Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Throughout his life, Rex has amassed a decently-sized list he's chosen to label "Things That I Am Going To Be Okay With". 

Of course, the name of the list belies the fact that he's not okay with them at the moment, but that's the point of them being on the list in the first place. He's not okay with them at the moment, but he'll be alright with them eventually.

One of those Things is that his captain is going to drive him insane.

That's the easiest Thing to deal with most days, mostly because said captain embarks on insane escapades on an upsettingly regular basis. Rex can't count the amount of times Anakin has called him to say he's going off to do something with Padme, or something needs to be done with the twins, or something similar. Anakin's going to give him gray hairs someday.

Another one of those Things is much harder to deal with. 

Sure, Rex is happy to have his own place. As great as it was living with Cody for all those years, he's almost certain that if he had to spend any longer with his cousin, he'd have strangled him. Despite that, he still finds himself missing company - mostly on those days where he's not working. There's no real reason to get out of bed, because there's nothing that depends on him. He'd get a cat or a dog, except he doesn't trust himself to not lose them, and fish are beyond boring. 

Yeah. It's on the list because as of right now, he'll cry about it if he thinks about it for too long. 

Cody thinks he's lonely, and that he needs to get out into the dating scene. Cody is also full of shit. He may have been Rex's best friend from the age of seven and housemate from the age of thirteen, but that doesn't mean he knows anything. Rex is almost certain that if he went on a date, he'd either combust, or the fire station itself would explode without him there to watch over it.

He's great at distracting himself! Cody has absolutely no idea what he's talking about with all of his "unhealthy coping mechanisms" and "avoidance" shit. Just because he has a therapist, he thinks he's the paragon of mental health or something. Rex is perfectly fine with all of his trauma, thank you very much.

He's perfectly fine, he reminds himself, grip tightening around his pen as a crash rings through the air. Whatever is happening, it doesn't need him, because that's how normal people react to mysterious crashes in the workplace. That's how normal supervisors react when they're handling the Coruscant 501st.

Another crash splits the air, and Rex groans, resigning himself to yet another round of late paperwork. As he pushes his chair back from his desk, he finds himself swearing to all that is holy that if there is one more incident involving mischief, shenanigans, or any general kind of tomfoolery before he finishes his work, he'll make all of them do it instead.

"Alright," Rex sighs, pushing open the door to his office as one hand comes up to massage the bridge of his nose. He's twenty-nine - too young to be getting gray hairs and wrinkles - but with how much these guys make him frown, he's going to look like a raisin in a couple of years. "What in the hell is going on here?"

Much to his surprise, the culprits are gone. Well, gone is certainly an overstatement - Rex is pretty sure they just dove under or behind something - but they're nowhere nearby, and certainly nowhere nearby the currently leaking barrel of chili.

A barrel of chili. A literal barrel of chili.

Rex is going to scream.

"Jesse," he snaps, one hand coming up to try and massage the wrinkles out of his brow. "Hardcase. Why is there a barrel of chili in front of me?"

"Well," Jesse pipes up from somewhere nearby, and Rex makes a conscious effort to relax. He's almost certain that if he doesn't, whatever Jesse says next is going to make him cringe hard enough to strain a muscle. "Kix said that if talking about things didn't help, then we should try cooking therapy-"

"-and we wanted to bring in the chili for the rest of the crew," Hardcase adds, and Rex sighs. Of course they did. "So we brought it in, but the lid fell off, and we tried to pick it back up, but it kept falling over-"

"Is it good chili?" Rex asks, having moved past the first four stages of grief during Hardcase's explanation. Sure, they'll have to clean it up, but they know that already.

"Of course," Jesse grins, and Rex sighs again, one hand coming up to run through his hair. 

"Great. Clean this up, and we'll have the rest of it tomorrow. Not today," he adds, sensing Jesse and Hardcase's dejection, "but tomorrow, when the rest of the squad is on shift."

Before Jesse and Hardcase can protest - or try to get him to help clean it up, which he absolutely would - he rushes back into his office, shutting the door behind himself and letting out a long sigh. Outside, he can hear the muffled noises of Jesse and Hardcase collecting cleaning supplies from somewhere or another, and as he slides down to sit on the floor, he finds the aching hole of loneliness in his chest only feels deeper.

Being arrested, Fives thinks, is absolute bullshit.

First off, they shouldn't be arrested in the first place. He didn't do anything, and Echo didn't do anything - in this case, anyways; he's pretty sure Echo's involved in a lot more illegal things than he's aware of - so there's absolutely no reason they should be sitting in a prison cell.

Secondly, they absolutely didn't need to take all their stuff. It's not like they even brought a lot, anyways! Fives grabbed their emergency bags, not an entire suitcase - those just have a change of clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, and a towel! It's not like they have a giant grand conspiracy to escape somehow stored inside a bottle of toothpaste!

Thirdly, it's cold.

Fives hates being cold.

He casts his gaze towards Echo, whose gaze is pinned staunchly on the far wall. The bruise on his jaw is already starting to purple, the color standing out even starker against his sickly-pale skin, and Fives nearly moves towards him before thinking better of it. 

His hands are still covered in blood, and it's long-since started to dry. His fingers stick together whenever he moves, and he's sure there's clumps of blood drying in his hair.

Echo would know how to get it out of clothes, he thinks, winding his arms around his legs as he casts his gaze towards the ceiling. Echo's focused on working it out of his leather jacket, in fact, tongue poking between his lips as he scrubs the material with his t-shirt. The police confiscated everything he normally keeps around for cleaning, so Fives knows it can't be easy.

He picks at the sleeves of his varsity jacket, gaze drifting to the splotches of blood coating the sleeves. He's never going to be able to wear this jacket again without seeing all this blood, which sucks. He's not a starter on the boloball team for nothing - he earned this jacket.

"You alright?" he asks, and Echo turns to meet his gaze, eyes softening upon seeing Fives's exhaustion. He's like that, Fives thinks - a bleeding heart under all the gruffness and sharp edges. He's always forgiven Fives, even when he really shouldn't have. 

He doesn't deserve his twin. Really, he doesn't.

"I should be asking you that," Echo replies, gaze darting towards the cuts on his hands. They're not even bleeding anymore, so Fives shakes his head, stuffing his hands in the sleeves as he slides a bit closer to Echo.

"Not even bleeding," he shrugs, and Echo reaches out to grasp his wrist. The cool metal of his prosthesis sends chills down Fives's spine, but he submits himself to his twin's poking and prodding as Echo uncurls his blood-coated fingers. He examines his knuckles, his fingertips, and finally sighs, flesh hand reaching down to tear a strip off his t-shirt.

Fives starts to protest - Echo loves this shirt, got it as a gift from one of his best friends when they went to Alderaan months ago - but Echo shuts him up with a glare. He winds the fabric around his fingers with care and ease, and ties it off with a few quick movements, sitting back to stare at the bars. 

"I'll keep watch," Echo states, and the familiarity of the words eases some of the latent tension in Fives's bones. He leans over, resting his forehead on Echo's shoulder, and his twin sighs, though it's a sound more of relief than one of worry. 

They're here. They're here, and even though they're in literal jail, they're safe. She can't get to them anymore.

As Fives drifts off, he finds himself wondering - if their mother is in jail, who's going to come for them?

"For the last time, Cody," Rex sighs, scribbling his signature on a piece of paper with more force than the document really warrants, "I do not need to go on a date."

"You're lonely," Cody shrugs, perching on the side of Rex's desk like a particularly annoying animal. Not for the first time, Rex has the sudden thought that Cody could easily be a German Shepherd - one that jumps on top of him and eats his paperwork personally. The fact that he actually remembers an incident where Cody ate a piece of Rex's homework on a dare isn't helping his case, either.

"I am feeling a completely normal amount of loneliness," Rex casually replies, as if he's not lying to everyone and himself. "You just want to have little nephews."

"Like you don't wanna have kids," Cody points out, and yeah, he's kinda got him there. Rex is the first to admit he's awful with kids - god only knows what he's supposed to do with schooling and decorating and Those Awkward Talks - but somehow, he really would like to have a family. Maybe have some kids to play with and such.

Of course, given that most of his parenting experience comes from a mother he hasn't spoken to in sixteen years, maybe it's better he's perpetually single.

Cody swings his legs around to peer at Rex's papers, and Rex sighs, passing him a couple of forms he doesn't have the mental capacity to fill out. Cody's the lieutenant of the Coruscant 212th, just like he's the lieutenant of the 501st, but unlike him, Cody actually has a captain who does his paperwork. Hence, he spends more time than he probably should in Rex's office, making sure he doesn't become a social recluse who only sees his family on holidays or if he happens to be saving their house from burning down.

Rex can't complain. Cody's a lot quicker at paperwork than he is, anyways.

He buries himself in a form about the requisitioning of new equipment from somewhere or another, and he's so distracted by the fine print and specific terms that he nearly misses it when the phone starts to ring.

"I've got it," Cody assures him, and Rex sags in relief, spared from having to break his already fraying concentration. He turns his attention back to the line about interest and payment, but he only makes it through three words before Cody's tapping his shoulder.

"I don't got it," Cody mouths, and before Rex can properly lament Cody's continued commitment to making his life slightly more painful, adds "it's for you." 

Well, if it's supposed to be for him and Cody doesn't have it, then Rex has to take it, and Rex doesn't exactly want to take much of anything right now. Unfortunately, he does get paid for this. 

He sighs, plucking the phone from Cody's hand and turning his gaze to the closed door. God knows what kind of mischief Jesse and Hardcase are getting up to right now. Hopefully, it doesn't damage anything too badly. The loading bay still smells like chili.

"Is this Rex?" the person on the other side asks, sounding as irritated as if they had to go through twenty people instead of spending five seconds with Cody. Granted, Cody does have that effect, but Rex thought that was localized to him specifically. It's either that, or this person is just inordinately pissed off.

"This is Rex," he replies, and the person sighs with a kind of long-windedness that speaks of hours upon hours of exhaustion.

"Great. Look, I'm Bric from the Kamino Police Department, and I've got two kids here whose closest non-incarcerated relative is you."

What.

"What."

Cody stares at him, a million and one questions held in his searching gaze. Rex is almost entirely sure that he's going to need answers to all those questions himself, so he gives his older brother a lop-sided shrug in response.

The hysteria hasn't quite set in yet. Of course, that's only going to happen if this is true, and not an incredibly elaborate joke, which it has to be. There is absolutely no way he's just been called to carry out child acquisition.

"Their mother's currently in custody pending multiple charges of child abuse, assault, and neglect," Bric continues, and this sounds a lot less like a joke than Rex would like, "and a lot of other things I don't have the time to list. Can you take them, and if so, how long do we need to hold them?"

If this isn't a joke, Rex is absolutely going to scream.

He rolls the words back over in his mind, his brain hitting the immediate snag of their mother. He hasn't had much contact with his mother's side of the family in- in sixteen years, probably, so either that entire side of the family is dead, or they're a lot more related to Rex than he thought they were.

A part of him is mildly impressed with how non-hysterical he is over the prospect of acquiring two children. Another part of him says to give it twenty minutes.

"Right," he slowly replies, trying to formulate a response that isn't just another "what". "And what- what is their mother's name, exactly?"

"Nala Se," Bric snaps, and the phone slips out of Rex's hands.

Chapter Text

"If you don't stop hyperventilating," Cody states, leaning around to peer at Rex's face, "I'm going to take the wheel."

Rex personally thinks a bit of panic is justified, honestly. They're almost to Kamino, rushing through the two-hour drive with a speed that would have Cody's captain in hysterics, but the closer they get, the more panic is starting to set in. Rex is driving to Kamino, where he hasn't been in sixteen years, to pick up two kids that are, apparently, his brothers! 

What a completely anticipatable situation! Rex is dealing with this so incredibly well!

"You look like you're about to scream," Cody adds, and then, in a softer voice, "Rex, if you need me to drive, I will."

His brother - and Cody is his brother, he's the one who came to Rex's school functions and taught him how to tie a tie and gave him the awkward talks his biological mother couldn't, and oh boy, that's an entirely different thought, because Rex has been running from his past for sixteen years and now his past is back to bitch-slap him into oblivion - reaches up to settle a hand on his shoulder. The added weight is just enough to tether Rex's attention to the road, and he sucks in a long breath, trying to remember the coping techniques Hardcase mentioned. 

Maybe he should see the station therapist. God knows Jesse's been trying to get him to visit his twin since the beginning of time. 

"Will you come in with me?" Rex manages to ask, and it's a lot more strangled than it really should be. He's the lieutenant of the Coruscant 501st - the most insane, off-the-wall station in the entire city. He's survived that. Parenting should be a breeze.

Oh god, he doesn't even know how old they are. How did he get this far without that information? How is he going to do this?

"Breathe, vod'ika," Cody murmurs, reaching out to rest his hand on top of Rex's. It's a little bit funny - Rex's gloved hand under Cody's rough and calloused one, one of them clearly still dressed for work and the other dressed for leisure - and the sight calms Rex down just a bit more. "You've got me," he adds, "and Captain Skywalker, and Jesse, Hardcase, Captain Kenobi, Mrs. Padme," and Rex almost laughs at that, because despite Padme's best efforts, she hasn't been able to get either of them to drop the "Mrs", "Ahsoka, Jesse's brother... you're not in this alone."

"Half the people you named are not fit to be parents," Rex quips, entirely meaning Anakin and his general posse. Sure, Anakin does have the most experience of anyone besides Padme, but that doesn't mean Rex would trust him alone with a child. Of course, he handles his own children just fine, but he still worries.

Gods above, he's turning into a worrying dad. He's going to fucking scream. 

"Do you want me to drive?" Cody repeats, a hint of steel in his voice that belies the fact that it's not really a question. Still, Rex will be damned if Cody drives his car. It's a rust bucket, to be sure - a truck that's seen far better days and barely qualifies as a car anymore - but it's his baby, and Cody has made one too many jokes about selling it for Rex to let him drive it and not accidentally crash.

He's not giving Cody enough credit. Logically, he knows he wouldn't, but in the face of utter chaos, it's nice to be a petty bitch sometimes.

"I've got this," he states, squaring his jaw and steeling himself for the task ahead.

Rex absolutely does not have this.

Cody's standing next to him while Bric slides over the two folders, his expression the image of exasperation. He looks like he wanted to be home four hours ago, with a gruff scowl and narrowed eyes that speak of both exhaustion and a general willingness to punch Rex in the face if he finds himself so inclined.

"Their names are Fives and Echo," Bric grouses, seeming almost willing to hand the two kids over to anyone as long as it means they're not his problem. Rex ignores that, instead opting to flip open the first of the folders.

The picture attached is of a teenager - and gods, Rex isn't qualified to parent teenagers, holy hell - grinning at the camera, a varsity jacket hanging off his shoulders and a mop of curly hair just barely brushing his ears. There's a small tattoo of a five by his temple, and Rex assumes this one must be Fives.

He skims the rest of the file, disturbed entirely by the fact that it's over three pages long. Disciplinary offenses, prior arrests, reports - this kid has them all. Oh gods, Rex isn't qualified to handle well-behaved teenagers - this kid seems to be a juvenile delinquent!

He finds himself rethinking that as he opens the second file, and immediately sends apologies to whatever gods he must have offended to get here.

The other kid - Echo - glowers at the camera in his photo, a leather jacket hanging off his shoulders and his long hair nearly brushing his jaw. Rex can make out a web of scars curling around the side of his head, and as he scans the file, he notes not only a plethora of disciplinary reports and prior arrests, but also a disturbingly thick file of medical records.

Rex sucks in a breath and allows himself exactly three seconds to freak out.

Once the three seconds have passed, he exhales, banishing all prior thoughts and worries from his mind. What past these two have doesn't matter. They're his little brothers, and he's all they have. He's not going to treat them like criminals or delinquents - he's going to treat them like Cody treated him. He's going to treat them like family.

Cody reaches out to grasp his shoulder, a silent question hovering in his eyes - "are you alright" mixed with a bit of "do you have this". Rex nods, short and quick, and Cody's lips curl into a small, proud smile. 

Cody set the bar too high for him, Rex thinks. He doesn't know if he's ever going to be as good of an older brother to these two - to Fives and Echo, he knows their names - as Cody was to him, but he's determined to try.

He sucks in a breath, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin. Fake it until you make it - that's what Cody told him way back when he was trying to garner any kind of respect as the sophomore captain of the boloball team. Fake it until you make it.

"I'll take them," he states, and Bric's lips quirk into the faintest hint of a smile.

The first thing Rex notices is that god, they really are just kids.

One of them - Fives, he assumes, based on the short hair - is asleep on his brother's shoulder, the sleeves of his jacket and cheeks smeared with blood. His brother, Echo, seems to have wrapped his leather jacket around Fives's shoulders, and now stares at Rex with an eerily dissecting gaze, familiar golden eyes boring into his own. 

Rex takes a moment to assess the situation, gaze flitting from the gleaming metal prosthetic Echo sports in place of his right forearm to the strips of fabric wrapped around Fives's knuckles. From the looks of things, they've been in here a while, and Rex digs his nails into his palms to avoid snapping at the officers.

Who the hell keeps two teenagers in a holding cell for hours? Who the hell does that after their mother was arrested for abusing them? They couldn't even be bothered to give them a blanket or anything?

Echo meets his gaze, lips pursing into a thin line as he wraps his flesh arm around Fives's back. He must've noticed Rex's anger, he realizes, and he consciously forces himself to relax. He's not mad at Echo and Fives, but of course they'd think he was - they've never met him, and they probably think he's annoyed at having to come out here and bother with them. Rex would know - he thought that himself when Cody's parents' car pulled into his driveway.

It's been less than a minute, and he's already fucking things up.

"Hey," he murmurs, forcing his lips into a smile that he hopes comes across as genial. "My name's Rex. I'm- I'm here to take you home."

Gods above, he botched it. Not only is he taking these two somewhere they've never met - so obviously not their home - but he's ninety percent sure his smile looks more like a grimace than any kind of reassuring grin. Cody must notice too, since he reaches out to place a hand on Rex's shoulder. 

"My name's Cody," he adds, and Rex thanks all the gods that Cody's here. If he wasn't, he probably would've either run away and started screaming, or just combusted on the spot. "I'm Rex's older brother, so that makes me your older brother, too."

Echo's gaze flits between them, brows furrowed in thought, and when his piercing stare lands on Rex's eyes, he finds himself struggling for breath once again. If there was any doubt they were family, it disappears when he meets his little brother's eyes. He looks almost like a mirror image of Rex at sixteen, all sharp edges and gangly limbs and walls made of durasteel and plastoid to try and keep out anyone outside of his little bubble. His heart aches at the sight.

How could he not have known about these two? How could he have missed this? Now that he's here, standing in front of them, it feels like his heart's expanded to nestle two little brothers inside it, and that expansion weeps at the time he's lost. How could he have not known? How could he have left them for years with their witch of a mother?

"You're Rex," Echo asks, voice rough in a way that speaks of bone-deep exhaustion. He must've been keeping watch, Rex realizes - staying awake so Fives can rest - and that wound in his heart twists so hard it's a miracle the organ itself doesn't rip in half.

"I'm Rex," he affirms, and Bric, apparently deciding that enough is enough, unlocks the cell door. Echo jabs Fives in the ribs as the door slides open, and Fives jolts upright, wide eyes scanning around the room until they land on Rex's face. It's almost incredible to see - sleepy half-openness gives way to anger and fury and painful fear as soon as he sees him, and Fives wraps an arm around Echo in a way that speaks of years of practice. 

Gods, how did Rex miss this? How could he have failed these two so badly?

Echo bends down to whisper something into Fives's ear, and Rex decides to stop standing there like a dog who's just seen his reflection in the mirror and actually move. He moves forwards to offer a hand to - he's not sure who, actually, since it's offered in their general direction - and Fives and Echo meet his gaze with eerily synchronized glares.

Alright. Rex deserves that. Space is the name of the game right now, and he'll learn the rules as he goes.

By the time Rex manages to coax Fives and Echo into the car - and it is a matter of coaxing, since Echo keeps looking like he's considering running off somewhere and Fives is so on edge that any move Rex makes has him flinching back - Cody's waiting in the passenger seat, two backpacks on his lap.

"That's mine," Fives snaps, and Cody hands the red and blue one over without protest. Echo takes his with a bit more decorum, and Rex's gaze flits over the bags, wanting to learn everything he can about the two children - the two brothers he's now found.

Fives's is well-loved, to say the least, bright shades of red and blue faded and stained with time. It's almost impossible to tell what the original design was, but Rex has a feeling it might be some kind of sports team. 

Echo's, on the other hand, seems a fair bit newer. It's all black, with a red skull spray-painted on the front, and as Echo withdraws his phone, Rex notices the case patterned with something similar.

Gods, is he in a gang? Rex doesn't know a lot about gangs, but hopefully the internet can help him. Maybe he'll be able to google "how to get my little brother out of a gang" and find some results. 

"Calm down," Cody murmurs, and Rex actively forces himself to breathe. He's overthinking everything again. He has to take all of this as it comes, not focus on whatever disasters might be lurking down the line. 

"I have an apartment in Coruscant," Rex states, pulling out of the parking spot and driving towards the main road. "I didn't prepare anything before I came, so it's not really ready just yet. I can go pick some things up tomorrow, though."

Fives and Echo study him, eyes scrunched up in matching looks of wariness. Rex is almost certain they don't even know they're doing it, which is oddly endearing. It's all about learning things - learning what they like, what they're like, and everything in between.

Look at him, talking like they're going to stick around forever! As much as that's what he wants - and he isn't qualified for that, but that's a different and very ignorable problem - he has to take things a bit at a time. Maybe they'll hate him, and they'll run back to Kamino somehow to stay with friends. God, do they have friends to stay with? Is Rex completely uprooting their lives by living in Coruscant? He'd move to Kamino, but the nature of being in the Coruscant 501st somewhat demands him being in Coruscant.

A soft rustle catches his attention, and he turns his attention to the rearview mirror, lips curling into a tiny smile at the sight of Echo curled up against the window, face illuminated by his phone screen and backpack draped over his chest. He's messaging someone - and god, they do have friends, Rex is messing all of this up already - and Rex decides to do the good brother-dad-whatever-he-is-to-them thing and not look. Fives, on the other hand, is just staring out the window, chin propped on his still-wrapped fingers and a purpling bruise occasionally coming into focus under the passing streetlights. He's not messaging anyone, phone sat down on his thigh and gaze vacant, which leaves Rex wondering. This is a major life change - and he still feels bad for that - is there really nobody Fives wants to tell?

"Focus on the road, vod'ika," Cody murmurs, hand clasping his bicep in a gentle tug back to reality. Rex nods, snapping his gaze back to the unfolding asphalt in front of him, though even as he's watching, his mind never drifts from his newly-found brothers in the back seat.

God, he's so doomed.

Chapter Text

By the time Rex's "car" - Echo puts car in heavy quotation marks because he's honestly not sure it legally counts as a moving vehicle with the number of safety violations it has - pulls into a parking lot, it's nearly two in the morning.

Echo leans over to nudge Fives with his metal foot, a low sigh escaping his lips as Fives jolts back to awareness. His twin can sleep anywhere, and were Echo not so cognizant of just how much this is not a place to be sleeping, he'd envy him. As it is, he's far too wary to get any kind of good sleep.

The door opens next to him, and Echo looks up into a pair of dark eyes - Cody, if his memory serves. In the mental whirlwind of being picked up by Rex, the presence of Rex's older brother almost slipped his mind. Cody seems to have kind eyes, though, and when Echo's gaze drops to his offered hand, he sees a pattern of callouses that speak of hours of hard work. 

He doesn't take it. Instead, he slings his bag over his shoulder and slides his phone into his pocket, murmuring a quiet word of thanks to Cody as he slides out the door. The older man doesn't seem offended, though, which is nice - he just nods knowingly and follows Rex and Fives's retreating forms.

Rex seems like he's in front of a firing squad, Echo notes, watching as Rex informs Fives of a great deal more things than anyone actually needs to know. His shoulders are drawn tight and lips pursed in a thin line, expression nearly a mirror image of Hunter's whenever his luck for avoiding teachers finally runs out.

The thought of his friends sends a fresh stab of pain through his chest, and he clicks his phone back on, taking in the couple missed messages he still has from them. There's one from Hunter, telling him to stay safe and have a nice night, a slew from Wrecker and Omega demanding information, one from Tech telling him to pick up a part he needs that they only sell in Coruscant - Echo makes a note to reply to that one - and one from Crosshair that just says "L". 

God, he misses them. 

"This is my place," Rex announces, and Echo makes a conscious effort to tune back in. Fives looks dead on his feet, expression blank in the way that netted him detention after detention in their sophomore year - of course, that was back before everyone decided to give up on him after having the collective realization that he really wasn't going to do anything in school well if he didn't want to do it - and Echo takes mercy on a visibly anxious Rex by heading inside.

It's generally a nice place, though Echo's standards might be low. It doesn't smell like Wrecker's place, at least. It's relatively small, with a kitchen directly to the right of the entrance hall and a small living room at the end, and as Echo pokes his head down the adjoining hall, he sees two doors on opposite sides.

Damn, Rex lives like this?

"Rex," Cody tsk's, surveying the apartment with an immeasurable amount of disappointment. "Rex," and that sounds exactly like Hunter does whenever he's scolding Omega for breaking into something she wasn't supposed to get into. Is the older brother voice universal or something?

What fun new things Echo is learning! It almost makes up for the whole being uprooted by his extended family that abandoned him and his twin to their abusive fuck of a mother for sixteen years!

Some voice in his head that sounds like Tech starts to debate if Rex is actually his extended family or not, and he shuts it up with a quick "not now". Turning his attention back to Rex, he squares his jaw, trying to exude the confidence he normally wears like a second skin.

Of course, it's confidence that usually comes with being with the Bad Batch, so being alone just doesn't have the same effect.

"How long are we staying here?" he asks, and Rex pauses, seeming as if he genuinely didn't anticipate that question. Given how frazzled he seems, that's a very real possibility.

"A while?" he vaguely replies, and Cody sighs, drifting past him to examine the contents of the kitchen. "Until the trial, at least."

Right. The trial. The lovely reason they were in prison in the first place. Honestly, Echo would be surprised if Fives got off without their mother pressing some kind of charges - he saw the amount of blood, after all; it'd be a pretty open-and-shut case - but the fact that they're not still in prison leads him to at least entertain the possibility.

"Rex," Cody cuts in, emerging with a couple mugs of caff. Echo almost asks if they're for them, and then remembers how much Rex's hands were shaking and dismisses the thought. He'd be stunned if either of them end up sleeping more than three hours. "It's getting late."

"Getting late," Fives mutters, and Echo nearly kicks him. It's a close thing.

"Right," Rex replies, seemingly having just remembered to be panicked. "Right- are you two alright taking the couch for tonight? I'll set something more permanent up tomorrow, but that's all I have tonight..."

