Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the time that it took Crosshair to jolt awake with a strangled gasp, the nightmare had already faded from his mind, leaving behind nothing but a cold hand of fear gripping his lungs and a trembling throughout his body that he could never seem to escape. His gulps for air proved futile, and he threw back his blanket and sat up in an attempt to make breathing easier.

The air returned to his lungs slowly, but the agitated prickle of fear remained. Crosshair’s bare feet hit the clay floor as he crossed his room, not truly knowing where he was going until he came to a stop in front of a cracked pair of goggle on the mantle in the living room.

Of course.

Tech always knew what to do—to an irritating degree, at times, but he always knew what to do with Crosshair, too. When they were cadets, he could calm Crosshair the best; even when they left Kamino to join the endless wars, he was the one who could teach Crosshair how to breathe again when the nightmares and the fear became too much.

But Tech was gone, and Crosshair was standing in the living room of their house on Pabu in the middle of the night, completely alone. Crosshair had been alone, many times, but somehow, even watching the Marauder fly away from him hadn’t felt as suffocatingly alone as staring at Tech’s cracked goggles. He ached to cradle the precious memento to his chest, to hold as much of Tech as he had left, but the way his hands still shook brought him assurance that the goggles would only end up shattered on the ground, so Crosshair clenched his fists instead. It was just as well. Crosshair had learned on thing well over the past few months; his hands were only good for destruction.

The sound of a door creaking open carried to Crosshair’s ears, and he grit his teeth against the lump in his throat. Hunter, no doubt, always hovering, always worrying—now more than ever since they settled into Pabu, it seemed. Crosshair had no patience for his brother’s sad eyes and persistent questions tonight.

“Cross.” Irritation mixed with the whirlwind of emotions already inside of Crosshair as his suspicions were proven correct. Footsteps came to a stop a few paces behind him. “You alright?”

Tears burned Crosshair’s waterline, but he refused to let them fall. For a moment, he was reminded of the days when, even begrudgingly, he could crawl into Hunter’s bunk like a child and let himself believe the foolish notion that for that instant, everything would be alright; but those were the days when Crosshair was still good. Those were the days when Crosshair was ignorant to the fact that he was only good for destruction.

A snarled comment caught in the tightness in his throat, escaping instead in the form of a truly pathetic sound that was something between a choked grunt and whine. Hunter sighed heavily, and the footsteps moved closer until a hand rested on Crosshair’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I miss him too.”

Crosshair’s hands twitched minutely towards Hunter. He didn’t feel like a solider, anymore. He felt like a child who was scared and tired of fighting and running and losing.

A wave of disgust swept through Crosshair at the pathetic display of emotion that he was dangerously close to falling victim to, and with a jerk, he turned away from Hunter and stalked back to his room. He didn’t slam the door—he wasn’t quite that petty—but his closed it firmly enough to ensure that Hunter wouldn’t try and follow him. The wood made tiny snags in his shirt as he sank to the ground. Head on his knees, he curled around the aching hole in his chest.

The door flexed ever so slightly, and Crosshair heard Hunter adjusting himself on the other side of the door. His voice was quiet and muffled through the wood, but it still cracked open something inside of Crosshair.

“I’m right here when you need me, Cross.”

An ugly sob wretched out of Crosshair’s chest, and he wanted nothing more than to open the door and let Hunter hold him. He wanted nothing more than to be deserving of comfort.

But he wasn’t; so he didn’t.

Chapter Text

Guilt was a weight that Crosshair was now well accustomed to carrying, but it seemed to double and even triple in size as they settled in to Pabu. The moment his mind understood that he could stop fighting was the moment that it began to replay every single one of his sins in a feedback loop that Crosshair could never shut off.

His siblings didn’t seem to suffer from the same issue. Omega made friends with the other children on Pabu, and Crosshair had never seen her look so appropriately carefree for her age. The tension in Hunter’s frame abandoned him altogether. Wrecker used his strength to help their neighbors, and he confided in Crosshair one night, his voice small and hesitating, that it made him glad to know that his strength wasn’t just good for fighting. Echo continued to leave Pabu to help the other clones, but he always returned home to be welcomed with open arms.

All in all, they seemed at peace. It suited them well.

Crosshair couldn’t find the same peace, try as he might, and the constant regret and nightmares soured his mood even further than was typical for him.

“Talk to me,” Hunter demanded one night, after Omega had gone to bed. Crosshair glared at him from across the kitchen table and removed the toothpick from his mouth.

“About what?”

Hunter made a vague gesture in Crosshair’s direction. “You’ve been a pain in the ass for the past week, even to Omega. You really hurt her feelings tonight. Why?”

Crosshair scowled at the table and let the wood of the toothpick crush between his teeth. The snide comment he had made towards Omega at dinner when she mentioned how happy she was with her new friends flitted through his head.

“And do they know you’re a clone?”

It was cruel, unprompted, made Omega’s face fall immediately, and left a corrosive feeling in Crosshair’s stomach. Now, as it replayed through his mind, Crosshair wasn’t sure he had ever hated himself more.

Hunter sighed.

“Look,” Hunter said, sympathy woven into his voice, “it’s been difficult for all of us to get used to this, alright? You don’t have to make it any harder. If you won’t talk to me, at least go apologize to Omega.”

“She’s asleep,” Crosshair said.

Hunter scoffed. “Hardly. She stays up reading for hours.”

Crosshair ground the toothpick between his teeth and glared at a groove in the table. He couldn’t tell if it was pride or self-loathing that kept him rooted to his seat; they seemed almost interchangeable, nowadays.

“She won’t want to see me,” he muttered eventually. “Not after what I said.”

“She might not,” Hunter agreed. “But an apology will go a long way, even if she doesn’t accept it tonight. You are sorry, aren’t you?”

The tone of Hunter’s voice was more curious than accusatory. Are you sorry? It asked. I don’t know anymore.

Crosshair snapped the full force of his glare to Hunter.

“Of course I am,” he seethed.

“Good,” Hunter said. “Then let her know, or she’ll go on thinking you said it on purpose.”

Crosshair’s eyes flicked back down to the table. Guilt layered on his shoulders and pushed his head lower.

“I did say it on purpose,” Crosshair admitted. That was what tore him apart; he knew what he was saying, and the effect it would have. In that moment, he had wanted to hurt Omega. The idea disgusted him immediately afterwards, but at that point Omega’s eyes had already watered and she had already left the table.

Hunter sighed again. He did that a lot when he talked to Crosshair.

“But you don’t mean it now,” Hunter pressed. “We’re all guilty of lashing out once in a while. It doesn’t make it right, but we can at least show that we want to make it right, afterwards. That’s what counts more.”

We’re all guilty.

Guilty.

If only Hunter knew.

Crosshair clenched his toothpick and forced himself to wander to Omega’s room. After a moment or two of hesitation, he knocked on the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Crosshair.”

A beat of silence.

“Come in.”

Crosshair hesitated again before cracking the door open. Omega didn’t look overly pleased to see him, but she set down her holopad and didn’t order him out as he crossed the room. Batcher raised her head as Crosshair neared, and after a wary glance at the animal, Crosshair settled down on the edge of Omega’s bed.

A tense silence encompassed the room. Crosshair’s real hand fiddled with his mechanical one as he took the time to choose his words, this time. Batcher nuzzled his arm.

“I… am sorry,” Crosshair said eventually. He forced himself to meet Omega’s eyes. “What I said… it was unkind. I didn’t mean to… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” Omega said kindly. “I forgive you.”

Crosshair had entered the room seeking Omega’s forgiveness, but for it to be offered so readily made something inside of him twist with rage, and a scowl rose to his face.

“It’s not ‘okay,’” he argued. “I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Well, no,” Omega agreed. “But I knew you didn’t mean it, even if it hurt. We all say things we don’t mean, sometimes.”

She sounded so insufferably like Hunter that Crosshair almost laughed. As it was, the similarity was amusing enough to smooth his scowl, which in turn brought a smile to Omega’s face. Batcher settled her head back down on the bed and let out a long breath.

The moment was quickly marred by the guilt that still nagged at Crosshair, and he looked to the floor of the room.

“I… there is no truth in what I implied,” he said haltingly. “Your friends… they sound like… good people. They would not… your… heritage, would not…”

Omega’s small hand squeezed his arm, and when Crosshair finally looked at her, she offered a warm smile.

“I know,” she assured. “They wouldn’t care. If they did, they wouldn’t be worth being friends with. That’s what you’re trying to say, right?”

“Precisely.”

“Don’t worry. I understand.” Omega paused, and a certain tiredness crept into her voice. “And… I understand that you’re having a hard time settling down, too. I get it. We’re used to fighting. It’s… strange, to not have to anymore.”

Omega’s eyes were far too wise for her age, and it made Crosshair ache.

“I take it you’re having a hard time?” he asked. It was Omega’s turn to look at the floor. Batcher’s head came back up to look at her attentively, and Omega scratched the hound’s head absentmindedly.

“A bit, yeah,” Omega admitted quietly. “Now that I don’t have to worry about surviving every second, I… I just keep thinking about… everything. You know?”

Her eyes locked on to Crosshair’s, tentative and hopeful as they searched for understanding. Crosshair swallowed thickly and covered her hand with his own.

“I know,” was all he said, and it was all he needed to say.

Omega smiled shyly and flipped her hand to hold onto his. For a split second, Crosshair froze; it seemed wrong to hold something so pure in his hands… and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to deny Omega the comfort she sought. So he gave her hand a squeeze and tried to keep his own from shaking.

Chapter Text

“Do you know what you need?” Echo remarked dryly to Crosshair, when Echo returned from his latest mission. “A hobby.”

Crosshair had a hobby. It fact, he had several: making snide and unhelpful comments at his siblings, wrestling with the sins of his past, and waking up in a cold sweat at least five times a week.

Unfortunately, Hunter agreed with Echo, and the next thing Crosshair knew, he had been shoved outside with a hand shovel and a packet of flower bulbs.

“Get some fresh air,” Hunter instructed, and closed the door. Crosshair was almost certain he heard the lock click. He rolled his eyes for nobody’s benefit but his own.

