending the scarred clone stumbling. By the time he regained his footing, Cody’s foot was slamming into his temple.

At least it hurt less that kicking a droid.

Kaddak dropped, and Cody followed, pinning him to the ground and twisting his arm behind his back while he was still dazed and fighting for consciousness.

“He’s not the aruetii, Kaddak,” Cody whispered, voice dripping with murderous intent. “The aruetii is the vod who would abuse his younger brother when he was at his weakest, instead of protecting him.”

Kaddak snarled, but the Guards had already descended, Fox gently drawing Cody away as the others cuffed him.

As Kaddak was hauled to his feet, every eye – vod’e, nat born, and jetii alike – was fixed on him. More than a few of the vod’e – Wolffe included – looked inclined to land a few punched of their own. Under such scrutiny, Kaddak wilted, his entire being deflating as Jek and Rys turned him to face the Commanders.

“I am what they made me,” Kaddak said before he was hauled away. “Just like you.”

Cody didn’t respond, simply watched Kaddak go, surrounded by Guards in red, as the others began to disperse, some engaging in small talk and other pleasantries before heading out. Wolffe clapped his shoulder as he followed General Plo Koon and their recovered troopers, but the others mostly gave him a wide berth.

He felt, more than saw, his vod’e approaching him as the landing strip cleared, Obi-wan hovering on the edges of his awareness, but still respecting Cody’s wishes to handle this himself.

“You said you wouldn’t fight him,” Wooley’s voice was small as he wormed his way up under Cody’s arm, pressing himself against the hard plastoid of Cody’s armour.

“No, I promised that I wouldn’t kill him,” Cody responded. “He is still very much alive.”

Helix snorted.

“And definitely concussed,” the medic commented drily. “Nice to see you kick something that wouldn’t break your foot, for once.”

“What does he normally kick,” Wooley inquired brightly.

“Don’t -”

“Droids, vod’ika,” Boil interjected. “Our esteemed Marshal Commander usually breaks his bones kicking droids.”

Chapter Text

Wooley watched Cody with concern as the Marshal Commander waited for the comm to connect. The younger trooper was safely ensconced in Helix’s hold, but everyone else – even Waxer and Boil – had been banished from the room for this call.

Wooley had refused to leave, point blank.

Cody had stared him down, clearly considering the risks of pushing Wooley on this, but something in the younger clone’s face had him agreeing without further argument – though he did sigh rather dramatically when Helix dug his heels in and refused to leave as well.

The comm blinked to life, the perpetually unimpressed face of Commander Wolffe flickering before Cody in the eerie blue that characterized holo calls.

“Commander Cody,” Wolffe greeted almost warily.

Wooley had it on good authority that Cody and Wolffe were batchmates. But he had also had it on good authority that Wolffe was an unrepentant shebs who was not to be believed when he told stories about Cody as a cadet, regardless of the circumstances.

“Wolffe,” Cody responded in kind, voice equally grave.

“Are Blunt and Sten okay?” Wolffe cut to the chase, inquiring after his men. He was likely already planetside on Coruscant, awaiting the Negotiator’s imminent arrival to the city planet.

“They’re… Physically they’re fine, Wolffe,” Cody reassured the surly Commander. “I gave you my word that I would bring them home, and I will.”

“Never mind that he had designs on murdering the pair of them less that a day ago,” Helix muttered in Wooley’s ear, earning himself a small chuckle from the younger clone.

Cody resolutely ignored the pair of them.

“But?”

“They hurt one of my troopers, Wolffe,” Cody admitted, resigned. “They – he was on Krystar with them.”

A moment of silence, then –

“What did they do?”

“Deprived him of food, water,” Cody admitted. “Stood by while others physically assaulted him. On Krystar, and on the Negotiator.”

Wooley had to work hard not to flinch as Cody spoke – somehow, Helix knew anyways, and he pulled the younger trooper closer without comment. Wooley leaned into the baar’ur’s warmth, doing his best not to openly cower as Wolffe’s perpetual frown deepened ever so slightly, his eyebrows bunching together.

