Crosshair: I Dont Even Like Echo Hes The Worst I Cant Believe We Did All Of This For A Reg

Crosshair: I don’t even like Echo he’s the worst I can’t believe we did all of this for a reg

Echo: *makes jokes two seconds after being unplugged from the Techno Union computer, jumps on the back of a keeradak without hesitation, fights with them and kicks serious ass, and comes up with a strategy so chaotic even Tech was like ‘what arE YOU DOING?’*

Crosshair: ……. I would die for him

Tantiss Shadow

Illustration for my fic L'expérience part 2 of my series La Meute

info post | AO3 | FF.net

The Return :

Rex: I sleep with a blaster under my pillow.

Anakin: I sleep with my lightsaber.

Obi Wan: Both of you are pathetic.

Anakin: Oh yeah? What do you sleep with?

Obi Wan: Cody.

Crosshair, glaring at Hunter: Here comes our slutty brother, intent on fucking half of the GAR.

Tech: Why, what's wrong with the other half?

Keep On Moving

Relationships: Crosshair & Hunter & Tech & Wrecker

Content Warnings: Blood and Injury, Emetophobia, Drug usage

Summary:

After being sent on a mission injured, Wrecker has to rely on stims to keep going. Whilst he's used to the after-effects, that doesn't make them any more pleasant. Thankfully, his brothers are looking out for him when he inevitably crashes.

Word count: 2,448

Read on Ao3

Wrecker's chest aches as he leans on a wall heavily. Breathing's become difficult. He's got multiple broken ribs, that's for sure. If the list of issues stopped there, Wrecker would be fine. But the ache in his knee has become a stabbing pain and there's a persistent stinging running down his spine and arms every time he moves.

He hasn't got the time for this, nor is this the place for him to crash. They're at the heart of a Separatist base, in the middle of a mission. His brothers need him.

Truth be told, Wrecker had felt bad long before the mission started. The last few days have been rough. Between sleepless nights thanks to bad dreams and the general wear and tear combat puts on his body, Wrecker would have rather curled up in a corner and not moved for the next seven to twenty-four hours.

But that's not a choice he gets to make. There's a war on, battles to be fought, droids to be demolished. If Wrecker clocks out now, he won't just be letting his brother's down, he'll be putting them in serious danger.

Thankfully, they've restocked recently and have been provided with what he needs; stims.

Hands shaking, Wrecker fishes the small box out of his pack. He stares at the lined up stims inside for a moment, dreading the needles that come with using them, as well as the inevitable low after the effects wear off. But for his brother, Wrecker will take both any day.

Wrecker unlatches the side of his chest plate just enough to fit a hand under it. Stims are simple to use, no precise injection needed, as they're intended as a last resort. Even a dying soldier could use one. Not having to look for a vein or watch the needle sink into his skin is a small mercy Wrecker is very grateful for.

He slips the stim under his chest plate, administering it close to his heart. Wrecker grits his teethe as the liquid spreads into his muscles, burning the entire way in. He hears the vial shatter as he throws the empty stim to the ground. After a beat and a split second decision, Wrecker grabs a second stim from the box and uses that too. One won't last long enough, he needs the extra boost.

Wrecker rubs at the injection site as he waits for the drug to kick in. His breath comes in short gasps as the liquid spreads through his body, feeling like fire under his skin. He knows it'll stop feeling so bad after a moment, but somehow the time between injection and the stim taking effect always feels like an eternity.

“Where are you?” Hunter's voice hisses through Wrecker's comm.

“Be there in a moment,” Wrecker answers, reluctantly pushing himself away from the wall he's been using as a support. Wrecker staggers forwards, legs uncooperative. He knows the stim will kick in any moment and once that happens, everything will be easier than breathing.

Two steps and Wrecker's body calms to feeling warm rather than on fire. Two more and he feels truly awake for the first time in days. One more and the pain's fading away.

It's not gone, but it isn't pain any more. It's distant, like a warning. When Wrecker pushes down on his ribs or puts too much weight on his knee, it's like his body is telling him not to do so, but not like it's screaming at him to stop any more. This Wrecker can ignore.

Inhaling deeply, Wrecker cracks his neck. This is the fun part of using stims, the part where he becomes efficient, strong, useful. Like he's supposed to be.

The urge to move faster grows in Wrecker's chest, twisting in a way that demands attention. So he complies. It feels good to run, like fresh air after being cooped up inside the Marauder for days.