He looks so much like a kicked tooka that Echo honestly feels a bit bad for him. Fives, on the other hand, seems to have much different feelings, since nearly as soon as the words leave Rex's mouth, he flops down on the sofa and shuts his eyes.

Goddammit, Fives.

"I'll get you blankets," Cody states, apparently seizing the opportunity to have Rex and Echo alone. Rex shoots him a pleading look for a moment, seemingly desperate, and Cody, whose company Echo is rapidly starting to enjoy, gives him a winning smile before disappearing down the adjoining hall.

It's quiet for a moment. Echo busies himself with watching Fives sleep, taking in the gentle rise and fall of his chest that was so often in danger the past day. Now that they're here - somewhere small, warm, and apparently safe - the exhaustion of the past day feels like it's all catching up to him at once, and he sits down on the edge of the other couch with an audible thump.

A blanket drapes over his shoulders, and he flinches, head snapping up to meet Rex's gaze. The older man doesn't say anything, instead just stepping back as Echo tugs the fabric tighter around his shoulders and tries to shut out the world.

God, what is he going to do? What's he going to do without the Bad Batch here with him?

"I'm sorry about this," Rex murmurs, and Echo turns to face him, taking in the sharp planes of his face. He looks similar to Echo himself, if a bit less skinny, and as Echo's gaze flits over his form, he catalogues more and more resemblances. 

It's yet another reminder of what they could've had - should've had - and something ugly in Echo's chest twists at the thought. 

"I have no idea what I'm doing," Rex admits, voice low and soft as he tangles his fingers in his lap. "I don't- I don't want to be your dad. Hell, for the last sixteen years, I've been trying to run away from my family. I don't... I'm sorry I haven't been there."

"That's an awful apology," Echo bluntly states, and Rex winces a bit. So he knows it too, then. "Where were you?"

"That's a story for tomorrow," Rex murmurs, head turning to meet a returning Cody's gaze. "For now, you two just get some rest. We can figure everything else out in the morning."

Echo doesn't miss the "we", and he grits his teeth at the prospect that Rex is thinking of them as a family. Family isn't something you're born into, it's something you earn, and Rex hasn't done anything to earn it. Maybe if Echo tells him that, he'll let him leave. He can stay with Hunter and Omega or something.

He's got options. He doesn't have to stay here with someone who proved in every way that matters that he wasn't their family.

A quilt drapes over his thighs, shocking him out of his mind, and when he looks up, he meets Cody's soft smile. "Rest well, Echo," he whispers, and before he can say anything more, Cody disappears down the adjoining hall.

Curse him and his soft smiles. Curse Coruscant. Curse all of this bullshit. Echo misses Kamino. At least there, he knew what he was getting into.

He barely manages to go through the arduous process of removing his prosthetics before the swan song of sleep becomes too much to bear, and when he flops under the covers, it's with no small amount of grump. Curse this stupid, cozy, comfy couch and quilt. He won't be lured in by textiles. 

His brain - goddamn traitor - says otherwise, and in under three minutes, he's asleep.

Rex barely has time to close his bedroom door before Cody's rounding on him.

"You," Cody states, eyes sharp with the kind of determination that Rex knows is going to end in a total loss for him, "need to get your shit together."

Rex, momentarily knocked off-kilter by Cody's words, takes a moment too long to respond. Cody moves around to stand between Rex and the bedroom door, and he can already feel a headache pounding at his temples to the tune of "it's-too-damn-late-for-this-ori'vod". "You're panicking way too much," Cody states, leaning forwards to jab Rex's chest with one finger. "I don't know what's going on here, but it is absolutely ridiculous."

"They're kids!" Rex insists, because Cody is absolutely missing the point here. "They're kids, Cody! I don't- I have no idea what I'm doing! They don't even like me! I'm terrified!"

"Why are you terrified?" Cody demands, and Rex would very much like to go out the door Cody is currently blocking, actually. Goddamn older brothers - can't even let him have his mental breakdown in peace. "You're the lieutenant of the Coruscant 501st. You manage Jesse, Hardcase, and Captain Skywalker as a job and you mean to tell me you're scared of two teenagers?"

"I'm not scared of them!" Rex retorts, and Cody throws his hands in the air, evidently at a loss. 

"Then what the hell is the problem? You've got this, Rex! You're panicking over all these different problems like you're not one of the most qualified people in this city to raise a kid and in the process you're just proving yourself right! You're a hell of a commander and a hell of a big brother! You just need to start acting like one!"

"I don't want to fail them!" Rex nearly cries, and Cody stops short at that, gaze flitting from the tense line of Rex's shoulders to the faint tremor in his hands. It's a reminder of a version of his younger brother he hasn't seen in over a decade - the version of his little brother who his mom brought home at age thirteen, a worn-out backpack clutched in his hands and a quiet request to stay the night he never managed to get out. Back then, Cody swept him up in a hug, determined to chase away whatever monsters were hurting his little brother, but he doesn't know what to do now - now that all the monsters hurting Rex are in his head. "Everything I've seen," and Rex's hands are shaking properly now, "says that abusive parents raise abusive kids, and I don't- I don't want to be our mother! I don't know what to do! I don't even know where to start with all of this because I basically told Echo that I was too much of a coward to find out they existed, and even now I'm terrified because I don't know if I can be any kind of older brother when I've got the blood of the worst parent I've ever known in my veins!"

Cody stands there for a moment, trying to properly process Rex's words, and once he does, he finds himself just as bewildered as he was when he started. "What?" he asks, and Rex must take his question the wrong way, since he collapses on the edge of his bed, head falling into his hands.

Like this, he looks just like he did all those years ago, and Cody hates it. He hates remembering years of seeing his best friend at school with bruises he got from "falling down the stairs" and cuts from "being clumsy while cooking". He hates remembering sitting next to Rex on the second night of his time at Cody's house while his little brother sobbed into his shoulder because his mom had dropped off a couple of things and some paperwork and told Cody's mom to "keep the failure". He hates remembering just how much Rex cried when he told Cody he didn't want to go back, and that he felt awful for feeling that way, because "she's still my mom". He hates remembering how that night, he went down into the basement and punched and kicked his father's punching bag until his fingers bled.

He hates looking at Rex and seeing what his mother did to him, and he hates that she's in custody now, because he can't put her there himself. 

"That's the biggest load of shit I've ever heard," he bluntly states, and Rex's gaze shoots up to meet his.

"But-"

"No. You're not your mother, Rex, and if you're so worried about that kind of 'cycle of abuse' stuff - which is ridiculous, by the way - then you should take your captain's advice and go to see Kix, which I will remind you again, is fully covered by the department. You're not your mother, Rex, and the fact that you're worried about being her is proof enough of that."

Rex stares at him, heart stripped bare by his words in a way that's left him aching. Cody slides over to place a hand on his shoulder, and Rex stares at some place on the wall, expression carefully empty.

"I don't want to fail them," he softly rasps, and Cody shakes his head, tugging Rex into a soft hug.

"Oh, vod'ika, you won't fail them," he murmurs, rubbing soft circles into his little brother's back. "You've done your best so far, and that's all you can give them. And I know," he adds, before Rex can find a point to protest, "that your best will be good enough, because you're amazing at what you do. You're incredible, vod'ika, and I hope you can believe in yourself the way I believe in you."

"Kote," Rex finally breathes, and Cody just sits there, holding his little brother as immeasurable years worth of pent-up agony finally come tumbling out.

It's all he can do, and he hopes it'll be enough. He hopes that Rex managed to hear him through all the pain and grief, and he hopes he listened.

Hoping is a dangerous thing some days, but in situations like this, it's all Cody has left to do.

Chapter Text

By the time Rex wakes up, it's nearly ten.

He curses, gaze flitting first from his unplugged alarm clock to his disturbed bed sheets, and the memories of the night prior come trickling back. Cody must've left earlier - headed to work after Rex cried himself to sleep in his arms like a child.

Right. Child. Children, plural, because Rex is now an older brother.

He sucks in a long, slow breath as he turns the information over in his mind. Last night was... not the correct way to handle things. Many mistakes were made. He's not going to think about that for a little while, because he has things he needs to do. Items to buy, things to file, and calls to make. There's plenty of things to do.

His phone buzzes on the side table, and he rubs his eyes, realizing now that the call must've been what woke him up. A quick check of the caller I.D. reveals it to be Jesse, and he exhales, counting to three before tapping "accept".

"Rex!" Jesse shouts, and Rex sticks his arm out as far as he can in the name of not losing his hearing before he turns thirty. "You didn't tell us you had kids!"

"What," Rex eloquently replies, then promptly remembers that Cody would've called him in on family leave - which is nice - and then promptly refused to explain why - not so nice. Hence, Jesse calling him to get details. 

He can feel yesterday's headache creeping back, and this one feels a lot more Cody-brand.

"I do not have kids," he clarifies, and Jesse makes a small sound of disappointment. "I have two little brothers, who are now staying with me, so I'm going to be out for a couple of days. Is Captain Skywalker there?"

"When can we meet them?" Hardcase distantly shouts, and Rex sighs, casting his gaze over his room as if some item might save him. What does he even say to this?

"Not today. They just got here, and we need to do a lot of shopping before any of you meet them."

"We can help!" Jesse insists, and though Rex appreciates the sentiment, he's almost certain that his friends would be more of a danger than any help. They have good intentions, to be sure, but Rex has already been banned from one IKEA.

"Rex has kids?" someone shouts, and Rex sighs as Anakin apparently steals the phone. The only thing more exhausting than dealing with Jesse and Hardcase at ten in the morning, he decides, is adding their captain to the mix. "Rex, you didn't say you had kids! How old are they? Who's the mom? Can we meet them? What're they like?"

"Is Rex a deadbeat dad?" Jesse gasps, apparently scandalized by the prospect. "Ori'vod, I expected better from you-"

"Again, they are not my kids," Rex cuts in, because if they continue in this vein, Rex is positive he's going to get a very sternly worded email from Padme about the absentee father epidemic. "They are my little brothers, and I literally just picked them up yesterday."

Anakin makes a cooing noise, and if he strains, Rex is pretty sure he can hear Jesse and Hardcase shouting additional questions which seem to range from the normal - "what're their favorite colors?" - to the ones he honestly expected - "do they know how to handle a firehose?" - which he has absolutely no intention of answering. "How old are they?" Anakin asks, and Rex sighs, casting his gaze down at his clothes.

He fell asleep in yesterday's work clothes, which not only feel a bit uncomfortable after so long, but are just generally gross. With a set task to do, he moves to scoop a pair of sweatpants out of his closet, phone balanced between his shoulder and his ear. "They're teenagers," he states, and Anakin makes that cooing noise again.

"Twins?" 

"Twins," Rex affirms, doing his best to pull off his blacks without falling over. "About the family leave-"

"You've got, like, thirty saved vacation days, Rex," Anakin points out, a hint of humor laced in his tone. "Take as much time as you need."

"Thanks," Rex mutters, tugging on an oversized t-shirt he's almost positive was an unwilling hand-me-down from Cody. The fact that it proudly sports the phrase "212th Coruscant" across the chest in bright gold only proves as much. "Please don't burn the station down while I'm gone, and if you need anything, my number is on the desk-"

"I have your number," Anakin hums, and he's definitely finding this funny now, "and we've got this. We'll be fine, Rex. Just enjoy getting to know your little brothers."

Before Rex can say anything else, the call ends, and he finds himself staring down at the default phone wallpaper, thoughts turning over and over in his mind.

Right. It's time to take things a day at a time, and this day can start with breakfast.

Much to Rex's surprise, Fives and Echo are still asleep.

Fives seems to have fallen off the couch at some point, and has now decided to starfish over Rex's absolutely massive rug. He's still in yesterday's clothes, mouth open and a small puddle of drool pooling next to his face, and Rex would be lying if he said he wasn't a bit fond.

Echo, on the other hand, is curled up tight on the couch, a blanket tucked around his shoulders and legs pulled to his chest. Or- actually, Rex realizes, his legs are sitting on the floor next to him, along with a prosthetic arm. Of course. 

Momentary panic now abated, Rex turns his attention to breakfast. He sips on a cup of caff while he roots through the pantry for anything edible, and he's so distracted by this task that he nearly misses the plastic bag sitting on the counter.

It's from Cody, he realizes, pulling open the top and pouring over the contents. There's a small collection of vegetables, a box of cereal, some more caff pods - Rex reminds himself to thank Cody for that specifically later - and at the bottom, exactly what he was hoping for. There's a box of pancake mix. 

It takes a couple minutes of puzzling to locate the requisite bowls and utensils, and Rex silently curses his proclivity for takeout the entire time. He hasn't cooked something for himself in months, at least, and he's absolutely paying the price right now. It's not like he doesn't like to, takeout is just easier.

That's something else he'll have to change.

Preparing the mix takes an embarrassingly long time, and by the time Rex finally manages to finish stirring, it's been nearly a half-hour. He silently glares at the stove clock, taking it as evidence of his failings, and then promptly realizes that making the mix is, in fact, the easy part of cooking pancakes.

Joy. 

He does not have a griddle, as it turns out, so he ends up just pouring some pancake mix into a pan and hoping for the best. The first attempt goes in the trash, and he's halfway through the second when Echo - at least, he assumes it's Echo - drifts into the room behind him and makes a bee-line for the pot of caff.

Rex spares a quick glance to confirm his suspicions, and finds himself wholly surprised at the sight of Fives's short hair. The teenager moves with near-total silence, pouring himself a mug after only a couple seconds of searching, and Rex watches as he drifts towards the kitchen island, pulling out a chair and collapsing into it.

He's so surprised, in fact, that the pancake in front of him nearly bursts into flames. It's only through a few quick maneuvers that he manages to save it, and as he's scraping out the pan for take three, he feels Fives's eyes on him.

"You're terrible at that," Fives points out, and Rex shrugs, pulling out a bit of butter to smear around the pan. That's what the net said to do, anyways, so he's hoping it's right. "Have you ever made pancakes before?"

"No," he simply replies, and decides to ignore Fives's tiny snort. "How did you sleep, by the way? I know that rug isn't the most comfortable..."

"Fine," Fives shrugs, taking another sip of his caff. "Five-star accommodations, actually. Never seen any better."

Fives is lashing out, Rex notes, trying to get a rise out of him. Luckily for him - and unluckily for Fives - Rex has experienced so many years of Cody, Anakin, Jesse and Hardcase that his ability to feel anger at statements is completely gone. It's more like a dull kind of knowledge that the statement should provoke something, but a total lack of any will to actually feel it.

"I can wash that jacket, by the way," Rex offers, and Fives visibly bristles at the prospect. Alright - the jacket is off-limits for now. He gets it. He doesn't like anyone washing his favorite clothes but him, either. 

"Are you usually so happy in the morning?" Fives grouses, glaring at Rex over the rim of his mug. "Or is this just a special occasion or something?"

"I'm usually at work by seven," Rex states, trying to angle his spatula under the pancake-looking-thing, "so I'm usually a zombie in the morning. That's why the pot's so big."

Fives stares at the caff maker for a second, taking in the pot that's nearly the height of his arm, and nods in apparent understanding. That's common ground, at least.

Echo comes trudging in just as Rex flips the first successful pancake onto a plate, and Fives slides him his mug of caff without saying a word. Echo eyes it for a moment, downs it in two gulps, and shuffles back to the pot, eyes half-lidded and expression blank. 

Rex catches Fives's gaze at that, and from the look the teenager gives him, he knows what Rex meant about his mornings from experience. 

"Hey, Echo," Fives calls, and Echo's head slowly turns until their gazes meet. It's a little bit funny, and Rex isn't sure if this is something he should be present for or not. "You gotta get me a new mug, at least!"

Echo blandly flips him off, and Fives snorts, hopping out of his chair to stand by Echo's side. There's a minute or two of quiet bickering before Fives strides back with a cup in hand, and Rex simply watches, somewhat stunned, as Echo drinks the rest of the caff straight from the pot. Not only because it's straight from the pot, though that is part of it - no. Rex is just beyond bewildered that Echo can drink around four cups of caff in under a minute.

"You look like you got run over by a speeder," Fives points out, and Echo flips him off again.

Rex has the feeling that he's starting to get a good sense of their dynamic. 

He's about to pour another cupful of batter into the pan when a knock rings through the air, and Rex sighs, head coming forwards to thunk against the cabinet. It's got to be Jesse and Hardcase. He should've known they wouldn't let him get away with a major life change without at least being able to see the results.

"I'll be right back," Rex states to absolutely nobody. Fives seems enraptured by some article on his phone, and Echo is still staring into space, apparently dead to the world. This is shaping up to be a pretty good morning, all things considered.

He fiddles with the lock for a moment before pulling the door open, an admonishment on the tip of his tongue, when he realizes it isn't Jesse and Hardcase at all.

No - the group standing in front of his door isn't that at all.

The first person he notices is the absolute unit standing before him, an IKEA box slung over one shoulder and the other planted on his hip. The one he notices after that is a smaller kid typing away at a pad in his hand, and next to him, a gangly teen stares pointedly into the distance, a toothpick between his teeth and lips pursed into a thin line. In the front, a teen with long hair seems to be trying to formulate words, and in the very back - Rex has to take another look to make sure he's not losing his mind - a blond preteen sits on the tallest one's shoulders, their elbow resting on his head. 

What.

"Tech," the one in front grits out, turning to glare at the one typing away as if he's personally wronged him somehow, "you said this was where Echo was."

"I'm sure the program was correct," the tiny kid primly replies, pushing his slipping glasses back up his nose. "Perhaps you've simply neglected to do any basic due diligence."

"Ask him if Echo's here!" the one in back shouts, though based on the way he leans closer to the front one's ear, Rex thinks it might've been meant as a whisper. God only knows. 

The one in front sighs, massaging his brows for a moment before turning back to Rex. "Hello," he greets, acting to all the world as if Rex didn't just hear the entire conversation preceding it. "I'm Hunter, and this is Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Omega." Each person raises their hand in turn, and Rex has absolutely no idea what to say to any of this.

"Nice to meet you," he replies, because really, what else is there to say? 

"Stop terrorizing him!" Echo shouts from the back, and Rex barely has time to jump out of the way before Wrecker's barreling through the doorway, IKEA box raised like a baseball bat. Crosshair and Tech follow at a more sedate pace, and Hunter shoots Rex a look of genuine apology as he follows, one hand coming up to fix the skull-patterned headband knocked askew in his hair. 

Skull-patterned headband - this must be Echo's gang. Though, Rex thinks, glancing over the assembled group, it's not like any gang he's ever seen. For starters, most gangs don't bring a child who can't be more than ten along with them on their... gang activities.

Rex may not entirely understand how gangs work.

"This apartment is offensively outdated," Tech scowls, gaze flitting over the appliances as if they've personally offended him. "How old is that caff maker?"

"Where can I put this box?" Wrecker asks - not Rex, which would make sense, but rather Hunter - and the apparent leader sighs, grasping Wrecker and Omega's free hands and leading them down the hall. Rex isn't sure if he should follow them or not, honestly.

"Fives," Crosshair coolly greets, and Rex watches as the pair glare daggers at each other for a solid fifteen seconds before Tech smacks Crosshair with his pad. "Ow-"

"I understand you're attempting to assert dominance in your social hierarchy," Tech deadpans, not even looking up from his pad, "but all your aggressive male posturing is doing nothing but creating an incredibly tense and unproductive work environment."

"You can't disassemble the caff maker," Echo wearily sighs, and Tech quirks one slender brow at the insinuation.

"Disassemble? Hardly. I'm improving it."

God, Rex's caff maker is doomed. It had too short of a life to go out this way. Perhaps Rex ought to hold a funeral - one that the 501st would definitely contribute to, actually, since their continued existence on the mortal plane is almost ninety percent due to its efforts.

"The 80s just called," Fives quips, sliding around a distracted Echo to meet Crosshair's gaze with a reckless kind of steel, "and they said they want their shitty jackets back."

Crosshair growls, and Echo sticks his metal hand between them without even looking. "Take it outside," he sighs, peering over Tech's shoulder at the apparent blueprint on his screen. "Yeah, I think you can swap that out..."

A crash rings through the air, and Rex jumps, rushing down the hall to check on the missing trio. By the time he opens his office door, a significant quantity of important documents are sitting piled in the corner, Wrecker appears to have taken on the task of moving an entire bookshelf on his own - something he, surprisingly, is overwhelmingly succeeding at - and Hunter appears to have taken on the entire construction of the bed on his own - something he's not great at, if the new bruise on his head is any indication.

Rex stands there for a moment, thoroughly engrossed in the surreality of the scene, but when Omega leans over to snag the screwdriver, he rushes in to help. Better to keep his hands busy than to fret over the likely demise of his poor caff maker.

Chapter Text

The whole sitting-and-glaring thing, Echo thinks, got old well over a half-hour ago.

He's working with Tech, his little brother's glasses perching on the end of his nose and deft fingers disassembling Rex's caff maker. Normally, it has a way of putting him at ease - "working meditation," Shaak Ti had told him on one of the three instances he'd been sent to guidance, "comfort in motion" - but try as he might, Echo can't find any comfort in it now.

The way Fives and Crosshair are glaring at each other is around ninety percent of the problem, he thinks.

See, the thing he's learned about Crosshair over the last three years of their friendship is that he has very specific boundaries for who he's willing to tolerate. Echo wasn't in those boundaries for a while - not until he literally broke a wall while working out - but once he was, Crosshair seemed to have decided that Echo was part of his family, and thus worthy of the full force of his protection.

It's both flattering and somewhat irritating. It would be just flattering, if not for the fact that Fives is public enemy number one among the Batch.

To be fair, Echo decides, accepting another couple of screws from Tech, Fives did entirely bring it on himself. He was the one who bullied Tech - viciously, if Crosshair and Hunter are to be believed; Echo himself wasn't there, since that would've been back when he was trying not to die - so he's at the finding out part of fucking around and finding out. At the same time, though, Fives is his ta'vod - for better or for worse. He knows Fives isn't a bad person. He knows Fives does care, that he can be kind and funny and warm, just like he knows that Fives is one of the nastiest people in their school to anyone not on his sports team.

Was. They'll be changing schools, after all - maybe someone else can take Fives's asshole crown.

He thinks it's a machismo thing - wanting to prove that he's stronger than everyone else, and being cruel to others to let out the anger he never could at home. Fives isn't a bad person. Echo firmly believes that. At the same time, though, he understands Crosshair's fury.

"I don't mind if you two punch it out," he states, sorting the screws into tiny piles while he waits for Tech to finish his disassembly, "but can you at least take it outside?"

He doesn't especially like Rex, either. Fives is his ta'vod - his brother, through the good and bad - and Rex should've been his ori'vod, but he left them. Echo can't count how many times Fives would crawl into his bed as a kid when his body or his heart ached from harsh words or blows and promise that their ori'vod, Rex, was going to come for them, because he heard from so-and-so that Rex was strong and brave and whatever other adjective Echo needed that day. He could probably recite it by rote even now - even so many years after they stopped believing Rex was coming for them.

Now, though, here he is - a childhood dream given flesh - and Echo doesn't have it in him to open his heart again. He stopped believing in magic, wishes, and older brothers around the same time he got up on that roof.

Crosshair glowers, sliding over to perch on the edge of the couch like a particularly gangly vulture. It's easy for Echo to forget that the rest of his friends are a year younger than him - hell, Tech is two years younger, and he still forgets - but seeing Crosshair sat there, jaw squared mulishly and gaze pinned on Fives, it's all too easy to see. There's still a hint of childishness to his gaze, and Echo treasures that a bit more than he really should. 

Fives simply huffs, kicking his legs up over the side of Rex's armchair and pulling out his phone. Echo grimaces a bit as dirt smears over the nice fabric - Fives must've actively chosen to put on his boots, which is both mildly irritating and incredibly unsurprising - and Crosshair's brow twitches in such a way that Echo knows he's close to snapping. 

It's kind of funny, the way Crosshair gets when he's watching over someone he's deemed a part of his inner circle. Echo himself is older - hell, he's probably more of a threat, too, given that he once broke a man's nose with his metal hand - but Crosshair watches over them like he's the father lion and they're his cubs. The danger there lies in the fact that Crosshair's already been suspended around three times for fighting, so everyone and their cousin is acutely aware that he can - and will - bite.

Echo only says around three times because he's not sure how many of Crosshair's other disciplinary infractions were partly due to the fighting. Were he younger, he'd probably consider Crosshair a danger - someone to fear, someone to be wary of - but now that he's had more time to know him, he sees who Crosshair really is under all the bristling and blustering.

He's a lot like Fives in that regard.

"If you're just going to sit there and glare," Tech frowns, pushing his glasses back up his nose and shifting his gaze to Crosshair, "would you mind giving me a hand here? I need someone to check if the power cell is connected correctly."

Both Echo and Crosshair know Tech needs absolutely no help checking whether the power cell is connected right. It's all a big ploy to get Crosshair to focus on something besides Fives - and based on the way he draws himself up, languidly traipsing over to crouch down before them, it works. 

"You're a public menace," Crosshair deadpans, and Tech gives him a wry smile in return.

For the last ten minutes, Rex has been acutely aware of Hunter staring at him.

It's not exactly a gaze of dissection - not like Echo's, at least, where he can visibly see the kid trying to figure him out. It's more one of wariness, as if he's trying to assess whether or not Rex is a threat.

He finds himself somewhat happy with that, despite how much he's still freaking out over the general gang thing. If this is a gang, at least it's one that cares about Echo quite a bit. They wouldn't have tracked him down if they didn't. 

Wait. How did they track him down, anyways?

"How did you find him?" Rex asks, apropos of nothing. Hunter pauses, one hand coming up to push his headband back up his forehead, and he sits back on his heels, surveying the partly-assembled furniture in front of them with a gaze far older than his age.

"Tech put trackers on our phones," he simply replies, and Rex stares, thoroughly unsure what to make of that. "He asked first, of course. Echo knew we were coming - I just don't think he expected to see us so soon."

They really did waste no time, Rex thinks. That kind of punctuality and dedication is definitely something to be acknowledged, and Hunter does seem like a good kid. Rex's instincts aren't usually wrong in cases like this.

"We're not a gang," Hunter adds, and Rex jolts, momentarily taken aback. The teenager simply smiles enigmatically at that, turning his attention back to the shelf in front of him with a faint sparkle in his eye. "I could tell you were thinking it," he informs him, smile deepening slightly. "Omega asked the same thing when she met them for the first time. Apparently, her teacher asked why her older brother was hanging out with 'gangs' and 'delinquents'," and the air-quotes are not lost on Rex, "so she asked if I was being safe. Of course, now she's as much a part of the group as any of us."

