Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Don't go anywhere, little nerd." The strain in Crosshair's eyes betrayed the attempt at lightness in his words as he ruffled Tech's hair, the gentle touch making heat rush to Tech's cheeks. Crosshair's mouth twitched into a brief smile at the blush dusting Tech's cheeks before, with a hissed command from the Chief Medical Officer, Tech's brother left the medical bay.

Tech watched Crosshair's back retreat from his vision then, with a tired exhale, laid back down upon his bed. He tried to ignore the pain that shot up from his left side when Tech moved, though a slight grimace forced Tech to grind his teeth as he acknowledged his injuries.

Slowly, Tech shifted his left hand down to his side to feel the bandages that covered his entire torso, his fingers probing into the torn skin where he had been shot by a Separatist tank. He had never seen the tank approach as he worked furiously to fortify the Mount of Justice's shields on Holess from the oncoming Separatist aerial bombardment. His hands and mind were focused solely on the mission Hunter had given him, rendering Tech deaf to all of his surroundings - until he heard the roar of the gun and felt blinding, scorching hot pain blaze through his entire body.

Everything that happened after he had been shot was a blur he could only define through the curious study of the footage from his recorder, but the footage was enough. He would watch as he was flung into the sky, his body slamming into the ground yards away with a pained scream that tore through the air with agony Tech could not remember.

It was there that Tech had blacked out, all while his recorder captured every second that was his brothers charging into the fray, Wrecker and Hunter obliterating the Separatist tank while Crosshair stooped to Tech's side. The footage showed the edges of Crosshair's armor as the sniper tended to Tech's wounds, Crosshair's fear clear in every single whispered plea as he attempted to staunch the blood pouring from the gaping hole in Tech's side.

Crosshair had hastily tended to Tech's injury until the wound was stabilized, then the sniper had gently lifted Tech into his arms and ran to the nearest med-center. Crosshair had not left Tech's side, not even when the surgeon had rushed Tech into his remaining operation room, and Tech could still almost feel where Crosshair had held his hand as the doctor stitched Tech's side back together.

In the days that had followed since his injury, Tech had been grounded by the Chief Medical Officer of the local Grand Army of the Republic outpost, leaving his brothers to fight without Tech's aid ever since. Tech hated seeing Crosshair, Hunter and Wrecker leave the medical bay before every single one of their missions during the defense of Holess - hated being stuck behind -, but he had accepted his place.

After all, the last time Tech had rebelled, he had murdered an entire sect of bandits to save his brothers, and Tech did not desire to repeat the same circumstances. So he stayed and caught up on what sleep he could, and always waited for his brothers to return from their mission. Hunter had promised to show Tech a plant he'd found-

Sleep claimed Tech once more, until he heard Wrecker's familiar footsteps and snapped awake. Wrecker was smiling down at him, hand outstretched-

Quiet bird cries woke Tech, drawing him from his sleep and dispelling his dream as he heard the familiar sound of his brothers shifting about the house. Crosshair was arguing with Wrecker in the hallway, though Tech could not hear their conversation clearly enough to know what his brothers were arguing about today.

Not that their arguments ever meant more than just their typical joshing, least of all now that they had retired from the war and no longer had to fight for their lives on a day to day basis. Where Wrecker and Crosshair had once argued over droid kill counts, now they argued over the most menial of things. The chores for the day, who would have to suffer through one of Hunter's lectures on art, who had to fight the hens for their eggs, and much more. Tech even remembered his brothers arguing for two straight hours over a time when Wrecker had hidden every single article of clothing of Crosshair's, but for his pajamas, from the sniper for three days.

Tech had observed the fight between his two brothers with the faintest crack of a smile, while Hunter chuckled beside him and amusedly watched Wrecker shove Crosshair into a headlock. Crosshair had thrashed out from Wrecker's grasp with a snarl, though his smile had belied any hint at anger towards their oldest brother, even when Crosshair shoved Wrecker in the back.