Droids that would have been difficult to deal with earlier are nothing compared to the energy the stim gives Wrecker. He barely uses his blaster any more, opting to tear into his enemies with his hands.

Blood rushes in Wrecker's ears, heart pumping furiously in his chest. A droids neck snaps with a satisfying crunch, Wrecker rips wires out of another's chest with his hands. If it weren't for his helmet, Wrecker would feels the urge to get his teeth involved as well.

Every cell in Wrecker's body is alight with the drive to fight, to claw his way through the hoards of droids. He has to keep moving or his heart may burst. Or maybe his blood will boil or he'll simply lose his mind. Wrecker doesn't know what will happen, only that he has to keep moving.

Wrecker yells as he slams into a group of droids with his body. He knows from experience that his throat will hurt later, but doesn't care. The overwhelming need to vent his energy in any way possible wins that debate every time.

The corridor is clear for a while, no enemies in sight. When Wrecker spots the next droid, he sprints at it, grabbing it by the chest and lifting it in the air.

But this one fights back, its hand connecting with Wrecker's helmet, making his head ring.

“Put me down and snap out of it!” a familiar voice says as Wrecker's hands are clawed at not by mechanical fingers, but real flesh and bone ones. Wrecker gasps, letting go of Hunter.

Wrecker almost hits Tech when he's suddenly at Wrecker's side, but manages to keep his reflexes from acting out. “How many did you take?” He sounds judgemental, like Wrecker doesn't know his own limit.

“Two,” Wrecker says, holding his fingers up to indicate the number in case the verbal response didn't leave his mouth. He doesn't think it did. Wrecker knows that four is the absolute most stims he can handle. Thankfully that was tested on kamino, because the heart failure five stims very nearly caused would have killed Wrecker were it not for immediate treatment.

“Good,” Tech says. “I assume we can forget trying to keep this mission stealthy.”

Wrecker nods, almost feeling guilty, but the intense drive to keep fighting prevents him from succumbing to the emotion. He rocks back and forth on his heels, shaking his arms out and flexing his hands. His body is full of warning signals now, ones he will continue to ignore.

Wrecker has to do something, preferably something destructive, but with no enemies about he's stuck feeling like a caged nexu.

His brothers don't wait around forever though, only long enough to inform Crosshair about the change in plan. They begin to give Wrecker orders, point him at enemies or doors in need of opening, give him directions. Wrecker follows them, not focusing or acknowledging anything but his brother's voices and the jobs he is given.

It's a familiar rhythm, one they always fall into when one of them is on more than one stim. It gets hard to think fast, hard make rational decisions. So they let a brother decide. Other than Wrecker, using multiple stims is something they try to avoid. It's not like he's put on missions to think anyway.

Time passes in an unusual way, jumping between sluggish and sped up in random intervals. It would be easier to keep track of the things Wrecker's asked to destroy than keep an eye on the time. Wrecker barely feels attached to his body at all, mind drifting blankly as he hits things with his fists. At times, his vision is reduced to swirling blurs.

None of that matters, Wrecker just follows his brothers voices, their orders.

Someone saying he did a good job tells Wrecker they're done with the mission. Wrecker doesn't answer, head still swimming from the stims. Even with his thoughts reduced to unorganized fragments, Wrecker knows that he should enjoy the effect of the drug whilst it lasts. The aftermath is never pretty.

Sure enough, moments after a vode announced them being halfway to the Marauder, Wrecker's hit by a violent wave of nausea. He has enough sense left in him in his drugged state to pull his helmet up, a lesson most troopers learn in their cadet years.

Wrecker sways on his feet as he expels the content of his stomach on the floor. He squeezes his eyes shut, heaving for air.

“Oh great, that's started already,” Crosshair comments.

“Shut up, Cross.” Wrecker swings his arm in the general direction he'd place Crosshair's voice coming from without looking up. Locating the origins of a sound with only one functioning ear is near impossible, so Wrecker hits nothing but air.

Whilst the first symptom of the stims wearing off has already reared its ugly head, Wrecker's still semi functional. His vode know he won't be that way for long, so they pick up the pace.

As the drugs effect lessens, it's almost like Wrecker's body wakes up to all the pain that was a distant warning moments ago, all whilst the exhaustion is making collapsing seem more inviting by the second.

Wrecker's forced to stop once more thanks to the persistent urge to throw up, this time only resulting in him spitting a mouthful of vile tasting saliva onto the ground. Other than that minor slip, Wrecker manages to compose himself rather well, legs only giving out halfway up the Marauder's steps.