That's reassuring, he thinks. Maybe? At least Omega is Hunter's little sister. Now that he looks closer, he can see the family resemblance - mostly in the twist of their smile, though Omega's is from joking with Wrecker, and Hunter's is from a faint sense of triumph. Maybe he should ask Hunter how to do the whole older-brother thing. 

"Now," Hunter adds, pulling the partly-assembled shelf into his lap to get a better angle on it, "I have a question for you. Where have you been all this time?"

Rex stills, and Hunter eyes him warily, gaze sharpening in moments. The conversation rapidly took a turn from casual to formal, and Rex has the sudden and intense feeling that he's being interrogated.

"I didn't know," he honestly admits, though that does nothing to ease the tension in Hunter's shoulders. "I left my mother's house when I was thirteen," he adds, and that seems to relax Hunter, albeit barely. "I went to live with my cousin, Cody. My mother... she wasn't kind. When I left, she told me that if she ever saw me again, she'd call the police on me, and I believed her." He sighs, turning his attention back to the shelf in his hands. "I graduated high school in Coruscant, and went to the Academy right after. After that, I got hired by the Coruscant 501st, and..." He makes a vague gesture with his hands somewhat in the vein of "now here we are", and Hunter's expression sharpens a bit.

"Police?"

"Fire," Rex corrects, and Hunter seems momentarily surprised by that. "I'm the station's lieutenant."

Hunter's gaze shifts a bit at that, and Rex notes it carries a hint of acceptance. That's more than he expected, honestly. 

"You'd better take care of Echo," Hunter warns, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair back under his bandanna. "If you hurt him..."

Somehow, Rex has no doubt that Hunter and the others will find some way to make his life a living hell if he makes even one misstep. That's alright - they'll have to get in line. He'll make his own life hell if he messes up before they can even make an attempt.

"What do I need to know?" he asks, and Hunter hums, apparently placated by the question. Rex has the sudden and intense feeling that he's the one under scrutiny here, instead of the other way around.

"He's really smart," Hunter starts, tightening the screws with ease now that they're on familiar ground. "He cares a lot. He's really snarky, and he won't lie if he thinks you're doing something stupid. He's really defensive of Fives," and that comes with a bit of a sharper edge that's gone as soon as it came, "and he always looks for the best in people. Under all the fear and anger... he cares a lot."

Hunter tightens the last screw to satisfaction and sets it on top of Rex's part, leaning over so close their faces are mere inches apart. "I'm telling you this," he growls, voice even lower than it was before, "because I trust you. I think you want what's best for Echo, and I do, too. But if you break that trust - if you hurt him - then I will find you. That's a promise."

"Thank you," Rex replies, and honestly, he means it. Hunter sits back on his heels, apparently momentarily thrown, and Rex gives him a small smile, turning his attention back to the shelves in front of them. "Echo's lucky to have friends like you," he explains, and if Hunter looked confused before, now he looks absolutely bewildered.

"Hunter!" Omega cries, leaping up to land on her older brother's back like a koala. Hunter grunts under the sudden assault, and Omega giggles, hooking her chin over his shoulder to peer at the shelf in front of them. "Wrecker and I finished the beds!" she beams, and Hunter grins, reaching up to ruffle her hair.

"Nice work, 'meg," he hums, and Omega preens under the attention. "You wanna grab the others so we can finish setting up?"

Rex watches the scene with his heart in his throat, grip on the shelves nearly tight enough to break them. If he wasn't so selfish - if he had known - that could've been him and Fives and Echo. He should've known.

"Should'ves don't help," he chastises, following Hunter back into his living room. "All I can change is the now."

It's never too late to reach out to his brothers, after all.

At some point in the middle of Echo's oh-so-touching reunion with his friends - "The Loser Legion," his mind supplies, "or the Shit Squad" - Fives comes to the sobering realization that if he spends five more minutes inside, he's going to commit murder.

He doesn't know Coruscant well enough to go wandering around, so he just lurks on the balcony instead of going for a walk like he'd honestly like to do. The city stretches out before him, streets and alleys and high rises all blotting out the skyline, and Fives sucks in a long, slow breath. 

He hates when Echo's friends come around. He hates the way Wrecker looks at him like he's some poor wounded animal and how Crosshair glowers at him like he's so much better than him. He hates how Echo always seems to choose them over him. 

He scuffs his boots on the balcony, one hand coming up to run through his hair. It's a bit grown out - he could use a shower and a haircut - but it's at least long enough to mess with. 

Echo used to like to mess with his hair. He was always the one who liked his hair short, and Fives kept his a bit longer so Echo could try out hairstyles. Of course, then Echo grew his out and stopped talking to Fives at all whenever the sun shone, and to be fair, he did deserve it, but it still stung.

It still stings, present tense. Fives is pretty shit at making friends, he'll admit - too loud, too angry, too- too everything - and the one group of friends they did have he hasn't seen in years. It's somewhat sad that the last friend Fives can actually think of was in grade school, but that's just how it goes. 

Sure, there's the boloball team, but they're not friends. He's a starter, but that doesn't mean the rest of the team likes him - more just respects him. They don't talk to him, and he doesn't talk to them. 

Ah, he's doing the brooding thing again. That's why he needs to walk - needs to work his thoughts out with movement before he does something stupid like dwelling on them. Goddamn feelings.

Laughter rings out from inside, and Fives grits his teeth, tugging off his varsity jacket and setting to scrubbing out the blood on the sleeves. He should've showered by now - shouldn't be wearing yesterday's clothes either; he feels beyond nasty - but he's not going past Echo's friends to shower, nor is he submitting to the humiliating ordeal of asking Rex where the bathroom is. The man's too invested in literally anything - he'd come up with some kind of shampoo or soap that costs more than Fives has ever held in his hands and just give it to him like it's a completely normal thing.

Actually, Fives doesn't know how much Rex makes. He's probably not that rich if he's living in an apartment this tiny - but then again, he doesn't seem like a homebody by any stretch of the word. Maybe he's a millionaire who just lives at work.

Best not to think about it. 

In the back of his mind, he distantly remembers how Echo used to come out and walk with him when he needed to get out. Echo used to come and hold his hand and talk the heat out of his veins, used to reassure him that yes, he was okay and yes, he was alive with a warm hand in his. 

He misses his best friend. God, he misses his best friend. Thinking about Echo makes that giant empty void in his chest ache all the more, and even though Echo's right here, he misses him horribly. 

What an emotionally mature adult he's being, sitting and pouting like a ten year old. Nala Se would have a conniption if she saw him like this.

Then again, Fives was always the disappointment. She might not have even commented, or she might've just slapped him and told him to stop acting like a petulant brat. Fives could definitely use someone to slap some sense into him on days like this one.

He shakes his head, one hand coming up to run through his hair. It's the fucking logic, just like always. Sometimes he's able to completely refute what she's telling him, and other times it's like he's sworn a blood oath to her words. Fucking emotions, fucking logic, fucking everything.

He tugs a bit on a loose strand of hair, the hate in his chest only festering further. Not even here - not even hours away, separated by arrests and miles and locked doors - can he be rid of her. Not even here can he dig out the marks she's left on him. Nala Se - his mother - and everything she's done is a part of him now, indelible and unchangeable. 

Better him than Echo, he thinks, casting his gaze back towards the wall that separates him from his twin. At least Echo has a future. Fives, though - he's just a disappointment.

Much to Rex's surprise, the Bad Batch decide to stay a while. 

Tech orders pizza, ignoring Rex's multiple protests to the contrary, and when he goes to offer to pay him back, Hunter gives him a warning look. That's that, then. 

Fives even deigns to join them after a while, traipsing in from the balcony with a scowl deep enough to rival gorges. He's still wearing his clothes from the day prior - Echo is as well, Rex realizes, and resolves to email the police station sooner rather than later to pick up their things - and with the combination of his scabbed-over knuckles and firm scowl, he looks like a delinquent.

He shakes his head a bit, dispelling the thoughts as soon as they come. He's not going to judge his little brothers for anything. What they need is kindness, not a drill sergeant. 

Speaking of drill sergeants, Rex ought to message Cody. The general construction and arrangement of furniture took up much more of the day than he expected it to, and if Rex is going to head down to Kamino the next day - he almost certainly is - then he'll need someone to watch Fives and Echo. It's not that he doesn't think they can take care of themselves, it's just... fraternal concern.

Gods, he's going to get teased until the end of time for this. Jesse's going to start calling him "buir", and if that happens, Hardcase might remember that time Rex let him get away with breaking one of their computers during an impromptu bowling game because he called him "ori'vod" and Rex was too much of a sap to punish him.

Yeah. Best to bring up no memories there - or at the very least, to avoid said memories for as long as is humanly possible. 

It's nearly dark once the Bad Batch finally head out, though from the twin expressions Hunter and Crosshair sport, it's clear they'd like to stay for longer. Rex feels for the lanky kids before him - Crosshair with the scars decorating his hands and arms and Hunter with the loose clothes that hang off his arms just a bit more than they should - and despite some part of his better judgement, he extends an open invitation for them to come by any time they're in Coruscant.

Hunter shakes his hand as they leave, clasping his palm firmly and meeting his gaze with purpose. There's a faint smile playing on his lips, and Rex finds himself smiling in kind when Hunter slips him a small piece of paper that undoubtedly has his number. 

The Bad Batch leaves with as much chaos as they arrived with, and when Rex finally shuts the door, he's acutely aware of how quiet the apartment is. He glances back towards the living room, noting Fives and Echo pointedly sitting on opposite ends of the same couch, and he exhales, running over his mental checklist of things that need to be done today.

"You guys can borrow some of my clothes," he adds, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "I'll drive down to Kamino tomorrow and pick up your things. I would've gone today, but..."

But Echo's friends came for seven hours and distracted me, he doesn't add, but based on the faint smirk playing on Echo's lips, he knows what he's thinking.

"Wrecker and Crosshair brought some of my clothes," Echo states, and Rex doesn't bother asking why they would have any ability to collect said clothes. He doesn't doubt that between the two of them, no area is off-limits. "Fives can borrow some of them."

"I'm good," Fives grits out, and Echo fixes him with a withering glare.

"Di'kut. If you wear those clothes any longer, you'll start growing mold."

"Better that than your nerd shit," Fives hisses, words carrying a bit more venom than Rex honestly expected. Echo seems to take it in stride, however, simply drawing himself to his feet with a languid kind of ease. 

"I don't have my chair," he states, pushing a few locks of hair out of his face with a faint scowl, "so you're going to have to carry me."

"Fuck off," Fives grouses, but there's no heat to it this time. "You're too damn heavy. I'm not carrying you anywhere."

Echo simply hums, letting Rex know this is an argument they've had a few times before. 

"I bet they didn't bring the chair 'cause they knew I'd have to carry you," Fives grouses, and Rex weighs things in his mind for a moment before deciding to step in.

"I can help," he cuts in, and Fives and Echo turn to him with twin looks of confusion. They really are twins, Rex thinks - down to the same scrunch in their brows and same twist of their lips. "If you need to be carried somewhere, I mean."

Fives turns to Echo, and they seem to carry out an entire silent conversation before Echo nods. "Usually I have my chair," Echo explains, "so I can get around like that, but since that's not here," and much to Rex's surprise, there's no judgement, just dull acceptance, "and I don't wanna drag myself around, Fives usually carries me."

Fives, apparently affronted by the prospect of regularly showing any kind of emotion, bristles a bit at the words. Rex has absolutely no idea what the endgame of this tough-guy act is, but he's bewildered by it regardless.

"I can carry you," Rex affirms, and Echo studies him for a moment, expression sharpening before he nods. 

Rex isn't foolish. He knows this is a pretty big show of trust - one he'd best not screw up, if he wants to remain in Echo's good graces. At least he's had the chance to practice picking people up recently. It was against his will, to be sure, since Hardcase slipped off the top of the fire engine and Rex had to dive to stop him from breaking his head on the floor, but practice is practice.

"Alright," Rex states, trying to ignore the faint hint of anxiety thrumming in his chest. "The bathroom's down this way."

The first thing Rex notices is that Echo is light.

The teenager barely feels like anything, even with his arm wrapped around Rex's chest and chin hooked over his shoulder. His hair's still wet, smelling strongly of some kind of shampoo Rex knows he didn't buy - Crosshair must've brought it, then - and he's wearing a worn-out and faded shirt that looks to be advertising some kind of math competition. Not just advertising it - it looks to be a competitor's shirt, and from four years ago, if the date is any indication.

Rex thinks for a moment, trying to dredge up memories of Echo's grade history. He doesn't remember any of his high school grades being great, and math was no exception. Given that the shirt is from four years ago, though, he ought to request their middle school transcripts. 

Of course, that's all assuming he manages to go through the painful legal process of guardianship without Nala Se somehow coming in the middle to ruin everything.

Fives lingers in the doorway as Echo clambers off Rex's back, flopping into his bed with a dramatic sigh. The room itself is generally subdued, one bed on each side and a pair of dressers at the far end, but the more Rex looks, the more little things he notices that the Bad Batch undoubtedly did on purpose. There's a collection of tiny items next to Echo's bed on the left side, and a few photos taped up on the wall with little notes written in multiple different handwritings - the Batch's, then. Someone put an extra blanket on Echo's bed, one with a little skull embroidered in the corner, and a tiny plush tooka sits against the wall, painted in shades of black and red. 

Fives's expression tightens a bit at the sight, and Rex turns back to face him properly, arching his brow in a silent question. Upon noticing his attention, Fives shuts down further, squaring his jaw and stuffing his hands in the pockets of his varsity jacket. It's a defensive position if Rex has ever seen one.

Before Rex can reach out to him, Fives turns on a heel and storms back towards the living room, expression tight yet carefully blank. He casts his gaze back to Echo for a moment, silently asking for advice with an arch of his brow, but based off the way Echo simply stares at him, he doesn't actually know what Rex is asking.

That's fair enough, he supposes. He shouldn't be leaning on his little brothers for advice like this, anyways.

He heads out into the hall, Echo's gaze boring into his back as he goes. It's dark by now - or, at least, as dark as it ever gets on Coruscant - and the only illumination in the living room comes from the outside streetlights, faint streams trickling through blinds and windows to make the room just a bit less dark. Even so, it only takes him a moment to find Fives - one of the benefits of a small house.

The teenager's leaning against the window, arms wound around his legs and face illuminated by the light of his phone. In the near-total darkness, his cheekbones look even sharper, eyes sunken and vacant even as colors play across his face. The sight tugs on that same something in Rex's chest that hasn't stopped hurting for the past two days - that something he's begun to identify as grief and regret.

"Fives?" he tries, and the teenager's head jerks up, shoulders shaking as he flinches into the glass. The fear dissipates in seconds, Fives's expression falling back into a scowl, but Rex's chest aches at the sight regardless. That subconscious reaction - that fear - says more about Fives than any words he could've shared.

"Fuck off," Fives spits, and Rex sighs, refusing to budge. Upon noticing that, Fives's lips pull back in a snarl, and he shifts to his feet, legs bent in a crouch and hand hovering near his pocket. "Fuck off," he repeats, and Rex hesitates, unsure of what to do one way or another.

"You need to shower," he stupidly states, and Fives growls, hand shaking where it's gripped around his phone. His gaze seems a thousand miles away, fear mingling with anger in his words and expression, and Rex doesn't know what he can even begin to do to fix this.

"I need to shower?" Fives spits, pushing himself to his feet with measured ease. He storms close, close enough that they're mere inches apart, and this close, Rex can see mottled bruises peeking out from under Fives's hairline and the collar of his shirt. He's even skinnier than Rex thought, nothing but corded muscle and bone, and it makes something ache in his chest. 

"You think you get to fuckin' walk in," Fives presses, eyes burning with fury, "and just act like- like you're family? You think you just get to walk in and- and try to pretend like nothing changed at all? You think you get to do that when we both know you're just going to send us back to Nala Se," and his voice is rising, hands shaking by his sides, "and she'll punish us for being so fucking stupid and trusting you? You think I'm not onto you?"

"Fives," Rex breathes, reaching out for the younger man's hand. As his fingers touch Fives's, though, he flinches back harshly, feet skidding on the carpet floor as he takes a few stuttering steps back. 

"You're not my brother!" Fives spits, nails digging into his palms with so much force that Rex is sure they must be bleeding. "You're not my dad! You're not- you're doing this, this fucking thing where you're acting like some big savior and like we'll be here forever when I know we won't! You're just gonna ship us off somewhere else or our mother will get custody or- or I'll just go to fucking jail! You're acting like this is all over and like- like it's just going to be some big happy fairy tale ending for you! Well, guess what! You haven't earned shit! You haven't done shit for us in sixteen years! You can't just show up now and expect us to be all buddy-buddy!"

He's shaking, breath coming in short gasps as he takes another step back. When Rex moves, though, he flinches even harder, so he's forced to stand there, rooted to the carpet as Fives breaks down. 

"You're not my family!" Fives shouts, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "So stay- stay away from Echo! I won't let you hurt him with your- your stupid fucking games! I'm onto you, Rex, and I won't let you do anything to him!"

That's the crux of it, Rex realizes with a jolt. Fives isn't afraid for himself - he's afraid for Echo. He's afraid to leave Echo behind, afraid that Echo will get hurt or worse.

It's so painfully selfless that his heart aches beyond measure. That kind of love given freely, unconditional and unwavering - god, it hurts to see. 

"I'm sorry," he simply replies, and Fives freezes, brought up short by two simple words. "I'm sorry," he repeats, and Fives looks like the ground's been ripped out from under him, eyes wide and limbs tense like he can't decide if he should stay or run. "There's no excuse for what I did, so I'm not going to give you one. The truth is that I was a hut'unn - an auretii," he adds, and the significance of the words are not lost on Fives, based on the way his expression twists, "and I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry, Fives. I'm sorry, and I promise you that I will do everything, everything I can to make sure that you never have to go back to Nala Se."

Fives seems even more thrown off by that, expression completely unreadable as he takes another step back. "You're lying," he breathes, though the words themselves sound shaky. "You're- you're lying. You can't- she has custody, you don't have any legal anything on us. She could take us back once she got acquitted and you wouldn't be able to do anything."

"Then I'll do something," Rex vows, and his heart twinges at the infinitesimal scrap of hope in Fives's eyes. "I'll- I don't know what I'm doing, but I'll sue for legal custody. If you- if you want to stay here, I mean. If not, I can find someone - I have a cousin who has kids. I just- I won't send you back to her."

Fives's expression turns completely unreadable at that, and they stand in silence for a few long minutes. Rex isn't sure if that's a good sign or not - he hopes it is - but just as his mind is spiraling into worst-case scenarios, Fives starts to move.

He pushes past him, shoulder purposely clipping his, and when Rex turns, he finds Fives headed towards his and Echo's room. He doesn't press as to where he's going or why - Fives doesn't need that, and Rex has a feeling that it wouldn't be appreciated in the slightest - but after he settles back to reviewing paperwork, he hears the dull roar of running water.

Despite everything, that little bit is enough to make Rex smile.

Chapter Text

"You're really trusting us with your kids?"

"For the tenth time," Rex sighs, reaching up to massage his pounding temples, "they're not my kids. They're my little brothers. And yes, I'm trusting you with them, so make sure nothing bad happens."

"Rexie!" Jesse coos, apparently emotionally touched by Rex's request for quasi-babysitting. "You do love us!"

"I'm only letting you do this because the Captain's coming with you," he reminds them, and Jesse somehow manages to verbally shrug. Gods, his apartment is doomed. "I should be back around seven or eight if everything goes well. Thank you for doing this."

"It's our pleasure," Anakin cuts in, having apparently been hovering over Jesse's shoulder for the duration of the call. Rex wishes he could say he was surprised. "I do have to ask - why are you driving all the way to Kamino at five in the morning?"

That is the question, isn't it? Rex really wishes he knew the answer to that himself. The plan was to head out around eight, actually, but after the night prior he just couldn't sleep. After a solid six hours of tossing and turning, he resigned himself to his fate, grabbed an unholy amount of coffee, and hit the road. 

That is to say that unlike his coworkers, he has an actual reason to be up this early. 

"Couldn't sleep," he shrugs, casting his gaze back towards the darkened road. "Why are you guys up this early?"

"You know how it is," Anakin vaguely replies, his words laced with a tone that does absolutely nothing for Rex's nerves. For all he knows, "you know how it is" could mean they had a massive cooking fest at Jesse's apartment, Jesse and Hardcase stayed the night to watch Anakin's twins, or they're all in police custody. There's really no limit to what the three of them can come up with given free rein. 

"Please don't let them get hurt," Rex all but begs, and Jesse, having apparently regained phone custody, scoffs as if the mere prospect is an affront to his ancestors. 

"We won't! You've got me, the Captain, Hardcase, and Kix! We'll do a great job!"

"Kix?" Rex asks, dredging up memories of the ever-elusive therapist. He's met Kix once, surely - the name conjures up the image of a man in paramedic gear, lips pursed in a scowl and eyes sharp - but he can't remember having met him recently. "Why's Kix coming along?"

"Former paramedic," Jesse shrugs, and Rex finds himself entirely bewildered by Kix's life path. "He can't work in the field, but he can still perform a tracheotomy!"

"If I come home and there's a tube in one of my brothers' throats," Rex grits out, headache only worsening, "I swear to god, Jesse, I will rip your head off and shove it up your ass. Actually, that goes for the Captain and Hardcase, too. I know they're there."

"Calm down, Rex," Anakin cuts in, voice laced with far more casual mirth than Rex thinks the conversation really merits. "They're teenagers, and there's four of us. We've got this."

"You say that now," Rex grouses, hands flexing against the steering wheel. This kind of anxiety isn't normal for him, and he momentarily kicks himself for not getting the twins' numbers. It'd be nice to be able to text them. Not that they'd text him back, but-

"You're a worrier," Anakin teases, and Rex sighs, dragging his focus back to the road. "They'll be alright, Rex. Trust them."

Somehow, Rex has the feeling that he's not just talking about Jesse and Hardcase.

When Echo wakes up, there's a conglomerate of unfamiliar men in the living room.

Most of them look somewhat like Rex in build and aura, though only three of them have the visible strength Echo's come to associate with Rex. The fourth seems to be working through papers, a mug of something sitting at his side and wisps of hair falling over his forehead. The real standout, though - a man with long brown hair tied in a small ponytail wearing what appears to be a bastardization of a tunic and a suit - seems to be asleep, a bit of drool spilling out of his mouth and falling on the arm of Rex's couch. 

Echo, having developed a healthy sense of danger and a general wariness of strangers, decides to hit first and ask questions later.

The man closest to him yelps as Echo drives an umbrella stand into his head, though much to his dismay, they don't move an inch. Echo backs up a few paces, stand still firmly clutched in his hands and jaw squared, and waits for their next move.

"Nice hit!" the one next to him grins, reaching up to slap the assaulted man on the shoulder in a way that's both mocking and conciliatory. "Jesse, you just got owned-"

"We're Rex's friends," the working one states, reaching up to push his slipping glasses back up his nose. It's a move that's oddly reminiscent of Tech, and Echo's heart twinges a bit at the thought. "I'm Kix. The one asleep is Anakin - the Captain - and the one laughing is Hardcase. The one you hit is Jesse. You must be Echo...?"

There's a piercing sort of penetration to his gaze, with a depth that immediately has Echo wary. He carries himself like someone used to dealing with people like Echo - "living trauma," the Fives in his head snarks - which rings all sorts of alarm bells. Rex wouldn't have sent a doctor to examine Echo himself, would he? Or would he have sent a therapist to force him to talk about it? Echo's perfectly fine not talking about it, actually.

"I'm off the clock," Kix states, apparently sensing Echo's anxiety. "I'm just here as Jesse's brother and adult supervision."

That lets him relax a bit, but not much. 

"Not talkative?" Hardcase bluntly asks, which earns him a painful-sounding smack from Jesse. "Ow, Jess, I was just asking a question-"

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," Jesse states, and Echo abruptly realizes that he has, in fact, not said anything whatsoever. That wasn't intentional, honestly - though it could be, if he felt so inclined. Talking isn't something he has any strong like for, after all.

"It's just early," he shrugs, reaching up to run a hand through his messy hair. "Yeah, I'm Echo."

Having completed all necessary social interaction, Echo trudges towards the kitchen, poking through the cabinets for a bit before his gaze lands on a takeout bag sitting on the counter. There's a note with it - written in clean, legible handwriting, so it must be Kix's - informing him that there's a pair of bagels in the bag from a great bagel shop downtown. The latter information is added by someone Echo presumes is Jesse, based on the crudely drawn wink after it. 

He considers taking both bagels for a moment, then decides against it. Fives won't be up for a good while yet - Echo is unfortunately aware of just how much his ta'vod sleeps, and just how hard it is to wake him when he does - and it's only really fun to steal his breakfast in front of him.

Actually, he needs to have a conversation with said twin. He may be missing three limbs, but he's still got his hearing, and he's certainly not far enough out of the loop to have missed the screaming match the night prior. Screaming match might even be overselling it; it was more of a screaming massacre. With that match, he wouldn't be surprised if Fives doesn't wake up until past ten.

He's leaning against the counter, chewing sedately on a plain bagel - more out of general laziness than any animosity towards condiments, though the latter does play a part - when he overhears some hushed whispering in the living room. It's clearly about him, given that it's spoken with all the secrecy of a top-secret spying mission, and Echo slides over to lean behind the doorframe, curiosity somewhat piqued.

"How do you talk to kids?" someone - Jesse, if the slightly pained edge to his voice is any indication - hisses. "I thought it'd be like talking to Rex! That kid's scary!"

"He's like twenty pounds tops," Hardcase snorts, voice laced with mirth. "You're just afraid of him because he absolutely wrecked you. Man, I wish I got a holo of that..."

"He's a normal person," Kix points out, "not some top-secret soldier or something. You guys are really overthinking this. He's not going to pull out a rocket launcher or something."

"Rex might," Jesse laments with the long-suffering tone of one who's received many, many punishments at the hand of the same person. Echo knows that tone well. "I don't think he was joking when he said he'd rip my head off. That kid has no idea how much power he has."

Well, Echo thinks, drifting towards the caff maker in search of the will to deal with the rest of this day, that's encouraging. Either encouraging or bewildering - likely both, now that he thinks about it. On second thought, he'll file it under interesting for now and hope that said power someday extends to him being able to leave the goddamn house.

Just as Echo suspected, Fives doesn't wake up until around ten.

Much to his delight, Fives finally bothered to change out of his nasty-looking varsity jacket. Sure, Echo gets the whole jacket attachment - one does not simply let go of their prized jacket unless one wants to watch it be cut up in the living room - but it was absolutely vile, and Fives has places to hide his things, anyways. At least part of him insisting on wearing it was stubbornness. 

Fives, however, is much less diplomatic at the sight of strangers.

"Who the hell are you?" he snaps, pulling up short at the sight of four men playing sabacc in their living room. Echo, from his position at the dining table, gives him a little half-shrug, and Fives refocuses his glare with a vengeance.