“Send me Helix’s med report, and the footage you have from the Negotiator,” Wolffe said after several moments of uncomfortable silence. “I’ll deal with them myself.”

The last bit sounded like a threat.

Cody didn’t respond right away, instead looking over and past Wolffe’s holo to meet Wooley’s eyes. Asking his permission to share those things – and fully prepared to deny one of his closest vod his request, simply because Wooley didn’t consent.

And he’d referred to Wooley as his.

Wooley nodded once, and Helix’s grip on him tightened again, this time in reassurance.

“I’ll send both through to you once we’re done with this call,” Cody agreed, looking back at his batchmate. “And Helix will be at your disposal if you have any further questions regarding the med report.”

“Good,” Wolffe grunted.

He paused before speaking again, clearly debating whether or not he had more to say. Cody waited in amicable silence, clearly used to giving his vod time to parse his thoughts.

“Is your trooper okay?”

Cody looked up and over the holo again as he responded, his gaze locked on Wooley’s.

“He will be.”

~~~

Wooley was cuddled between Longshot and Trapper, Crys lounging across their legs, when Cody entered the Officer’s Barracks – now officially absconded for use by most of Ghost, regardless of their status within the 212^th.

Wooley still wasn’t comfortable sleeping in the General Barracks – might never be, if he was honest with himself – and his closest vod’e refused to let him isolate himself in what had once been a mostly unused bunk room. And with the Negotiator currently planetside for repairs, the Officer’s Barracks were easily accessible, and much safer than anywhere else Wooley had ever bunked.

“What’s wrong?”

Cody’s face was carefully neutral, which wasn’t the same as outright panic or lethal rage, but it still never boded well.

“Wolffe is here,” Cody admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. “He – he asked to speak with you.”

Wooley tensed, and Longshot pressed against his side more firmly.

“If you say no, I’ll tell him to leave, and he will – no questions asked,” Cody continued gently. “But for what it’s worth, I would trust Wolffe with my life. He would never hurt you, vod’ika.”

Wooley mulled his options over in his mind, relieved that the vod’e around him gave him the time to think through his choice.

“I don’t want him to come in here,” Wooley said finally. These barracks, this bunk – they were safe. He wasn’t sure what he would do if whatever Commander Wolffe had come to say ruined that illusion of safety.

“I’ll tell him to go,” Cody responded immediately, already turning.

“No, no,” Wooley rushed. “I can – I’ll talk to him in the hallway, if that’s alright? Just not in here.”

Cody paused, then nodded, a small smile sneaking onto his face.

“Do you want one of us to stay with you?”

“I – I can do this by myself,” Wooley decided.

And he could. His vod’e would be right on the other side of the door, ready to jump to his aid at a moment’s notice. He wouldn’t be alone, not really.

So, he pushed himself up and untangled his legs before making his way towards the door, pausing for a deep breath before hitting the controls and stepping into the hallway. He didn’t look back as the durasteel door slid closed.

Commander Wolffe was waiting, kitted out in his signature grey and white armour, save for his helmet, which was tucked under one arm.

“Wooley,” Commander Wolffe greeted, sounding slightly startled.

“Commander Wolffe,” Wooley responded in kind. “Commander Cody said that you wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes – I – thank-you for agreeing to see me,” Wolffe fumbled slightly, clearly a bit wrong-footed. “I wanted to tell you myself that Blunt and Sten will be disciplined within the 104^th for their actions.”

“I appreciate that, sir.”

“I also – well they, that is… Blunt and Sten recorded a holo for you,” Wolffe explained, holding out the datachip. “You don’t have to watch it – I wouldn’t if I was in your boots.”

Wooley looked at the proffered datachip.

He truly believed that most of the clones – and maybe even Kaddak – were not inherently bad people. That they had been shaped by their live experiences – the trauma, the torture, the neglect.

But he also wasn’t sure that he was ready to forgive them.

“I – could you give it to Cody?” Wooley responded. “Or Helix? I trust them to take care of it until I am ready to watch it.”

Wolffe’s expression softened as he smiled.

“Of course, verd’ika.”

Wooley nodded, suddenly awkward, before turning on the spot and beating a quick retreat back to his bunk, where Longshot, Trapper, and Crys were waiting to cuddle him half to death.