It was a nice day. Even Crosshair couldn’t deny that. Clear skies, warm breeze, birds singing… and it was quiet. Crosshair let his eyes shut and let the fresh air fill his lungs as he took a breath, and then another, and another. It was peaceful.

Too peaceful, it soon proved; with nothing to distract him, Crosshair’s mind soon ran wild with wave after wave of memories and accusations. Almost as a self-preservation instinct, Crosshair instinctively turned back to the door and tried the handle.

It was locked, as assumed, and while some part of Crosshair knew that Hunter meant the gesture as nothing more than a humorous one, overwhelming, it felt like watching the ship fly away without him. It felt like being abandoned to himself again, except this time, he didn’t want to be alone; this time, he was scared to be alone.

Eventually, begrudgingly, after much scowling about the yard, Crosshair found a corner and began to dig. The soil was soft and cool between his trembling fingers, and while it didn’t take away the voice in his head, it allowed his shoulders to relax for a moment. Violently stabbing the ground brought more satisfaction and relief, he soon found, and by the end of the day the yard was in shambles, and Crosshair felt no better.

Hunter let out a sigh when he opened the door to call Crosshair in for dinner, but said nothing. It was childish, but Crosshair shoulder-checked Hunter on his way inside. That’s for locking the door, he seethed to himself. That’s for not being there when I needed you.

“Omega, I told you not to let Batcher get into the yard!” Echo exclaimed when he glanced out the window in the middle of dinner. Batcher grunted, thoroughly put off by the accusation.

“That wasn’t Batcher!” Omega protested, soothing Batcher’s indignation with a scrap of her dinner. “She’s a good girl. She doesn’t dig, except for when I tell her to.”

“It was Crosshair,” Wrecker said gleefully. He jostled Crosshair with his elbow, causing his fork to fly out of his hand. Crosshair stared at it, unimpressed, as Batcher sniffed it a few times, and then swallowed it whole.

“Should she be eating that?” he asked no one in particular. Omega shrugged.

“She seems to digest metal pretty well.”

Batcher panted and wagged her tail, and then dropped her drooling head into Crosshair’s lap, eager for more forks.

“Crosshair, eh?” Echo looked amused as he surveyed the accused. “Any particular reason you wanted to destroy the yard?”

“I was told to get a hobby,” Crosshair replied. Echo quirked an eyebrow.

“And that hobby is digging holes?”

“What’s it to you if it is?” Crosshair grumbled. He shoved Batcher’s head away, but she returned a second later.

“Just don’t want to turn an ankle,” Echo joked. Omega and Wrecker burst out laughing, and Hunter shook his head in a fondly exasperated way. Crosshair felt his annoyed demeanor begin to crack, and he made a show of rolling his eyes. Echo nudged his leg from across the table.

“Hey, that was a good one,” he said. “Come on, I know you want to laugh.”

“Ha, ha,” Crosshair said as sarcastically as he could muster, but for a moment, a warmth buzzed in his chest that alleviated the guilt on his shoulders.

——

Memories drove Crosshair from his bed that night, and he stalked about the silent house in the dark, careful to keep his breathing even and his noise to a minimum as to not wake Hunter. He wandered past his siblings rooms and took a moment to watch the rise and fall of their chests.

Omega looked peaceful, curled around Lula, with Batcher tucked behind her legs and snoring away. Wrecker’s snores could rival Batcher’s, and between the two of them, it was a wonder anyone got any sleep. Echo twitched and muttered in his sleep in a way that made Crosshair feel as if he should wake him, but then Echo’s features smoothed and his body relaxed back into the bed.

A few minutes were passed in Hunter’s doorway, watching his brother breathe. Crosshair stood on the threshold, arms wrapped across his chest, jaw tight, feeling stupidity like a child once more. Hunter wouldn’t mind if Crosshair crawled into his bed, like old times. He’d scoot over and wrap Crosshair in a hug, and ask him what was wrong. Crosshair would say “nothing,” and Hunter would say they’d talk about it in the morning, and they never would.

Crosshair was a step into the room when he remembered the ferocity with which he had wanted to kill Hunter. He had wanted to kill Omega, too, and even if Hunter could forgive Crosshair for wishing harm upon him, Crosshair wasn’t sure he could forgive him for wishing harm upon Omega.

Crosshair wasn’t sure he could forgive himself for either.

Hunter stirred in his sleep, and Crosshair quickly retreated.

“It should be you here, not me,” Crosshair muttered to the broken goggles on the mantle. “You’ve always deserved this life more than I.”

The goggles didn’t answer.

——

“When I sent you out here,” Hunter said a few days later, surveying the yard with apprehension, “I was expecting some flowers.”

“I was told to get a hobby.” Crosshair stabbed the ground again. “This is a hobby.”

Hunter didn’t bother to hide the doubt on his face as he glanced around the yard, which had more holes than even ground. All in all, it looked rather like a minefield.

“Well, as long as you fill in the holes by the end of the week,” Hunter said ruefully. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

It was a reasonable concern, but it only reminded Crosshair that his hands were made to hurt, and that was all they would ever be good for. He scowled into the dirt and braced left hand next to the hole he was making, and stabbed the earth with renewed vigor. It wasn’t enough. The gun was still cold in his hand, pointing at the faces of his brothers. The hatred was still hot in his veins. Hemlock’s voice still rung through his head, demanding to know—

Sharp pain cut through the turmoil in his mind, giving him a sudden sense of clarity and relief. Crosshair blinked a few times and looked down at his hand. Blood welled up and began to ooze into the dirt, stemming from just below his left thumb. Dumbly, he turned the shovel over in his hand and surveyed the edge of it. It was a thin, sharp edge, which explained the ease with which he could break through the harder parts of the yard, as well as the steadily bleeding cut on his hand.

“What happened?” Hunter called over. When Crosshair didn’t answer, he began to pick his way across the yard, muttering a muffled curse as he almost fell into one of the holes. He crouched next to Crosshair.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Crosshair said. “You gave me this shovel.”

“I didn’t realize it was that sharp,” Hunter said apologetically. He reached out for Crosshair’s hand, but Crosshair snatched it away.

“I’m fine.”

“And if it needs stitches, Echo will have my head,” Hunter shot back.

“It doesn’t need stitches,” Crosshair insisted. Hunter rubbed a hand over his face.

“Fine. I’ll believe you this time. At least let me get a bacta patch for it.”

“Fine,” Crosshair agreed with a scowl. Hunter made his way to the house, weaving back through the dangerous yard.

“And no digging until I get back!” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the house.

“I’ll dig as much as I want,” Crosshair spat out to himself, stabbing the ground again for emphasis.

The cut on his hand stung. He clenched his fist. Birds sang in the trees. A cool breeze blew across his face. The sun was hot on his head, and his mind… was quiet. The pain throbbed in his hand, and it felt right.

Crosshair studied his bleeding hand, and then threw a quick glance back to the house. Before he fully knew what he was doing, he pressed the shovel a few centimeters below the first cut and swiped hard. Instantly, the pain brought a wave of peace to his mind, peace that he hadn’t felt in months—years, even. The relief could have knocked Crosshair over, had he not already been on his knees. Simultaneously, shock coursed through him. Confusion. Fear. What was he doing?

“Found it,” Hunter’s voice announced.

Crosshair had the urge to hide the shovel, but knew it would only make Hunter suspicious. The brother in question was fast approaching through the yard, and Crosshair made an attempt to hide his panic.

“Wrecker didn’t put the medpack back in the right place,” Hunter said, oblivious. “Let me see your hand.”

Still too stunned by his own actions to fight, Crosshair obediently held out his hand. Hunter cleaned the area and inspected the cuts.

“Must have nicked yourself twice before you noticed,” he commented. The thought to tell Hunter the truth ran through Crosshair’s mind, but he bit his tongue. There was no need for Hunter to know how broken he was, that pain was the only thing that brought him peace. Not when Hunter was so happy.

Hunter applied the bacta patch and studied Crosshair’s face, his brow creasing with concern. He squinted up at the sun.

“Why don’t you come inside for a bit? You’re not looking too good. I hope you don’t have heatstroke.”

Crosshair tasted blood in his mouth from where his teeth dug into his tongue. He nodded meekly and followed Hunter inside without another word, which only made Hunter’s concerned expression grow.

Hunter inflicted at least an hour of rest upon Crosshair, so Crosshair lay on his bed with the curtains drawn, staring at the wall. Something wasn’t right with him, and he knew it. It wasn’t an unusual idea, being a defect, and all—but even among defects, he felt like a defect. Still…

He pressed his thumb to the cuts and relished the jolt of pain.

Perhaps there was something for him in gardening, after all.

——

The next day, Crosshair filled in the holes in the yard. Digging them hadn’t brought him peace, and having to constantly avoid stepping in them was quickly becoming tiresome.

Like clockwork, his memories threatened to overwhelm him again. This time, Crosshair brought the edge of the shovel to his hand. He paused. Hunter might take the shovel away if managed to injure himself with it again.

After another furtive glance at the house, Crosshair pushed up his sleeve and pressed the shovel to his forearm. He only hesitated a moment before he drew the edge across once, twice, three times; calm and control washed through him, and he allowed himself to relax into it.

Crosshair’s hands were made for destruction. It was only fitting that in order to grow and nurture something, he had to destroy himself. He found the packet of bulbs that Hunter had given him—discarded in the far corner of the yard in favor of attacking the dirt—and calmly, peacefully, he began planting.

Chapter Text

“Can I garden with you, today?” Omega asked cheerfully at breakfast the next week. Everything inside of Crosshair began to scream no.

“There is not much to do,” he tried instead. “I fear you will be bored.”

Omega let out a laugh. “There must be something to do. You’re out there all day, every day.”

Crosshair grit his teeth together. The mess of cuts on his arm itched and burned under his sleeve. He knew he should be putting bacta patches on them, but a sudden drop in the supplies would be sure to raise a few eyebrows. Besides, the after everything he’d done… he deserved the pain and discomfort.

“Please?” Omega prompted. She widened her eyes into something that threatened to be sad should Crosshair reject her. It was a trap, and both of them knew that Crosshair would fall for it.

“Very well,” he relented begrudgingly. Omega cheered. Crosshair glowered into his breakfast and could only hope that Omega would tire early and leave him to water the flowers with his blood.

