Chapter Text
“Wolffe! Wolffe! Wolffe! Wolffe!”
Chanting and the drumbeat of stomping feet filled Cody’s ears as he circled his opponent on the mat. It didn’t bother him that the other cadets favored Wolffe to win over him. They were as evenly matched in hand-to-hand combat as any two cadets could be, both landing a near equal number of blows on the other while struggling to maintain the upper hand. The last two rounds had ended in a stalemate. Cody was as eager to end this sparring match as his fellow cadets.
Sweat poured down Cody’s face, stinging his eyes, but he refused to take his gaze off Wolffe for the second it would take to wipe it away. Droplets of blood and puddles of moisture covered the mats beneath their feet, threatening to slip them up. Cody and Wolffe were too careful for that. Easy mistakes could be fatal.
Behind them, the instructors grew impatient with what was shaping up to be yet another draw. The boys were exhausted, and their bodies ached, but they were too stubborn to give up, and too smart to risk giving the other an advantage by making a bold move.
“If you don’t land a hit, you get to fight me next,” one of the instructors called, annoyance laced in his tone. They were tired of waiting.
Wolffe’s eyes flickered over Cody’s shoulder and back again. Nostrils flaring, Wolffe let out a quiet snarl, and then he lunged.
To Wolffe’s great satisfaction, he indeed landed a punch. Cody doubled over with the force of it, wheezing as the air was forced out of his lungs. Recovering quickly, Cody returned Wolffe’s hit with several consecutive blows. It wasn’t enough to stun him, but Wolffe was distracted enough that Cody could get a leg under him and take him to the floor.
Cheers erupted in a tidal wave that washed over Cody’s ringing ears as he landed blow after blow to Wolffe’s upper arms and torso. He was valiantly covering his face, preventing a broken nose or a concussion, but Cody was strong. It took little for Cody to break through Wolffe’s defenses, pinning his arms to the mat with one hand, and raising the other for the finishing blow.
Wolffe’s eyes were wide and wet as he stared up at Cody. Blood trickled from a cut above his eye, mixing with the sweat on his brow. One side of his face was a swollen mass where another cadet had bounced his head against a wall. The cadets were tough, but they were also young, and Wolffe couldn’t mask the primal emotion etched into his expression: he was terrified.
While Wolffe couldn’t move his hands enough to tap Cody’s leg, the universal sign that he’d had enough, he was able to wrap his trembling fingers around the portion of Cody’s hand that he could touch. Wolffe’s eyes slipped shut. He had accepted his fate, whatever Cody decided.
Cody’s fist shook as he held it in the air. The skin of his knuckles had split, and his own blood mixed with the blood of his brother as it trickled down his wrist. Slowly, Cody lowered his arm, looking over his shoulder at the waiting instructors.
“He tapped out, sir.”
The head instructor stared at Cody as though he was a particularly stupid animal. “Did I tell you to stop?”
Cody swallowed hard around his heavy, dry tongue. “No, sir.”
“Do you think the enemy would stop for you? Would he feel sorry for you?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Cody’s eyes darted back to Wolffe, who remained lying prone. “I can’t, sir. He’s hurt.”
“You can’t?”
The head instructor stepped forward, swiftly taking Cody’s arm into his grasp. Cody cried out as he was lifted, his shoulder screaming with the strain.
“Then you’ll fight me, and see exactly how much mercy the enemy will show you.”
While Cody could hold his own against any fellow cadet of the same age bracket, even some of the older ones, the same could not be said of the Cuy’val Dar. Their Mandalorian instructors were as skilled with weapons as they were in hand-to-hand combat. They did not tap out. They did not show mercy.
Two of Cody’s batchmates had to carry him to the infirmary after the match was over. Wolffe accompanied him. He could walk on his own, though he struggled with a noticeable limp.
“It was a good fight, Cody,” Bly told him as he and Fox transferred Cody onto a cot. It was little comfort to Cody, who could only grunt in response. His eyes were sealed shut, leaking blood like tears down his face. He couldn’t see his brothers, but he could feel that they were near.
As soon as the medic arrived, Bly and Fox were sent away. Only Wolffe remained, since his injuries were severe enough to warrant attention.
Despite the bruises that ached down to Cody’s bones, and the certainty that at least a few of his ribs were cracked, it was the throbbing in his fist that bothered him the most. The hand he had raised against Wolffe had caused his brother to suffer. Wolffe was not his enemy, yet he was asked to treat him like one. The wrongness of it all squeezed Cody’s heart like a vice. He fought back a sob, wishing that his brothers had not been sent away so that he had to wallow in his guilt alone.
A curtain rattled as it was drawn aside, and heavy footsteps retreated across the medical bay. For one brief moment, Cody was truly alone, left to wonder if his brother could ever forgive him for enacting such violence against him.
Less than a second later a small, cold hand touched his, and Cody jerked it away with a cry. Quiet shushing calmed his panicked breathing. Two hands wrapped around Cody’s bruised fist.
“It’s me, Kote.”
Cody didn’t deserve such terms of affection, the name that had been given to him for his bravery and skill in battle sims. Glory. Nothing about his actions that day had earned him that title.
“I know you can’t speak,” Wolffe said. He spoke quietly and quickly, afraid of being overheard. When the medic returned, they would be separated, and Cody would be left behind again.
“He hurt you badly because of me. Because you wouldn’t hurt me. You shouldn’t have done that. You should have just hit me. I might’ve been knocked out, but I would’ve been alright.”
Cody’s head rocked back and forth violently, the only communication he could show Wolffe.
Not to you. I couldn’t, not to you. My brother.
“You’re so kriffing stubborn.”
Cody’s cot dipped with Wolffe’s weight as he climbed on. Though they were both bruised, and beaten, and utterly defeated, Cody eagerly accepted the embrace Wolffe offered as he leaned their foreheads together as gently as possible.
“I know you would never hurt me, Cody. But next time, you need to hurt me. He may have been cruel, but he was right. We can’t show mercy to the enemy. If you’re weak, you die. And I don’t want you to die.”
Footsteps echoed as they crossed the medical bay, growing closer and closer to the curtain that separated Cody and Wolffe from the rest of the world. Quick as a mynock, Wolffe scrambled off the cot, leaving Cody with one last gentle squeeze by his cold hands.
Though the contact was brief, it filled Cody with an unexplainable warmth. Cody’s body was made for something more than fighting and suffering. It was made to protect, and comfort, and show affection to the ones he loved. Cody was a weapon, but he was also a person. He could make his own choices.
And he could show mercy to his brothers, no matter how weak that made him.