~~~

Cody’s next call was to the Commander of the Coruscant Guard.

As before, Wooley had insisted on being present for the call, adamant and immovable on the matter. Helix once again insisted on staying to support his “patient”, though both Commander and trooper knew that that was just a poorly veiled excuse to eavesdrop on the entire affair.

“Cody, I’m karking busy, this had better be important,” Fox grumbled as he answered the holo, not even bothering to look up from whatever it was that he was doing.

Cody snorted.

“Do I ever call for something that isn’t?”

“All the karking time,” Fox replied, deadpan. “Get to it, or I’m hanging up.”

“Always a delight, Fox,” Cody drawled. “Be sure to bring that stellar attitude and work ethic when you haul your shebs out to arrest one of the troopers that I picked up on Krystar.”

Arrest, because Wooley absolutely refused to allow Cody to murder Kaddak on his account. There had been a screaming match, followed by a tearful Wooley threatening to sleep on the floor in front of the door if that was what it took to stop Cody from storming across the ship to fight the scarred clone. Because the Commander absolutely refused to allow Wooley anywhere near Kaddak, and Wooley insisted that he would follow Cody if he went to confront Kaddak.

Which had left them at an impasse – Cody furious, Wooley sobbing – which Helix had eloquently bridged with the suggestion of imprisonment.

“Why am I arresting one of the troopers that you picked up on Krystar?”

“Because he likely killed his trainer on Kamino, escaped his subsequent detention by the Kaminiise, then physically assaulted one of my troopers.”

That caught Commander Fox’s attention.

“What’s his name?”

“Kaddak.”

For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by the sound of Fox tapping away on a datapad, or silently cursing, before he looked up, expression grim.

“You didn’t pick up any 212^th troopers on Krystar,” Fox accused. “So, I am going to assume that this demagolka attacked the youngest one? I don’t see a squad listed for him.”

“Wooley is ours,” Cody snapped back.

Wooley’s chest tightened at that – at the feeling of rightness that came with the thought of belonging with the 212^th.

Fox snorted.

“File the damn paperwork, Commander,” he drawled.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Commander,” Cody snarked back.

Fox merely waved him off.

“I’ll meet you at the landing pad tomorrow morning,” Fox agreed without further preamble. “Given his track record, I’ll bring at least a few Guards with me for back-up. Unless you’d rather handle him yourself?”

Cody sighed.

“No – I am under strict orders not to fight Kaddak,” the Marshal Commander of the 212^th replied with a quick glance over and past the holo at Wooley.

Fox snorted.