Omega did not tire—in fact, Crosshair wasn’t sure she could tire. She bounced around the yard, chattering nonstop about everything. The sky, the trees, the dirt, the birds. It was endearing, to some small part of Crosshair that wasn’t set on tearing his own skin apart, but as the day dragged on and Omega showed no signs of leaving, Crosshair became more and more agitated with the need to dig the shovel into his arm, desperate for fresh pain.

Omega’s mood soured with his. “I thought you said you liked gardening,” she accused eventually, after Crosshair had snapped at her one too many times.

“I do,” Crosshair insisted. He scratched at the cuts under his sleeve, but his mechanical hand couldn’t itch them right. He set his jaw and pressed harder.

“Maybe you would like it better if you didn’t wear long sleeves,” Omega shot back.

Crosshair froze, fear of his secret being exposed keeping him from breathing much.

“It keeps me from getting sunburned,” he got out. Omega shrugged and stabbed at the dirt with her own shovel.

“Keeps you grumpy, is what it does,” she muttered petulantly. “I wanted to hang out with you today. I thought we’d have fun.”

Guilt stacked onto Crosshair’s shoulders. He squeezed his arm, but it did nothing. Was he destined to fail Omega, time and time again? He couldn’t protect her. He couldn’t even escape his own problems long enough to give her a good day.

“Maybe we’d have fun if you would give me a few minutes of silence,” his mouth hissed before he could stop himself.

“Well, maybe we’d have fun if you actually wanted to spend time with me!” Omega shot back.

“I do want to spend time with you,” Crosshair insisted. “I—” he cut himself off with an aggravated growl and sprang to his feet. His hands pressed into the sides of his head, trying to alleviate the echos of pain and guilt that plagued him.

“If you wanted to spend time with me, then—”

“Have you considered that perhaps today is just a bad day?” Crosshair snapped, whirling around to face his sister. “That it has nothing to do with you?”

Unbidden, a cruel thought, dripping with malice flew through his mind: I should have turned the brat over when I had the chance.

Whatever Omega was going to say was drowned out by a guttural cry from Crosshair as he threw himself at the nearest tree and began punching with his flesh hand until the skin on his knuckles broke and the voice in his head stopped whispering insults against Omega. Only then did Crosshair stop, allowing the pain the wash through him and smother the voice.

Heavy breaths filled his lungs with each heave of his shoulders. The bark was stained dark red, and a glance at his hand showed the ugly damage he had left behind; but Crosshair’s mind was quiet.

“I…”

Omega .

Crosshair had forgotten her presence in his rage, and he turned to face her. Omega’s eyes were wide, afraid, and they bounced between Crosshair, the tree, and his hand.

“I’ll get Hunter,” she said, and then she scrambled off.

The constant, relentless guilt crashed down on Crosshair’s shoulders in a tenfold, buckling his knees under him. The fear in Omega’s eyes haunted him. Crosshair’s hands were made for destruction, and now Omega knew; and now Omega was afraid. His head fell into his hands. Emotions swirled in his chest so fast that he didn’t know what to call them. He scared Omega. Sweet Omega, who stubbornly only saw good in him, time after time. Sweet Omega, who was wrong, because how could someone like him ever be good?

Hands grasped his wrists, and Crosshair flinched back instinctively, his mind throwing him back to a dark room and Hemlock’s sneer. 

“I don’t know where they are!” he yelped before he could stop himself. “Don’t hurt her!”

“Oh, Cross.” The voice sounded like Hunter, and the voice sounded sad, but the hands retreated. Smaller hands pressed into his shoulder, even as he jerked away.

“It’s okay, Crosshair. I’m okay.”

Omega.

Crosshair looked up. Omega smiled at him, but her eyes were watery. Her face was smeared with dirt.

Gardening.

The rest of the world filtered in around Omega’s face. Crosshair clenched his fist and took a breath. The skin on his knuckles, already trying to scab over, gave a sharp protest that helped to center him again.

“Do… you know where you are?” Omega asked quietly. Crosshair nodded.

“On Pabu.” His voice sounded strange. Strained. He cleared his throat. “We were gardening.”

I scared you. I’m sorry. Don’t forgive me.

“Yeah,” Omega encouraged. Her face fell. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were having a bad day. I didn’t mean to be so difficult.”

Crosshair clenched his fist tighter, relishing the burn of the wounds on his hand.

“No,” he said. “It is my fault. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Omega assured. “I was just worried.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t punch trees,” Wrecker said, having previously gone unnoticed by Crosshair—quite the accomplishment, given his size.

“How astute,” Crosshair said sarcastically, but the exhaustion in his voice undercut the comment. Wrecker looked unsure as to whether or not it was a compliment.

“Are you alright now?” Hunter asked. He risked putting a hand on Crosshair’s knee, slowly telegraphing his moves. It didn’t keep Crosshair from flinching.

“I—”

“Because it’s okay if you’re not,” Hunter added. There was something earnest and sad in his eyes that squeezed Crosshair’s chest.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, too tired to fight the moment of weakness. Shame swept through him. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine,” Hunter assured. He took Crosshair’s hand to inspect it, graciously ignoring the way it shook.

“Yeah, sometimes I’m not okay,” Wrecker offered.

“Me either,” Omega chimed in.

“Same here,” Hunter muttered, not meeting Crosshair’s eyes.

“Or Echo,” Omega said. “And that’s okay.”

Crosshair wished he could believe them.

Chapter Text

“Perhaps… we should try something other than gardening,” Crosshair suggested to Omega. “For the time being.”

“Okay!” Omega said cheerfully. “Maybe we could try cooking? Hunter says I’m not allowed to cook by myself, but he’s a bit of a control freak in the kitchen. And Wrecker breaks things. And Echo isn’t here a lot.”

Cooking was full of opportunities for Crosshair to accidentally burn or cut himself. He hated the fact that that was the first thing he considered, but he forced a smile.

“Sounds wonderful.”

——

“Beat two eggs?” Omega looked at Crosshair for answers.

Crosshair considered the eggs in front of him. He raised a hand, and then smashed it down. Egg shot across the kitchen, hitting Omega squarely in the face and painting the cabinets. Omega’s laughter rang through the house.

By dinner time, both he and Omega were covered head to toe in flour and egg and icing, but Crosshair hadn’t burned himself once, and Omega hadn’t stopped laughing for more than two minutes at a time.

The cookies they made were unappetizing to ever Batcher, and Hunter made a new rule that neither Omega nor Crosshair were allowed in the kitchen unsupervised, and certainly not together—but Crosshair felt lighter than he had in a while.

——

“Hey, Hunter,” Wrecker said with a grin, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. When Hunter looked up from drying dishes, Wrecker gestured with his head to the couch. “Look at those two. All tuckered out.”

Hunter peered into the living room, and a soft smile formed on his face. Crosshair and Omega were fast asleep on the couch, Omega tucked under Crosshair’s chin, each holding the other in a protective embrace. Their breathing and heart rates indicated peaceful sleep—a relief on both parts.

“Nice to see them both happy,” Wrecker commented. “I even heard Crosshair laugh this afternoon.”

“Yeah, it’s good,” Hunter agreed. He put away the last dish and threw the towel back on the counter. “I was worried. About both of them. Omega settled in fast—too fast, I worry. And Crosshair’s still trying to adjust.”

“At least he likes gardening,” Wrecker offered. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

Hunter hummed in agreement, and didn’t voice the nagging unease that came with Crosshair and gardening. Crosshair always seemed subdued after gardening, but never… relaxed. Hunter knew well enough that finding peace was a different journey for everyone, but he couldn’t shake a bad feeling that came about whenever Crosshair went outside.

“We should get them to their beds,” Hunter said eventually. “They’ll be more comfortable there.”

“Let me get some pictures first,” Wrecker snickered. “To send to Echo.”

Hunter rolled his eyes, but joined in the pictures, taking turns posing over their sleeping siblings and holding the camera for Wrecker to do the same.

As he carried Omega to her bed, a contented sigh escaped him. Hunter had often asked himself what all the fighting was for, what all the suffering and loss was worth; and now he held the answer in his arms. Everything was worth it, to give Omega a chance to grow up safe and happy. To give all of them a chance to learn how to breathe without looking over their shoulders.

Omega’s eyes cracked open as Hunter put her down in her bed. Batcher hopped up next to her and curled up on the blankets.

“G’night, Hunter,” she muttered, and rolled over to grab Lula. Hunter chuckled.

“Goodnight, kid,” he returned. He ran a hand over her hair and smiled.

The magic of the moment was broken by a crash from the living room, followed by yelling. Omega and Batcher jolted upright on bed, and Hunter ran to the door.

“Stay here,” he ordered, and bolted out of the room with Batcher hot at his heels.

There was no clear line of action when Hunter reached the living room, and he froze, uncertain. Crosshair was throwing wild, panicked punches at Wrecker, who was sporting the beginning of a black eye. Wrecker ducked and dodged, desperately trying to talk to Crosshair.

“It’s okay, Cross!” he begged, jumping to avoid another punch. “It’s just me! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

Batcher let out a commanding bark and started forward, but even she seemed unsure about what to do.

Before Hunter could intervene, a blur of blonde hair flew past him.

“Omega, don’t!” he yelled, but Omega had already grabbed Crosshair’s arm. Instinctively, Crosshair shoved her away, hard enough that she tumbled to the ground. That spurred both Hunter and Batcher into action.

“Crosshair, stand down!” Hunter bellowed, running to stand above Omega while trying to hold Batcher back from tearing out Crosshair’s throat. “You’re hurting Omega!”

Crosshair froze, one of his hands held securely in Wrecker’s from a caught punch, the other ready to punch again. Wild, panicked eyes looked between Hunter and Omega, and when they locked onto Omega, Hunter saw them clear. Batcher lunged forward again, barking like mad.

“Batcher, down!” Omega demanded. The hound unwillingly retreated, but kept herself between Crosshair and Omega. Crosshair blinked once, twice, and his arm dropped to his side.

“Are you back?” Hunter asked warily, offering one hand to Omega, but never taking his eyes off Crosshair. “Do you know where you are?”