Echo suddenly feels a bit bad that he woke up first. Fives is doing a great job at being scary and intimidating, but Echo beat him with brute force. Maybe he should suggest that Fives add some kind of weapon as well. He has a reputation to uphold, after all.

"You're Fives!" Anakin delightedly states, and Fives makes a sort of half-agreeing half-dying sound that has Echo snorting caff into his cup. Before his twin can move, Anakin rushes up to Fives, inspecting him all over in a way that's hilariously reminiscent of a mother checking over their preschooler. "Rex told me you play boloball!" he exclaims, as if that has anything whatsoever to do with his impromptu examination, and Echo chokes on caff for the second time.

"He's a dad," Kix states, catching Echo's eye from the couch. He'd still rather avoid Kix as much as possible, Echo admits - the therapist has a way of staring into his soul, dark eyes deep and searching. "Twins under two," he adds, and Echo feels a sudden stab of empathy for him. 

He wouldn't be the most coherent of speakers either if he got less than three hours of sleep a night, he thinks. All things considered, Anakin's doing fairly well - he's standing unsupported, at least, which is more than Echo can say for some.

Unbidden, his mind superimposes Hunter over Anakin, and it takes him a moment to shake away the memory. He's really too clingy, he decides, watching as Anakin babbles about boloball and Fives bristles like a loth-cat being pet the wrong way. He shouldn't be missing the others this much. It's been less than a day, and they've been apart for longer. Hell, he once didn't see Tech for three months during his parents' worldwide tour - or, as it's called among the Batch, his parents' "Fuck-Around-and-Find-Out" tour - so it's not as if this is something entirely new.

"You're fucking weird," Fives snaps, swatting Anakin's hands away with single-minded precision. "What's your deal, anyways? You guys cops or something?"

He's asking the question to get under their skin, Echo knows, and braces himself for the inevitable explosion.

"Cops?" Hardcase snorts, and Jesse snickers from his position next to him. "Do you think we look like those tools? Nah- 501st Coruscant, at your service!"

He punctuates the statement with a short salute, and Echo snorts into his mug at Fives's expression of total bewilderment. He looks like a lost tooka, standing amidst Anakin's prodding and Hardcase and Jesse's occasional quips with a sort of unease that Echo rarely sees in his twin. Fives always knows what he's doing - or thinks he does, at least - so to see him so lost strikes some kind of chord in Echo's chest.

"Go bother Echo," Fives snaps, regaining himself long enough to push Anakin away. He's bristling, arms folded over his chest to make himself look like less of a threat, and Echo momentarily wonders if Anakin knows he's playing with fire here. "He likes dealing with nuisances."

"I keep you around, don't I?" Echo snipes, turning his attention back to the chatroom open on his phone. Much to his chagrin, Anakin seems to have taken Fives's advice, since he's drifting closer - and consequently leaving Fives to Jesse and Hardcase's quizzing, which is significantly worse, but Echo can't muster up much pity for him. 

He stands there for a few moments, inspecting Echo like he's some kind of new-age science project, and when Echo tires of it, he drops his phone in his lap, turning his gaze to Anakin's. "Take a holo," he deadpans, imbuing his gaze with all the steel he can muster. "It'll last longer."

"Who made your prosthetics?" Anakin bursts, and ice runs down Echo's spine at the question.

He and Rex had this lovely little thing called "not-talking-about-Echo's-three-missing-limbs" going on, and he stupidly assumed that would've extended to Rex's friends. Yet here he is, being interrogated and prodded - the fucking prodding, Anakin's prodding his leg like a science experiment - and he isn't interested in the slightest.

"Fuck off," he spits, all geniality gone in a moment. Anakin raises his hands, apparently backing off, but Echo glares at him regardless. "Didn't anyone teach you common courtesy? Fucking besom..."

Anakin doesn't even know what the insult means, but he has the good grace to look offended. Echo appreciates that in a person. It's all about the spirit.

He exhales, reaching up to rub his nose as he tries to wrangle his emotions back into check. God, imagine if Hunter could see him now. Echo doesn't even want to think about how disappointed he'd be. Plus, he already made enemies with Rex's friends, and he was trying to get Rex to like him so he wouldn't have any more reason to make their lives miserable, and-

"I'm sorry," Anakin states, and Echo's head jerks up, abruptly broken out of his reverie. He blinks, trying to make sense of the words he's just been given, then again to try and make them compute. Anakin's apologizing to him? After Echo insulted him and basically told him to fuck off? Anakin's the one apologizing?

"Um," he eloquently replies, and Anakin shakes his head, pulling out the chair next to him and plopping into it. Echo feels like he's been caught off-guard - like the floor under him is just-so-slightly tilted, enough to notice but not enough to be concerning. It's annoying. 

"I shouldn't have done that," Anakin continues, tucking his hands in his lap as he meets Echo's gaze. "I'm really sorry, Echo."

He's well aware he looks like a dying fish with the way he's gaping, and based on the way Fives snickers from the far corner, he must think the same. Anakin's expression is doing a certain something Echo can't name either, which is also something he's not a fan of, and now Jesse, Kix, and Hardcase are looking at him, and fuck. This is why he doesn't go out much.

"It's fine," he stupidly states, choosing to ignore how actually not-fine it is in favor of not upsetting Rex's friends further. Anakin eyes him for a moment, gaze laced with suspicion, before he apparently chooses to drop the subject; even so, Echo can still feel his gaze on his back.

It's not even noon and Rex already wants to crawl into bed and never wake up.

The combined stress of the last three days is finally catching up to him, and he has to divert to pick up a twelve-hour energy drink in between visiting the courthouse and stopping at his childhood home. It's not just an excuse to dither a bit and avoid the memories of his childhood - well, it's not not that, but he'd be lying if he said that wasn't part of it - but also a necessity; if he doesn't get some caffeine and sugar in his system, he's going to pass out at the wheel.

He's got a conglomerate of papers in his briefcase, information ranging from the twins' school records to medical records to miscellaneous papers he's been told he needs. He filled out the requisite forms for temporary placement, and there's going to be a hearing at some point after his mother's trial, but until then, they're allowed to stay with him.

Just thinking about all of this makes his headache worse - or maybe that's the caffeine. 

Still, he's completed most of the other tasks, so all that remains is picking up Fives and Echo's things. This task would be a lot easier, he thinks, if the house didn't look exactly the same as it did sixteen years ago.

When he climbs out of the car, all the breath leaves his lungs. The outside's still the same oppressive white, the same shutter still broken and door locked tight against the world. If he tries, he can almost imagine himself inside - peering out before school started and waiting anxiously for a chance to escape his mother for eight blissful hours. 

This was an awful idea. The keys burn against his sweaty palms, and he digs the jagged edge into his skin in an attempt to ground himself. The house looms above him, as tall and unchanging as ever, and before he can wimp out, he pushes himself towards the front door.

It swings open with the same creak from his childhood, and Rex steps inside, trying to ignore the way his footsteps echo against the wood floor. It looks so similar to his childhood - bereft of photographs on the wall, the white walls creating an almost claustrophobic feeling - but unlike his childhood, some awards hang near the entryway. Rex drifts closer to examine them for a moment, brows raising at the sight of an award from junior high - Echo's, he realizes. It's for math, though upon closer inspection, awards for other classes dot the walls as well.

That was always what his mother wanted, Rex remembers. High standards, high demands for perfection. The only way to escape her ire was to do well, and Rex never seemed to be able to perform to her standards. Apparently Echo could - for a time, at least.

He ignores the kitchen and living room as he tromps up the stairs, feet far larger on the horribly familiar steps than they were the last time he ran down them. The familiar trio of doors greet him - bedroom, bathroom, his mother's room - and he swallows, pushing open the door to what used to be his room.

This room is the only one that's changed, he notes. There's posters for boloball on the walls, a ball sitting near the door and a workout bag seated next to it. On the other side, a partly-disassembled machine sits on the desk, a screwdriver placed on the edge of the desk and tool box sitting on the floor. Textbooks sit on top of the dresser - clearly rarely used - and papers dot the one desk, bearing notes in a neat script that must be Echo's. 

Rex swallows, the weight of two entire lives lived without him now even heavier than it was before. Upon inspection, the clothing in the dresser is fairly sparse - a couple pairs of jeans, t-shirts, and some miscellaneous other things - and the hamper doesn't fare much better. Rex stuffs the clothes in his bag and opts to continue looking. 

After a little bit of searching, Rex stumbles upon a small cardboard box tucked under Fives's bed. He knows it must be Fives's based on the messy scrawl on the side - too messy for even him to read, the single word labelling the contents as something undefined and likely inaccurate. 

The box nearly falls apart in his hands when he pulls it out, and he carefully places it back on the floor, gaze flitting over the things inside. There's a small datapad, a few trading cards of some sports players Rex remembers being popular a few years ago - well-loved, if the creases and tears are any indication - a small bag with some credits, little trinkets, and at the bottom, a small holopic that Rex knows well.

There's not much that compares to seeing your own face on your brother's screen, after all.

Rex picks up the holopic, running his fingers over the edge of the 'pad displaying it. It's set to display this when it powers on, he notes, and when he tilts it from side to side to investigate, the screen prompts him for a password.

Rex himself used the same password for everything as a child, but Fives couldn't know that. He tries four fives, which fails, tries Fives's birthday, which fails, and finally keys in his own password - 7-5-6-7.

The datapad unlocks, and Rex abruptly feels like the worst man alive.

There's pictures of him on the 'pad - pictures accompanied by little notations in Fives's handwriting. It's sloppier, as if Fives was only a kid when he wrote these, and as Rex flips through the images, he feels his heart shatter anew. Photos of him as a child are noted with Fives's musings on what kind of things he liked, photos of him at the few competitions he had any aptitude for marked with excitement and pride, and photos of him from school marked with fond teasing. 

It's painful to look at. Fives's desperation to know Rex shines through - visible with every scrawl and curve - and Rex flinches as a droplet lands on the screen of the 'pad. Is the ceiling leaking? Kamino's known for its heavy rains, to be sure, but Rex can't remember this house being that poorly constructed. 

Another droplet hits the 'pad, and Rex reaches up to rub his burning eyes, a bit of surprise shooting through him when his fist comes away wet. 

Oh. He's crying.

"Crybaby," he chastises, stowing the 'pad back in the box. "You're such a crybaby, Rex."

That admission - that admonishment - does nothing to stem the flow of tears.

He brings the box with him, of course. It sits in the passenger's seat, wrapped up in the seatbelt and placed with the utmost care. Fives and Echo's other things sit in the back, collected in a set of duffels - only two, which hurts in its own way; nobody's entire life should be able to fit in a single duffel bag - but the box receives far different treatment. 

Even though it's just sitting there during the drive back to Coruscant, Rex can't help but feel like it's resting firmly on his back. 

Chapter Text

"Come on," Fives wheedles, draping himself over the bed to peer at Echo. "Don't you wanna get out of here? See the city? Live a little?"

"Di'kut," Echo snaps, smacking Fives's knee with more force than the action probably warrants. "They're guarding the door. If we wanted to get out, we'd have to scale the side of the building, and we don't have enough rope for that."

See, this is what Fives loves the most about Echo. If he has a crazy idea, Echo's immediately thinking not about whether he's going to go along with it, but how to execute it. 

"We have sheets," Fives points out, and Echo seems to consider that for a moment. There's a fifty-fifty chance this will work, Fives figures, and if it doesn't, Echo's liable to have a plan B. He always does. 

"We could probably just scale the side itself," Echo muses, leaning over to look out the window. "If you can balance on those ledges, that is."

"You're the one without a sense of balance!" Fives protests, shooting up in indignation. He'll take insults about his fashion - well, he won't, but that's beside the point - but he knows his skill! He's a damn good boloball player, and one does not simply play boloball and have a bad sense of balance!

"We need a reentry strategy," Echo continues, cheerily ignoring Fives's protests. "If we're going out using the window, we're going to need a way to get back up that either goes along that route, or works with some kind of rope. The sheets definitely won't be strong enough to hold that."

"It worked when we were twelve," Fives points out, and Echo fixes him with a bland look.

"Not only were we lighter, Fives, but the sheets tore at the end and I had to haul you back over the windowsill." It's funny, Fives thinks, how Echo calls that an unmitigated failure when any rational person would realize that it was a success. Fives didn't splatter on the lawn, and the sheets were still salvageable enough to escape their mother's notice. That's a win.

"Well," Fives retorts, hauling himself off the bed to peer out the window, "we're running out of time. We're either going out now, or we're not going out."

Echo stares at him for a moment before sighing, and Fives gives him a bright grin in response. "Great!" he chirps, yanking the sheets off the bed. "I'll start on this - you pick up the stash and my bag!"

"That's not a hard task," Echo grouses, opting to use the given time to change clothes, instead. God only knows how embarrassing it would be if the first time he went outside was in a shirt proudly proclaiming his victory in a middle school math competition.

Fives, personally, finds it endearing. His mind wanders as his fingers fly through the familiar knots, meandering through thoughts of exploration, city life, and anonymity. God, he's excited - excited to see, excited to live, excited to fade into the background and worry about nothing for a while. He's excited to live.

"Are you done?" Echo asks, Fives's backpack slung over his shoulder and a baseball cap tugged over his messy hair. There's a hint of fond exasperation in his smile, and Fives follows his gaze down to his extended hand - the hand that's holding the matching cap to Echo's own.

He plucks it from Echo's hand and tugs it down over his hair, lips curling into a small grin at Echo's evident amusement. "I did the hard part," he grins, leaning over to tie the makeshift rope to the bedpost. This way, they won't have to untie it until later. "What's our cover story?"

"They won't come in," Echo points out, and Fives considers that for a moment before shrugging. He may be right - he is right, actually - but it's always fun coming up with cover stories. Maybe this time, they'll pretend to be millionaire twins escaping their draconian stepmother - though that's at the store, and does nothing to help with the pressing problem of Rex's friends on the other side of the door. 

"Let's head," Fives agrees, and Echo gamely hops on his back with only a bit of protest. His prosthetics are cool against Fives's exposed neck, and Fives makes a dramatic show of staggering over to the window, lips curling into a grin at Echo's offended huff. 

"You insist on this," Echo points out, hooking his chin over Fives's shoulder as Fives starts his descent. "You're the one who always insists on carrying me. You can't complain if you're literally causing the entire problem."

"I am amazing at creating problems," Fives grits out, searching for the next foothold with nearly single-minded focus. "I am an exceptional problem-creator, actually. I could get a degree in that."

He reaches out for the next handhold, and Echo snorts a bit from next to him. "You'd certainly be at the top of your field," he drawls, and Fives preens, lowering himself down to the next foothold.

"I would! I bet I'm the number one problem solver in the city!"

He hops off the rope and lowers Echo to the ground, though his twin seemingly doesn't appreciate the help. Echo hands out his backpack in an apparent offering, and Fives slings it over his back, one hand coming up to tug his baseball cap lower over his eyes. They don't need to attract any attention right now. 

"You wanna do a loop," Echo asks, leaning over to bump their shoulders together, "or did you have somewhere in mind?"

Actually, Fives didn't have anything in mind. He just knew that if he stayed in that building for one minute longer, he'd explode. He says as much, actually, which garners a fond-sounding snort and eye-roll from Echo, but absolves him from making the decision.

"Let's do a three block check," Echo states, gesturing down the street, "and if we find anything interesting, we can go from there."

Fives flashes him with a silent thumbs-up, and Echo snorts, hands dropping into the shorthand sign they created for occasions just as this. "u for real?" he asks, lips curling into a smirk as he starts down the street. 

"it's a classic," Fives retorts, and because he can, "u just have no taste".

It's crude - there's not really any ways to indicate sentences, and their sign for "you" is literally a bastardized version of the letter "u" - but it's theirs, and that's what matters. 

Echo leans over to bump his shoulder against Fives's, and his twin snorts, reaching out to offer his arm like some kind of dramatic prince. "Do you require assistance, my liege?" he quips, and Echo taps him on the shin - just a tap, lest it actually hurt - in retaliation. Fives, however, decides now is the optimal time to howl like he's being murdered, and Echo smirks, jogging towards the adjacent street.

"You little shit!" Fives laughs, stumbling after him with an exaggerated limp. "I'm gonna make you pay for that!"

"We're so fucked."

Anakin paces back and forth across the carpet, one hand coming up to mess with his hair. Kix is on the phone with someone, and Hardcase seems to have decided now is the best time to raid Rex's kitchen - which, on the one hand, more power to him, but on the other, they are having a crisis right now - so that leaves nobody but Jesse in the room.

Unfortunately, they're the two who are the most likely to be eviscerated by Rex for this.

"We're so fucked," Anakin repeats, wringing his hands in an attempt to dredge up some thoughts. "How the hell do I tell Rex that his brothers escaped out the window? He's going to kill me! He's going to kill all of us!"

Jesse nods in agreement, jaw working back and forth as he tries to come up with a plan. "We have to tell him," he decides, and Anakin shakes his head so hard that he nearly gives himself whiplash.

"No-no-no, we do not tell him! We cannot tell him! That's just gonna make him so much madder!"

"How do you know?" Jesse asks, and Anakin fixes him with a look equal parts desperate and unimpressed. Honestly, Jesse.

"I have twins myself," he deadpans, and Jesse's lips form a small "o" in realization. Honestly, Anakin's somewhat surprised that Jesse could forget his supposed niece and nephew, especially since he prides himself on being their favorite "uncle", but that's a problem for another day. Right now, Anakin would quite like to live to see his kids again. "He'd get back here so fast we wouldn't even have time to run."

"You have to tell him," Kix weighs in, eyes sharpening as he tucks his phone in his jacket. Anakin gives him a pleading look in response, but Kix must've spent too much time with Jesse, since he holds firm. "They're his brothers," he emphasizes, "and if he's not looking for them, it'll look really bad in court. Hell - if you can't find them, Rex's petition for custody might get denied."

"We're so fucked," Anakin breathes, and Kix fixes him with an overwhelmingly bland stare. 

"Yeah. That's why you need to tell him so he can come look and not just talk about him like he's some natural disaster coming to end your lives."

"He can be both," Jesse mutters, shooting Anakin a look that he's spent enough time with him to know means "you get this one". Unfortunately, Anakin does owe him - he's one of their best men, and he's always available to pick up extra shifts - so with a withering glare, he picks up his phone. Curse Jesse and his general goodness.

He taps on Rex's contact, pressing the phone to his ear and swallowing down his nerves. It only has to ring once before Rex picks up, and Anakin shudders at the dull background roar - he's still on the road, then.

"Hey, Rex!" he greets, trying to infuse his words with a cheer he isn't feeling. "Where're you at right now?"

"I'm about an hour out," Rex replies, voice crackly through the speaker. "How're things going there?"

Oh, god. Anakin actually has to tell Rex now. All his training never prepared him for this.

"Well," he slowly states, stretching out the word as long as he dares, "there's been... a small problem."

"What kind of problem?" Rex asks, voice steely-cold. There's concern mixed with anger there, in a way Anakin's only seen a few times before - most notably when Rex told his sleemo of a grandfather to fuck off at the hospital - so to hear it now sends fresh shivers down his spine. 

"Well," Anakin tries, weighing whether to stretch it out or deliver the news before deciding to bite the bullet, "the twins escaped."

"They what?" Rex shouts, voice so loud that Anakin has to hold the phone at arm's length. "What do you mean they escaped? Where are they? How did this happen?"

Force, Rex is one scary man when he's upset. Anakin forgot how terrifying he could be when angered, and he's deeply, deeply regretting that.

"They made a rope and climbed out the window," he reports, and Rex mutters something under his breath. Anakin's almost certain that it's a curse on all his ancestors and descendants - and if it is, then Rex should at least have the courtesy to extend it to Jesse and Hardcase, since this is equally their fault. 

"I'll be there in thirty minutes," Rex snaps, and Anakin flinches at the sound of his truck's engine roaring to life. "Start looking."

The line goes dead before he can reply, and Anakin curses, tucking his phone back in his pocket and running a hand through his hair. He's absolutely going to die - there's no question about it. It's not even going to be slow, either - no-no-no. Rex is going to flay him limb from limb slowly and painfully, Anakin just knows it.

Personally, Fives thinks, there's very few things nicer than ice cream.

Echo's digging into his bowl next to him, hair nearly falling in the cup as he chases another full spoonful. Fives has let him know in no uncertain terms that eating ice cream in a cup is not only wrong, it's horrifying and an affront to nature, but Echo always replies with "I don't want to eat my hair" and that stupid smug smile he has when he thinks he's right. God, Fives hates it when Echo's right.

"I cannot believe," Fives frowns, angling his spoon in Echo's general direction in hopes of picking a light-hearted fight, "that my own brother would eat vanilla ice cream. My own flesh and blood. My own ta'vod, eating the world's saddest, blandest flavor of ice cream."

"Pistachio is an affront to humanity," Echo primly replies, taking another spoonful of ice cream. "Nothing that green should be made into ice cream," and oh, he's asking for it now. 

Fives sticks out his tongue at him, taking another small bite from the top of his cone before pulling back. "You're just jealous," he states, tapping Echo's prosthetic leg gently - hard enough to know the pressure sensors picked it up, but still gently - and earning an amused glare in response. "You're missing out on true happiness. I can't imagine how awful your life must be."

"Absolutely awful," Echo drawls, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in mirth. "I don't know how I'll ever go on."

Fives snorts, taking another lick of his cone before turning his attention out the window. It's not quite dark yet, but it's approaching that point, long shadows falling over the streets as a few passers-by rush to and fro. The buildings themselves throw much of the street in shadow, and since they're not close enough to the city center for billboards and LEDs to turn the night to day, it gives the city an almost liminal feeling. 

"You excited for whatever school Rex is gonna find?" Fives asks, the words slipping out without a second thought.

Echo snorts a bit, one hand coming up to tuck a couple strands of hair behind his ear, and he fixes Fives with a wry smile. "Are you asking because you think I'll be mathlete captain or something?" he quips, and Fives snorts a bit at the prospect. "Like I'll turn away from my lucrative life of crime for a Hallmark romance with some country bumpkin who eats tree sap or find some nerdy romance with a math geek?"

"I think you could find a hot math geek," Fives hums, and Echo rolls his eyes, the movement exasperated yet still fond. 

"I could, but I won't. Not looking for love or anything, so it's mostly just another building for me. What about you? You looking forwards to a new school?"

"I'll have to try out again," Fives replies, acutely aware of how much of a non-answer that is. When Echo hums, he elaborates - "tryout season sucks when you're new. Besides," and here he winks, prompting another eye roll from Echo, "as soon as they see me, everyone's gonna be jealous."

"You're going to get so many women," Echo drawls, voice laced with sarcasm. "You're just going to have your fan club around every corner, in every hall..."

"You jealous?" Fives teases, and over Echo's third eye roll, adds "see, I'm making people jealous already! I'm going to get attacked by so many boyfriends..."

"You sure you're not going to get chased by a hoard of angry girls?" Echo jokes, taking another bite of his ice cream. Fives huffs a bit, leaning over to kick his shin again, and Echo smirks, apparently delighting in this. What a little shit.

His twin stares out the window for a bit after that, expression slowly fading from amusement to something more contemplative. After a few minutes of that, Fives nudges him again, and Echo hums a bit, acknowledging his presence but never turning. 

"What're you thinking about?" Fives asks, and Echo hums again, eyes darkening as his gaze flits over the street outside. It's rare for Echo to get like this, and even though Fives knows it's just him processing his emotions - what a loser move; who needs to process your emotions when you can just ignore them - it still throws him off a bit. 

"My friends," Echo finally replies, and Fives fights back the wave of anger that rises up in his chest. They're not even here - his damn jealousy and loneliness can sit the fuck down for two minutes. "I know you hate them-"

"I don't hate them," Fives lies, and Echo fixes him with a deadpan stare in return.

"-but they're my best friends, so you have to live with them."

Mm. It's hard for Fives to say that he's jealous that Echo has cool friends, and he's jealous that his best friend is spending all his time with other friends. It's so hilariously counterproductive and lame. Apparently, if logic is to believed, Fives just needs to get some actual friends, but there's no chance of that happening. Fives has cultivated a winning personality and air to match, eau de asshole cultivated almost to an art. 

Besides, there's the mortifying ordeal of being known. It's not like there's anyone he can trust with that kind of thing besides Echo, either. Echo's the only person he has - the one person in this entire damn world he can trust - except Echo has other people besides him, and it's this entire angry mix of ugh that makes Fives want to scream. 

It hurts being left behind, he thinks.

Echo makes a small noise, and Fives realizes that he's looking for a reply. It takes him a minute to dredge up the rest of the conversation - Echo was talking about his friends, right - and he sighs, resting his chin on his hand. 

"I will not actively insult them," he grits out, and then, for posterity, "to their faces."

Echo's expression scrunches up a bit at that, but he doesn't tell Fives not to, so he counts that as a win. No - rather, he retaliates by licking his spoon clean, and, before Fives can stop him, he scoops an excessive amount of pistachio ice cream off of his cone.

"Hey!" Fives squawks, and Echo pops the spoon in his mouth with a teasing grin, eyes alight with unrestrained joy. He's about to retaliate, but the sight of Echo's unrestrained joy - hair messy and falling around his face, a bit of ice cream smeared on his cheek, and one of his old hoodies hanging off his thin shoulders - is such a rare sight that he can't muster up the heart to fight back. 

He does have a reputation, though, so he kicks Echo's metal shin anyways.

Chapter Text

In all his years as Rex's captain, Anakin has never seen him this stressed.

He's seen him worried before, to be sure. He's seen him filling out paperwork for transfers late into the night and seen him working desperately to get medical leave approved so Jesse wouldn't have to come in on a sprained ankle. He's seen him asleep at his desk with Cody passed out on the couch, brow creased with worry even in sleep and energy drinks piled high in the trashcan. Hell, he's even seen him out in the field. The memory of Rex's ash-gray hair, soot smeared on his cheeks and shaking arm clutched firmly in Anakin's grip as they waited for the rest of the team to escape is one that'll stick with him until the day he dies. 

In all those memories, though, there's an underlying sense of composure. Rex has a backbone of steel - nothing disturbs him, and even in his darkest moments, he never loses himself entirely. He's able to think before he leaps, able to push back his hair and square his jaw and approach every problem as Rex the Lieutenant. 

Right now, though, Rex looks rattled.

There's a dullness to his eyes that Anakin's decidedly unused to, and his hands shake whenever he takes them out of his pockets. He looks haggard, pale and world-weary, and Anakin finds himself wondering what the hell the last few days have brought that could rattle such a strong man this badly. 

"Rex," Anakin states, reaching up to place a hand on Rex's shoulder. The younger man flinches, and Anakin removes his hand, letting it fall back to the side as Rex turns his attention back to the road. "Rex," he repeats, not touching this time, but pressing verbally regardless. "You need to calm down."