The sight of his brothers' happiness always made the ache in Tech's chest lighten, enough that he could breathe and smile. He was ever thankful his brothers were beside him, and that they had promised to always be at his side, for he needed each of them. He needed Wrecker's joy, Hunter's relaxed manner and Crosshair's silent support, as he had since he'd met his family.

While Tech's poor sense of humor made understanding all of Wrecker's jokes difficult at times, Wrecker's lighthearted attempts at humor and his beaming smiles always brought a smile to Tech's face. Though Tech's smiles always faltered after a few moments, his mouth turning down into a deep, tired frown before he'd turn away from Wrecker and bury himself back into his notes.

Hunter always worried over Tech and had hardly left his side since they had landed on the forested colony planet of Rannon, not even when Tech tried to sleep. His sergeant always reminded Tech to eat, bugged him to shower and brush his teeth, enough so that Hunter's nagging had grown on Tech's nerves. Tech was fine, he didn't need Hunter to always be so overprotective of him - but Hunter only ever nagged further whenever Tech admitted to being fine.

"Little brother."

Speak of the Sarlacc. Hunter. Always on cue.

"Hunter," Tech groaned through his pillow, his mouth twisting into a scowl as he heard Hunter stop at the side of his bed.

The sound of his brother's breathing was quiet, a calm eddying stream that made Tech crush his pillow closer to his face as an attempt to stifle the sound of his brother from his sensitive hearing. Everything that followed Hunter was filled with sorrow, be it the rustle of clothes, the sound of his tempered breathing or the rasp of metal against metal that was Hunter's knife. All that which Hunter brought with him every morning he intruded upon Tech's sleep churned inside Tech for days on end, so much so that his only solution was staying in bed.

He could avoid Hunter if he stayed in bed, all Tech needed to do was ignore his brother. His sergeant.

"Get up, Tech."

Now Hunter's voice was filled with sharpness, a razor's edge of frustration that seemed to linger deafeningly through Tech's room as Tech squirmed unhappily underneath his covers.

Go away, go away, repeated in Tech's head as he transitioned his hands from his pillow to cover his ears, eyes screwing shut as he ground his teeth together in an attempt to evict Hunter's presence from his mind. Sometimes the tactic worked, though sometimes it did not, for Hunter was an irritatingly persistent fellow - especially when he was attempting to tend to one of his brothers.

"Come on, Tech," Hunter's voice hovered mere inches over Tech's head now, too close for him to muffle even with his hands forced against his ears almost painfully.

"No." Tech didn't want to get out of bed at such an early hour, least of all when he wasn't even remotely hungry or had any need to relieve himself. His bed was warm and quite comfortable, thank you very much, there was no reason for Tech to get up. Why couldn't Hunter leave him alone for once?

"Tech, please. I need you to get up." Hunter's voice shook as he spoke, the tremor in his brother's voice making Tech scowl, turn his back on Hunter, and curl closer to himself under his covers.

"Go away," Tech muttered weakly, his protests half-hearted only due to sheer exhaustion.

Hunter always bothered him, always hovered and always forced Tech to care. He didn't want to care, not now. But Hunter cared, and Hunter had always been the most overbearing of Tech's brothers. If Tech refused Hunter, Hunter would only grow more concerned and he would not stop bothering Tech. This was a fact Tech had faced often of late and, with a defeated sigh, Tech finally relented.

Tech pulled the covers of his bunk off his curled body, a shiver jolting through his body as the cold air of his room hit him, the icy air almost convincing Tech to burrow back into his warm sheets. It wasn't like he had anything to do that day except catch up on sleep and possibly fiddle with his datapad. There were no daily obligations he had to face now that the war was over, so why did Tech have to get up?

Hunter was a better cook after all. He could cook breakfast-

"Tech, please."

A sigh hissed from Tech's mouth at Hunter's plea and, slowly, he rolled out of his bed. His feet touched the cold hardwood floor, though his socks - that he'd actually remembered to put on the night prior, surprisingly - prevented the chill from the floor from stabbing through his skin. A small wonder, Tech thought as he stretched and reached for his goggles that lay on the nightstand next to his bed.