Crosshair nodded, but his expression was becoming gradually more horrified as he stared at Omega. Wrecker carefully released his other hand.

“I’m sorry,” Crosshair breathed out. Omega came forward again, slower this time. Hunter put a hand on her shoulder to stop her, but she shook him off.

“It’s okay,” she told Crosshair. “I’m not hurt.”

Crosshair reached out with shaking hands and grasped Omega by the shoulders, his eyes frantically searching her. Batcher growled. Omega snapped at her to sit. Crosshair fell to one knee, and his shaking hands cupped Omega’s face.

“I—I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” Omega said quietly. Her small hands covered his. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

A wounded noise escaped Crosshair, and he clutched Omega to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated under his breath. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Omega continued to whisper reassurances to Crosshair that clearly fell on deaf ears as he cradled her. Hunter let out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair. Wrecker looked as much at a loss of what to do as Hunter felt. Even Batcher no longer looked murderous, but concerned. They stood by helplessly as Omega comforted their brother.

——

That night, Crosshair lay staring blankly at the wall, Lula clutched in his arms. He had only accepted the toy because Omega had pressed it into his arms as Hunter led him to his room in the haze of another panic attack, while he was still not quite aware of what had happened—except for the horrible, stomach-churning thought that he’d hurt Omega.

Unbearable loathing like he’d never felt before swarmed Crosshair’s senses, loathing for himself. Crosshair’s hands were made for destruction. He was made to hurt and kill; of course he could never live a normal life. Of course he would continue to hurt, and hurt, and hurt, until there would be nothing left of his little family, either from his destruction or their abandonment—and rightfully, they should abandon him. They should dump him back on Kamino to be scrapped, like a broken droid not worth fixing.

A dangerous, tantalizing idea prickled Crosshair’s mind, and before he had thought it through, he had thrown Lula to the side. In a few swift strides, he was across the room, and the case for his rifle was in front of him. Not a minute later the gun was poised in his hands, the barrel pressed firmly to his forehead. His hands were steady as his fingers reached for the trigger.

Lula caught the corner of his eye, discarded carelessly on the floor, and Crosshair faltered. Omega didn’t deserve to live with someone as dangerous as him, but it was undeniable that she cared for him; finding him dead would traumatize her beyond reason. His hands shook as he returned the gun to its case. Wrecker wouldn’t like finding him dead, either. Or Hunter. And after losing Tech…

The reality of what he had almost done hit Crosshair like a ship coming out of hyperspace, and he stumbled to his knees in front of Lula.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one, and gently picked up the stuffed toy. It shook with his hands, and his breathing picked up again. Nausea swept through him. He staggered to his feet and let them carry him out of the room and to Hunter’s door.

Crosshair had no chance to hesitate, this time. Hunter was half-sitting up in his bed, staring at the wall across from him when Crosshair appeared in his doorway, clutching Lula and shaking from head to toe, looking truly and utterly pathetic, no doubt.

The moment Hunter saw him, he scooted over and lifted the corner of his blankets, and Crosshair was across the room in a matter of seconds.

“It’s alright, Cross,” Hunter soothed as he adjusted the blankets around Crosshair. “You didn’t mean it. She’s alright. It’s alright.”

Crosshair pressed his face into Hunter’s chest and held Lula tight. Hunter wrapped his arms around him and held him firmly, one hand rubbing up and down his back. Part of Crosshair was ashamed and disgusted with himself for being so weak, but the rest of him was too scared to care. He didn’t deserve the comfort, but he was scared, because there was something broken in him, and for all his mistakes and cruelty, he had never quite outgrown the idea that Hunter could fix everything.

“It’s alright,” Hunter said again. “It’s not your fault. I’ve got you. It’s alright.”

It’s not, Crosshair wanted to argue. I watch myself bleed almost every day. I hurt Omega. I just put a gun to my head and tried to pull the trigger.

All that came out was a choked sob, and before Crosshair knew it, he was crying into Hunter’s chest. Hunter held him tighter and pressed a kiss to his head, which only made Crosshair cry harder because he didn’t deserve comfort.

He cried until he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

“I’ve gotta say, Crosshair, I’m impressed,” Echo praised when he returned. “These flowers are actually growing.”

“Did you think I couldn’t grow flowers?” Crosshair grumbled. Echo shrugged as he surveyed the sprouts.

“Last time I was here there were more holes than yard, so…”

Crosshair humphed in response, carefully watering the green shoots. He had to admit, while gardening didn’t bring him the peace he craved, there was something satisfying about seeing the small seeds he planted growing. It gave him a purpose each day, even on the days where he did nothing but stare into the distance and bleed.

Echo knelt to inspect one of the sprouts.

“Some animal must’ve come through here,” he commented as he stood. “There’s a bit of blood on that one.”

“Is there?” Crosshair said, concealing his panic. He directed the watering can over the sprout until any traces were washed away.

——

“Crosshair’s garden is coming along really well,” Crosshair heard Echo comment to Hunter after dinner, when Wrecker and Omega were playing some shooting game together and Batcher was snoring under the table. Crosshair pretended to be absorbed in watching the two of them play, but he kept his ear locked on the conversation.

“I am a bit surprised,” Hunter admitted. “It wasn’t a very promising start.”

“I thought for sure he was trying to tunnel out,” Echo said with a laugh. Hunter chuckled, but it died off with a sigh. He dropped his voice so low that Crosshair had to strain to listen over Batcher’s noise.

“I’m really worried about him. He doesn’t seem… happy, even with the gardening, and… he’s still struggling to adjust. I… I don’t know. I can’t shake a bad feeling that something’s wrong.”

“He went through a lot,” Echo said. “We all did, but especially him. It’s gonna take a while for him to recover.”

Crosshair scowled to himself to hear himself being talked about like something that needed to be repaired, as much as he knew it was true.

“I know,” Hunter muttered. “I just… wonder if this is the best place for him to recover.”

Whatever Hunter intended by that remark, Crosshair’s mind seized it and ran. Best place? What did that mean? For all of Crosshair’s self-deprecating laments about being sent away or leaving, the idea of actually being sent away made him feel dizzy. Was he too broken to be fixed by them? Would they send him back to be fixed, to be turned back into what he was before? A good soldier?

“…and as long as he doesn’t show any signs of sudden decline, I think he’s fine here,” Echo was saying. “Unfortunately, a few panic attacks here and there are all part of recovery, and it’s a positive sign.”

Hunter’s response was drowned out by Omega turning to Crosshair with the game controller and a smile on her face. The smile slid away.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Crosshair’s jaw unclenched itself from his toothpick.

“Fine,” he said. Omega offered him the controller.

“Wanna try? Wrecker says I’m cheating.”

“She is cheating,” Wrecker grumbled.

Crosshair took the controller, but his mind kept wandering back to the conversation he’d overheard. The cuts on his arm itched. If he was found out, would they send him back? It was an unfounded idea, but… what if he couldn’t be fixed? Would he still be worth keeping around?

Crosshair lost the game.

——

“How are you doing, Crosshair?” Echo asked after Wrecker and Omega had gone to bed and Hunter had gone to tuck the latter in. It was phrased casually, but Crosshair felt pinned to the couch under Echo’s gaze. He twirled the toothpick with his tongue.

“Fine,” he ground out.

“Well, I don’t believe that for a second,” Echo said conversationally. He dropped down on the couch next to Crosshair. “So why don’t you do us both a favor and tell me the truth?”

Crosshair glared across the room as he chewed on his toothpick. His gaze locked in on Tech’s goggles. The logical thing to do, Tech would say, is be honest with your teammates to create an optimal working environment. Crosshair always sneered at Tech and called his “logical” ideas insane, and other, harsher words. He would give anything to hear any one of those ideas, now.

“I almost hurt Omega,” he admitted. A flash of panic followed his words, a fear that Echo wouldn’t be as stubbornly forgiving as his other siblings. That Crosshair would be sent back to Kamino, or to the dark lab to be fixed.

“I heard,” Echo said evenly. “Sounds like she was alright, though.”

“That’s not the point,” Crosshair muttered. “I could’ve… I could’ve killed her.”

“Well,” Echo said slowly. “I don’t see any point in focusing on ‘could’ve’. What did happen was that she was fine.”

What did happen was that Crosshair went back to his room and put a gun to his head, and that horrifying secret was eating him alive. He opened his mouth to tell Echo, but paused. There was no real need to tell Echo, was there? It was a one-off slip up. Nothing had happened, so there was no need for anyone to know. If Echo knew, he would tell Hunter, who would tell Wrecker, and somehow, word would get to Omega. She didn’t need to worry about that, not when she already had enough to deal with.

So instead, Crosshair said:

“I guess you’re right.”

“Healing is hard,” Echo said bluntly. “And unfortunately, it’s not a linear thing. What’s important is that you try. For yourself, and for others.”

“I am trying,” Crosshair bit out, but the cuts on his arm burned with the lie.

“I didn’t say you weren’t. Just… we’re all here for you, Cross. No matter what you need.”

What Crosshair needed was to bleed until the blood lost could match even a portion of the blood he had spilled. What Crosshair needed was penance. What Crosshair wanted… was to sleep. To breathe, without fear. To exist, without guilt.

When Echo left to say goodnight to Omega, Crosshair wandered across the room to the goggles on the mantle. In the soft light of the room, his face reflected back in the cracked glass.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted under his breath. “You always knew what to do.”

“What’s important is that you try. For yourself, and for others.”

Echo’s advice rang through Crosshair’s head. Unfortunately, Echo was right; Crosshair had to try. Omega was almost hurt, because he wasn’t trying. Maybe Crosshair could never be good or deserving of her love, but he could try his best to protect her from himself.

“I don’t know if this is the best place for him to recover.”

If Crosshair became too unstable, where would Hunter send him? Even if it wasn’t back to Kamino or Hemlock’s lab, the thought of being sent away from his family seized Crosshair’s lungs tightly with panic. He didn’t want to be alone again.

Hunter caught him shoving his rifle case into the top shelf of the linen closet.

“I don’t want to look at it,” Crosshair snapped before Hunter could say anything. “I don’t need it, anymore.”

Hunter said nothing, but he looked pleased.

