Chapter Text
Echo had been kneeling in the prickly underbrush long enough now that he could feel pain in his cybernetic legs. He knew that wasn’t possible by any means; it was all in his head.
But for kriff’s sake, if he had to wait any longer, he might just tempt ruining his team’s planned ambush. Patience had never been his strongest virtue, though he had believed himself to have gotten better since his cadet years. Being with the Bad Batch must have destroyed all that progress.
A drawn out groan crackled in over comms. “How much longer do I have to stand here? I hate waiting.”
Echo couldn’t help but crack a smile. Typical Wrecker. At least Echo wasn’t the only one sick of this.
“Shut it Wrecker.” Crosshair’s voice grumbled. “No one likes this.”
“Then why are we doing it?”
“As much as I sympathize with your complaints,” Tech jumped in, “I’d recommend keeping them to yourself. We wouldn’t want to alert our enemies and render all this time a waste.”
Echo could practically see the exasperated shake of Hunter’s head as his sigh sounded over the comms. “Tell me you see their approach Crosshair.”
“Negative.”
Wrecker gave another groan that incited more squabbling.
If anyone had told Echo months ago when he’d first joined the Bad Batch how similar to uncooperative cadets they could be, he would have laughed. Clone Force 99 had amassed a reputation that no other battalion of clones had before. Five clones capable of taking down a hundred droids in a matter of minutes, all specializing in different fields that contributed to their 100% success rate. Echo still couldn’t believe he was a member of such an incredible team.
Yet despite all that, the members of the Bad Batch were brothers just like the rest of the Clone Army. They got on each other’s nerves and bantered as effectively as their mission success rate. In some ways they reminded Echo of the Domino Squad in its earliest days. Kriff, they could be worse than Echo and Hevy had been, and he hadn’t thought such a feat possible.
Thinking about his batchmates made his heart ache, but Echo had gotten better about dealing with it. Hevy, Cutup, and Droidbait deserved better from him than brushing off their memories because it caused him pain. Fives had never shied from it. He’d forged on ahead with their lives as another reason to fight. The loss of Fives hurt more than anything, but Echo would do his best to make his twin proud.
Fighting for his new set of brothers was just the start.
“Wait.” Echo was pulled from his thoughts at Crosshair’s voice. “I have a visual.”
The line went silent as the Batch waited for their sniper’s analysis, the anticipation thicker than the planet’s muggy air. Echo’s grip on his blaster tightened.
“Standard company,” Crosshair finally said after what felt like hours. “Two tanks and four spider droids. A dozen super battle droids and more than double that in standard.”
“Any sign of the carriage?”
“Between the tanks,” Crosshair confirmed for Hunter.
“Alright,” Hunter said. “Call out when the carriage is in position. Tech will activate his explosives and the rest of us will rush in.”
“Finally!” Wrecker cheered.
Echo inwardly agreed with the sentiment as his muscles tensed, ready to move in a moment’s notice. No sign of apprehension existed in his body or mind. Only exhilaration made his blood sing.
Crosshair gave the signal and an explosion rattled the earth. Echo flew out from his position to enter the ambush, fighting fluidly alongside his team as the droids struggled to recover.
The clankers never stood a chance.
“One more for the books.” Wrecker’s smile was infectious as he turned from where he’d been rummaging in the cooler. He brandished two large bottles of whiskey. “Was there ever any doubt?”
“Not likely,” Tech said, missing the rhetorical nature of the question. “Compared to many missions we’ve been on, this was rather standard. Destroy so many droids because the regs were incapable of doing so, and report to the General stationed nearby.”
Echo shook his head though he couldn’t help his grin. “I actually thought it was easier than the typical mission. The clankers hardly had a chance to counter from the ambush.”
“Ha!” Wrecker handed Echo one of the bottles and slapped his back. Echo nearly fell off his chair from the affectionate gesture, but he recovered quickly. “You got that right.”
“The typical mission? Already that confident, reg?”
The three in the Havoc Marauder’s cabin turned toward Hunter as he stepped in from the cockpit. Crosshair didn’t follow, likely volunteering to cover flying due to his dislike of drinking and celebrations in general.
Hunter’s fond tone and smile gave away the affectionate turn the word “reg” had become in regard to Echo. At first Echo had been unsure of the nickname, noticing the Bad Batch using it as an insult to the typical clone, but he’d come to accept and appreciate it for himself. It gave him a sense of belonging with his new team.