“Tell the kid that I like him already.”

~~~

After nearly a week of limbo on Coruscant, the 212^th had finally received their next orders, and would be moving out by the end of the day. Cody was in meetings with General Kenobi, finalizing their plans, but in the meantime, the members of Ghost Company were busy resupplying the Negotiator for their upcoming campaign.

Around him, his vod’e were bemoaning leaving the city planet behind, wishing they had one more night planetside to visit 79’s or to fleece the 501^st playing sabaac in the GAR barracks.

Wooley, who had spent the vast majority of his time planetside aboard the Negotiator, wasn’t so sad to leave it all behind.

It would be a fresh start for him.

So, Wooley couldn’t help but smile as he worked alongside his vod’e of the 212^th to move supplies and requisitions on board.

“Wooley?”

Wooley turned, freezing in his tracks at the sight of the clone approaching him. Commander Fox was distinctive in his white and red armour, helmet tucked up his arm, gray hair at his temple glinting in the afternoon sun.

“Sir?”

“At ease, trooper,” Fox’s voice was uncharacteristically friendly, less monotone and irritated that Wooley remembered it being during the holo call with Cody. Unlike his snark from the holo call though, this sounded forced.

Wooley did not trust it.

Wooley did not relax.

Around him, he noticed his vod’e pause, Waxer and Boil noticeably abandoning the crates they had been moving to make their way towards the Coruscant Guard Commander. Without a word, they settled into place on either side of Wooley, arms crossed as they regarded Commander Fox.

It was only slightly reassuring.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

Fox’s smile wavered, sliding into something that was more of a grimace, and he glanced towards either Scout before focusing his attention back on Wooley.

“I thought that you should hear it from me, not someone else,” Fox admitted, tone grave. “Kaddak has been reported missing from prison.”

The world around Wooley shifted, and suddenly he wasn’t standing so much as crumpling to the ground. Waxer was crouching beside him in an instant, Boil’s voice just barely filtering through the static in his ears. It sounded like he was talking to Cody, or maybe Helix.

“They suspect that he managed to escaped during the Guard shift change last night.”

Wooley thought he might puke.

“Gev!” Waxer snarled at the Commander, pulling Wooley against him.

“Verd’ika, haalur,” Fox murmured gently, changing tact as he moved to crouch before the younger trooper. “You’re safe. Based on investigative results this far, we suspect Kaddak has already fled the planet. He’s not coming for you.”

Waxer snapped something rude in Mando’a, but Fox didn’t look away from Wooley.

“Gar're morut'yc,” Fox repeated firmly. “Kaddak will never hurt you again, tayli'bac?”

“Cody says to get him back to the Command Barracks,” Boil cut in, his voice barely audible over the growing static in Wooley’s ears. “And to establish a patrol around and aboard the Negotiator, until the Guard has Kaddak in custody or it has been confirmed that he is no longer planetside.”

Fox didn’t move, gaze still fixed on Wooley.

“Go with your vod’e, verd’ika,” Fox murmured gently. “Ni ganar te aran.”

I have the watch.

Wooley didn’t remember agreeing to move, barely remembered the walk from the landing pad to the Command Barracks. Couldn’t have explained how, a time later, he found himself in the middle of an impromptu cuddle pile, surrounded by his closest vod’e.

“Are you with us, vod’ika?” Cody asked softly.

Wooley nodded and snuggled closer to the Commander, wishing that he could hide from the world for just a few moments longer. He’d never had such luxuries though.

“Commander Fox was able to confirm that Kaddak boarded a shipping vessel bound for the Koradin sector in the Outer Rim,” Cody explained gently. “We can’t pursue him, but he’s gone vod’ika.”

“I should have let you kill him,” Wooley muttered miserably.

Maybe then he would feel safe.

But Cody was already shaking his head, a small smile on his face.

“No, vod’ika, you did the right thing, even if I couldn’t see it at the time,” Cody soothed. “You’re the best of us.”

“Thanks, ori’vod,” Wooley responded softly, snuggling closer.

Behind him, several vod’e chuckled, while Cody let out a sound approximating that of a strangled tooka. Wooley glanced over his shoulder; expression confused.

“What?”

“I think you just broke the Commander, vod’ika,” Helix chuckled, from where the medic was wrapped around Wooley’s back, prompting more snickering from the vod’e lounging and cuddling around them. Cody muttered something unintelligible, and Wooley turned back to him.

“Is it – is it okay if I call you ori’vod?” Wooley asked, suddenly worried. “I just thought… I mean…”

“Of course, it’s okay, vod’ika,” Cody choked out. “I would be honored to be your ori’vod.”

Wooley grinned, shifting to look around at all the vod’e gathered in the Command Barracks.

Cody. Waxer. Boil. Helix. Trapper. Longshot. Crys. Barlex. Gearshift. Cale. Reed. Threepwood. Eyeball.

His vod’e.

His aliit.

“I’m glad,” Wooley said. “That it was you who found us – who found me. Because when you found me, I found more than just my freedom – I found my family.”

Silence, and then –

“We’re keeping him, right?” Crys asked the room in general. “Like, it’s official? The General signed off on the paperwork?”

“Yeah, vod, he’s staying,” Cody responded with a laugh. “Wooley is a member of the 212^th.”

And that was all that really needed to be said.