——

Crosshair made an effort to heal—more out of fear than anything, but all the same, he forced himself into the correct habits. When his hands shook, he meditated. When he worked outside, he used a duller shovel. When his siblings played games in the evenings, he participated instead of sitting off to the side. The cuts on his arm dwindled, and Crosshair felt… proud, in a way, even when he itched to create more lines.

It didn’t feel genuine, but Crosshair knew how to play a part for survival’s sake. Even when his meditation turned sour, even when, in a sudden fit of rage, he ripped up half his flowers, even when he found the memories returning at double the force after a happy evening with Omega and his brothers; he played the part he was expected to play, forcing smiles and lying through his teeth.

Hunter praised his progress one night, and Crosshair allowed himself to relax. He was less of a danger to Omega. He wouldn’t be sent away.

Chapter Text

“Isn’t that… uncomfortable?” Crosshair asked Echo when the other man returned to the towels. Omega had dragged them all down to the beach for the day, and while it was no surprise to Crosshair that Wrecker and Hunter were in the water, it was a surprise that Echo’s mechanical additions did nothing to hinder him from joining in.

Echo shrugged and dropped down next to him on the towel, so close that he jostled him.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” he returned, nudging Crosshair’s arm with his elbow. “Long sleeves? At the beach?”

“At least I won’t get sunburned,” Crosshair shot back. Echo bought the excuse with an easy shrug.

“Can’t argue with that. Yeah, it’s uncomfortable. The sand and the metal are not a good mix.”

“Then why…?”

Echo nodded toward Omega, who was shrieking with joy and splashing about in the water, trying to evade Wrecker, who caught her and tossed her further into the water. Batcher barked excitedly and ran after her.

“What’s a bit of discomfort on my end if it makes her happy?” Echo said fondly. “It’s nothing some oil can’t fix.”

Crosshair ran a hand over his head. The sun beat down, the heat reaching him even in the shade. The water would be a refreshing relief… and he couldn’t remember the last time he had played with his brothers the way they were doing now. It had to have been many years, before they were soldiers. Before his hands started to be cruel.

He was still debating when Omega called out to him.

“Crosshair! Come on!” she yelled, waving her arms as if he couldn’t see her otherwise.

Crosshair held out for a few seconds, but she called him again, and his childish wishes beat out everything else. With a sigh, he rose to his feet. Omega and Wrecker began to cheer, and Crosshair couldn’t deny the warm feeling the sound brought to his chest. After a moment’s hesitation, he removed his hand and turned to Echo.

“I don’t suppose I can trust you with this?” he asked drily. Echo shrugged and took it with a grin.

“I guess you’ll just have to see,” he said. He waved the hand at Crosshair. “Have fun.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

The water was… fun. Omega kept bringing him hermit crabs that she found. He, Hunter, and Wrecker became extremely competitive about skipping rocks, and Omega became fixated on bringing them as many rocks as she could find, regardless of how flat they were. Batcher swam after the rocks, her tail wagging at a thousand clicks a second. After a few bad throws, Crosshair was smugly in the lead, no matter how much Hunter protested.

“I’ve got better eyesight than you!” Hunter challenged. “Mine definitely went further!”

“There’s no proof that your eyesight is any better than mine,” Crosshair returned. “It’s very likely that mine is better, since I am a sniper. Besides, my movements are more precise.”

“You sound like Tech,” Hunter muttered, and then yelled back to the beach. “Echo! Who—”

“Leave me out of this!” Echo yelled back. Crosshair snickered, and Hunter glowered at him.

“We’re going again.”

Wrecker didn’t quite grasp the concept of skipping rocks and eventually left to play with Omega. They all laughed and splashed about, and Crosshair found himself with a grin firmly plastered on his face and a certain peace in his chest for a long while.

Then a wave came—a big wave, one that made Wrecker and Omega squeal with joy and Hunter brace himself, and made Batcher swim away. Crosshair had his back turned and didn’t understand until he turned to be met with a face full of seawater, and the water dragged him down, down, thrashing him about and filling his lungs.

“You could have been one of us.”

Crosshair’s hand scrambled against nothing. His other hand—or lack thereof—was useless against the relentless water.

“You picked the wrong side.”

Pain. Straps holding him to the cold table.

“Where are they?”

“You could have been one of us.”

The trooper was holding him under. He was going to die here. He couldn’t find the strength to care.

Air burst into his lungs, giving him to ability to cough out some of the water. Crosshair continued to choke as he tried to breathe while his body tried to expel the water, doing nothing but suffocating him. Strong hands wrapped around his biceps and dragged him. Water blurred his vision. The salt stung his eyes. His feet dug against the ground as he struggled to get away. If the trooper wasn’t going to kill him, he was going to take him back—and Crosshair much preferred the first option.

He kicked out his leg as hard as he could. It made contact with something, and the hands dropped him with a shout. Crosshair scrambled away, his vision still blurred from the salt water. A hand grabbed his arm.

“Don’t take me back!” he screamed, wrenching away. Pathetic begging that would fall on deaf ears and do nothing but give Hemlock more fuel to insult him with—but he was so scared .

Fragments of sentences reached him, but he could barely hear anything over the heaving in his chest and the pounding in his ears.

“—back—”

“—panic attack, it’s—”

“—e! Let me get to him!” Omega.

“Leave her alone!” Crosshair roared, surging forward. His vision cleared enough to see three opponents. “Take me, leave her alone!”

“Crosshair, it’s okay.”

Omega.

Crosshair could see her face, now, in front of him with her hands outstretched. “I’m okay. I’m safe. You’re safe.”

He dropped to his knees and held her tightly, desperately trying to prove to himself that what she said was true.

“Breathe, Crosshair.” Echo . “In, and out. That’s it.”

Crosshair’s vision cleared, and his surroundings crashed back down on him. The sand was rough under his knees. His arms trembled as he held Omega. He pulled back, shame overtaking his need for comfort. Omega offered a tight smile.

“I’m okay,” she assured again. Crosshair sank down to sit on his heels and scrubbed his hand over his face.

“Do you know where you are?” Hunter asked. Crosshair nodded.

“Pabu. The beach.”

“Good.” Hunter hesitated before adding: “Where… did you go?”

Crosshair’s body shuddered. Coughs seized his chest, until he was doubled over and could barely breathe. Wrecker thumped a big hand onto his back to try and help. Batcher whined and nuzzled his face, even when Crosshair pushed her away.

“You inhaled a lot of water,” Echo said sympathetically. “Why don’t you sit out for a bit?”

That idea appealed to Crosshair. He allowed Echo to help him to his feet, and slowly made his way back to the towels. Batcher trotted after him, still whining.

“I’ve got him,” he heard Echo assure the others. “Don’t worry.”

Shame beat out Crosshair’s gratitude.

——

“Where did you go?” Echo asked later, after Crosshair stopped hacking. After Crosshair stopped shaking.

Crosshair leaned back against the rock and watched Omega in the water with sharp eyes. Batcher rested her chin in his lap, and Crosshair petted her head absentmindedly.

“The waterfall,” he admitted eventually.

Echo hummed sympathetically. Crosshair squeezed his eyes shut and let out a breath. When he opened his eyes, Echo was looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“What?” Crosshair snapped.

“Tell me about it.”

“I’ll pass, thank you,” Crosshair spat back.

“It wasn’t a suggestion.”

Crosshair huffed and looked away. Good soldiers follow orders. He closed his eyes again and pressed his hands to the sides of his head.

“It wasn’t an order, either,” Echo said quietly, accurately guessing Crosshair’s reaction. “More like… advice.”

Omega screamed, and realistically, Crosshair knew it was only a noise of joy—but it didn’t keep his head from shooting up in a panic. Wrecker swung her through the air, and she looked carefree and happy until Wrecker put her down and she looked back to the shore. With a question on her face, Omega raised a thumb to Crosshair. Are you okay? Crosshair forced a smile and returned the gesture, and only then did Omega return to playing. Batcher nudged his arm to encourage him to return to petting her, and he obliged.

“You’ve gotten really close with her,” Echo noted. “It’s nice to see.”

“I ruin everything for her,” Crosshair muttered. “Everything fun she wants to do… I ruin it.”

“That’s not—”

“She should be able to live a happy life,” Crosshair spat out. “Not have to worry about me . She’s shouldn’t have to be the one who takes care of me, just because I don’t always know where I am.” His hands shook, and he clenched them into fists. “It’s not fair to her.”

Echo sighed.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed after a long minute. “But she doesn’t mind. I think she needs to be the one to pull you out of it as much as you do. She likes being able to feel helpful in a situation where she’s otherwise helpless.” Echo paused. “But… she’s also the only one who has an idea of what you went through. Maybe you can take that burden from her by sharing it with us.”

Burden . Crosshair knew Echo hadn’t meant it that way, but the word only helped to drive home his inherent inconvenience. Still, if there was a way to take the burden from Omega…

“I… they tried to turn me into one of their assassins,” Crosshair admitted quietly. “They… tortured me. Tried to break me. They…”

“Where are they?” Cold metal. Pain.

Echo’s real hand took Crosshair’s, slowly, deliberately telegraphing his movements. Crosshair still flinched at the contact.

“They wanted to know where all of you were,” Crosshair muttered. “I didn’t know. They didn’t believe me.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Echo murmured. He squeezed Crosshair’s hand, and even though the motion was gentle, Crosshair was surprised to find that it grounded him almost as much as slicing into his arm did.

Chapter Text

Crosshair woke to shouting. It took a moment to place the noise, but his feet were soon running across the hallway to Wrecker’s room. He skidded to a stop in the doorway and saw Hunter already in the room, holding Wrecker the best he could. Wrecker looked small, huddled in Hunter’s arms, like when they were young clones and would slip into each other’s bunks, when they were still afraid of monsters in the dark—before they had seen any real monsters.

“Crosshair was trying to shoot us,” Wrecker was blubbering into Hunter’s chest. “And—and he got Omega, and he killed you, and—”

Crosshair eased away from the doorway before he could be noticed. He was the monster that plagued his brother’s dreams. He should have known. Swiftly and silently, his feet carried him to the living room, and his head sank low from shame. It was a blessing Hunter had gotten to Wrecker first. There was no telling how much it would have frightened him to see Crosshair’s face immediately upon waking.