“Whiskey?” Hunter continued, turning his attention toward Wrecker.
“Aw come on, Hunter. It’s been so long since we’ve had the good stuff.”
“I’m not sure two bottles will be enough to cover us.”
Wrecker guffawed. Echo snorted as well before using his cybernetic arm to pop the cork off. He handed the bottle to Hunter and opened the other bottle for an enthusiastic Wrecker. The large clone quickly took a healthy gulp of the drink, letting out an appreciative whistle as he lowered the bottle from his lips.
“Damn this stuff is good. We should have it more often.”
Tech rolled his eyes. “Seeing as how you can drink an entire bottle singlehandedly and still want more, I calculate we would run out of funds in less than a week.”
“You’ve done calculations for that sort of thing?” Echo asked.
“I do calculations for everything. Though technically I don’t need to for this.”
Echo shook his head in amusement. He grabbed the offered bottle from Hunter with a nod of thanks and took a small sip. The whiskey burned pleasantly on his tongue and down his throat, settling into his stomach. He’d grown more appreciative of the flavor, especially compared to his early days with the 501st when Fives would drag him to 79’s. Even during his time as an ARC where free time was few and far between, Echo had only tolerated the drink.
Funny how war changed things. Though Echo could never reach the levels to which Wrecker loved the drink. He’d probably die of alcohol poisoning before ever coming close.
The Batch continued to drink and converse. Echo mostly watched, jumping in when prompted or to throw a snarky comment at something said, but otherwise enjoying the show. Wrecker had downed three quarters of his bottle before the one shared between Echo, Hunter, and Tech had reached halfway. The large clone’s gestures became more animated as he regaled stories of previous missions Echo hadn’t been a part of. Tech chimed in with corrections that dimmed the man’s feats, making Wrecker’s boisterous voice grow in volume. Echo had quickly learned that alcohol dulled Hunter’s senses, as the Batch’s leader hardly reacted to the shouting other than taking another sip.
Echo had drunk enough to give himself a warm buzz and slightly cloudy feeling in his mind, but otherwise stayed light. He’d had enough alcohol to black out once before deciding to never do it again. Even being fully drunk made him uncomfortable, preferring to be only slightly tipsy before cutting himself off.
The rest of the Batch had no reservations. Tech’s speech had begun to slur as he babbled an incomprehensible mess while Hunter looked half asleep where he stood. Only the man occasionally bringing the bottle back up to his lips for another sip gave away his wakeful state.
The warmth of the whiskey mixed with the sensations of all his brothers around him gave Echo a strong sense of content. He could probably fall asleep in seconds where he sat and suffer none of his usual nightmares.
His eyes slowly slid toward the cockpit. Well, most of his brothers.
Echo stood up from his chair and stretched out his arms. He offered Hunter a pat on the shoulder as he stepped past, jolting the man from his half-conscious state and making him take another sip. Echo snorted at the sight and continued on toward the cockpit.
Compared to the liveliness and warmth of the cabin, the cockpit was practically a cavern. All of the lights had been turned off, the distant glow of stars and the ship’s controls being the only source for Echo to see. It was noticeably colder even with the alcohol warming Echo from the inside, none of the radiating warmth of moving bodies to up the temperature.
Sat at the controls was Crosshair with his helmet on. The man didn’t turn at his presence, but Echo knew the man had noticed him. He lumbered over to the co-pilot’s chair and collapsed into it. He shuffled to find a comfortable position and relaxed, letting his eyes wander toward the view of space in front of him.
He’d come to appreciate the calm of space not dominated by battles. Where once it existed as something to get through to reach a planet and battle site, now Echo could enjoy it for what it was – an endless black littered with twinkling stars and colorful planets full of life.
The feeling of being watched caught his attention. He slowly turned his head to the left to see Crosshair’s helmet tilted in his direction. It didn’t make Echo uncomfortable despite his disdain for being watched. Perhaps it was the alcohol in his system, given that he’d never met anyone with a more penetrating gaze than Crosshair. The sniper’s ability to unravel a person through an unfaltering glare was almost as amazing as his sniping.
“Something on your mind?” Echo asked after a few moments with Crosshair saying nothing.
“No.”