His fingers brushed across the band of his goggles, the flexible duraplas stiff from Rannon's freezing winter nights, before Tech fitted the goggles over his face. The frame dug into his skin, cutting a painful reminder into how he had fallen asleep with his goggles on three days in a row. But the pain was good, for it served as a reminder to do better.

If he'd done better-

The quiet, yet always steady tread of Hunter's prowling steps drew Tech's gaze to where Hunter had stopped, feet from Tech at the foot of his bed. Hunter's worried frown was clear now, with his goggles fitted over Tech's face and clearing his poor vision, and it was that worry that made Tech relent.

He acknowledged Hunter's command to use the bathroom, aware of how Hunter hovered as Tech showered, brushed his teeth, then dressed in his work clothes. The dark blue jeans were frayed and worn, just as his flannel work shirt was pockmarked with holes - all quite fitting of Tech, in all manners of forms. Tech was frayed and worn and tired, torn in segments where all that kept him together were his brothers.

Hunter's nagging had grown vexing over time, but that was just how his brother worked. Hunter fretted and worried, Crosshair barked and growled, while Wrecker joked and raised his brothers' spirits. Tech needed all three of his brothers and was relieved to know he had their undying support, even if Hunter was too overprotective of Tech. There was no true need for Hunter's overprotectiveness, as Tech saw it, for he was in a complete state of health.

"Tech." Hunter's growl of Tech's name prompted him to startle, his hands slipping on the granite slab that bordered the bathroom sink.

His fingernails, untrimmed and long, dug against the granite slab as Tech's eyes shifted to the full length mirror in the master bathroom. His golden brown eyes were weathered and dulled, ringed by dark bags and empty of his old curiosity, the light having long faded from them. Tech frowned at the sight before his gaze shifted to his long, shoulder length light brown hair. Though his hair was damp from the shower's water, Tech could see where patches of his hair had been pulled and frayed from his nervous habit of braiding his own hair.

Hunter had disbarred Tech from touching his hair, let alone braiding it in the year that had passed since Tech and his brothers had been dismissed from the Republic, so Tech had been forced to resort to braiding his own hair. Which his hair protested, for the soft light brown strands were not used to being braided by Tech's harsh, pulling ministrations. Unlike with Hunter, Tech had never taken to having his own hair braided over the war, nor had he ever let his hair grow out beyond the military regulations. As Tech combed his fingers through his once soft hair, regret scythed into his chest as his fingers caught on a frayed lock of light curls, his eyes narrowing with pain as he watched Hunter's expression fall in the mirror.

Only on the farm had he noticed the faint hint of light brown curls that traced back to his genetic ties to Jango Fett, for his military haircut had hid the curls. Often, his short, straight hair had been another factor that had always drawn the ire of his brethren on Kamino, just as his goggles and accent - formed through years of speech therapy - had always been a source of insults for him as a cadet. Until he'd met his brothers, Tech had been truly alone, yet now he was nearly as alone as he had been as a cadet.

Even with Hunter badgering him, or Crosshair spending time with him, or Wrecker's constant jokes, Tech was still alone. There was a notable difference within his brothers since their retirement from the army, not solely including the distance with which Hunter constantly expressed towards Tech, no matter whether he wished to spend time with his brother or not.

He missed being able to braid Hunter's hair as they waited for mission briefings or reports, missed the way Hunter would smile at Tech whenever he finished a braid, and always missed Hunter's proud compliments when Tech finished a brand new braid style within his older brother's hair. For some reason, Hunter denied Tech the same the moment they had moved to Rannon, leaving an emptiness within Tech that had turned his own hair rough from Tech's anxious fingers.

With a scowl flitting across his mouth, Tech took a soft bristled comb from its container on the end of the sink, then threaded the brush through his hair. Hunter watched from the doorway, his arms and legs crossed as Hunter's eyes tracked every movement Tech made. Tech finally finished brushing his hair when he noticed Hunter step towards him, a silent signal for enough reflected in the mirror the signal for Tech to stop.