“I can’t fix this,” he told Tech’s goggles. “I can’t pretend that I never did any of it. Why should I get to heal, when I’m not the one who was hurt?”

Tech said nothing.

“You’ve become quite useless when it comes to advice,” Crosshair grumbled.

Shaking hands reached for the precious item, fingers ghosted over the metal. Healing wasn’t working. His family was still hurting. Perhaps he could balance it; outwardly, heal enough to protect his family, inwardly, find punishment for his sins.

Footsteps crossed the room.

“How much did you hear?” Hunter asked quietly.

Crosshair dropped his hands from the goggles. He could feign ignorance, convince Hunter to drop it… but even if Hunter hadn’t seen him outside of Wrecker’s room, he would have sensed him. Crosshair sighed and turned to face Hunter.

“Enough,” he admitted. Hunter mirrored the sigh and closed the distance between them.

“It was just a dream, he—”

“Don’t,” Crosshair said testily, “try and make me feel better.”

Hunter sighed again and ran a hand over his face. Then, he reached out, and began tugging Crosshair closer.

“What are you doing?” Crosshair asked suspiciously, slapping his hands away. “I don’t need a hug .”

“Well, maybe I need one,” Hunter shot back. Crosshair let out a long, irritated breath.

“Fine,” he spat out. Hunter pulled him into a firm hug, and Crosshair sighed and patted Hunter’s back a bit sarcastically.

After a while, it became clear that Hunter wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. The warmth and the comfort wormed through Crosshair’s defenses, but he attributed the weakness more to the late hour of the night—regardless, Crosshair found himself allowing his head to drop to Hunter’s shoulder, and his hands to fist into the back of Hunter’s shirt. Allowing himself to hold, and be held, and pretend that he was still a brother, not a monster in the dark. That his hands were meant for something kinder.

The next morning, Crosshair swapped his shovel out for the sharp one again.

Chapter Text

Wrecker was the one to discover Crosshair’s secret. Crosshair shouldn’t have been so surprised; his brother was more brawn than brains, but it didn’t mean he was stupid. It was a wonder that it stayed secret for so long, between Batcher constantly sniffing at his arm and Echo’s piercing looks that seemed to know too much. It was clear Hunter suspected something was off, too, but Crosshair could tell that his brother’s senses already weren’t what they used to be; otherwise he would have smelled the blood ages ago.

It was Crosshair’s own fault. He carelessly pulled his sleeve up to inspect the newest line of cuts on his arm when he thought he had the privacy of his room.

“You’re hurt,” Wrecker said, suddenly in the doorway.

Crosshair jumped and scrambled to pull his sleeve down, but Wrecker was faster. He crossed the room and grabbed Crosshair’s arm and twisted it this way and that while deep lines formed on his face.

“You should get Echo to look at it,” he said.

“I’m fine,” Crosshair snapped. He managed to jerk his arm away. “Not a word of this to the others, do you understand? Not if you want all your functions to remain… functioning.”

Wrecker’s expression turned into something like offended confusion. Then, he opened his mouth:

“HUNTER!” he bellowed.

“Shut up, you fool,” Crosshair hissed as he quickly rolled his sleeve down. It was a lost battle and he knew it, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t go down fighting.

“HUNTER!” Wrecker yelled again.

Footsteps slapped through the house. Crosshair sighed and braced himself. A small part of him hoped to be met with understanding… but if Wrecker’s reaction was anything to go by, he knew would be regarded with disgust. A defect among defects. Broken, unnatural. Revolting.

“Alright, what happened?” Hunter sounded more tired than concerned. He looked at Crosshair and jerked his head in Wrecker’s direction. “You didn’t hide Lula again, did you? Because I—”

“Crosshair’s hurt!” Wrecker accused.

“I am not,” Crosshair shot back. Hunter’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed Crosshair.

“Crosshair, if you’re hurt, then—”

“But I’m not,” Crosshair said, glaring daggers at Wrecker. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“He’s hurt!” Wrecker insisted. “ECHO!”

“Leave me out of this!” Echo’s voice floated through the house. Hunter sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“No, it’s alright, Echo. You’d better come here. Crosshair’s hurt.”

“Am not,” Crosshair hissed. Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Look, given your record, I’m more inclined to believe Wrecker right now,” Hunter told him. “Remember when you were stabbed and didn’t tell anyone for two days?”

“He hasn’t been stabbed again, has he?” Echo asked warily as he appeared in the doorway. Between him and Hunter, there was no chance of escaping that way. Crosshair’s gaze flicked to the window in the room. Wrecker was in the way, but if he was fast…

“I hope you’re just admiring the view and not planning to make a break for it,” Hunter said pointedly. Crosshair suddenly became aware that while he was staring at the window, the rest of the room was staring at him.

“Of course not,” he sneered. He locked his eyes on an invisible point across the room and nodded. “I was simply wondering how long it will take that massive spider to find its way out.”

“Spider?” Wrecker said nervously.

Echo and Hunter looked, and Crosshair bolted to the window—a stupid, childish move, but the adrenaline of fight-or-flight was working at full force towards the latter of the options.

It only took a second for Wrecker’s study arm catch him around the middle, swing him around, and throw him back onto the bed. Crosshair let out and groan and cracked his eyes open to glare at Wrecker, who only shrugged. Echo and Hunter both looked thoroughly unamused.

“Yeah, you’re making a great case for yourself,” Hunter said sarcastically. He moved further into the room. “Where is he hurt?” he asked Wrecker.

“Nowhere,” Crosshair answered with a scowl as he clambered to his feet.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Hunter shot back. “The only thing you have going for you right now is the fact that you haven’t collapsed. I can smell the blood, Cross.”

Crosshair’s heart jumped to his throat, which he knew only sealed his doom. Hunter spared him a worried look before repeating his question to Wrecker.

“His left arm,” Wrecker supplied helpfully. Echo crossed the room.

“Alright, let me see,” he said, gesturing to Crosshair’s arm.

“It’s nothing,” Crosshair insisted. “It’s only a few scratches from the garden.”

“Still, let me put some bacta on it,” Echo insisted. “Even scratches can get infected, especially with all that dirt.”

Echo drew closer, his hand reaching for Crosshair’s arm. Crosshair was running out of time. Echo’s hand brushed his wrist, and Crosshair slapped him away.

“I’m fine,” he hissed. “I don’t need any help.”

“Cross—”

“I’m fine!” Crosshair roared, cutting Hunter off. Hunter raised his hands placatingly.

“Calm down, alright?”

“I don’t need to calm down,” Crosshair snapped. His chest began to heave. Swallowing was hard past the dryness in his throat, and he tried to take a step back, only to hit the bed.

“Crosshair—” Echo took his arm again. Crosshair jerked away.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Crosshair!” Hunter’s voice was commanding, cutting through the haze that was beginning to surround Crosshair. “Take a breath.”

Crosshair tried. He really did, but he couldn’t seem to find a way to make his lungs stop moving long enough to fill them with air. Panicked eyes darted between his brothers and their worried and uncertain expressions. It didn’t help. Crosshair was defective, and soon they would know, and soon they would be disgusted by the extent to which he had broken. They would send him away to be fixed, send him back to Hemlock—it didn’t matter that Hemlock was dead, there would always be another to take him place. Crosshair was expendable. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to be good, a good soldier, and good brother, a good man, he would never—

“Hey, Crosshair.” Hunter’s voice was low and warm, a comforting wave that broke through the relentless fear. There was a hand on his shoulder, another on his wrist, thumb pressed into the pulse point. Crosshair flinched at the contact, but it remained steady.

“Let’s sit down, yeah?”

Crosshair was guided to the floor, his back pressed against what he assumed was the side of the bed. His hands shook. He couldn’t stop them. If he couldn’t stop them, he couldn’t shoot. If he couldn’t shoot, he couldn’t protect. If he couldn’t protect… he was useless. Expendable. Broken. He couldn’t make the shot. Omega was gone, because his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“It’s alright, just breathe.”

Hunter. He had to tell Hunter, and that idea made him want to vomit. He had to tell Hunter their sister was in the hands of a manic because Crosshair was useless.

“Omega,” he got out with great difficulty. “She—I couldn’t—I missed .”

“You missed?” Hunter sounded confused. Crosshair tried to get enough of a breath to explain.

“She’s gone .” A shudder ran through him. “Hemlock—”

“Oh, no, we got her back,” Hunter assured. An arm wrapped around Crosshair’s shoulders, and he let himself crumple into Hunter’s side. “We got her back, and we couldn’t have done it without you. Hemlock’s dead. He can’t hurt her.” The arm around Crosshair tightened. “He can’t hurt either of you, anymore.”

Breathing became easier. Memories filtered in to Crosshair’s consciousness, filling in the gaps.

“Where is she?” he asked, his mind coming up blank after a mad scramble for information.

“She’s out with her friends. She’ll be back for dinner,” Hunter said.

Friends . Now Crosshair remembered.

“We’re on Pabu,” Crosshair placed.

“That’s right. We’re on Pabu, and we’re all safe.”

Crosshair’s breathing altered to match the steady rise and fall of Hunter’s chest, until he was lucid enough to feel ashamed, and pulled away from Hunter abruptly with a scowl.

“Feeling better?” Hunter asked. Crosshair gave a short nod in response.

Wrecker and Echo cautiously reentered the room, evidently having left at some point.

“We got you some water,” Wrecker said quietly. He crouched and offered out a glass. Crosshair took it without a word. They all ignored the way his hand shook as he took a few sips.

“Was… was it something we said?” Wrecker asked anxiously as Crosshair put the glass down. Crosshair shook his head.

“No. It… no.” He let out a breath and looked down at his hands. They still shook.

Echo knelt next to Wrecker and took Crosshair’s hand in his own. In a moment of weakness, Crosshair let him, craving the comfort, forgetting the reason for his panic in the first place—but then Echo slotted his screwdriver under his sleeve. Crosshair tried to jerk back, but his back was pressed against the bed, and then his arm was on full display.

A stifling silence filled the room.

Echo’s hand loosened in shock, but it was replaced by Hunter’s as he took Crosshair’s arm with gentle but firm hands. He pulled the sleeve higher, revealing more angry, red lines.