Rex turns back to face him, features thrown into stark relief by the gleaming streetlight overhead. There's a shakiness to his scowl, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes just on the frantic side of wide. That enough has Anakin feeling wrong-footed, unsure of what to say in such an unfamiliar situation, but the undeniable severity of the situation has him at a further loss for words.

God, he's awful at this. He wishes Padme were here - she'd know what to say. If not Padme, then Cody - Cody, who knows Rex so much better than any of them ever can, who knows why Rex comes in some mornings with dark rings under his eyes and ghosts in his shadow. Not for the first time, Anakin wishes Cody wasn't so far away - wishes he was here already, to calm down his friend where Anakin himself fails.

"What's wrong?" he asks, stupidly, as if the problem isn't both clearly evident and also Anakin's fault. Rex's expression twists a bit - not out of anger, though - and he balls up his hands in his pockets, the faded blue of the 501st hoodies Anakin ordered for last year's holiday season seeming even dimmer in the twilight. 

"Nothing," Rex grits out, and Anakin can see the lieutenant in him come out as he squares his shoulders. He's never wanted to show weakness among any of them - among his coworkers - but for Anakin, they've never just been coworkers. Rex is part of his family - his twins' "Uncle Rex", Padme's friend, a reliable babysitter and, most importantly, an incredible friend. 

God, he wishes Rex would see it the same.

"You can talk to me," Anakin states, and Rex stops short at the curb, gaze flitting first to the gleaming red light overhead and then back to Anakin's face. He looks seconds away from saying something - looks so close to spilling his heart out on the pavement for Anakin to see - but he steels his jaw once again anyways, shutting his emotions down behind walls of durasteel. 

"Rex," he presses, and Rex's jaw works back and forth as he stares into the horizon, gaze distant. "Talk to me. I'm here for you."

It sounds oddly fake, even to his own ears, but he means it nonetheless. Rex's shoulders rise to his ears, and he pulls his lower lip between his teeth, expression flickering for a long, painful moment. 

"How do you do it?" he finally asks, and Anakin stops short, unsure of what to say. A floodgate seems to have broken, though, since Rex turns to face him properly, and Anakin's shocked to see his eyes filled with unshed tears. "How do you deal with knowing," and Rex swallows hard at that, clearly fighting his own emotions, "that you'll just- that you'll just fail them over and over? That you've failed them so many times before and you've made so many mistakes that they might never forgive you?"

Anakin is absolutely not qualified for this. 

"I don't know all of it," he slowly states, reaching up to wrap a hand around Rex's forearm, "but I know you. I know you, and I know what a good man you are. Things might suck right now," and Rex huffs a bit at that, mirth not really reaching his eyes, "but you'll be okay. You'll all be okay, because you are probably the most qualified person to be an older brother that I've ever seen."

"I already fucked it up," Rex mutters, though he doesn't shrug Anakin's hand off. "I don't think... the things I've done don't deserve to be forgiven."

God, what would Cody say? Something reassuring, probably. Anakin really wishes that his brain could formulate a sentence and not just sputtering disagreement.

"Rex," Anakin repeats, squeezing Rex's arm once more before letting go. "You're doing a good job. Hell - the fact that you're even here says enough. You never break the law, but I'm pretty sure you went over twice the speed limit to get back here. Plus, you're out here, walking over the entire city to find them. You're doing a great job, so stop beating yourself up over it, yeah? Or I'll have to call Cody in, and you know what he'll say."

Rex sucks in a long breath and lets out a long exhale, eyes fluttering shut as he reins his emotions back in. It's less processing and more compartmentalizing - Kix would have a field day with that if Rex ever went to see him - but when he reopens his eyes, there's a familiar steel to them.

"I'm good," he states, the words leaving no room for questions. "Let's keep looking. It'll get dark soon."

Never again will Echo question Fives's instincts.

He wraps his fingers around the rusty chains of the swing-set, testing the seat with a few careful pulls. It's an unexpected find - a small, decrepit park in the midst of Coruscant's hustle and bustle - and Echo can't help but delight in it. They never really went to parks like this when they were kids, and some part of him always wondered what all the fuss was about.

Sure, he went with the Batch, but it's not quite the same as coming with Fives. It's not quite the same, looking over to see Fives testing out the swing next to him instead of hearing Omega's delighted laughter as Wrecker pushes her higher. It's not quite the same, but it leaves him feeling warm regardless. 

"What if that breaks?" he asks, and Fives gives him a lopsided shrug, swinging back and forth with his feet planted in the mulch below. There's dirt smearing over his ratty trainers, pieces of mulch flying up here and there as he slides his feet back and forth, and Echo bites back the reproach on the tip of his tongue. It's rare for Fives to have the chance to relax like this, and even rarer for him to feel comfortable enough around Echo to do so. He'll scold him about traipsing dirt all over their room later. 

"It won't break," Fives states, all unearned confidence and reckless abandon. Echo quirks a brow - he's not sure that this could hold his weight, and Fives is much stronger than he is - and Fives gives him an unfettered kind of grin. "You're such a worrier," he teases, leaning over to kick Echo's metal shin once more. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Echo opts not to answer that, and instead takes a seat on the swing as Fives continues to mess around. Neither of them actually learned how to swing - he's pretty sure he gets the gist of it from watching Omega and Wrecker, but that's a poor substitute for an actual explanation - but Fives is giving his best attempt regardless. He says as much when Fives asks what he's doing, and only sputters a bit when Fives responds by hurling his jacket in his direction. 

Fives is more responsible than most people give him credit for, Echo thinks, carefully folding the fabric in his lap as his twin tries to figure out the laws of physics. He knows how to wash his laundry - he's the one who usually does their laundry, actually - but he's purposely not washing the jacket. It's either that, or he doesn't know where the laundry machine is and doesn't want to ask. 

The latter is more likely, actually. Fives hates having to ask anyone for help. 

The thought of washing inevitably leads to thoughts of Rex, and Echo sighs, turning some feelings over in his mind. He'd really rather not go back, but if they stay out any longer, Rex will undoubtedly be upset. That's the unspoken rule - stay out as late as they want, but if they embarrass anyone more than they already have, they'll be in trouble. Slipping away from and embarrassing Rex's friends undoubtedly falls under being an embarrassment.

"We should get back," Echo points out, and Fives's expression twists as he pushes himself higher. He looks like he's trying to outrun his thoughts - outrun the reality that he knows is waiting for them back through the bedroom window - and Echo wishes he could do the same.

He's never been much of a runner, despite how much he's tried to learn. The Batch tried to teach him, and he's done his best to learn, but despite it all, he's always been one to freeze. That's all he ever does - when it comes down to it, he freezes. 

"Fives," Echo repeats, and Fives exhales, the motion audible even over the creaking of the swing-set. "I don't wanna go back either, but we'll be in even more trouble if we don't."

His twin doesn't reply for a moment, and Echo stares down at his feet, running his shoes through the mulch as he waits for a response. After a few seconds, Fives leaps off the swing, sticking the landing with only a couple stumbling steps, and Echo raises his head to meet his gaze, taking in the thin line of Fives's lips before the faint joy in his eyes.

He could run away, Echo knows. That's all Fives has ever wanted - to run away, to leave, to escape from everything they've ever known. He could run away, but he stays for him.

Sometimes, Echo wishes he would. He'd miss him, but at least Fives would be happier. 

"You coming?" Fives asks, brows raising in a silent challenge. Echo pushes himself up, wrapping his fingers around Fives's dirty jacket and hugging it to his chest as he moves to stand by his twin's side - a move that doesn't escape Fives's notice, if his faint smile is any indication.

"You're so slow," Fives teases, and Echo rolls his eyes. "So slow, vod'ika-"

"You're the younger one," Echo fires back, and Fives squawks, seemingly offended even as he pushes himself into Echo's side. 

For a moment, Echo can pretend that they're normal teenagers. For a moment, he can pretend that they're like those kids on the holos they've watched - the ones who sneak out, get scolded by their parents, but ultimately get hugs at the end. For a moment, he can pretend. 

Then Fives's hand tightens around his own, and reality comes crashing back in. That's not their life - never has been, and never will be. Any thoughts besides that are just wishful thinking.

Echo squeezes back anyways.

"Rex," Cody states, reaching up to place a calloused hand on his head. "You need to rest, vod'ika."

Rex shakes his head, flicking through the map on his datapad as if it'll reveal some place they haven't yet checked. They've scanned all the streets within seven blocks of Rex's apartment, and still nothing. It's as if his younger siblings just disappeared into thin air.

God, it's been less than three days and Rex has already managed to fail miserably. His little brothers are missing, and they could be kidnapped, they could be hurt, they could be dead in a street somewhere and it'd be Rex's fault. He should've stayed. He should've given them his number to text him. He should've been there.

"Wolffe and Fox are already looking," Cody states, and Rex wilts further at the realization that Cody called in his siblings to help with Rex's colossal failure. Fox works with the Senate and Wolffe works one of the largest districts in Coruscant - they shouldn't have to come and fix Rex's fuck-up. 

Self-pity is going to do him fuck-all, he knows, but now that he's been unceremoniously benched by a combination of his CO's worries and his older brother's insistence, there's not much else for him to do. What can he do? Make some kind of drone to go out and look? Unlikely.

He squares his jaw, adamantly ignoring conversation even as Cody clearly waits for him to start one. A few seconds drip by like that before Cody sighs, pulling out his phone to text someone that Rex assumes is Fox, and the room falls silent.

It's only because of that silence that Rex hears the soft "thump" coming from the twins' room. 

Cody's fingers reach for his sleeve as he rushes to the room, his older brother hot on his heels as he yanks open the door. He's not sure what he's expecting - a burglar, maybe, or a raccoon - but Fives half-over the windowsill and Echo sitting against the wall was not it.

Cody's grasp slips from his wrist - Rex didn't even notice it was there - as Rex's gaze flits over the pair before them, taking in the taut lines of Fives's shoulders and the way Echo's pressing himself into the wall. Emotions whirl through his mind, thoughts piling on top of thoughts until they cancel into a net zero, and his feet move before he's even aware of what he's doing. 

Fives and Echo make matching noises of confusion as Rex yanks them into a tight hug, a shuddering exhale escaping his lips. Worry seeps out of his limbs as he grips their shoulders, feeling entirely boneless at the realization that they're safe, they're here, they're alive. They're alive, and they're okay.

"You're okay," he breathes, pulling back to scan their faces. Fives looks wary and Echo looks absolutely beyond confused, but they're both safe and unhurt. They're both here. "I was so worried," he continues, and immediately feels ridiculous for saying as much. Fives's bewilderment at the words only adds to said mortification, and it's the cue for him to wrangle his thoughts back in line. 

"Just tell me where you're going," Rex states, trying to regain his entirely lost dignity. "I- I don't mind if you go out, just tell me that you're leaving. I-"

He bites back yet another "I was so worried", instead opting to awkwardly drop his hands to his side. The three of them stare at each other for a moment, the awkwardness in the room only ratcheting up as each moment passes, and it's only Cody's loud cough that saves them. 

"Fox is on his way back with takeout," he states, and Rex shoots him a look that he hopes properly conveys his thanks. "Your favorite," he adds, meeting Rex's gaze, and Rex's look immediately wilts.

Whenever Cody says "your favorite", it actually means Rex's least favorite - a mishmash of leaves, dressing, and mystery meat that Cody insists is supposed to be a salad. Rex isn't opposed to salads in theory, but whatever that thing is, it's not a salad. 

"You suck," Rex bluntly states, and Cody gives him a grin far too angelic to be real.

"You're not going to thank your ori'vod for getting your favorite?" Cody asks, and Rex rolls his eyes. "Your absolute favorite? Your favorite kind of salad? Fox goes out of his way to get your favorite and you're not even going to thank him? He'll be so hurt, Ret'ika."

He's right. Even if Rex knows full well that Fox is in on this, he'll thank him anyways. That's somewhat just how it goes. Fox is helpful enough on a daily basis to be free from Rex's ire.

Cody, however, has no such salvation.

Cody leaps over the foot Rex sticks out to kick his ankle, and flashes him a cartoonishly betrayed look. "See if I ever send Fox to pick up your favorite again," he states, just like every time, and just like every time, Rex glares at him.

"Good," he bluntly states, and Cody shoots him a small but genuine smile before disappearing back down the hall. He must've had some kind of plan, Rex thinks - some kind of secret agenda, or secret plot Rex isn't privy to - but upon turning back around, he realizes what it was.

Fives and Echo look a bit more at ease. The banter between him and Cody must've defused the tension enough for them to realize they're not in trouble - a thought Rex hates even considering - and he sends a silent word of thanks to his older brother for yet again coming to save him.

God, he loves Cody. He'll never admit it to him, but he does.

"Dinner's gonna be here soon," he states, lips curling into a small smile on their own. "I'll come grab you when it's here."

Echo and Fives nod in tandem - they didn't even plan that, Rex thinks, based on how easy it seems - and he takes that moment to leave, heading back to the living room with a growing grin.

Maybe he'll be able to do this after all.

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, Fives insists they share a bed that night.

It's something they've done since they were kids - back when Fives used to crawl into Echo's bed with fresh bruises and scrapes, desperate to hold his little brother and ensure he wouldn't disappear in his sleep - but as they've grown, it's lessened. Echo's not entirely surprised by that, especially given how much Fives values his limited independence, but the nights where it happens are nice regardless.

They're not kids anymore, so it's a bit tighter of a squeeze. Still, though, Echo has three less limbs to worry about, so where there might once have been knobby knees smacking against each other in the dead of night, there's now just Fives's arm thrown over Echo's back, his head tucked under Echo's chin and breathing ghosting over his collarbones. 

It's less surprising than it should be that Echo's still awake. He's always been the one to need more sleep, but as of late, he's seemed to end up undulating between twelve-hour and two-hour nights. He's either going to sleep like the dead or not sleep at all - there's no middle ground. 

Besides, figuring out Rex is enough of a challenge.

Echo's never heard of any real adults like him before. There's his mother, who's... his mother, Tech's parents who're neglectful, Hunter's parents who fucked off long before he even met him, Crosshair's parents who he regularly gets into fistfights with, and Wrecker's parents who're too taken with their own vices to watch their son. Somehow, Echo just assumed that was how all guardian figures were - concerned not about kids, but about themselves, be it their own happiness, their own vices, their own fun, or their own reputation. 

That's why Rex is so perplexing to him.

He really can't figure it out, and the more time passes, the more confused he gets. Rex seems attached to them despite having just met them a few days prior, and even after they embarrassed him, inconvenienced him, and worried him, he still hugged them. He hugged them.

Echo's back tingles with the phantom warmth, and he groans, leaning down to bury his face in Fives's hair. The entire thing Rex said made no sense, as did the way he bantered with Cody. He didn't even press when Fives refused to come out for dinner - just left some plates outside with a note to get some rest. He left a note. He left an actual honest-to-god note with a little cartoon drawing of something Echo thinks was supposed to be a tooka and all. It's like those lunchtime notes he's seen in holodramas. 

Echo screws his eyes shut, grip tightening around Fives's sleeve. He wishes his twin were awake - if nothing else, than to scold him for getting so tangled up in his own neuroticisms. That's always been their deal, though, even if he's never said it out loud. Echo's weak, unable to do anything but freeze like a pathetic child, so he has to figure out the rules to operate around for when Fives inevitably breaks them. He has to perform well enough that Fives's mistakes can be balanced out.

"Fucking bullshit," the Crosshair-in-his-head snaps, and Echo grimaces at the realization that he's thinking just like he did back in middle school. Of course he's relapsing now. He'd been doing so well - been doing so well at fighting back, at not giving a fuck what anyone thinks, and now one new situation is threatening to take away all that progress. 

"Fuck," he mumbles into Fives's hair, tugging his twin closer to his chest as if to protect him. It's- fuck, that's all he's ever wanted to do, really. He started wanting to succeed enough to take the heat off of Fives, and when it became overwhelmingly evident that he wasn't good enough for that - when he ended up as just a waste of money and time - he decided that he'd just be worse by comparison. It was supposed to work, even if it wasn't a plan he ever wanted to admit he had. Either he'd become strong enough to protect Fives, or he'd take the blows for his brother instead, and all he's done now is fuck that up. 

That's the thing. In relapsing, he's left Fives defenseless again. In wanting to please, in wanting to be the good kid his mother always expected him to be, he's put the weight of everything squarely on Fives's shoulders. The other shoe's going to drop at some point, and Echo can't wait around for it to happen. He can't just live in this fantasy world where Rex carries him around and gets him nice things and hugs him like some holodrama parent. This is the real world - there's no perfect family coming out of the shadows to protect them. There's just Echo and Fives. 

God, how immature he is to have forgotten that.

By the time the clock creeps over to ten, Rex is starting to feel a bit jittery.

Cody's still in bed, the marks from the paperwork he'd been looking over the night prior still present on his cheeks and forehead. He'd insisted on staying to help Rex out - despite Rex's numerous protests to the contrary - and through it all, Rex finds he honestly appreciates it. If he hadn't, he would've been left alone with his thoughts, and that's something that's never gone well. 

He first tries to deal with his jitters by walking laps, but that isn't even remotely satisfying. He's starting to feel the itch of not exercising already - he's used to working out every day, and taking a three-day break is longer than he's ever enjoyed - but he'd feel worse if he left Fives and Echo after the events of the day prior, so he just sits there. 

The duffels and box sit on his couch, taunting him with their presence. He's acutely aware of them - it's hard not to be, what with how poorly he's doing at thinking about literally anything else - and try as he might to find something else to think about, his thoughts keep coming back to their contents. More specifically, the physical proof of Rex's failings. 

He needs to do something. He needs to do something, or he's going to do the dumb thing and go looking through the datapad and make himself cry again at ten in the morning. 

He needs to do something, so he pulls out his own 'pad. 

When Cody comes out an hour later, Rex is waist-deep in 'pads and forms, a bagel forgotten on the table as he goes through the arduous process of school registration. Scrolling lines of text gleam in his pupils, and his fingers fly over the keyboard, filling in line after line of information arduously hand-copied over from old forms. It's such an oddly entrancing sight that Cody stops for a moment, one hand stuffed in his pajama pocket and the other wrapped around the corner of the doorframe.

Rex hasn't slept well in days - a fact Cody's well aware of. The set of his jaw speaks of deep-seated worry, of fear mixed with a bit of desperation that can only stem from love, and Cody wishes that wasn't a feeling he was so intimately familiar with. He wishes he didn't remember years of sitting at Rex's bedside and rubbing his back as his little brother sat there, delirious from nightmares and exhaustion to the point where Cody would be surprised if he remembered those nights at all. He wishes he didn't see himself at fourteen in Rex at twenty-nine, both of them helpless and floundering in an ocean so wide they can't see the edge. 

He drums his knuckles against the wall, and Rex raises his head, some of the tension seeping out of his shoulders when his gaze lands on Cody's face. "Morning," he greets, voice rough from exhaustion, and Cody fixes him with a cool gaze. If he asks Rex how long he slept, he's almost certain he's going to get a lie in return.

"What're you working on?" he asks instead, and Rex visibly relaxes at the realization that this conversation isn't going to go towards his piss-poor sleep habits. He relaxes too soon, Cody thinks - there's still time for him to pull out his questions. 

"I want to get Fives and Echo registered for school," Rex states, turning his attention back to the 'pad in his hand. "There's a lot of uploading and cross-referencing, plus some legal issues since I don't have permanent custody. I've got some forms for that somewhere, but I'm trying to finish this part first..."

He trails off, gaze going distant as he keys another phrase into the form. Cody's starting to wonder if maybe it isn't the 501st that needs Rex to survive, but rather the other way around. Skywalker, at least, seems to be able to haul Rex out if he gets too deep into his own head.

Now, look - Cody isn't especially fond of Skywalker. His vod'ika's captain is that potent combination of reckless and careless that has Cody fearing for Rex's life, and his penchant for sidestepping paperwork is so... not admirable, but so impressive that Cody thinks he might deserve a reward. Unfortunately, said penchant means that all the captain's paperwork comes down squarely on Rex's head, which means Rex is even more stressed than usual.

The twins might be good for him, then. Sure, Rex is even more stressed now, but he seems happier. The twins seem to be a lightening kind of stress - the kind of stress that's truly, absolutely worth it in the end. Such is the nature of family.

He makes a mental note to send a thank-you message to Wolffe and Fox before moving towards the couch. He scoops a few piles of datapads out of the way, stacking them on the side table before plopping down in the space they occupy, and Rex makes a small, distracted noise of greeting. 

He's not particularly inclined to drag Rex out of his quasi-trance, so he busies himself by pulling out his own datapad as his brother plows through form after form. They work in amicable silence for some time, Cody's mind soon filling with requisition forms, emails, schedules, and payment information to the point where all outside stimulus becomes little more than a blur. His occasional glances towards Rex tell a similar story - his little brother has his lips pursed in a thin line as he works, durasteel gaze focused on the screen in front of him. 

That is all to say that when Echo and Fives come in, it takes them an embarrassingly long time to notice. 

It takes them so long to notice, in fact, that it's only Fives's dull snort that announces their appearance. Rex and Cody spin in tandem - Rex looks horribly fond, Cody notes, and the older-sibling desire to tease him about it rears up in his chest - and Fives meets their gaze, a baggy sweatshirt hanging off his shoulders and damp hair dripping all over the floor. 

"Took you guys long enough," he states, and as Cody takes stock of their surroundings, he can hear the distant rattling of a washing machine. A quick glance towards Echo proves him to be the culprit; he's eyeing his coffee with an odd amount of antipathy, one that Cody can easily attribute to Rex's godawful laundry maker. 

"I thought you two were supposed to be firemen," Echo adds, and Cody blinks a bit at the unexpected bite the words come with. Echo's gaze is hooded, fingers tight around his mug and hair pulled into a low ponytail by the nape of his neck - delinquent-esque, Cody notes. He's wearing the leather jacket today as well, and when he raises the mug to his mouth, the sleeves slide down just enough to expose a woven-cord bracelet.

It's an odd amount of posturing for someone Cody previously thought to be genuine, and based on Rex's bewildered expression, he's thinking the same. 

"Firemen aren't known for their brains," Fives quips, and Echo's fingers twitch around the mug before him. There's an odd case of one-upmanship going on here, and despite how much Cody's tempted to intervene, he leaves it to Rex.

That promptly proves to be a mistake, as Rex ignores the insult in its entirety. Instead, he rounds the couch and places a datapad between the twins, lips curled into a horribly proud smile that tugs on something in Cody's chest. "I have good news," he states in an out of order preamble, and Fives and Echo crowd together to read the screen, expressions hidden from Cody's view. "I talked to the principal of Kyber-" no small feat, Cody notes, given how when he was in the Coruscant 91st, Captain Windu was able to reduce even Captain Skywalker to tears, "-and he agreed to let you transfer in!"

The twin looks of disgust on Echo and Fives's face would be hilarious in nearly any other circumstance, and even as it is, Cody chokes a bit on his spit. 

"There better not be uniforms," Fives grouses, and Echo's expression shifts into something not even Cody can guess at. Fives undoubtedly knows - the two of them are connected exactly as much as Cody would've expected - but he doubts any explanation is forthcoming. "The uniforms at Kamino were awful."

"We burned them," Echo bluntly states, and Cody finds himself left floundering once again. It's a total about-face from the teenager he met three days ago - someone who had a quick wit and sharp tongue, to be sure, but an underlying kindness to his words all the same - and he's not sure what could've brought it about. From the look on Rex's face, he's just as clueless. 

Echo seems to interpret this as a request for him to continue, and he hooks his legs up over the corner of the table, crossing his feet at the ankles. "It was a yearly tradition," he explains, "with me and the others. A start of the year celebration kinda thing."

"So I saw," Rex vaguely replies, leaning in to swipe the datapad off the table. He's floundering, Cody can tell, and before his little brother can dig himself into a hole he won't be able to escape from, he decides to throw him a lifeline.

"We should get books!" he proposes, and Rex shoots him a look of undying gratitude. "I can take them," he continues, and Rex looks as if Cody's the messiah come down to personally take him to heaven. His brother's a bit too easy to read, Cody thinks, but it's a good thing here - means he cares enough about them to let down his walls. Hopefully, that care isn't misplaced.

"No," Echo flatly states, and Cody claps his hands. 

"I wasn't asking," he hums, and if looks could kill, he'd be a dead man.

Were Fives not so worried, he'd find Echo's overwhelming resemblance to a porcupine comical.

Echo was bristling in the car ride over, bristling while they looked at stores, and he's bristling now, shoulders hiked up as Cody guides them through the store. They make quite a trio, the three of them - Cody's in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that sports "Coruscant's Finest: 501st" on the front in deep blue, Echo's in his leather jacket and jeans, and Fives is wearing Echo's old mathlete hoodie that's a bit too small on him, a pair of sweatpants, and boots that are more likely than not Echo's. 

All things considered, they look like three strangers who just happen to be going the same direction in a store.

Cody's words were firm, though, his tone brokering no room for argument. When they entered, he informed them that they would be getting school things, and that if they wanted to throw a tantrum about it, he'd treat them like children and get a child leash.

Fives loves him. 

Despite that, though, Fives is only human. He's drawn away from perusing the journal selections by the sports aisle, and all the breath leaves his lungs at the sight of sports equipment piled high on the walls. 

There's everything there - podracing helmets, iceboarding, anti-grav' ball - but the thing that draws his attention the most is the boloball section. It's titled "limmie" - of course it is, Fives internally grouses; nobody who actually plays the sport would call it that, so this was clearly set up by someone who has no clue what they're doing - but that doesn't distract from the sets of pads, jerseys, and boots that greet him. There's even a few balls on the lower shelf, albeit stuck in boxes, and Fives pulls one out, balancing it on the top of his boots for a moment before flicking it into his arms. 

He's never had the chance to actually shop for boloball in an official environment. His mother never approved - said that sports were for fools and morons - so all of his purchasing was done on the 'net. He's seen pictures of these jerseys before, but having them hanging in front of him is completely different.

"You're a lot like Rex," someone states, and Fives turns, ball still clutched to his chest. Cody's standing there, eyes unexpectedly soft, and when Fives doesn't reply, he nods to the ball in his arms. "I was never into sports," he continues, "but Rex was. He was the captain of his school's team, and whenever I came home, I'd see him in the yard practicing for a match. Got him a net one year for his life-day and he was so excited - went out back to practice immediately, even though it was absolutely freezing. I had to haul him back in even though his fingers were turning blue because he wanted to stay out longer." There's a hint of wistfulness in his voice, and Cody raises his arm to rest it against the shelf, gaze flitting from the ball in Fives's arms to his eyes. "You're a lot like him in other ways, too."