As Tech stashed the comb back into its place, Hunter nodded to Tech with a tiny smile just slightly brushing against his mouth. Tech perked up at the smile, finished in the bathroom, then followed Hunter out into the hallway of their house.

Pride flared within Tech momentarily as he marched down the long hallway that held four rooms, one for each member of his family, the heavy mahogany of Crosshair's door cracked open slightly as Crosshair's voice rumbled steadily from his room. Clearly, Crosshair had only just woken up, a luxury the sniper had taken to upon the completion of their house. The sniper's mood had even improved for the sleep, so much so that Tech had spotted his best friend smiling more than he ever had during the war.

Wrecker's door, made of solid mahogany as well, was closed, with only the sound of Wrecker's loud snores emanating from the room. Tech rolled his eyes as Hunter let out a low laugh at the sound, Hunter's laugh enough to make Tech's heart soar. He loved hearing his brothers' laughs, for the rarity of radiance that came from his brothers whenever they laughed always made Tech's heart warm, especially with the knowledge that most of their happiness came from their home. The home Tech had worked tirelessly on for months. For them.

Though it had taken Tech, his brothers, and the villagers months to finish the house, Tech was satisfied with the finished house. A log house with three levels - basement, first and second floor - made up the exterior, with cathedral style ceilings and a slate roof that was angled to hold the heavy snowfall that came every winter in Rannon. The house's stone foundation, which was hidden from view from all but the northernmost angles aided the house's structure and provided protection from potential tornados or abnormal weather patterns.

Tech followed Hunter into the living room, where he took a moment to pause and look around the large wooden walls and high ceilings. The frame of the house had been made of the finest redwood trees on Rannon, which Tech's brothers and the local villagers - who Tech helped with mechanical repairs, amongst an assortment of other chores as payment for their efforts - had helped Tech fell then kiln. Each tree was scoured and checked for bugs and disease before Tech had dictated which ones to use for his brothers' house, then transported to the plot of land Tech had bought for his family.

Twenty acres of land bordered the large log house, which was positioned at the highest, driest point of land to protect from flooding. The house, with its log exterior and expansive porch that stretched nearly around the entire first floor of the house, overlooked the rolling land that Tech and his brothers owned. Tech had purchased the land for its sheltered location, as well as the distance between his brothers' home and the nearest settlement - safety for his family was of his utmost priority, always.

Flanked on the western section of the property was a small copse of redwoods that followed the stream at the edge of his brothers' property, where Tech gathered most of the house's water through a windmill driven water pump. Bordering the north side of the property was a thick forest of redwoods that extended to the east side of the property, then down partially to the southern border of the acreage.

As well as the living room, kitchen and bedrooms, the house contained a mudroom and a workshop that extended from the living room and went down into an underground bunker.

The hallway from their rooms led into a large living room where Tech and his brothers could cuddle as desired during late winter nights. At one end of the living room sat a brick fireplace that nearly heated the entire house, while the south facing side held a massive window that looked out over the property. Crosshair often sat on the second floor balcony with his arms over the balcony railing, his gaze distant as he stared out the window. Wrecker, on the other hand, found an inordinate amount of joy at trying to throw Crosshair over the balcony daily - much to the sniper's chagrin.

Only after Tech berated Wrecker had he stopped, though Tech suspected Crosshair had threatened his brother with bodily harm that even Wrecker would prefer avoiding. When Tech had asked Crosshair on that matter, all he'd received was the sniper's usual quiet response - but his eyes had twinkled sharply with amusement. Crosshair's mood had lightened since their move to Rannon, enough that Tech had even heard his brother laugh at simple jokes Hunter made.

The war had taken away Crosshair's laugh, so hearing it in the house Tech made for his family soothed the man. If Crosshair could relax, then Tech's months of planning and work was worth every drop of sweat, blood and tears that had gone into the creation of their home.