“Crosshair, this… this is…”

“Penance,” Crosshair snapped. He jerked his arm back and pushed down the sleeve—not that it mattered much, now. His brothers remained silent. Echo and Hunter exchanged a helpless glance. Wrecker looked between to two of them, not fully grasping the situation.

“Fix him,” he told Echo.

Crosshair knew what Wrecker had meant to say; but it didn’t keep him from flinching. Echo looked at Crosshair for a long moment.

“I… I’ll get some bacta,” he said eventually. “But Wrecker, I…”

“He cant fix me,” Crosshair spat out. “It’s in my mind.”

Wrecker looked more confused. Echo sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“I’ll get some bacta,” he repeated.

Crosshair brought his legs up, curling himself around his arm. Echo and Wrecker stood. Hunter followed them to the door. They exchanged a few words that were too quiet for Crosshair to hear, and then the door closed, leaving only himself and Hunter once more.

Hunter let out a long sigh.

“Crosshair—”

“Don’t send me back.” It came out before Crosshair could stop it. Quiet, pathetic. He grit his teeth against more pleas.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Crosshair muttered. He stood and brushed invisible dust off of himself to avoid having to meet Hunter’s eyes.

“I… we would never send you back to them,” Hunter said emphatically, sounding hurt, offended.

“Well, perhaps you should,” Crosshair snapped, finally looking up. Hunter looked thoroughly taken aback. “I’m damaged. This isn’t something that Echo can fix with his bacta. I slice my own skin apart to watch myself bleed.”

Hunter winced at the bluntness of the statement, giving Crosshair the petty motivation to continue.

“That isn’t normal. That isn’t right. That isn’t the way I was meant to be,” Crosshair said, stalking up to Hunter. “But if you knew a fraction of the things I have done of my own free will, you would be doing it for me. I didn’t have a chip in my head telling me what to do. I chose.”

Hunter’s eyes were unbearably soft. He reached out to put a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder.

“Cross—”

“What don’t you understand?” Crosshair snarled. He shoved Hunter, hard enough to make his brother stumble back. “I killed innocent people. I wanted to kill you. I would have killed Omega.” He emphasized each statement with a shove. “You say you care about me, but if you knew what I’d done you’d send me away before I could blink.”

Hunter’s expression turned dark. “We—”

“So do it!” Crosshair challenged. “I’m no use to anyone like this. Send me away to be fixed. Send me away to be made back into a good solider, a—”

“That’s enough!” Hunter roared, grabbing Crosshair roughly by the wrists.

“I put a gun to my head!” Crosshair yelled, the admission bursting out of his chest and leaving his throat raw. “That’s not normal!”

Hunter’s stunned silence swept the room and he stood frozen, emotions swirling across his fast too fast for Crosshair to read them. Crosshair stared at him defiantly, breathing hard.

“What?” Hunter breathed. Crosshair’s shoulders shook with his next exhale.

“I’m dead weight,” he said. “I’m dangerous. I’m no help to any of you. I’m not even help to myself.”

Hunter searched his eyes, agony written in his own.

“We don’t care if you’re useful to us,” he said quietly, sounding shocked. “We… that’s not where your worth is.”

Crosshair looked down and swallowed hard, this fight suddenly draining from him.

“Don’t send me back,” he whispered. This time, he didn’t care how pathetic he sounded. His head leaned forward until it rested on Hunter’s chest. “ Please .”

Hunter wrapped his arms around Crosshair and held him tightly.

“Never,” he said fiercely. “ Never .”

Crosshair let himself melt into Hunter’s embrace, squeezing his eyes shut as his vision blurred with tears. His chest spasmed with suppressed sobs, and he pressed his face into Hunter’s shoulder.

“It’s alright,” Hunter said gently. One hand moved to the back of Crosshair’s head. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this.”

Crosshair hadn’t felt this small since he was a child, when he was still good .

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. Hunter’s grip tightened.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “We’ll work through this. Together.”

——

It was late when Omega returned. Crosshair was curled on his bed, pretending to sleep as to be left alone. Evidently, his brothers filled her in on the situation, as the door creaked open and, with much sniffling, Omega tiptoed across the room.

“Crosshair,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

Crosshair kept his eyes closed, hoping she would leave before his guilt ate him alive. Omega sniffled again and climbed up onto the bed, and shifted until she was as close to him as she could get, her head under his chin. She gently took his left arm and pressed it to her chest, and planted a kiss to his hand. The action shocked Crosshair. Crosshair’s hands were made for destruction—and yet, she cradled his hand like it was something precious. Like it was good.

Omega sniffed again, and Crosshair’s resolve broke. He pressed his mechanical hand to the back of her head and pulled her close, and she immediately began to cry, still clutching his hand.

For the first time, Crosshair considered the fact that maybe—just maybe—if his hands could hold her and comfort her… maybe they could be good.

——

“I should’ve known.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Echo tried. Hunter shook his head. It rested between his hands, his elbows on the kitchen table.

“I should’ve noticed something was wrong. I smelled something off, but I thought it was just the soil. I’m still not used to the smell of it. I didn’t realize until Wrecker said he was hurt that it was blood. I should have—”

“Well, for that matter, I should’ve seen it, too,” Echo said grimly. “I’ve known far too many brothers who have suffered from the same affliction. I’ve even known of some who’ve bled themselves dry from what they’ve seen.”

“You aren’t here all the time,” Hunter protested. “It’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not yours, either,” Echo pressed. “Finding someone to blame won’t help. We have to move forward and think about how we can help Crosshair.”

“He thought we would send him back,” Hunter told the table miserably. “He thought we’d think him broken, revolting. He…” Hunter raised his head to look at Echo, horrified. “He said he tried to shoot himself.”

Echo’s face mirrored Hunter’s. “What?”

“He said he was dead weight. That he was useless, and he thought we’d send him back to become useful again.”

Hunter dropped his head back into his hands.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

Echo sighed and squeezed Hunter’s shoulder.

“I don’t, either.”

——

“Echo and Hunter said that… that you did it to yourself,” Wrecker hazarded, his voice sad. Crosshair let out an annoyed sigh and shifted on the couch.

“Yes,” he bit out. There was no point in denying it, now.

“They said you’re hurting in here—” Wrecker tapped his chest “—and in here.” He tapped his head. “And that you take it out on yourself.”

“And?” Crosshair pushed, irritated. Wrecker looked down and shifted.

“Well… I was thinking. I’m strong. If you need to take something out, then—”

“No,” Crosshair snapped. He took a steadying breath. The idea of hurting Wrecker made him recoil. “That… won’t help me.”

“Oh.” Wrecker looked downcast. “Let me know if… there’s another way I can help.” He turned away sadly and began to walk away.

Crosshair sighed.

“Wait,” he called out. Wrecker looked back at him hopefully. Crosshair sighed again.

“Perhaps… I could use a hug, from time to—”

Crosshair was dangling in the air before he could finish his sentence, wrapped tightly in Wrecker’s arms.

“We love you, Crosshair,” Wrecker said. Crosshair swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, and clung tightly to Wrecker.

Chapter Text

Crosshair lied and told Hunter, after much interrogation, that he had used his knife to cut himself. That was swiftly taken away, as was anything else sharp in his room. Crosshair wasn’t sure why he lied, but after such an honest explosion, his instinct was to stubbornly clam up. It was the only thing that kept him permitted to garden.

Surprisingly, he was still allowed outside by himself. Hunter mistakenly thought that gardening was helping Crosshair. It was, just not in the way Hunter thought. It felt like a dirty secret, when Crosshair was left alone with his shovel. It kept him sane. It kept him able to pretend he was healing.

Although Crosshair was allowed his days outside by himself, it became common for his brothers or Omega to sit outside with him. It became common for them to sit inside with him, too. For all his fear of being alone, Crosshair soon found the constant supervision agitating, and relished his time alone with the shovel all the more.

Hunter took him at his word when Crosshair lied and said he was doing better, too. When he lied and said he didn’t want to cut himself anymore. Hunter pulled Crosshair into a tight hug and said he was glad, said he was proud.

Tech’s goggles glared in an accusatory way when Crosshair said he was, too.

——

Crosshair’s hand shook as he pressed the shovel to his arm. For a moment, he hesitated and pulled away, but then pressed down firmly and dragged it across the skin. Droplets of blood welled up immediately, merging together. Crosshair let out a breath of relief and brought the shovel down again.

A hand grabbed his wrist.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Echo said. Crosshair lowered his head in shame, and stood in compliance when Echo pulled him up.

“Medpack!” Echo called out when they were in the house, talking to no one in particular. He deposited Crosshair at the kitchen table.

“In the bathroom!” Hunter called back. Echo stalked to the bathroom. The shovel, still clutched in Crosshair’s hand, littered dirt against the wood. He had enough presence of mind to twist his arm to prevent the blood from staining the table.

“What happened?” Hunter asked, his voice closer. He spotted the shovel first when he rounded the corner. “Did you nick yourself… again…” Hunter trailed off, staring at Crosshair’s arm.

It was ironic, in a way, that the action that used to bring Crosshair relief from his guilt now only served to bring him more remorse. He looked away, unable to stomach Hunter’s distraught face. The chair next to him scraped against the floor as Hunter all but fell into it and took Crosshairs’s arm in his hands. Crosshair didn’t fight. There was no hiding the cuts that were clearly only a few days old, no more than he could hide the ones he’d just made.

“I… I don’t understand,” Hunter breathed out. Crosshair suspected he was talking mostly to himself. “I thought… I thought you were getting better.”

“I lied,” Crosshair bit out.

“Why?”

Crosshair yanked his arm back, unable to stand Hunter’s gentle touch.

“Because it’s what I deserve.”

“That’s not true,” Hunter argued.

“Hunter’s right,” Echo said before Crosshair could refute. He set the medpack down on the table and took the seat across from Crosshair. “It’s not true. You don’t need to punish yourself for things you can’t change.”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” Crosshair spat out. “This is mine.”

“Then I guess it’s time to find a new hobby,” Echo shot back. Crosshair glowered at him, but couldn’t find a reply.

Hunter silently opened the medpack and began cleaning Crosshair’s arm. Not a single word passed between them as Hunter carefully applied bacta patches over his arm.