They stand there for a few moments, Fives hugging the ball to his chest and Cody seeking out a child long-grown in Fives's eyes. Finally, though, Cody huffs, and the spell breaks as he pushes the cart into the aisle. "I hope you don't cheer for Umbara," he states, reaching over to toss a set of kneepads into the cart. "I may not follow boloball much, but even I know that everyone hates Umbara."

When Cody's back is turned, Fives slips the ball into the cart. He undoubtedly notices, if the slight twist of his lips is any indication, but he doesn't comment on it, instead opting to simply continue as he expounds on the rumors he's heard about the Umbaran team. 

Fives decides that he likes Cody. He respected him before, sure, but he thinks that now he's starting to like him.

Retirement has done nothing to Captain Windu's general aptitude for making people cry.

Rex is starting to wish he found this out before ending up seated across from him, but there's nothing to be done now.

Captain Windu - though he's not a captain anymore, Rex notes, and mentally shortens the man's name to just "Windu" - sighs, one hand coming up to rub the bridge of his nose. Rex, employing every bit of decorum and finery he's had to learn over the years, stays silent.

"Your brothers," Windu finally states, hand coming up to rub at his temple, "are delinquents. They have arrest records, Rex. One of them was implicated in multiple cases of bullying and harassment, and the other set fires outside his old school!"

Yeah. Rex is starting to feel like this is going to be an uphill battle.

"They're good kids, sir," he states, folding his hands in his lap in an attempt to keep himself grounded. "They need help, and they need to go somewhere that cares about them. I know how good your school is, sir, and that's why it was at the top of my list."

Windu sighs again - a long, extended, suffering thing - and Rex feels a twinge of pity for him. Despite how hoity-toity things seem around here, he doubts the man gets paid enough for this. "You realize what you're asking of me, don't you?" he asks, hand coming back to rub at his nose. "You're asking me to compromise my school's reputation, my students' safety, and possibly even the integrity of my campus on a favor. Tell me, Lieutenant, how many favors do you think that should require?"

"Sir," Rex nearly begs, leaning forwards to meet Windu's gaze, "you worked with my cousin, Ponds. I met you before I even graduated high school - before I attended the Academy - and you were the one who suggested I become a firefighter. I remember you coming to dinner on Ponds's life-day and him introducing you as the man who changed his life. You change peoples' lives, sir," and it might be emotional blackmail to do this, but Rex is desperate, "so please, sir, help me change theirs."

Windu's expression does a Thing - one Rex recognizes from Ponds, and he idly wonders who picked it up from whom - and he sighs, reaching up to run his hand through hair he doesn't actually have. "I can help you," he slowly replies, voice measured, and Rex tenses, waiting for the inevitable "but". "I can help you, but I have two conditions."

"Yes, sir," Rex states, folding his hands in his lap and hoping to all that's watching him that they'll be conditions he can fulfill.

"Number one," Windu states, extending one finger to count them, "is that they adhere to all school regulations. One infraction - one report against them and they're out."

Rex nods - it's severe, but generally what he'd expect given his little brothers' records. He'd probably do the same, honestly. 

"Number two," and this time, Windu's looking directly at him, "I want both of them to attend some kind of therapy."

Rex's brain screeches to a stop at that. Therapy?

"Therapy, sir?" he asks, wanting to make sure that he hasn't just given himself a heart attack for nothing.

"Therapy," Windu affirms, and yep, there it is again. "It should be covered under your insurance," he adds, "and though I'm not in the business of requiring my students to seek help, these are... extenuating circumstances. I and the rest of my administrative team would feel more comfortable knowing there is a trained professional helping your brothers with their personal issues."

He fixes Rex with a stern gaze, lips pursing into a thin line as he folds his hands on the table. "In addition," he starts, and Rex braces himself for whatever's coming next, "I would recommend - though not require - you seek treatment as well. From what Ponds has told me, you never sought treatment regarding your mother's actions towards yourself, and in order to help your younger brothers, I would recommend that you do. As I said, that is not a condition, though I still recommend it."

It's the best offer he's going to get, Rex begrudgingly admits. He won't be able to do any better than that, nor will he be able to find a school better than Kyber.

"I agree," Rex states, and Windu's lips curl into something he's almost willing to call a smile. 

Chapter Text

Dinner that night is a strained affair, to put it lightly.

Echo spends most of it picking at his food, gaze flitting from takeout noodles to Rex's face as he tells the story of his conversation with Principal Windu. Fives spends a lot of it adjusting the jersey hanging off his shoulders - it's a player from Kamino, Echo recognizes, "Colt" emblazoned on the back in blocky white print - though he occasionally chimes in with some short quips about both their shopping expedition and Rex's apparent fear of Principal Windu. Cody seems content to watch, occasionally taking bites of his dinner in between remarks, and despite how genial the scene is, Echo feels as though he's standing in front of a firing squad.

He didn't do anything at the store, much as he knows he should've. He's being appropriately surly during dinner, only answering when spoken to and volunteering little-to-no information himself, so he hopes it'll be enough to make up for whatever punishment or restriction is sure to come from Fives's "gifts". He puts "gifts" in heavy quotes because nothing is ever really a gift - it's a transaction, one thing given and then either used as a weapon, taken away, or used as justification for a punishment. That's the way this works.

"There was one other requirement," Rex states, and Echo stuffs a few noodles in his mouth to give him an excuse for not looking up. Forgive him if he's not interested in hearing exactly what he's being forced to do to go to a school he doesn't even want to go to. 

He did, once. Back before that year - he did want to go to Kyber. His mother wanted him to go to Kyber, too, but then he cracked under the pressure. 

"You're both going to attend sessions with a therapist," Rex gingerly adds, and Fives goes still in his peripheral. Echo personally thinks that therapists are generally quacks - he knows how he's feeling, and he doesn't need to talk about it - but Fives hates them with the kind of single-minded vitriol he typically reserves for his enemies and Echo's friends. He's going to say as much, too, so he heads off Fives's words with a loud snort.

"I don't need to see a fucking quack," he grouses, and Rex's expression twists as he stabs his fork into the take-out box. "I don't even want to go to that fucking school."

Fives shoots him a look, and Echo steadfastly ignores it. He can disapprove of Echo's life choices all he wants, but if he's going to try and antagonize Rex and Cody, Echo should be permitted to do the same. 

"I'm doing it too," Rex states, and Cody's expression shifts to one of raw disbelief. This is apparently news to him - something Echo wouldn't have suspected, given how Cody seems to be Rex's number one confidant. It'd be like him not telling Fives something of that magnitude - the antithesis to the bond they've built up over all these years. "Kix has some openings coming up soon," he adds, "and so does Coric."

"I'm proud of you," Cody murmurs, reaching over to knock his foot against Rex's. Rex's expression twists a bit at that, and Cody narrows his eyes, an entire silent conversation passing between them before Rex finally sighs. 

"Thanks, ori'vod," he mutters, the words flavored both with irritation and overwhelming fondness. 

"You two are gross," Fives grouses, apparently trying to lighten the mood as he stuffs another wad of noodles in his mouth. "In front of my noodles," and Echo grimaces as a bit of sauce splatters on his hand, reaching over to surreptitiously wipe his fingers on his napkin. "Absolutely disgusting."

It's intended both as a jab and as a way to lighten the mood, and based on the way Rex snorts, it works. 

"You're grosser," Cody easily retorts, and Echo doesn't miss the way he slides Rex's takeout box a bit closer to his elbows. The older brother instinct is strong there - that's a move straight out of Hunter's playbook. "I saw your workout bag, Fives. You've got no room to talk."

Echo stills, already preparing a retort to cut Fives off. His twin's never been one to ignore any kind of bait, and Cody absolutely said that to try and provoke him. There's a cruel streak there - must be, for him to try and get Fives in trouble in front of Rex - and Echo takes a second to wonder why he'd want to pit Fives and Rex against each other. Does he want them to leave after all? He never got the sense that Cody was thinking that, but it would make sense in this context.

"Interesting you'd say that," Rex hums, and Echo inwardly curses his moment of contemplation. He's not looking at Fives, though - Echo didn't miss any of the conversation - but rather at Cody, fork perched between two fingers and eyes sparking with intrigue. "I wonder what Wolffe would have to say about that?"

Cody stills, lips curling into a crooked smirk, and Rex fishes his phone out of his pocket, thumbing it open with one quick motion. The case is 501st blue, Echo notices - decorated with geometric smears, a cog, and a slash across the center. Maybe Rex's friends decorated that? 

God, Echo and Fives are so dead.

"Maybe I'll tell him," Rex hums, and Cody lunges around the table, hands grasping for Rex's phone. Echo freezes for a moment, a chill running down his spine at the sight, and Fives rises a bit from his seat, shoulders tight with tension. 

The moment breaks as Rex snorts, and Cody grabs at his sleeve, brows scrunched up in focus. "You little shit!" Cody cries, and Rex raises his phone up on his fingertips, successfully keeping it from his brother's searching grasp. "You-" and Cody's properly climbing on Rex now, one hand tangled in his blond hair and the other yanking at his sleeve. "Give it here!"

Fives slides back into his seat next to him, though the coiled tension doesn't leave his form. Echo inwardly curses at that - his instinct is still to freeze, still to be a stupid, scared child - and he leans around to catch Fives's gaze, hand flashing in the shorthand symbol for "all clear?" under the table.

Fives nods, the motion wooden, and Echo matches the motion, gaze dropping to his hands even as shame burns hot in his throat. 

He's a failure. He's letting Fives down all over again - letting him down so much that he's not even sure what his use is. If he can't protect Fives with his example, good or bad, then what purpose does he have as his twin?

"Echo?" 

His head jerks up, gaze snapping to Rex's dark eyes on instinct. The man has his hands folded on the table, brow creased in apparent worry, and Echo sits there, tongue feeling like lead in his mouth.

"Are you alright?" Rex asks, and Fives squares his jaw next to him, muscles jumping as he grips the table's edge. He's gearing up for a fight, Echo realizes, and he won't be satisfied unless Echo himself can head off Rex's concern. Rex's statements are the bull, and Echo the haphazard matador tasked with surviving.

"Fuck off," he spits, and aims his gaze at the table before he can meet Cody's eyes.

"You," Fives states once he's herded Echo into the room, "are a fucking idiot."

He leans back against the door to the room, squaring his jaw as Echo meets his gaze. His twin stares at him for a moment, visibly weighing his options - to fight, or not to fight? - before apparently deciding that it just isn't worth it. He takes a measured seat instead, the plush comforter of his bed dipping with the movement, and they hold each others' gazes for a moment, a silent war waging in the air between them.

Fives has no intention of being the one to break the silence, though from the looks of it, Echo doesn't either. The metal of the door handle is jabbing uncomfortably into his back, and his heels are starting to ache from the general leaning, but he doesn't plan to move any time soon. His twin's a runner - if Fives gives him an out, he'll take it.

In the end, it's Echo who breaks the stand-off - not with words, but rather by ducking his head. His hair falls into his face, eclipsing his eyes, and Fives sighs, reaching up to run a hand through his own messy curls. "What are you doing, Ey'ika?" he sighs, and Echo's jaw works back and forth for a few long moments, expression eerily unreadable. Fives doesn't like that - doesn't like not being able to tell what Echo is thinking with a glance or a wink. Echo's his ta'vod - the other half of his soul - but right now, the few feet between them feels like a yawning chasm.

"You can do it," Echo finally rasps, and Fives blinks at him, unsure, "but I can't?" He raises his head, then, hair parting to reveal a gaze laced with visceral, burning fury. "You can throw yourself in the line of fire for me," he continues, "but I can't? You- you can do all this shit," and he gestures at Fives's yellowing bruises, his scabbed-over knuckles, the general area they've found themselves in, "but I can't?"

Fives's heartbeat roars in his ears at the look on Echo's face, and he grits his teeth, fury surging in his chest. Echo doesn't get it. He's supposed to be the best of them - the one with a future, the one with a brain that fucking works and the one who teachers actually care about. He has a chance here with Rex and Cody, and he's just throwing it all away - and for what? For Fives? For some stupid familial relation that shouldn't matter to him in the slightest? Echo's the best of them.

There's another, smaller part of his heart that wonders - "if Echo can protect himself, then what use do I have?"

"You're the best of us!" Fives shouts, drowning the vulnerable-but-true part of himself in burning rage. "You're supposed to be- you're the one with a future! You don't- fuck, Echo, you're smart! I don't- fucking hell! You could have this perfect fucking family and a brand new start, so why are you throwing it all away?"

"Nothing about this is perfect," Echo spits, flesh hand coming down to grip a wad of the covers. He's shaking, thin shoulders trembling with enough force to wrack his whole body, and a part of Fives wants to deescalate - to stop, cool down, and address it tomorrow. "Nothing about this is perfect," Echo repeats, "because I- fuck, Fives, I just want to-"

He cuts himself off, gaze dropping to his thighs, and Fives digs his nails into his palms, trying to rein in his temper. He's never gotten this angry at Echo before, and he's not sure he wants to start. 

"Kyber was your dream," he presses, and Echo raises his head, hollow laughter spilling from his lips.

"It was my dream," Echo spits, pushing himself off the bed with one shaking arm. "It was my dream," and he crosses the space between them, eyes churning with a mixture of fear, anger, and pain, "but I gave up on that shit when I tried to kill myself! I don't know if you fucking noticed, Fives, but I'm pretty shit at living up to people's expectations!"

"You think you're bad at that?" Fives counters, near-hysterical by the sheer audacity. "Teachers loved you! Everyone loved you! You- I would kill to have your brain! At least you weren't always the family disappointment!"

"No," Echo scoffs, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair. "No, I'm just the family droid. You all should've just let me fucking die. At least then I'd be able to help something. Hell, you would all be happier-"

Before Fives can even process his own movements, Echo's in front of him, face turned away and a bright red mark blooming on his cheek. Fives's hand stings, and his mind - a tangle and mess of thoughts, feelings, and fears - can't muster up a single coherent thought besides why?

"Don't you dare say that," Fives spits, but he thinks it comes out more as a sob based on the tears burning his eyes. "Don't you ever say that, Echo."

Echo simply stands there, frozen.

"You-" and Fives's voice breaks, humiliatingly, his emotion spilling out through the cracks in his words and heart, "you are the best thing in my life, Echo! You- you're my ta'vod, my- the other half of me. You're my best friend, my brother, so don't- don't you dare say I would be happier without you. Don't you dare," he repeats finally, uselessly, his hand falling to his side.

He feels like he's laid himself bare, his heart thrown onto the floor and left to bleed out before his twin's eyes. There's nothing he can do now but wait - nothing he can do now that he's put his feelings forth. 

These are the worst times. Fives has never been one to do well with inaction - never been one to do well without something to fight, something he can point at and say you, you are the problem. These things - this waiting, this mortifying ordeal of being known - makes his skin crawl.

Echo, a waiter - Fives wishes he could be like Echo yet again - turns to stare at him, eyes dark and movement slow. There's a maelstrom of emotions in his eyes, walls ripped down and heart laid bare, and when Fives reaches out for him, Echo flinches back.

That alone hurts more than a thousand blows. 

He's done the one thing he never meant to do. He's done the one thing he promised, promised never to do, ever since they were young and Echo used to come crawling into his bed with tears on his cheeks. He's done what he promised Echo he never would - he's hurt him.

"I promise I'll never be like her. I'll never hurt you, Ey'ika."

His hand stings with the force of his blow, and his heart creaks with the realization of failure upon failure. Echo still isn't looking at him, and while he's still, Fives runs.

God, what a coward he is.

When Rex finds himself pulled back to conscious awareness, it's by the soft sounds of crying.

He blinks a bit, one hand absently coming up to scrub at his eyes. Cody's off getting food again - Rex is going to cook tonight, but Cody insisted that he at least get some ingredients - and Fives and Echo should still be in their rooms.

Fuck, Echo.

The thought brings his pounding headache back to the forefront, and he grits his teeth, another crushing wave of failure slamming into his chest. Echo's well within his rights to be furious at him - Rex just wants to know what he did. 

The mystery crying person - Echo, Rex assumes - sniffs again, yanking him back to reality. Right - he can puzzle over his failings later. Right now, there's a brother out on the balcony that needs him.

He pulls his datapad off his lap, clicking it off and setting it to the side. It only takes a couple of steps to reach the balcony door, and he drums his fingers against the glass, keeping his gaze pinned staunchly on the handle in case Echo doesn't want to see him.

The sobs stop abruptly, and Rex pauses at that, unsure of what to do. Is this one of those situations where he needs to press? Is this one of those situations where he lets it go? Does his brother need him to go, stay, or just be there?

What would he want?

He's very aware of the fact that he's not Echo - that Echo and Fives aren't him, that they don't react the same or feel the same even under similar circumstances. He knows he's not his little brothers, and as such, what he would do doesn't help very much.

What he does know is that his little brothers used to hope he'd come save them. 

The door slides open with a low swish, and Rex steps out onto the balcony, drumming his fingers against the glass once more to announce his presence. "Hey," he murmurs, and to his surprise, the face before him isn't Echo's.

Fives slides even further into the corner, arms wound tight around his legs and gaze pinned staunchly on the floor. His eyes are bloodshot, tear tracks marring his cheeks, and Rex moves forwards to crouch in front of him, heart twisting in his chest. 

"Fives?" he whispers, and Fives sniffs, one hand coming up to scrub at his nose. He looks so small like this, his face partly hidden by his jacket sleeves and knees hugged to his chest, and Rex's heart aches all the more at the sight.

"Fuck off," Fives rasps, and Rex winces upon hearing his voice. It sounds like he's just been gargling sandpaper, and based on the way Fives shrinks, he knows it as well. 

"Hey," he breathes, settling down a little ways away. He rests his head against the cool glass of the balcony window, winding his arms around his calves and sliding one foot over to rest a little bit from Fives's side. "What's wrong, Fives?"

Fives shakes his head, tightening his grip further on his calves. He buries his face in his knees, and Rex waits for a moment, counting his breaths as Fives does his best to keep his tears in. It's a good job, too - that's probably what hurts the most. Rex knew how to stop crying on command when he was young, too. 

If Fives is anything like him, he probably won't want to talk about it. God knows Rex never talked about anything to Cody unless his older brother dragged it out of him kicking and screaming, and Rex doesn't really want to do that. 

He decides to just talk instead.

"When I was a kid," he starts, casting his gaze out towards the Coruscant skyline, "I used to get so upset that I was the baby of the family. Cody and Wolffe were both older than me, and Ponds, Fox, and Bly all had their own thing going on by the time I moved in with Cody. I hated it. I hated how everyone treated me like a little kid, how everyone would talk down to me."

He hazards a glance at Fives, and he's slightly pleased to see that he's listening. That's a win, if nothing else. 

"I didn't trust any of them, either," he adds, lips curling into a smile despite himself. "When Bly first came home for the holidays, I didn't recognize him, so when he tried to pat my head, I bit his hand."

Fives chokes on a snort at that, and Rex smirks, a bit of pride welling up in his chest. "I think that's why Wolffe started liking me," he admits, amusement seeping into his words despite himself. "If my memory serves, he tried to get me to bite Fox after that." He pauses for a moment before adding a short "I did, of course."

Fives snorts again, and Rex nods, mollified by the acknowledgement. "God, though," he continues, casting his thoughts back through years of hazy memories, "Cody cried so much when I first showed up there. I remember he had this whole thing about my life-day - he went so crazy for it. I don't even know where he got the money for half the stuff he pulled off, but he somehow managed to find the weirdest stuff. 'Cause keep in mind," he adds, "this was back before I knew anything I liked. I think he just went to the store and got everything he possibly could."

Even now, Rex can still remember that party. Cody had bought anything and everything he saw, which led to a bewildering combination of speeders, balls, and bright pink princess outfits. The latter definitely turned out not to be his thing, but at least Rex knows proper tea etiquette - unlike the rest of his brothers. 

"Who're Wolffe and Fox?" Fives quietly asks, and Rex blinks, realizing too late that Fives absolutely wouldn't know Cody's family.

"Wolffe is Cody's twin brother," he explains, "and Fox is his older brother. Bly's between them, and Ponds is his cousin. There's a lot more brothers besides them," and isn't that the understatement of the century, "but those four are the ones Cody's the closest with."

He can still remember the first time he met the entire extended family. He must've been fourteen, and within two minutes, he somehow managed to lose Cody and Wolffe entirely and ended up nearly adopted by a particularly enthusiastic and violent part of the Fett clan. Wolffe just laughed, the shabuir.

Fives nods, and Rex hums, casting his mind back through his history in search of further stories. "Fox is a total rule-follower," he snorts, memories of his oldest brother's job position flooding into his mind. "His boss is an absolute shabuir, but he works with the Senate, right? That means his boss is technically the Supreme Chancellor, so he can't officially complain about him."

Fives stares at him, not quite comprehending, and Rex decides to give an example. "The last time we met up," he continues, "Fox was absolutely wasted, but he was still conscious enough to remember that talking shit about his boss would violate national security or something. So he just started ranting about this guy he called 'Mr. D', and it took me a few minutes to realize that not only was he talking about Palpatine, but that he was insulting him, too. That doesn't violate national security, either," he snorts, "because who would think that the head of security at the Senate would call their boss 'Mr. Demagolka'?"

Fives chokes on a wheeze, and Rex grins, something in his chest bursting into flight at the sound. "What else," he hums, tapping a finger against his chin. "Oh, there was the time I went to Wolffe's wrestling meet..."

He's not sure how long he sits there dredging up stories from the past, but by the time his throat aches and his thoughts run dry, Fives is smiling. Not even a fake smile, either - a real, bright, honest smile that turns the twilight into midday. 

For a fleeting moment, Rex hates - hates his mother, hates his family, hates everyone who took this from him for so long - but the feeling passes. It leaves in its place nothing but love, and it's a feeling Rex isn't sure he's used to.

It's one he could get used to, though. 

Chapter Text

Cody isn't generally one to praise his own plans, but as far as he's concerned, this one was one of his best.

Rex squints at him in the dark, his legs pressed up against Cody's and one arm resting under his head. His nose is scrunched up in the way that speaks of deep thought - either that or overwhelming exhaustion - and when he settles into the pillows with a sigh, Cody nearly chalks it down as a win.

Nearly, because Rex opens his eyes fully to stare at him, brow creased in worry. "Vod," he whispers, voice rough with exhaustion, and Cody taps his foot to let him know he's listening. "Your feet are cold," Rex grouses, and Cody smirks as he pulls away. The joy only lasts for a moment, though, as Rex's brow creases once again with overwhelming worry. "I don't know what to do," he mumbles, and Cody arches a brow, silently asking him to continue. 

"Fives was crying today," Rex murmurs, voice distant and gaze fixed on some nebulous point over Cody's shoulder. His expression gives up no secrets - not even for Cody, who's long-since learned to read Rex like a book - which means this must be something new. Cody's willing to even call it Rex's ori'vod face. "Did he- did he seem alright to you? Earlier?"

Cody sucks in a breath through his teeth, momentarily weighing what to tell Rex and what to keep from him. After a moment, though, he decides that total honesty is probably the best policy here, and he dips his head. "You know we went to the store," he starts, and Rex's brow creases at that, his lips pursing in anticipation of bad news. This, at least, Cody knows well, and he slides a bit closer to Rex in hopes of offering comfort. "Fives disappeared for a second, and when I looked around, I found him in the boloball aisle."

Rex nods, and Cody exhales a bit. He's not quite sure how to say the next part, but he knows it has to be said. "He tried to sneak a ball in the cart," he simply states, "and he looked so afraid putting it in. He looked like he thought I'd yell at him for it, and I don't think he even noticed it himself. There was just this one moment - when my back was almost turned - when he looked at me like-"

His words fail him, but Rex can fill in the blanks. They both know that even after all these years, Cody's never been able to forget the way Rex looked at his mom. 

Mom is too kind of a word for her, really. If Cody could, he'd flat-out call her a worthless piece of trash, but Rex might take umbrage with that. Key word being might - he's not entirely sure what Rex's stance on his genetic donor is these days. 

"Kix said he had some openings tomorrow," Rex states, the phrase a total non-sequitur. Cody recognizes it for what it is - a desperate grasp for something he can control, something he can point at and examine and handle personally - but he's willing to let it slide. "Coric, too," he adds, "so I told him I'd take them."

"Kix definitely freed time up for you," Cody snorts, and Rex digs his stupidly hot foot into Cody's calf. "Hey- I'm right!"

"It's because I," another kick, "am liked." Cody snorts once again, and chooses to retaliate by stuffing his cold feet right in between Rex's warm shins. 

Rex nearly yelps at that, and Cody gives him an innocent smile. "If you're so well-liked," he hums, "then it shouldn't matter if you're cold, huh?"

"You're awful," Rex deadpans, pushing Cody's legs away with his feet. "The worst ori'vod. I'll have to call Wolffe and let him know he can replace you."

Cody gasps at that, and Rex smirks right back at him, the little bastard. "I guess I'll just have to watch while you learn their howls," he faux-laments, and Rex stiffens next to him. Checkmate. "All their intricate communications through screaming... I'm sure Wolffe will give you his ninety-four page guide if you ask nicely enough."

"You're a monster," Rex mutters, and Cody smiles once again. Sure, it might be a bit immature and childish, but Rex is finally at ease. If sacrificing a bit of his dignity is what it takes to remove some of the weight from his vod'ika's shoulders, he'll do it.

Mind games, all of this.

Echo glowers at the shrink seated across from him, shoulders hitched to his ears and jaw set. He's wearing his jacket, armored up in leather and metal, and the therapist across from him is, insultingly, wearing a sweater. An actual fucking sweater - one that looks straight out of some holo about some emotionally challenged kid learning to accept love through "the power of friendship" instead of anything anyone would actually wear. 

Echo glares at the shrink once more, then at the sweater. God, he hates that fucking sweater.

"It's nice to meet you," the shrink smiles, extending a hand in greeting. "My name's Coric. Kix contacted me and asked if I'd be willing to meet with you, and I jumped at the opportunity."

Oh, so it's some kind of novel he wants. Echo can see it now - emblazoned on the front cover: "Miracle Therapist Teaches Formerly Suicidal Boy How To Function" in bright gold letters. Yeah, he's not interested in being anyone's project. 

"A bit about me," the shrink starts, dropping his hand upon seeing that Echo's not going to shake it, "I'm from Teth - you haven't heard of it. It's a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, and I think going to Coruscant for school was the first time I'd ever seen a two story building."

"It sounds like a dump," Echo bluntly states, and to his surprise, the shrink simply laughs. 

"It is. Almost none of us make it out, so I guess I'm one of the lucky ones."

He leans forwards on his elbows, lips curling into a soft smile. "I've told you a lot about me," and Echo doesn't mention that he hasn't, actually, he's just vaguely implied how shitty his hometown is, "so why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"

"Pass," Echo bluntly replies, and then, because he can, "can't you just get all of that from your file?"