Crosshair had never looked more proud as Tech finished the final touches on the house's interior, while Wrecker had not stopped crying over the completion of their house. Hunter had bombarded Tech with congratulations and obvious affection, all three brothers pride in Tech's work all he needed.

They were safe together, and always would be. Nothing could-

Hunter growled something to Tech that snapped him from his musing, before he gestured to the expansive kitchen that could fit all four of the brothers together. Tech rolled his eyes, assured Hunter of his intention to eat, then looked over the large kitchen before Tech approached the refrigerator. Tech pulled out a small sandwich he'd prepared the night previous - or possibly two nights prior? He could never remember specifics -, closed the refrigerator door, then headed towards the living room. As he walked, Tech devoured the sandwich quickly, leaving Hunter to wander off to wake Crosshair and Wrecker, as Tech sat down on a couch. His gaze flitted to the window, where he could see snow falling outside the large window, a hint to the possible blizzard he'd heard weather reports predicting, then flicked his eyes to the stone fireplace that warmed the entire house.

A surprised jolt shot through Tech as he realized the fire had not been started by his brothers, of whom one of them should have. Crosshair and Hunter always woke up first, yet they never did any chores around the house aside from bothering Tech. Since when Tech had become a chore, he did not know, but it was infuriating nonetheless. He even had to repair the shuttle on his which, where the Havoc Marauder was-

His gaze shifted to the schedule he'd hung on the freezer to assist his distractible mind with the list of chores he needed to complete each day. Tech was the only one to complete chores around the house, though it was solely of Tech's choice and not his brothers being lazy. Crosshair had volunteered to gather the eggs from the roost of chickens Tech had been gifted by a kind, local farmer, but Tech had denied it with a chipper smile.

A smile that faltered when the local farmer had gawked at Tech, his expression unreadable before the farmer hurriedly left Tech's property. Tech had not questioned the odd behavior from his neighbor, nor the fact that Crosshair had left the moment Tech had denied his offer for assistance.

After all, all Tech wanted was for his brothers to enjoy themselves in the house he had designed and made for the four of them, not to work tirelessly around the house. Tech enjoyed working - always had -, he didn't need to force his brothers to help, even if their help at times would be appreciated.

When Tech had the energy and vigor to work, without Hunter forcing him to work, Tech spent hours gardening, painting or repairing the fences, as well as taking care of the livestock he had to provide milk, cheese, eggs and meat to his family. Every hour Tech worked was all work Tech enjoyed, work that gave him purpose. He wanted to work, for working distracted Tech from the waywardness of his mind, kept his body fit and protected him from Hunter's concerned looks.

Hunter was too concerned for Tech since he and his brothers had moved to Rannon, though Tech could not fathom why. All he did was work and sleep, just as he had during the war, so what was different that Hunter felt he had to wake Tech, berate him for sleeping until 1500 - which was only once -, and chew Tech out for failing to keep up on his hygiene?

Tech frowned as he heard his brothers suddenly start an argument within the hallway - seemingly about what form of livestock was better, cows or chickens -, rolled his eyes irritably, then stepped out the massive oak front door. A chill set into Tech's bones as he walked outside into the cold, morning air of Rannon, his shoulders shuddering involuntarily as Tech wandered towards the chicken coop first. The hens would become demanding if he did not remove the prior night's eggs from the coop, and Tech did not feel interested in a debate with his chickens.

Chickens first, then the cows, then the garden.

He just needed to focus and remember his task. He could, without Hunter's nagging. He had to.

Tech prodded his plate with a bored sigh, the tines of his fork scraping against the ceramic plate boredly. Hunter and Crosshair had not touched their plates since Tech had made dinner, even when he'd roasted Crosshair's favorite lemon and herb chicken. Even Wrecker, who always ate relentlessly, was uninterested in his food. Wrecker hadn't even tried the potatoes or the vegetables Tech had baked, all of which worried him.