Echo snorted. He could feel the sniper narrowing his eyes at him in response.
“Can’t handle a little alcohol?” Crosshair shot back.
Echo waved him off. “Nah. I don’t like being drunk.”
“At least that’s one of you,” the sniper grumbled. He turned his head back to facing forward. “I can’t handle those idiots when they’re all bumbling messes.”
“Well what about you?”
“What about me?”
“You could at least have a couple sips.”
Crosshair said nothing. His body remained still, not giving anything away. He seemed to be debating something. It made Echo perk up a bit, his mind clearing as he watched the sniper. A quiet Crosshair wasn’t an unusual Crosshair, but times when he stopped to consider his words were rare. They typically led to small confessions that Echo didn’t hear often.
“I can’t handle alcohol,” the sniper finally said. “My body has trouble digesting it. A single drink could make me inebriated.”
Echo’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“No, I made it up.” Crosshair sneered. “Of course it’s true. Why would I lie?”
“I don’t know. I just wasn’t expecting it.” Sensing the sniper’s growing agitation, Echo quickly moved on. “Well what about Wrecker? He can down an entire bottle and barely seem tipsy.”
Crosshair’s shoulders relaxed as the tension bled out from them. “Wrecker’s body is the polar opposite of mine. All of his systems work extremely fast which is why he can eat as much as he does so often.”
Echo frowned as he contemplated it. “So his defects give him a fast metabolism.”
“Among other things,” Crosshair agreed. “It also explains why he can recover from injuries in a day when it would take others a week. He never gets sick either.”
Incredible. Echo had never been terribly sick, only coming down with a cold once or twice in his life. The Kaminoans had designed the clones to withstand illnesses of all kinds, but the conditions of some planets were far more powerful than engineered genetic mutations. Given all the missions the Bad Batch had gone on, especially on a variety of planets in short periods of times, Echo would immediately assume each member had suffered being sick more than the typical clone. Their defects were another factor to consider in, as the Batch’s genetics could lack the Kaminoan engineered safeguards.
Learning of Wrecker’s enhanced systems was amazing in itself, yet Echo found it more amazing that Crosshair was the one telling him. He rarely had full conversations with the sniper, and he certainly hadn’t expected the man to know so much about the subject. Though given that the sniper was also the team medic, it shouldn’t have been that surprising.
But Echo still had trouble connecting the prickly sniper to his medic status. The Batch suffered few injuries, typically only minor scrapes or burns if anything, and those could be treated thoughtlessly by the one injured. In his time with the team, Echo had only known his wound from the commando droid’s lucky shot as necessary for Crosshair’s attention.
Echo was thankful that his team kept free from harm, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity toward Crosshair’s medic status. He didn’t know the extent of the man’s knowledge or expertise. Kriff, he didn’t even know how Crosshair had become the medic of the Bad Batch.
Thinking about it all, Echo felt ashamed. He’d been a part of the Bad Batch for months, learning about his new brothers and telling them bits about himself. He could list Wrecker’s favorite droids to smash in descending order and follow along with Tech’s tangents without trouble. He even knew what sensations made Hunter’s enhanced traits act up and how to minimize them to alleviate their effects on the man.
Yet he knew little about Crosshair.
Glancing over at the sniper’s still form as he piloted the ship, Echo frowned. He considered Crosshair a brother like the rest, but there was still so much he didn’t know about the man. Crosshair sneered at and deflected questions Echo asked like an art, becoming unpleasant enough that Echo would leave him alone. To improvise Echo had limited asking direct questions, turning to merely studying the sniper from a distance.
He learned more from that than any attempt at asking a simple question.
One thing in particular surprised Echo during his observations. It wasn’t obvious at first glance. Kriff, it had taken Echo months to notice, and he prided himself in how aware he was of his surroundings.
Though thinking about it, it made sense. Crosshair was a sniper with enhanced eyesight to boot. Not much could slip past him even if he wasn’t out on the battlefield. On missions his ability to pinpoint the smallest of details often determined the team’s success. Echo wouldn’t be surprised if the sniper could take out an admiral in an orbiting starship while being on the planet below.
But Echo, much to his chagrin, hadn’t paid much attention to Crosshair outside of missions. He knew of the sniper’s snarky and sometimes cruel remarks, and the strange habit of always having a toothpick in his mouth – Echo still couldn’t figure out where he stored them all – but it hadn’t been until he’d opened up to Crosshair in that forest when the man had treated his wound for him to realize just how observant the sniper was.