"Files don't do very much," the shrink hums, which Echo thinks is shrink-speak for "Kix gave me your file two days ago and it was such short notice that I didn't have time to read it so I'm trying to cover up my mistake". "I want to know you as a person, Echo, not just a list of events and records."

Echo glares at him once again, then back at the sweater. God, it really is an atrocious sweater. It looks like a cat threw up on him - who let him leave the house wearing a shade of brown that hideous?

"It looks awful, doesn't it?" the shrink laughs, and Echo blinks, taken aback. He pulls it off and lets it pool in his lap, raising a sleeve between two fingers to investigate. "Kix gave it to me a while back - he actually asked me to hide it, since Jesse was trying to trick him into wearing it. I like to wear it, though, because it's soft. I don't mind if the color is awful - I don't even really mind if people stare. It's how it feels that matters."

Echo stares for a moment, trying to understand, but in the end, all he can come up with is a bewildered "was that fucking philosophy?"

"That depends," the shrink states, lips curling into a vaguely self-satisfied grin. God, Echo wants to punch this man straight in his stupid nose. "Did you get something out of it?"

This man makes no sense. This entire thing makes no fucking sense. Echo was prepared to come in and get grilled yet again about his suicide attempt and probably get put under suicide watch again - which really loses its luster about five seconds in - not get a philosophy lecture from some shrink. 

"Fuck you," he finally grouses, and the shrink simply smiles that stupid fucking enigmatic smile. 

"I get told that a lot," he hums, and Echo wants to scream.

"Officially, I'm here as your therapist."

Kix leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. "You have my word that nothing you tell me will leave this room," he starts, "and that nothing you say will taint the way I see you. Everything that happens here won't impact anything out there, and vice versa."

Rex stares at him for a moment, unsure of what to say, and after a few seconds, all he can come up with is "the station's health insurance is shit."

Kix smirks a bit at that, reaching up to twirl a pencil around his fingers. "I agree," he hums. "It's generally considered amoral to treat your friends or family, but if the other option is them not being treated at all..."

"How do these sessions go with Jesse?" Rex asks, grasping in vain at any familiar straw. Kix levies him with a glare, tapping his pencil against his clipboard a couple of times in what must either be irritation or admonishment.

"Confidentiality," he coolly replies, and Rex curses him in his mind. "What do you want to talk about, Rex?"

He pauses a bit at that, turning over some thoughts in his head. On the one hand, he knows what he needs to talk about - his mother. He needs to address the Gordian Knot of feelings around that entire thing, figure out how to handle meeting with her in prison, figure out if she's going to press charges on Fives for assault and how he can handle that without mentioning a word of it to Fives, and inside of that knot, a smaller and even more complex knot encompassing his entire awful childhood. 

On the other hand, he's been having a very lovely sixteen years of total avoidance, and he's not entirely sure he wants to give that up just yet.

There's a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Cody, and it's calling him a coward. "It's for your brothers," the voice of his Cody-conscience reminds him, and Rex curses the fact that he's right. 

"My mother," he grits out, and Kix simply nods, scribbling something down on his clipboard. "You- what are you writing?"

"Notes," Kix vaguely replies, and upon noticing Rex's irritation, adds "you can see them at the end, if you want. I'm the only one who ever sees them, and they're so I can remember what we've discussed. If we talk about something sensitive, for example, I don't want you to have to explain it again because I forgot something."

That makes sense, but Rex still doesn't like it.

"What about your mother?" Kix asks, placing the pencil on his lap and folding his hands. Rex has the sudden and intense feeling that he's on trial - that his mother's looming behind him, a ghost in the shadows even after sixteen years, ready to swoop in and accost him for yet another failing.

"She wasn't kind."

His gaze falls to his hands - stupid, traitorous, shaking hands - and he digs his nails into his palms, willing the shaking to stop. "I hate her," he mutters, the feeling rising in his chest like bubbling magma, "but not- not as much for what she did to me. That- I've been dealing with that." Not well, if Cody is to be believed, but that's beside the point. "I just- I hate her so much for what she did to them. I hate her so much." His mind spins in circles, and far too raw emotions pour out while it's distracted. "I just- Cody told me, last night. He told me that- that Fives looked so afraid just putting a boloball in the shopping cart. He looked so- he loves boloball," and there's desperation there, too, a plea to the world to convey Rex's heartbreak through failing words. "I hate her- I hate her so fucking much for doing that to him. I hate her for what she did to Echo, and I know she's part of the reason he's acting like this, because I know he's a good kid. He's so kind and thoughtful and funny and brave, and I know- I know she had something to do with why he's lashing out. I hate her for failing them, and she failed them so many fucking times that I just- I hate her."

He exhales, hand coming up to scrub at his eyes. "I hate myself," he softly adds, "for letting her."

"Did you let her?" Kix asks, and Rex can't bring himself to meet his gaze. He scrubs at his eyelids once more, willing the tears that threaten to spill away. "Because from where I'm sitting, it doesn't look like you did."

"I should've been there," Rex mumbles, the words coming out low and broken. "I should've- I should've looked. I should've known she'd do something. I should've known, I should've- I should've looked for them-"

"You're entitled to your own pain," Kix murmurs, and Rex slowly shakes his head. Kix doesn't understand. He should've- his own pain doesn't matter here, and even if it did, the pain of seeing his little brothers hurting is much more than anything his mother could do. "She was awful to you, Rex, so nobody can blame you for not looking into her."

"I should've looked," Rex rasps, and Kix makes a small noise of disagreement. 

"If you had found out they were there, you would've gone to them, right?"

"Of course," Rex immediately replies, head jerking up to meet Kix's gaze. The sheer audacity of the question leaves him stunned for a moment - in what world wouldn't he? - but Kix's eyes narrow, and Rex realizes he's fallen right into his trap. 

"If you had known," Kix quietly states, "you would've gone for them. The reason you didn't know is because your mother hurt you as well, and you were protecting yourself by staying away from her. You did nothing wrong, Rex. There's no shame or guilt in protecting yourself. If you had pushed - if you had gone for them back then - you might've been even worse off. You did nothing wrong."

He reaches out his hands, palm-up - a silent offering - and after a long moment, Rex rests his on top of them. 

"I know you probably won't believe me today," Kix murmurs, "but I hope that someday - someday - you will."

In all honesty, Fives has absolutely no idea what he's meant to be doing here.

The therapist stares at him with a genial smile, hands folded in his lap and an awful sweater hanging off his shoulders. Fives isn't one for fashion - Echo's generally the one to pick out what colors work with what whenever they have to dress well - but even he can tell that that sweater is an abomination. It's one of those things that transcends active understanding. 

"So," he slowly starts, leaning back to splay his arms over the couch, "is this the part where you tell me why I'm here?"

The therapist smiles a bit, untangling his hands to offer one to Fives. "No," he hums, and Fives takes the offered hand, shaking once before retreating to the couch. "My name is Coric, but you can call me whatever you want."

"You're Kix's friend?" Fives asks, and Coric nods, smile softening a bit as his gaze goes distant. He seems alright - but then again, Fives knows enough to know that it's the people who seem nice that're the most dangerous. He can let Coric think he's let his guard down without actually telling him anything, and that should be enough to get him to pass.

Is it possible to pass therapy? Is this a pass-fail kind of thing? Is a good grade in therapy something that's possible to achieve? If it is, Fives knows Echo would go for it- or, well, he would've. 

"What do you want to talk about?" Coric hums, voice soft in a way that speaks of years of practice. Fives eyes him for a moment, unsure if it's a trick question or not - he knows what he's supposed to say, but he doesn't want to talk about that - before shrugging a bit and leaning back into the cushions. 

"Are you a mathlete?"

Fives snorts loud enough to wake the dead at that, and when the sheer insanity of the sentence hits him, he only laughs harder. Him, a mathlete? After all the years he'd done so badly in math that his mother had to come to remedial meetings that ended with her shoulders drawn and lips pursed in a line so fine Fives could barely see them? After all the nights he cried over homework and tried to understand the numbers and letters on the page that always ended in horrible, painful failure?

No, Fives isn't a mathlete.

"Your sweatshirt," Coric explains, gesturing towards the hoodie he's chosen to bury his hands in. Fives glances down at his chest, and yep, that's Echo's old mathlete hoodie. He'd given it to him the day prior after confiscating his normal jacket on grounds of "sanitary violations", and since then, they haven't traded back.

The thought of the day prior makes something ache in his chest, and he grits his teeth in an attempt to keep any traitorous words inside. "It's my brother's," he forces out, stuffing his hands deeper in the pocket and flopping back into the chair. 

Coric nods a bit at that, eyes softening at the corners as he takes in Fives's atrocious posture. His mother would've scolded him for it, but Coric simply leans back, folding his hands in his lap and studying Fives's face. 

He doesn't like that look. It makes him feel like a lab animal - like something to be watched and monitored, not a living, breathing person. It reminds him of how his mother used to look at him, scrutinizing him with sharp eyes in search of any redeeming quality that would make his life worth anything. 

This environment is bringing up feelings, and Fives doesn't like it. He's been doing just fine, thank you, and he's been quite happy to not feel anything. Feeling is overrated - why experience things when you can just repress and deny everything? Jealousy, envy, grief, and loneliness who? Fives hasn't met them. 

"What do you like?" Coric asks, as if it's that simple. Fives stares at him for a moment, unsure of what to say - nobody really wants to hear his thoughts on boloball, his former team and coach included - but Coric seems to be actually curious.

That's the bitch about nice-seeming people. Fives wants to trust them, really, but they're just not going to pay it back. 

"Boloball," he bluntly replies, and Coric's eyes light up at that. 

"My brothers played boloball in high school," he laughs, and Fives finds himself caught off-guard once again. He seems so genuine - so much more than any person has any right to seem. "I used to go to their games - I never even learned the rules. I just cheered when everyone else did, and nobody ever noticed. What's your favorite part about it?"

Fives has to think about that for a moment - really think about it. It's not the team. It's not the power it gives him, not the ability to shove people aside in the halls. It's not even the reputation - that's something that's more necessary than enjoyable. 

"I just like playing," he shrugs, and really, that's all it is. Under all the fighting, under all the pushing and shoving and posturing - under all the parts of his life inexorably wrapped up in keeping the few things he loves safe - he just loves playing. 

Coric smiles at that, and Fives finds himself with the sudden feeling that he did, in fact, just get a good grade at therapy. "I heard you're transferring schools," he starts, and reality promptly slaps Fives upside the head.

Right - he's got to start from scratch all over again. Rebuilding his reputation, making new enemies, learning who not to make an enemy of - he's got to start from square one. It was hard enough the first time, and he had an in already there. This time is just going to suck. 

"Are you going to play for your new school?" 

Fives shrugs a bit, turning his gaze to his hands in his lap. "I might," he vaguely replies, because, honestly, that was pretty damn near the bottom of his priority list. He likes it, yeah, but he's had a lot more important things to worry about. 

"Do you want to?" Coric continues, and Fives glowers down at the carpet. Who puts carpet on floors anymore? It's just an inconvenience when you have to move things around. 

"I guess," he mutters, and Coric hums a bit at that. 

"You don't have to, but if you think it'd bring you joy, I'd encourage you to try out."

Fives absolutely cannot express just how much that is not his priority at the moment. 

"So," the man continues, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees, "is there anything else you want to talk about?"

Fives shakes his head a bit too quickly, though the other man doesn't seem offended. "Alright," he hums, drawing himself up from his seat and moving for the door. For a moment, Fives's heart leaps - is he really going to be freed? - but Coric takes a right turn, and all his hopes disappear into mist. 

The therapist peers into a cabinet for a moment before grasping something, and Fives watches, bewildered, as he returns with a large box in hand. "Have you ever played Kirgatz?" he asks, and Fives's bewilderment only grows. 

"No?" he replies, and Coric hums assent, lowering the box to the ground and tugging it open. "Why?"

"Well," the therapist shrugs, "we have forty-five minutes, and I thought you might want to do something more active than sit here in silence for the whole time."

Somehow, Fives doesn't doubt that Echo did just that. 

Curse Coric. He seems so stupidly, infuriatingly genuine in a way that makes Fives's teeth grind. It's enough to make him want to scream - enough to make him want to stand up and demand for him to drop the act, that the jig is up and Fives caught on to his lies. 

But Coric's just sitting there, a board out in front of him and tiles spread over the carpet. He looks harmless, looks kind, even, and some part of Fives wants to join him. It's not a small part, either, and he resigns himself to his fate with a long, long sigh. Curse this man and his deceptive kindness.

"Fine," he grouses, plopping down on the other side of the board. "How do you play?"

Chapter Text

Were Fives not so acutely aware of just how little he deserves to talk to Echo right now, he'd give him advice on how to be annoying.

As it is, he casts his gaze out the window, mind spinning in circles even as his expression stays stagnant. It's a clean window - surprisingly so, given the general disaster-adjacent nature of Rex's truck - and when he casts his stare towards Echo, he finds his ta'vod much more at ease.

Of course he is. This truck is so shit that it probably looks like the Sad Batch's truck back at Kamino. What was its name again? 

"What's your truck's name?" Fives asks, directing the question primarily at Echo but leaving it open enough that he doesn't know for certain it's addressed to him. Rex seems to notice, however, since he catches Fives's gaze in the rearview mirror - which is, again, stunningly well cared for - and his lips quirk into a small smile.

"It doesn't really have a name," he shrugs, and Fives doesn't entirely know how this turned into a full-on conversation, but it's too late to back out now. "The others made fun of me when I used to talk to it like a tooka, but I never fully named it."

"That's lame," Fives huffs, leaning up to prop his feet on the console. Rex scowls at his dirty sneakers, and Fives, sensing a losing battle, lowers them to the floor. "All cool things have names," he continues, "though I guess this thing isn't exactly cool."

"She's gorgeous," Rex refutes, reaching over to pat the dashboard. "She's my baby."

Fives doesn't comment on either statement - mostly because he really, really doesn't want to hear Rex wax poetic about a moving ball of rust - and instead just rolls his eyes. "Well, she doesn't have a name," he huffs, "so she's still lame."

Rex hums a bit at that, gaze going a bit distant in a way that almost certainly has Echo worried they're going to crash. A quick glance at his twin confirms it - yep, Echo absolutely has that tiny pinch to his lips that means he's trying very hard not to scream - and Fives nearly laughs before remembering why they're seated as far apart in the car as possible. 

He doesn't comment on it. 

"Captain Skywalker tried to get us to name the engines at the station," Rex muses, "but only a couple of them really stuck. Our main engine's named Torrent because Jesse decided to pick it up from repair in the middle of a hurricane and then got surprised when it turned out not to be waterproof."

Ah, the time-honored tradition of sibling teasing. 

"Are you two related?" Fives asks, and Rex shakes his head. 

"We've worked together for six or seven years at this point, though," and he reaches over to fiddle with the thermostat, "and spent a ton of holidays out in the field, so might as well be. Same with Captain Skywalker."

Fives blinks a bit as warm air starts to filter through the vents, and he casts a glance in Echo's direction in search of an explanation. Sure enough, his twin's huddled up against the door, arms wrapped around his legs and shoulders hiked up to his ears. He turns his gaze away from Fives when he catches him looking, but Fives does notice a bit of the tension drain from his shoulders. 

Fuck, though, if he doesn't feel a bit too exposed like this. Echo's wearing his leather jacket, and Fives is here in a boloball jersey because he was too much of a coward to ask Echo for his jacket back. There's still bruises and scratches on his arms that have yet to heal, and his fingers still look a bit odd. He's going to draw attention not on his own terms, which is the absolute last thing he wants. 

In a stunning show of awful timing, Rex pulls up to Kyber just as Fives is getting into the good part of his pity fit. After a couple of seconds spent parking, Rex flicks off the engine and turns, sharp gaze flitting from Echo to Fives in turn.

"We've got a meeting with Principal Windu," he starts, "and after that, he said he'd get students to show you around. I've got to go into the station today - you two have my comm code, right?"

Fives does - not thanks to Rex, of course, but rather thanks to Cody, who rather brusquely keyed both of their comm codes into his and Echo's phones. He doesn't bother pointing that out, though, and simply nods. 

Rex's expression softens a bit, and something fond sparks in his golden eyes. "If you need anything," he insists, "just call me. If I can't come, I'll call someone who can, and if nobody else can, I'll drop whatever I'm doing. I'm serious. Don't hesitate to call."

"Yeah, buir," Echo mutters under his breath. Rex doesn't seem to hear it - or maybe he does; Fives honestly has no clue - since his expression doesn't change, but he hops out of the truck nonetheless.

"Principal Windu is scary," he informs them, leaning against the car door as the pair of them collect themselves, "but he shouldn't go too hard on you."

"So," Windu states, gaze flitting from Fives to Echo in turn, "these are the two delinquents you want me to accept."

All hopes for a nice, easy meeting fizzle up in Rex's stomach and turn to ash.

Fives grins, the expression sharp and challenging, and he reaches out a hand in offering. "Fives," he introduces, and Windu stares at him, decidedly unimpressed.

"The bully," he flatly replies, and Fives's smile doesn't waver in the slightest. It's honestly impressive how practiced that is. "I read your disciplinary reports, Fives. Absolutely no bullying, harassment, or violence is tolerated on campus grounds."

"None that you'll catch," Fives cheerily replies, and yeah, Rex sees why Cody wanted to cry so often as a kid. Surely Rex himself wasn't this much of a heathen. 

He sucks in a slow breath and actively reminds himself that Fives is traumatized and falling back on familiar behavioral patterns to deal with an unfamiliar situation. "Sir-" he starts, but Windu cuts him off with a wave of his hand. 

"Our athletics programs require at least a 'B' average," he states, and Fives's smile turns just a bit brittle at the edges. "That being said, I hope to see you at winter tryouts."

Fives visibly reels a bit, caught off-guard by the possible show of approval. Rex himself isn't even sure if that's approval or not, in all honesty. Fives is good - though Rex may be a biased party, he has the build and temperament of a damn good player, and he'd bet more than a few credits on his playing - but he's not sure if that's something Windu values or not.

"Then you're the arsonist," Windu bluntly continues, and Echo meets his gaze with a stony stare of his own. It's impressive, to be sure, but nobody out-stares Windu. "I'd like you to take a placement exam."

Echo bristles at that, and Fives squares his jaw, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to make himself look larger than he is. "If you're gonna make him do that, then you should make me do it too."

"Your performance in your subject areas is typical and consistent," Windu flatly states, leaving Fives sputtering as he tries to determine just how much of an insult that is. "Echo, however, appears to have been underachieving."

Echo squares his jaw in the same way as Fives, expression going carefully blank as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. "How do you know that?" he challenges, and Windu meets his stare with his own famous glare. 

Rex heard stories about that glare. Apparently it's been enough to reduce grown men to tears - Ponds himself included when he once made the mistake of undervaluing his skills. According to him, Windu is a terrifying motivator. 

He didn't understand what that meant then, but he understands now.

"Underachieving is not accepted at Kyber," Windu simply replies, as if that explains everything. To some extent, it does. To a much more real and pressing extent, it explains absolutely nothing. "You can sit for the placement exams tomorrow. For today, I contacted two students in the welcoming committee to show you around."

Rex gapes at him, barely daring to believe his own ears. Even after that dumpster fire of a meeting, he's still letting Fives and Echo in? Windu's either some kind of wizard or a maniac, and Rex is starting to think the answer might be both. 

"Lieutenant," and upon hearing the rank, Rex straightens on instinct, "you're dismissed. Please give Captain Skywalker my best regards."

Somehow, Rex doesn't think he actually wishes Anakin anything good, but he'll pass the message on anyways.

"If you need me," he insists, making eye contact with Fives and Echo for a few meaningful seconds each, "just call me."

He has absolutely no faith that either of them will call him, but it's best to repeat it until they do. Maybe someday, if Rex is lucky, he'll be their first call.

That's an oddly comforting thought, and it buoys him to his truck. It ought to have a name, he agrees, patting the dashboard as the old engine sputters to life. Something about how long it's been hanging on, maybe? He'll have to ask Echo and Fives about it. 

The sheer significance of the day's events - the meeting, Fives and Echo going to school, a sense of base normalcy finally coming together - hits him then, and he spends a few minutes just existing in it, pop tunes filtering through the radio and long-held tension finally draining from his bones.

He's got a handle on it. The hardest part is over.

It's been a long time since Echo recognized himself in another person's eyes, and he can't say he's missed it.

The kid who's showing him around - Dogma, if memory serves - has all the marks of a mathlete at the top of his game. He's wearing the team hoodie, his hair's cut back neatly and pushed back so it'll stay out of his eyes, and if memory serves, that's the chain rule scrawled on the inside of his arm. God, he's such a nerd. 

His only saving grace is that Dogma looks just as nervous as he feels, if not more. He's got his shoulders set and jaw squared in a way that Echo thinks is supposed to look intimidating, but in practice just looks a bit desperate. Were he not so entirely uninterested in making friends, he'd give the kid pointers.

"Math Club meets in Mr. Alpha's room," Dogma states, gesturing at a closed door. Echo studies it for a moment, and when the name finally clicks, he shoves any and all excitement into a deep, deep hole in his chest.

Sure, he knows of Alpha. He's a legend across the world - known for proving a theorem thousands thought impossible. Echo's read a fair amount of his papers himself. The man's a legend unto himself, and may or may not be half of the reason Echo used to dream about coming to Kyber in the first place.

Of course, even back then, he never would've left Fives behind.

The thought of his twin sends a fresh pang through his chest, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets. His cheek throbs once more, and he pushes his tangled emotions down even deeper, unwilling to address any of what happened nor why it's affecting him so much.

For fuck's sake - Fives was the one who their mother took it out on, not him. He doesn't have the right to react this way after being slapped by his brother. If it was Fives- he never would've hit Fives, because Fives has already taken so many hits for him, but if it was Fives, he would've forgiven him. Even if he'd broken down, expression going that scary kind of distance Echo's only ever seen once or twice, he'd forgive him.

That's the worst part, really. In the end, Fives is always the best of them.

Sure, his twin can insist he's better because he can do math or some shit, but Fives is the better one by far. He's got a good heart, and he never forgets to protect Echo. He never relapses like Echo does, and once they really get to know him, everyone likes him. He's an incredible boloball player, and if he ever stopped worrying so much about the fucking grades their mother cared about, he'd see just how incredible he truly is.

"Echo?" 

Echo blinks, and Dogma's standing in front of him, their feet nearly brushing and the kid's brow creased in concern. It's too much - he's too close, close enough that Echo can see the "V"-shaped scar on his temple - and his mind spirals off into nonsense before he can stop it.

He shoves Dogma back, and the kid takes a few stumbling steps before regaining his footing. It was hard, Echo notes - too hard for a kid who's not even doing anything - and his heart pounds at his fingertips, emotions spilling over his ribs and spreading through his bones. 

He wants Fives here. He wants his ta'vod to protect him, but god, that's just selfish again. He has to be able to handle his own problems, has to be able to protect Fives, has to stop relapsing and being such a fucking burden. 

"Echo?" and Dogma's gripping his metal hand which really only makes Echo feel worse. His mother bought these limbs for him because she expected he'd keep performing academically, and he let her down, and he let everyone down, and fuck, he wants to run away from all of this. He wants the world to stop spinning, wants to run away just like he did in eighth grade, and for a moment, the past looms over him, a tsunami about to crash. 

He wants Fives. He wants Tech and Wrecker and Hunter and Crosshair and Omega. He wants his siblings.

Bile rises in his throat, and he shoves Dogma away once again, gaze flitting wildly over the hall until it finally lands on a bathroom sign. Twelve steps and he's bent over a porcelain basin, hacking up what bits of breakfast he managed to keep down, and when a hand settles on his back, he flinches so badly that he nearly smacks his head into the rim.

"Sorry," Dogma murmurs, and the hand disappears, leaving Echo to choke up the rest of his meal. His head pounds and his stomach roils, all culminating in a storm of sensation that leaves him crumpled over the basin, head pressed to the cool edge and grip tight on the rim. 

There's a long moment where Echo isn't processing anything, but as reality starts to filter in, he's distantly aware of someone reciting a string of numbers. Five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, thirty-four-

The string promptly registers in his brain, and he chokes on a dying wheeze, head pounding with even that simple exhalation. "Are you reciting the Fibonacci Sequence?" he gasps, and Dogma's silence says enough.

"It helps me calm down," he finally replies, and some cloth shifts as the kid settles down. "When I'm- when I'm having a panic attack, my brother makes me recite the Fibonacci Sequence. Helps me focus. I figured since you like math..."

Fucking nerd is Echo's first thought, and then a much softer he's a good kid. He is a good kid, and he's been trying to help, however misguided it might be. 

God, Echo wishes he didn't see so much of himself and Fives in him. Sure, the intelligence and general nerdiness stinks of his younger self, but that good heart - that's all Fives. 

Fuck, he misses Fives.

"You're such a nerd," he rasps, the simple words irritating his tender throat. Dogma simply hums a bit at that, and Echo snorts once more, leaning back against the stall wall. "Not even the- the multiplication tables or anything? Not even prime numbers? You're such an overachiever."

"I'm not that much of an overachiever," Dogma replies, sounding completely serious. "I'm still not good enough at the chain rule to score over ninety in calculus."

Echo stares at him for a moment, and then promptly bursts into a fit of near-hysterical wheezing. "You're a baby," he gasps, "and you- oh, god, you're such an overachiever. You're such a nerd! You're what, a freshman, and you're already studying calc? How is that not overachieving?"

Dogma squares his jaw mulishly at that, and Echo throws his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I've still got to do better," he insists, and Echo gives him a half-shrug at that.

"I thought that too," and this is rapidly veering towards way-too-personal territory, "but then I realized it was a lot more fun not to give a shit about anything." He shrugs fully now, adding a quick "and here I am" after it. 

Dogma frowns at him, brow creasing in concern. "Don't you miss it?"

A bit. Sometimes, Echo does miss it. He misses the moments when his mother wasn't there, when the world came down to him and a board and a set of solutions. Everything has a perfect answer in math - that's why he loved it. It was a way for him to make sense of a world where nothing ever had a good enough solution. 

"Not at all," he lies, and his words taste like bile on his tongue.

Tup's a good kid, Fives decides.

He's on the boloball team, and he's talkative. In the time it takes for them to explore two halls, Fives learns that Tup's a starting defender despite being a freshman, that he's very proud of his twin brother who's on the math team - and isn't that a funny parallel - and that he's not very good at school, but does his best. He's got a contagious smile, too, a sort of crinkly thing that only serves to make him look even younger. 

That's why Fives can't call it a straight one-to-one, he absently muses. Tup's interests may be all him, but that smile - that genuine kindness - that's all Echo.

"Coach Krell is scary," Tup continues, absently leading him down the hall. Somehow, Fives has the feeling that any actual tour has taken a backseat to Tup's exposition. "He really wants to win the championships this year, and he's got this big case of trophies and medals in his office that just kinda stare at you whenever he calls you in. It's like being intimidated by a bunch of metal, which sounds really sad, but they're scary. When you're new on the team, he makes you polish them," and his lips twist a bit in bitter memory. "All sixty-six of them."