Yet, where Hunter, Crosshair and Wrecker refused to eat, all three had insisted Tech eat. Tech's stomach growled as he shifted his chicken to the side of his plate, for he had not dared take a bite even with his brothers' insistence he eat. Hunter's foot had started to tap against the walnut floorboards in the minutes since Tech had served his brothers and himself dinner, his brother's eyes narrowed as they focused solely upon Tech.

"What?" Tech growled as he met Hunter's gaze for a brief second, the effort of lifting his head off his right arm one that drained what little energy Tech had within him.

Hunter raised an eyebrow before he jabbed a finger at Tech's plate, scowled, then growled, "Eat, Tech."

Crosshair and Wrecker looked up from their untouched plates at Hunter's command, both with expressions Tech couldn't read for the life of him. A frown twitched across his mouth as Tech looked between his brothers, then shook his head.

"Not until all three of you eat."

Tech lowered his head back onto his arm with a sigh before resuming tapping his fork against the ceramic plate.

His brothers constantly went to war with Tech about his eating habits, even before they had finished building their house. Hunter often stared Tech down, arms crossed over his chest, while he lectured Tech on his daily nutrition needs. Crosshair, who Tech had thought was his best friend, constantly growled and made harsh gestures towards the kitchen, unrelenting until Tech ate something. Wrecker always followed Tech around the house, speaking loudly about his favorite topics - be it explosives, heavy weaponry or animals - until Tech scurried into the pantry to hide from his oldest brother.

Wrecker would always chuckle at the door of the pantry before turning on his heel and leaving Tech be, though Tech would not dare leave until the living room was dead silent. Eating wasn't on Tech's highest list of priorities, least of all when said list consisted of everything else weighing down upon his broad shoulders. Tech not only had to do chores, but he had to take care of himself throughout the entire day as well and that was an all too unappealing prospect.

Which was why his brothers always badgered him to take care of himself - as much as Tech was loath to admit so -, all while Tech wished to sleep instead. Tech was tired and needed his rest, yet Hunter was like clockwork as he woke Tech up, ordered him to tend to his daily hygiene, and constantly berated Tech on eating. As if Hunter was one to talk, since Hunter never ate anything Tech cooked for him.

"Hypocrites, the lot of you," Tech growled out loud before he shot a glare towards Hunter, "you never eat that which I prepare for you. Why should I eat when you will not eat either?"

Hunter did not answer as a heavy cloud of silence settled over the dining room deafeningly, one that Tech could not face as he irritably stabbed his fork into a slice of chicken, then shoved the food into his mouth. Tech glared at his plate as a year-old hurt awakened in his chest, aching and molten all at once as Tech furiously devoured his food. His brothers did not speak to Tech even as he finished the plate of food, nor did they make a noise when Tech stood up and stomped to the sink to clean his dishes.

It was only after Tech had finished cleaning his own plate, then turned to gather his brothers' plates, that he realized his brothers were not just gone, but they had not touched their food at all. Even the utensils remained undisturbed, which made Tech frown deeply before he let out a sigh and picked each plate up.

"You are welcome," Tech grumbled to the silent house, aware of the tears that trickled down his cheeks as he carried his brothers' plates to the trash.

Not only had they refused to eat, but they had left him.

Again.

His brothers had left him.

He had not seen Wrecker, Crosshair or even Hunter all day - Hunter hadn't even bothered Tech out of his bed. Tech had searched the house desperately for his brothers, to no avail. They hadn't even left him a note, or said goodbye.

Tech's brothers were just gone.

Everything that mattered was-

Dull threads of pain shot through Tech's hand, pulling him from the fog of his memories slowly. His face was pressed against his workbench, a thick slab of oak he'd felled and planned to use for the dining table and his workbench, and Tech could feel the frame of his goggles biting into his skin. Two separate sources of pain were enough to rouse Tech, though he only opened his eyes enough to see that his right hand was bleeding - and that his hand was clutched tightly around a metal file.