Wrecker waves off Tech's help, dragging himself up, grasping at the ship's walls. Vision swimming, Wrecker heads straight for the corner near the sleeping rack. He can't lay down, not after using stims. The risk of choking is too high. Wrecker pushes his back into the corner, tucking his legs against his chest.

He starts tugging off pieces of armor as his brothers board the ship, knuckles bloodied and mangled enough to make even the simplest clasp a struggle. It's nothing bacta can't fix, but right now, Wrecker can barely move his fingers.

A huff from Crosshair alerts Wrecker of his presence, making him look up just as his brother shoves a bucket into Wrecker's hands. “Quit fumbling with your armor, it's painful to watch.”

Wrecker wants to give his brother an equally irritating response, but the nausea gets to him first, forcing him to hunch over the bucker Crosshair just brought him. Nothing but bile and watery spit come up this time, burning Wrecker's mouth and throat. A stabbing pain settles its self behind Wrecker's eyes, the lights making his head hurt, so he stays leaned over the container.

Crosshair helps Wrecker with his armor as he refuses to look up. He's sure there's a second pair of hands on him at some point, but Wrecker doesn't feel the need to confirm nor deny that assumption. An bone deep ache has settled in his body along side the spikes of pain he knew where there, but hadn't felt properly until the stim started losing its effect.

Armor fully removed, Wrecker glances over the edge of the bucket. The lights have been dimmed, same as they would if Hunter had one of his headaches or they were bothering Tech. Wrecker lets his brothers manoeuvrer him about as they administer first aid. He hasn't got the energy to force himself to move, but he trusts them. Tech speaks to him, though his voice is distant and unclear. Wrecker thinks he's listing injuries.

He hopes he won't need stitches. Wrecker couldn't handle any needles right now. He's almost glad pain killers can't be mixed with stims, so at least that hypo can be avoided.

His brothers give him a bit of space once they're done. Usually starved for any affection from his vode, stims can make Wrecker jumpy, make everything feel like too much. Wrecker can feel bandages rub against his skin at various places, his knee, around his chest, there's something stuck to his face. His hands are so thickly wrapped, Wrecker has to hug the bucket to keep it close. There's something soft an warm around his shoulders, one of the blankets they'd acquired on a missions. The GAR issued ones are rough to the touch, Tech and Hunter can't even tolerate handling them without their gloves on.

Wrecker inhaling sharply as he's sick again leads to a coughing fit, making every ache in his body and his pounding headache spike in intensity as his body is shook. When Wrecker can finally get a laboured breath into his body, he feels a hand on his arm. He raises his head weakly to catch Tech's goggles glinting in the low light.

“Are you alright?” Tech asks. Wrecker just groans in response. He wants to say yes, especially after all his brother have done to make him comfortable. But it would be a lie, and Wrecker's too tired to try doing so convincingly.

A sympathetic look ghosts over Tech's face before he sits next to Wrecker, close but not touching. The gesture means a lot to Wrecker, though he doesn't know why Tech bothers. Wrecker knows he smells bad at the moment, blood, sweat and vomit hanging in the air around him. Even without Hunter's enhanced sense of smell, being near Wrecker can't be pleasant.

“Thank you,” Wrecker slurs, hoping Tech hears him.

Wrecker can barely pay attention to his surroundings as the stims side effects wrack his body, but he catches bits and pieces of his brothers conversations. He tries to focus when they talk about the next mission, or rather if they'll have down time before they're needed again. It seems none of them know, though Wrecker can't be certain. The stims can make him hear things that aren't there sometimes.

If they're next mission ends up being soon, without any break, Wrecker will be entirely useless. That is of course unless he uses stims. As awful as they make him feel, Wrecker's thankful the GAR supplies them with the drug. Wrecker needs to have his brothers backs no matter what and with stims, not even his injuries can stop him. Thanks to stims, he's avoided being a liability many times.

Wrecker still hopes they'll get a break. The way things are going, he'll burn through their supply of stims fast. And that's the last thing Wrecker wants his vode to have to deal with.

Someone pulls the bucket from Wreckers grip, placing it next to him again moments later, having been washed out. Wrecker curls in on himself, pressing his face against the cold wall, grabbing at the blanket weakly.

No matter what's thrown at them, Wrecker will endure. He's doing it for his brothers after all and he'd go through anything for his brothers.