Crosshair always seemed to know when someone was lying. His eyes would narrow at his target, and his lips would pull further into a frown. Echo had noticed the technique first used on himself when he’d attempted to hide his discomfort from his cybernetic arm acting up. Crosshair had said nothing, simply glaring at him until Echo felt like he was back on an operating table with droids hovering over him.
Needless to say, he’d gone to Tech to take a look at his arm quickly after that.
It was fascinating in a way, how effectively Crosshair could pinpoint a problem and glare at his target until they succumbed. Even the steadfast Hunter could only last so long against the penetrating gaze.
Though Echo couldn’t be sure of Crosshair’s reasoning. He wasn’t naive enough to think it had anything to do with Crosshair’s medic status. He was a sniper first and foremost, detached and clinical no matter the circumstances.
It made the most sense to Echo that Crosshair did it for his own benefit and the wellbeing of the team overall to avoid a mission failure. The Bad Batch wasn’t used to failure given their perfect success rate, but Echo knew they’d experienced loss in different ways. Crosshair especially hated failure. His expression would harden over losing simple bets with Wrecker, and he’d be grouchier than usual for the rest of the day. It got annoying pretty quickly, especially if Echo somehow found himself the focus of the sniper’s ire, so he’d learned to avoid Crosshair on those days.
Echo assumed this hatred toward failure stemmed from the sniper’s impeccable aim. He rarely, if ever, missed his target. The few returns the Batch had made to Kamino revealed quite a bit to Echo on each of his new team members. He’d watched one of Crosshair’s sessions at the shooting range, following the sniper out of a childish need to stick close to someone familiar and who didn’t stare at his cybernetics. Crosshair had sneered at his presence but totally ignored him once entering the range.
Watching the sniper in his element was entrancing. He hit every target perfectly, including the ones Echo had trouble seeing. Echo’s praises had even made Crosshair smile. It had quickly morphed to resemble one of his arrogant smirks, but it still meant progress between the two of them.
If Echo had learned at least one thing right away about the sniper, it was that his ego was almost as impressive as his aim. Not that Echo could blame him. Crosshair had a right to gloat over his sharpshooting skills. Sure it could be annoying, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t back up his cocky attitude and smirks. If Crosshair said he would shoot a target, Echo had no doubts it would happen.
It wouldn’t be a stretch to claim Crosshair as the Republic Army’s greatest sniper. Kriff, maybe even the entire galaxy’s.
Not that Echo would ever tell the man that.
A loud round of laughter coming from the cabin startled Echo from his thoughts. He blinked back the glaze that had settled over his eyes, shifting to sit straighter in his seat. Crosshair let out a quiet sound of amusement at his reaction. Echo shot a half-hearted glare in his direction. It, of course, had no effect.
“You really can’t handle alcohol.”
“Whatever,” Echo grumbled. He turned away from the sniper, relaxing back into the chair and closing his eyes. “Wake me up when it’s time to switch watch.”
“Copy that,” Crosshair said, smirk evident in his voice.
Echo ignored it as unconsciousness quickly settled over him like a blanket.
He had no nightmares, not even a semblance of a dream. An endless black surrounded him on all sides of his floating body. Yet he felt none of the usual anxiety or dread. Instead he felt calm.
It must have been hours later when he awoke more rested than he’d ever thought possible. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well and woken this refreshed.
But he’d woken up naturally. No alarm or someone shaking him awake.
Echo turned in his seat, expecting to see Crosshair still piloting and wondering why the sniper hadn’t woken him. He blinked in surprise at seeing Wrecker’s large frame in the pilot’s space instead.
Slowly Echo turned back to face the opposite way again. His head felt light and his chest warm despite the alcohol’s effects on his body gone. It had been ages since he’d experienced a feeling like it naturally.
For reasons he wouldn’t voice, especially to the man responsible, Echo smiled. He knew this peace wouldn’t last – it never did – but for now he would enjoy it.
In time he would make it up to the observant sniper. Maybe he’d even learn a few things about him in the process. Like that one burning question Echo had been wondering about for months. It was far past time he heard the story of Crosshair becoming a medic. Given all the Bad Batch had gone through, it had to be a good one.