"And you actually do it?" Fives scoffs, somewhat taken aback by the kid's sheer gullibility. If any coach tried to put him on polishing duty, he'd tell him right where he could shove his medals, and he says as much to Tup. 

"He's scary," Tup shrugs, words laced with a hint of "you-don't-know-how-scary-until-you've-seen-him". "If he hates you, he hates you, and 'cause he's the head of the athletics program, he can make your life miserable. I heard that seven or eight years ago, this guy proved one of his strategies wrong, and Coach Krell set up a whole dodgeball game - twenty-two on one."

"Did he win?" Fives asks, and Tup shrugs again. Damn. Of course the most interesting part of the story would get lost in translation. 

Above them, a bell chimes, and Tup's eyes go wide as he glances around the hall. "I forgot!" he yelps, swinging his bag around and propping it up on one knee. Fives simply watches, though he finds himself begrudgingly impressed as Tup not only unzips the bag with one hand, but roots around and finds whatever he was looking for by touch alone. "Principal Windu gave me a folder of papers and stuff to give you!"

Fives blinks, and there's a white folder thrust in front of him. It's high-quality for a free folder, and as he takes it, he notices a blue teardrop doodled in the bottom right corner. 

Huh. Must've been Tup's doing.

The kid drags him to the side of the hall and puts himself between Fives and the oncoming crowd, his broad shoulders and sturdy stance effectively warding off any would-be investigators. Fives studies him for a moment, somewhat wary - he knows this move, and though he doesn't doubt he could take Tup in a fight, he'd rather not - but Tup gives him a bright grin, gesturing to the folder as if it contains the secrets of the universe.

"It's got your schedule," he explains, watching as Fives flips open the folder and rifles through the papers, "and some classwork, some other papers your parents need to fill out-"

"I'll forge it," Fives bites out, trying for casual but failing miserably. It's nothing new for him - he's been forging his mother's signature on field trip forms since he was eight - but, he realizes, he's living with Rex now. 

Dread starts to curl down his spine in the face of another unknown, and his mind runs the only kind of calculations he's ever been able to figure out as he watches the students stream past. It's simple - is he going to get hit or cursed out for asking for this?

Jury says no, but Fives would like to get a calculator to double-check those odds. Unfortunately, his only calculator is Echo, and thinking about Echo still gives him that lump-in-his-throat kind of feeling and reminds him of his fear that someday he'll wake up in the mirror and see his mother's face staring back at him. 

Tup's staring, he realizes, so he folds his arms over his chest and tries for confidence. "What're you looking at?" he snaps, and Tup flinches, eyes widening in apparent hurt. 

He's overreacting. Something like that wouldn't hurt someone as built as Tup is. If Fives was that built - that secure in his position that he wouldn't need to think twice about a parental signature for a paper - he wouldn't be afraid of anything. 

The bell chimes again, and Fives drops his gaze to the paper clutched in one hand. Fuck. He's supposed to go to class now, and that's absolutely the last thing he wants to do.

"You've got gym with me!" Tup beams, all earlier misgivings gone in the face of physical activity. "I can introduce you to Coach Krell - unless you want to see more of the school?"

Based on the way he's all but vibrating, Tup does not actually want to show him more of the school. Fives can't blame him. Meeting this coach is probably one of the most important things he'll have to do, anyways, so better to get it over with.

"Nah," he shrugs, trying for casual as he stuffs the paper in one pocket. "Lead the way, kid."

Tup lights up at that, and Fives is left with the sudden and intense feeling that he's won the lottery.

It's been a while since he's had any reason to dust off his legal training.

He squares his shoulders, holding his chin high as the officers on either side escort him down the corridor. It's an almost laughable amount of security, given what he knows of his old friend's capabilities, and he contents himself with pointing out every single security failing he can see as they pass them.

He's counted twenty-three by the time the officers stop, and he glowers at them both as the one in the lead opens the door for him. This delay is costing him time, and his time is easily more valuable than these officers' entire careers. Hell, his suit alone could probably buy both their houses with some money left over.

His client is waiting for him when he enters, her platinum-blond hair pulled back in a harsh bun and slender fingers folded on top of the table. Prison orange doesn't suit her, he thinks, and as he takes the seat across from her, he thinks it might be the most rumpled he's ever seen her.

All the better for him. Despite their history, he's not in the business of doing favors.

"Prosecutor Tarkin," his old friend greets, her voice the same deceptive, fluttering croon that won her so many favors in upper government echelons. "It's been a long time."

"Nala Se," he coolly replies, and his old friend angles her head in agreement. "You must imagine my surprise to be contacted for a case like this."

"The reports are grossly exaggerated," Nala Se murmurs, head swaying from side to side as her gaze goes distant. There's a nasty bruise on her cheek, Tarkin notes - one that's well on its way to healing, but one that could be evidence in the inevitable trial. "The children's allegations have no basis in reality. Not to mention our opponent, who's hardly the most trustworthy source."

"Your first son," Tarkin supplies, withdrawing a manila folder from his briefcase. "I assume the circumstances of your other children's creations were the same?"

"It was a business transaction," Nala Se hums, "and Fett's family was placated with the first son. The extended family will be of no consequence in this case."

Tarkin hums, making a note of that at the top of his legal pad. "I saw there was a pending assault charge?" he adds, and Nala Se dips her head once more. 

"The primary twin is... a difficult case." That's putting it mildly, Tarkin thinks. According to his file, Fives is a delinquent at best and a criminal at worst. "He's been a decidedly corrupting influence on the secondary twin. My hope is to regain custody of the secondary and remove him from the primary's influence, as before the primary's interference, the secondary was excelling in all areas."

"That will be a much harder sell," Tarkin states, and Nala Se dips her head.

"I am aware. I am prepared to push for custody of both, and to satisfy our opponent with the primary twin after our victory to prevent any kind of appeal."

This is the kind of thinking Tarkin enjoys - the kind he just doesn't see often enough in politics these days. Perhaps this will be enjoyable after all.

"I'll file the requisite forms," he replies, lips curling into a sharp grin despite himself. "I look forwards to working with you once more, Nala Se."

"I trust in your abilities," Nala Se simply hums, and with that, Tarkin takes his leave.

Neither of them mention the truth. It's hardly relevant here, even if Nala Se does insist that her children's allegations are lies. Tarkin isn't in the business of pushing the truth, anyways - he's in the business of fabrication. 

He's a liar for a living, and he's damn good at it. 

Chapter Text

Fives hates Coach Krell from the moment he first sees him. 

The man studies him with pursed lips, brow creased in disgust and fingers drumming on his hips as if he's just waiting for Fives to screw up. He waves Tup off when he tries to explain his presence, and instead strides right up to Fives, gaze roving over his body before settling on his face. 

Some primal instinct in Fives's chest screams danger.

"You're that Fett kid's bratling," he gruffly accuses, and Fives squares his shoulders. If Krell thinks he can intimidate him with a few muscles and a glare, he clearly doesn't know him. 

"And you're a high-school phys-ed teacher," he retorts, lips quirking into a smirk. "Between the two of us, I think I know who's got it better right now."

Krell's expression curdles, and Fives inwardly congratulates himself. He's not here for teachers to like him, and he's honestly not expecting to be here long at all. Asserting dominance can't hurt, no matter how long he does or doesn't stay here. 

"Ten laps!" Krell barks, and Fives gives him a mocking salute before turning to the track. "Make it twenty, Fett!"

Fives doesn't bother telling him that neither his nor Echo's family name is actually Fett, and then promptly realizes he can ignore the last ten on a technicality. There's nothing more fun than absolutely ruining a gym teacher's entire career. 

Tup falls in step next to him, eyes wide with a combination of shock and concern. "What are you doing?" he asks, and Fives arches a brow at him.

"What are you doing?" he retorts, and Tup sighs.

"We all got ten laps. What are you doing? Why do you want to make him mad at you?"

"Shabuir," Fives thinks, then replies out loud "because I can." Tup's brow creases with worry at that, and Fives's heart twinges a bit at the sight. He really is a good kid. "He's gonna hate me," he shrugs, "so why not just get it over with?"

"Fett! 5385! Keep it moving!" Krell snaps, and Fives blinks, unsure of what, if anything, those numbers mean. Tup must recognize it, though, since he ducks his head, jaw working a bit as he picks up the pace. 

"What were those?" Fives asks, and Tup shakes his head. 

"He calls everyone by their student numbers," he whispers, casting a quick glance at Krell to ensure his focus is elsewhere. Thankfully, Krell seems to be tormenting another student for the moment, so they're free to talk. "Mine is 5385. He's just calling you Fett because he doesn't know yours yet."

"Dick," Fives growls, and Tup chokes on a laugh.

"Fett!" Krell roars, and Fives picks up the pace a bit. Not because he wants to, of course, but because he both can and because he doesn't want to get detention on his first day.

He shakes his head a bit at that thought, banishing all thoughts of a blond possible-brother from his mind. He is absolutely not going to become some kind of goody-two-shoes because Rex has shown him a scrap of kindness. It's too soon to trust him - too soon to trust anyone, for that matter. Rex is trying, of course, but Fives just can't trust him yet.

He doesn't know if he ever will.

That's a problem for future-Fives, though. Present-Fives is still running around this track with a chipper child-eyed kid in tow. 

He spares a glance at Tup, and the kid grins back at him, eyes scrunching up a bit with the force of his delight. God, of course he'd end up with the one starry-eyed kid who'd smile like that over something as stupid as a passing glance. Of course he'd end up with the kid that reminds him of Echo in all the deepest ways. 

He yanks his train of thought away from his twin before it can go any further, and instead chooses to think a bit more about literally anything else. Surely, surely school can't be worse than his fucked-up family life.

"What's your brother like?" he asks, throwing his Hail Mary into the air and hoping it lands. Tup brightens impossibly further at that - score - and starts to chatter about his twin, hands gesturing even as they loop around the track. 

Fives, who is bad at listening but worse at dealing with any kind of emotion, does his best to tune in.

"I have to ask," Echo starts, swinging his feet through the air as his gaze drifts to the skyline, "have you ever skipped class before?"

Dogma's quick head-shake confirms that no, he hasn't, and Echo snorts a bit, leaning back on his hands. They're on top of the school's little-used playground, Echo's hands wrapped tightly around the metal monkey bars and legs dangling over the mulch. Dogma sits with much less ease, legs wrapped around the struts in a desperate bid to keep his balance, and Echo doesn't bother telling him that the way he's sitting is only making him more likely to fall. Dogma looks about two seconds from a heart attack, anyways.

"If you're so nervous about skipping," Echo shrugs, "why even come? Just go back to class."

Dogma hesitates a bit at that, and Echo watches as a bit of the tension paradoxically drains from his frame. "Principal Windu told me to keep track of you and make sure you were doing okay," he murmurs, and something in Echo's chest softens a bit at that. "Specific directions- specific directions outrank general rules."

Of course he has a justification, Echo thinks, though he only reacts with a snort. Dogma bristles a bit at that, anticipating an attack, but Echo just blows a strand of chin-length hair out of his face and turns his gaze back to the sky. "Calm down," he sighs, tracking a moving ship as it streaks across the cloudless expanse of blue. "I'm not gonna push you off the bars."

The way Dogma's grip tightens around the bar indicates that he didn't even consider that a possibility, and Echo snorts once more, leaning over to nudge him with one elbow. "I said I wouldn't," he laughs, "not that I would."

Dogma makes a valiant attempt at loosening his grip, but only ends up awkwardly redistributing his tension into his shoulders. Echo just sighs, and slides over a bit to brush his flesh arm against Dogma's. 

"I know what it's like to be scared," he hums, "so you can trust me when I tell you you don't need to be scared of me."

Dogma studies him, gaze sharpening as it flits over Echo's face. "How," he demands, but it's phrased a bit more as a rhetorical question than an actual request. 

Echo gets it. He's sure he knows what Dogma's thinking - "how could this delinquent with a fucking metal hand ever be afraid of principals and school rules?" Joke's on him, because Echo's got more years of being afraid than Dogma has of life.

"You're afraid of them because your parents will get upset with you," he states, and much to his surprise, Dogma shakes his head. Well, then. 

"They say I could be something," he murmurs, and ah, that's it. Echo understands that - clinging to any bit of positive reinforcement and wanting desperately, wholly not to let down anyone who believes in you. He recognizes it, too. "I don't- I don't want to let them down."

Echo sighs a bit, taps out a little pattern of one-two-six-twenty-four-one-twenty on his thigh, and leans over to bump Dogma's shoulder with his own once more. "The fact that you care means you won't," he assures him, and Dogma turns to stare at him. His gaze is something deadly, Echo thinks, and slides away a bit to escape the full force of it. "Take it from me," he continues, turning his stare to the cloudless sky, "it's when you don't care that you let everyone down."

Echo's pretty sure he let his mother down every day of his life, but he did it less when he was actually caring. What a statement that is.

"You memorized factorials," Dogma blurts, and Echo arches a brow, unsure of where he's going with this and how he knew. "I saw you- on your leg. Tapping the first five factorials. You- the mathletes team could use you!"

Echo arches an eyebrow at that - slowly, for peak dramatic effect - but to his credit, Dogma doesn't waver. "We need more members," he insists, "and you- Principal Windu would probably overlook a lot of stuff if you joined!"

Echo snorts - what else is there to overlook? - before a thought occurs to him.

Overlooking things? Overlooking things such as discontinuing sessions with the quack therapist with the horrible sweater? Overlooking things and doing a bit more math?

Oh, this is relapsing. Is it relapsing? There's not much worse for Echo's street cred than joining the mathletes, and it's a bit hard to be a delinquent when he's going around solving math problems, but he's already fucked that up, hasn't he? Him and his stupid little pity party, him and his weakness that made Fives upset. He can't just lean on Fives again - not when he's already hurt him with his own problems. 

Yeah. He can't reach out to his twin again until he's able to stand on his own feet. He can't do that to Fives - not when Fives is tearing himself apart to keep Echo safe. He can't reach out to him until he can stand strong enough to take a normal fucking slap without blinking and seeing his mother in Fives's place. 

He can't do that to him.

He digresses. Fives has a way of side-tracking his thoughts at the best of times, and today is far from that. 

He opens his mouth, ready to give Dogma his quick answer-

"Alright."

He shuts his mouth an instant later, bewilderment washing over him before draining away to leave horror in its wake. Why did he say that? He's been doing so well, doing so well at being tougher and stronger and better and now he's just fucked it all up again.

Dogma, though, looks like he's just been given the greatest gift of all. He's smiling fully, uninhibited by fear or stress, and something in Echo's heart melts at the sight. "Thank you," he breathes, and Echo has the sudden and sinking feeling that he's signed up for a lot more than he anticipated.

"Welcome back!" 

Rex stares at Anakin for a moment, doubt coiling in his gut at the sight of an apparently intact station. He doesn't trust Anakin, Jesse, and Hardcase in the slightest when he's there, much less multiple days entirely unsupervised. He's sure that there's a structural failure somewhere that they've just shoved an engine in front of like some awful holodrama - so sure that the laugh track is already playing in his head.

Oh, he can see it now. Rex and His Three Ill-Advised But Well-Intentioned Coworkers, coming soon to datapads near you. 

Actually, well-intentioned might be stretching it. Rex doesn't know whose idea making a waterslide with the fire hose was, but he doubts it was suggested in good faith. 

"You have too little faith in us," Jesse quips, sauntering up to bump his shoulder with his own. "We can handle things on our own!"

Rex arches his brow, and Jesse withers under his glare. "For a while, at least," he amends, and Rex barely restrains a snort. That's more accurate. 

"Whatever you say," he shrugs, reaching up to run a hand through his shaggy hair. God, it's been too long since he got it cut. "Jesse, check the gear. Hardcase, grab a couple of the kids on probation and scrub down the engines."

Jesse and Hardcase reply with a perfectly-executed "yessir!" that has some distant part of Rex glowing with pride. They play hard but work harder, and there's nobody Rex would trust in the station more.

"I already talked with Hawk this morning," Anakin cuts in, strolling towards the lockers in a way that invites Rex to follow. He falls in step next to him as he always does, and Anakin's lips quirk into a faint smile as he crosses his arms across his chest. "They're funneling the normal number of reports to us again - Jesse filed for a lower caseload last week, since I was on part-time and you were off."

"You're not still on part-time?" Rex asks, unable to keep a bit of genuine bewilderment from seeping into his voice. Anakin's lips quirk into a full-on grin at that, and he leans forwards to bump Rex's shoulder in a way that's wholly unprofessional. 

It's a bit different when it's your captain, Rex thinks, and even more different beyond that when your captain is more tactile than a lonely octopus. 

"Padme told me to come back," he grins, and ah, that explains it. "She sends her best wishes, by the way, and says if you ever need anything she can help with, she's happy to help."

Somehow, Rex doesn't doubt that she means that. Padme Amidala may be one of the most influential senators on Coruscant, but for as long as Rex has known - or, more accurately, known of; his interactions with her are generally limited to the times when she comes for firehouse events or stops by to give Anakin something he left at home - her, she's always been willing to help anyone who needs it.

"That goes for myself as well," he reminds him, and Anakin's grin deepens.

"We already owe you a ton of favors," he points out, and Rex blinks, trying to remember what, exactly, he means. "After that time a couple months ago when we got stuck on Hoth and you organized the firehouse to take care of Luke and Leia since Ahsoka had to go home, I think she'd arrange a murder if you asked."

"That really wasn't much," Rex protests, and really, it wasn't. Anakin called him in a panic asking if he'd be willing to look after Luke and Leia for a bit since Ahsoka had class the next day, and a lot of the boys were already at the fire station for one reason or another. Rex honestly thinks that more firefighters came in throughout the night just to see the captain's kids - Coric even started knitting them matching 501st sweaters. "The boys loved it. Really, I should be thanking you."

"Still," Anakin states, and Rex tugs open the locker room door before them, ushering Anakin through before heading in himself. "Thanks- you don't have to do all this, though."

"You're my captain," Rex replies, and to him, it's just that simple. Anakin's a good man, and a good captain. He's always been there for all of them, and Rex sees no reason that he shouldn't return that loyalty in kind. 

Much to his surprise, though, Anakin just snorts, striding over to his locker and tugging off his hoodie. "I'd hope," and his words dissolve into grunts for a moment as his head gets stuck in the voluminous fabric, "that we'd just be friends at this point." His head pops out from the base of his sweatshirt, and he tugs it off his arms, tossing it to the bottom of his locker in an undignified heap. "I mean, I figured that's kinda already what we had going on, since you felt comfortable enough to yell at me..."

The memory of what, exactly, Anakin's referring to smacks him in the back of his head, and Rex wants to shrivel up and die. "I apologize for that," he states, and Anakin's lips curl into a crooked smile. "That was- it was uncalled for. I apologize."

"It was kinda cool," Anakin shrugs, and Rex turns his attention to his own gear as Anakin yanks off his tank-top. "I mean, I always knew you were scary, but holy shit, you're scary."

"I really do apologize," Rex insists, and Anakin snorts once more. 

"For real, Rex, it's fine. We're friends - you can yell at me when I fuck up. That's just kinda how it goes."

Rex pauses for a moment, letting the words marinate in his head. He's not- yeah, he likes Anakin's company, but he doesn't want to cross any lines by assuming something that's not there. It feels wrong, somehow, to call them friends - wrong in the same kind of way that calling Fox or Wolffe his friend would feel. They've got their shit together, and they've got a life with their own people and spheres that Rex isn't privy to, which is fine! Anakin's got his twins and Senator Amidala, so far be it from Rex to assume his place in his life. It's not that he doesn't want to be friends, it just feels... wrong, somehow. 

"You're such a thinker," Anakin snorts, leaning on the locker next to Rex's in a way that reminds him eerily of a high-school boy trying to be cooler than he is. Somehow, though, Anakin makes it work. "I swear, you're going to figure out a cure for cancer at some point."

"I was awful at chemistry," Rex simply replies, folding his civvies on his knee before placing them on the upper shelf. Unlike Anakin, he likes to keep his locker neat. 

Anakin pauses for a moment before clapping a hand on his shoulder. It's a move that's as awkward for Rex to receive as it seems to be for him to give, and Anakin removes his hand with a grimace before he starts to talk again. "I'm serious about the friend thing," he states, and Rex pointedly does not look at him as he laces up his boots. "I- I think of you as one of my best friends, so- ugh, this is hard. Just- when we're off work, or even when we're just not doing important stuff at work, you don't have to talk to me so formally. You can yell at me and stuff."

He lets the words hang, though the overall awkwardness makes them feel as limp as a wet paper towel. Rex appreciates the sentiment, though, and he dips his head in acknowledgement. 

Anakin seems about to say something else, but the alarm blares before he can.

In an instant, they fall back into Captain Skywalker and Lieutenant Fett. They make it to the engines in under forty seconds, and Rex clings to his handle as Hardcase steers them out, mind already focused on the call ahead. 

There's no room for fraternization in the field.

"You," Jesse bluntly states, plopping down next to Rex with a plastic water bottle in hand, "look like shit."

Rex is well aware he looks like shit, thank you very much. His shoulder still smarts from the falling beam, and from where he's sitting, Anakin doesn't look much better. The two of them were the last ones out - it was an apartment fire, and they had the misfortune to get stuck on an upper floor thanks to a broken staircase - and Rex's bones aren't thanking him for it. 

"Is the captain alright?" Rex rasps, and Jesse nods, pressing the bottle into Rex's soot-smeared hands.

"Just a couple of bruises. You got the worst of it. Did I hear that a ceiling beam fell on you?"

Rex doesn't need to look to see the mirth dancing in Jesse's eyes, and he takes a swig of water instead of responding. Jesse, of course, only laughs harder at that, and Rex resists the urge to kick his shin. 

"I guess it's not as bad as the captain," Jesse wheezes, "not- not as bad as captain 'this-closet-looks-suspicious'- I-"

Sadly, Rex knows exactly what Jesse's referring to. On one of his first calls with the 501st, Jesse and Anakin were the first responders to an eccentric older man's mansion, and as Jesse tells it, Anakin was so convinced that a wardrobe led to one of the secret passages the man told them about that he pulled it until it fell on top of him. Rex hasn't had the heart to ask Anakin if it's true or not. 

"Shut it," he mutters, and Jesse does his best to stifle his wheezing. "Thanks for the water."

Jesse's gaze softens at that, and his lips quirk into a half-grin. "Any time," he replies, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Rex's. "And hey- don't be afraid to call for backup when you need it."

"You couldn't have made it up there," Rex reminds him, confusion already starting to set in. Talking with Jesse tends to have that effect. In all honesty, if Jesse's upset that he didn't call for backup when the main stairwell was fully collapsed and any backup would've had to come in through a ladder, Rex doesn't want to hear it.

"Not just on the scene," Jesse clarifies. "And not just today. You've got me, Hardcase, and the captain by your backs, plus Kix and Coric if you ever need them. You're not doing all this alone."

Rex squints at him, one hand coming up to scrub a bit of soot off his cheek. "Did you and the captain plan this?" he grumbles, and Jesse shakes his head. 

"Nope," his friend grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "I guess everyone just thinks it's something you need to know, huh?"

"I never should've scouted you," Rex mutters, and Jesse bursts into a fresh fit of laughter. "The next time the captain asks me who I think has promise among the recruits, I'm just going to tell him none of them."

"You like me," Jesse teases, and Rex pointedly ignores him. 

"I'll tell him we don't need any more meddling little siblings," Rex continues, pushing Jesse to the side with a couple well-placed fingers, "running around and mothering command staff."

"Someone's gonna have to push your wheelchair soon," Jesse cheekily replies, the little shit. "I might as well get started now."

Rex jabs his fingers into Jesse's ribs for that, and he's rewarded with a high-pitched yelp for his efforts. "I'm two years older than you," he growls, and Jesse's cheeky grin returns in full force. 

"And what a two years it is. You'll be crotchety and old and I'll still be young and spry-"

"You're right," Rex sighs, leaning back against the wall and directing his gaze towards the sky. Jesse seems taken aback by that, because he blinks, confusion only growing as he leans around to peer at Rex's face.

"I- wh- I am? About what?"

"You're young and energetic," Rex continues, fighting the grin that threatens to split his face, "so you should take a greater leadership position. Maybe one with a lot of requisition forms? The more the better, really."

"You wouldn't," Jesse breathes, horror slowly seeping into his voice. "You- you wouldn't. You- I'd die behind a desk! I'd wither away!"

"But you're young and spry," Rex parrots, joy only increasing in tandem with Jesse's visible regret. "You'd be fine. Besides, with me being so- what was it you said? Crotchety and old? With me being so crotchety and old, I need all the exercise I can get."

"What will it take for you to forget about this?" Jesse pleads, and Rex makes a show of considering it for a moment. It's all for show - Jesse's going to get promoted eventually; he's too good not to be - but it won't be for a year at minimum. Still, it's not as if Jesse knows that, and his ingrained brother-responses are strong enough that a trained sibling like Rex can play him like a fiddle.

This is to say that Jesse was doomed from the word "go". He may be an older sibling - if only by a couple minutes - but that holds nothing to Rex's youngest-in-the-family. 

Well, former youngest. Fives and Echo are the youngest now, and Rex has a lot to teach them - if they ever want to learn, that is. He'd never foist anything upon them, especially not something this insignificant. 

"Pick me up a slice of something the next time you and Kix stop by that bakery," Rex simply replies. The teasing dissipates in an instant, and Jesse leans over to elbow his arm, lips curled in a fond sort of smile.

"I always do that already."

"Should I ask for something else?" Rex counters, and Jesse pales, apparently realizing his challenge a moment too late. 

"Nope! Cake is good! I hear they have some kind of new chocolate, too! Maybe I'll get three!"

Hm. That's a thought. 

"I don't know what kind of cake they like," Rex thinks, and then promptly wonders why that feels like such an intense and looming threat. It's just- it's hard to explain. Cake and sweets were always something Cody used as a bonding mechanism, something he snuck to him under the lunch table at school. Nala Se never would've allowed sweets or cake, and as a result, Rex came to associate it with safety. It's one of those emotional resonance things or something - something that means more to him than literally every other normal person because his mother was a bitch. 

That's a bitch. His mother was a bitch. His mother is a bitch, and now Rex is stuck with all the puppies she dumped on his doorstep. The puppies, in this case, aren't just Echo and Fives, but also all the trauma and unaddressed emotions that she gave him that he has no return policy for. 

He may be getting too deep into this metaphor.

"Hey."

Jesse's hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his reverie. He turns to face his friend, nerves singing through his veins, but all Jesse has for him is a soft smile.

"You're doing alright," he assures him, and oh, Rex thinks, if only that were true.