Crosshair stubbornly stared at the table until something wet dropped onto his arm. He knew what it was even before he saw Hunter wipe at his face, which did nothing to make him feel less guilty; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Hunter cry.

——

“I gave him the shovel.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“He cut himself with it, before. I knew it was sharp. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Hunter—”

“I keep failing him, Echo.”

“It’s not your—”

“Stop saying that! It is my fault.”

“Hunter—”

“I’m going to bed.”

——

Hunter took the shovel; in fact, he took everything in the house that could possibly be considered sharp and locked it away in the closet that housed Crosshair’s rifle.

“How will you make dinner?” Crosshair asked drily. He watched from his position on the couch with some amusement as Hunter angrily shoved the knife block into the closet.

“I’ll manage,” Hunter snapped back.

Crosshair rolled his eyes and spun a toothpick in his mouth. With a swift yank, Hunter confiscated that, too.

“What will I do with that?” Crosshair protested.

“I don’t know,” Hunter said shortly. “But I’m not taking any chances.”

“I can’t help but to think that this is… overkill,” Crosshair said. Hunter leaned against the back of the couch and sighed.

“Bring it up again if you’re ever in my shoes,” he muttered. Crosshair looked away.

Crosshair was no longer permitted time to himself, either. The only place Crosshair was allowed to be unsupervised was the fresher.

So Crosshair fished the razor that Wrecker had broken out of the trash and raked it across his ribs.

When Hunter asked to see his arms that night, Crosshair hesitated, but said nothing about the aching, itching cuts that lined his sides, and offered his arms without complaint.

Chapter Text

Wrecker sat outside with him one evening, talking about something Crosshair wasn’t listening to. His mind was focused on the chip of wood in his hand that he’d peeled off the bench, the chip of wood that he was slowly, steadily scraping against the side of the bench, sharpening it as best he could. Echo appeared in the doorway of the house and waved Wrecker over. Crosshair continued scraping. He didn’t know to what end he hoped to reach. All he knew was that he wanted the pain. He needed the pain. He deserved the pain.

“You’re determined, aren’t you?” Echo muttered. He plucked the half-sharpened piece of wood out of Crosshair’s hand and tossed it to the side.

“I’ve been told it’s one of my few good qualities,” Crosshair snarked back.

Echo sat on the bench next to him, so close that their shoulders touched. Crosshair shrank away. He suspected from the way Echo sighed that it wasn’t as subtle as he had intended.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” he announced. There was something sad in his voice as he added, “I… came to say goodbye. To you.”

“Good luck,” Crosshair replied mechanically, and then he frowned as his brother’s words sank in. “Is it… dangerous?”

“It’s always dangerous,” Echo said. “This time’s not any different. I just… wanted to say goodbye. In case you aren’t here, when I come back.”

“Where would I go?” Crosshair asked. His heart rate picked up against his will. He always knew, despite Hunter’s promises, it was only a matter of time before he was sent away.

Echo sighed again and looked around the yard before answering. When he did, his voice was tight.

“I don’t know what will happen while I’m gone,” he said. “I don’t know what you’ll do. I’ve lost so many brothers, and I wanted to give myself a chance to say goodbye, just in case.”

“I’m not going to kill myself ,” Crosshair sneered. Echo finally looked at him.

“And how are we supposed to know, when you won’t let us help you?” Echo challenged. “Hunter told me you already tried once.”

Crosshair looked away. “That was none of his business to tell you.”

“He blames himself for all this, did you know that?”

Of course he would. Of course, Crosshair would only continue to be a burden.

Echo sighed yet again. It was starting to irritate Crosshair. “I don’t mean to try to make you feel worse. Just… consider how you would feel if any of us were the ones doing it. If one of us was set on destroying ourselves until there was nothing left.”

Crosshair grit his teeth and continued to stare at the ground. Echo rose to his feet.

“I’m going inside,” he announced. “You can stay out, if you want.”

“Hunter… doesn’t let me stay outside by myself,” Crosshair said, hating how much he sounded like a child with a curfew. Echo shrugged.

“I know. I’m not Hunter. Just…” he paused for a moment. “It might not be our skin you’re hurting, but… it doesn’t mean it’s not still hurting us. We love you, Crosshair, and we’ve all lost too much. Don’t take you from us, too.”

With that, he was gone. Crosshair scowled and picked up the piece of wood again. He stared at it with disgust for a long moment before letting out a yell and chucking it across the yard, as if it were the one hurting his family, not Crosshair. His head fell into his hands, his mind swimming as he tried to process what Echo had said.

Kill himself. Crosshair shuddered. It had been a mistake in the panic of the moment. He wouldn’t —would he? Crosshair was already well acquainted with the unsettling lack of control he had over his own mind, over his own actions. Would he?

One thought rang through Crosshair’s mind, clearer than the rest, a thought he’d never had before: he didn’t want to live this anymore—and yet, he had gone too far to pull himself back out.

“What am I supposed to do?” Crosshair snapped at the nearby flowers.

The yellow trumpets, shrinking and closing for the night, provided no answers for him. The stalk of one was bent, keeping the flower in the dirt. Crosshair kneeled down and straightened it. It fell again. After some searching, he found some string and some sticks, and successfully assisted the flower into an upright position.

“There,” he muttered. “You’ll stand on your own in no time.”

Unwanted, a voice in his mind that sounded irritatingly like Tech’s drew his attention to the facts of the situation: when the flower was damaged, it could not begin to heal itself without support. That without the support, it would wither away in the dirt.

“It’s not the same,” Crosshair sneered. All the same, his hands shook.

——

Echo’s words swirled in Crosshair’s head, keeping him from sleeping more than a few hours. He rose early to see Echo off, and when Echo hugged him tighter than usual, tight enough that the cuts on Crosshair’s sides burned, Crosshair made his decision.

“I’ll see you when you get back,” he said firmly. Echo pulled back and looked at him for a long moment. Crosshair gave him a silent nod.

“You’d better,” Echo said.

“I will,” Crosshair said. “I promise.”

Echo looked at him for a long moment, and pulled him in for another hug. His eyes were misty when he pulled away, and he gave Crosshair a nod.

When Crosshair returned to the house, he made a beeline for the fresher and removed the broken razor from where he had taped it to the back of the drawer. The metal glinted alluringly, but Crosshair scowled and marched out of the room, and didn’t stop until he had reached Hunter’s room. Without a word, he crossed the floor and pressed the broken blade into Hunter’s hand.

“What—”

Crosshair pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the fresh and half-healed cuts that littered his sides.

“Oh, Cross .” Hunter rubbed a hand over his forehead.

“I want to be better,” Crosshair said. His voice shook as much as the rest of him, and admissions tumbled out of his mouth. “I don’t want to be like this anymore, but I can’t stop. I was made to destroy things.”

Hunter pulled him in to a hug, careful of his cuts.

“No,” he said firmly. “You were made to be loved , no matter what the Kaminoians intended you for.”

Crosshair wrapped his arms around his brother and let himself cry like he hadn’t in a long, long time.

——

“None of this… is your fault,” Crosshair hazarded as Hunter silently applied bacta patches to his cuts. Hunter’s jaw clenched.

“Of course it is,” he muttered. His eyes glanced up to Crosshair’s. “I’ve failed you, Cross, time and time again, and all I can say is that I’m sorry.”

Crosshair was silent for a while.

“If… I am going to try and heal,” he said haltingly, “truly, this time… if I am going to try and… forgive myself for my mistakes… I want you to do the same.”

Hunter was clearly displeased by the idea. He ran a hand over his face and let out a long breath.

“Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” he muttered. He looked back up at Crosshair. “But you have to do it for real, this time.”

“I will,” Crosshair said. “I’ll try.”

Hunter let out a breath and nodded.

“Then I will, too,” he agreed, begrudgingly. “For you.”

——

It was not easy.

Crosshair didn’t think it would be—but it was not easy. His skin crawled, his cuts itched, and he ached to scratch them until they bled again. His missed the sharp pain and the blood, and the clarity that came with it.

Hunter could tell, even when Crosshair neglected to tell him. On the days that it was the worst, Hunter would take him to the beach and hold his hand as they paced back and forth together. They would skip rocks and watch the sunset, and Crosshair could breathe easier.

He all but moved into Hunter’s bed. Lying awake at night never brought anything but temptation, but talking to Hunter until they both fell asleep distracted him from his need to bleed.

It wasn’t easy, but… it got easier. Omega’s laughter, Wrecker’s hugs, Hunter’s conversations—even Batcher drooling into his lap—were a balm to his soul. Eventually, slowly, Crosshair believed them when they told him he deserved love. Eventually, slowly, the urge to cut himself ebbed away.

Omega helped him plant more flowers, and soon the yard was an explosion of color. Hunter helped him prune them, Wrecker enthusiastically helped him water them, and Batcher dug up and ate several of them. Crosshair didn’t care; in fact, he laughed harder than he’d laughed in a long time when he turned around and saw an entire bush halfway down Batcher’s throat.

Crosshair felt a little silly, but one morning, he carefully took Tech’s goggles from the mantle and brought them outside.

“Omega helped me plant them,” he told Tech. “So did Hunter. Wrecker wanted those blue ones over there.” He hesitated before the next words.

“I did it,” he said quietly. “I did all this. I… made something grow. I didn’t destroy it.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m better, now, Tech. I wish you could see me.”

“He can,” Hunter’s voice said. Crosshair hadn’t heard him come outside. “I’m sure of it. And I know he’s proud of you, Cross, just like I am.”

Crosshair didn’t bother to blink back the tears in his eyes as he looked down at the goggles cradled in his hands—his steady hands.

“I miss him,” he said. It wasn’t enough to encompass everything he felt, but he knew that Hunter understood.

“Yeah,” Hunter said with a heavy sigh. His hand squeezed Crosshair’s shoulder. “I miss him too.”

The breeze was warm. The birds sang in the trees. Crosshair took a long breath, and get at peace.

——

“How are you doing?” Echo asked when he returned, in the middle of a long hug that he seemed to have no intention of ending anytime soon; that was fine with Crosshair.

“I’ve never been better,” Crosshair replied, and he meant it.