Tech had been using the metal file to whittle away at the sharp edges of one of the damaged blades of his windmill, twisted and bent by a thrown branch in the most recent winter storm, and it seemed he'd fallen asleep while working. Blood dripped from the palm of his hand, where he could see the indents of the file's sharp teeth poked into his skin, and dripped onto the oak workbench, leaving behind streaks of lifeblood on the sturdy bench.

Only the desire to not stain the oak slab made Tech slowly gather himself to his feet, his left hand clasped over the cut skin of his right palm. Tech waited for Hunter to reprimand him as he trudged out of the workshop through the side doors that led into the mud room, removed his boots, then stepped into the house - but Hunter did not. Hunter had left him and wasn't even around to badger Tech about taking care of himself and, somehow, Tech missed Hunter's overbearing nature deeply.

He wanted to hear Hunter whispering worried reassurance towards Tech as his older brother tended to Tech's torn skin, but Hunter was gone. He'd been gone for far too long today, and Tech doubted his brother would return. Not for Tech. Not their dumb, useless, worthless brother who never listened - and had never done anything right.

Tech trudged into his bathroom with his head hung, unwilling to look in the mirror to gaze into the sorrow-filled eyes that would always meet Tech's own. Tech had never been able to change the sorrow that had dulled his eyes into a rusted gold, and there was nothing in the galaxy that could bring back his ancient curiosity. He stared at the mouth of the sink as Tech twisted the faucet handle and allowed a warm stream of water to run over his injured palm. Blood ran down the white porcelain bowl of the sink, mixing in with the steady stream of water until Tech lost his focus.

His gaze shifted to his left hand, where old scars from the war and his constant work with mechanics had left Tech's hands calloused. Each scar had started to fade over time, leaving only faint white ridges that made his most recent scars stand out in stark contrast.

A long, thin scar cut from the inside of Tech's palm to the crook of his elbow, a scar he barely remembered earning from when he'd worked on the house. All he could remember from that day was slipping from his ladder and plummeting down the sharp gutter that had left him bleeding and stunned as he lay on the patio.

It had only been Crosshair's worried roars that had roused Tech to his feet, as well as Hunter's concerned queries that had followed Tech all the way to the town doctor, where Tech had collapsed from blood loss. He'd woken up five days later with a blood transfusion and a new scar, and his brothers nowhere in sight. Tech had cried until he felt nothing but a weak emptiness and, when he'd finally been released, Tech had trudged back to his home to a quiet house.

The same quiet house he faced now.

Tech shut off the water, applied bacta to the cuts on his palm then wrapped his hand with a thin layer of gauze, and sulked out of his bathroom. His feet carried him naturally towards his room, until he spotted a small, old calendar hanging in the hallway. Slowly, Tech turned to face the familiar and hated calendar, and rested his gaze on Kelona 20th.

A red line cut diagonally across the date, though the ink had long ago run and was marred with blotchy tear stains. Kelona 20th.

Kelona.

Holess.

The Havoc Marauder.

"No!" Tech staggered into the wall behind him, his fingers ripping at his hair as Tech slumped to the floor and buried his face into his knees.

He felt everything and nothing at once as he clawed at his scalp, his untrimmed nails digging at his skin as sobs rattled from his chest, breaking his heart as well as his soul as his memories washed over him. Tears, like those that had marred the weak ink of the calendar, ran down Tech's cheeks, a burning that was molten and the sting of dry ice all at once.

He knew what today was. He knew.

He'd always known-

No, no, no.

There was only one truth remaining in Tech's house, yet it was one he could not face. He never could face the truth. Never. For the truth hurt far worse than anything else in the world. The truth was his memories, and Tech could not remember. He could not risk his memories or his heart. He had to-

"Why?"

But Tech's question remained unanswered, as it always had since Kelona 20th. And it would remain forever unanswered, for how could anyone provide a sufficient enough answer to every sorrow within Tech's chest?

Nausea swamped Tech, a wave of fury that gave him hardly any time to scramble to his bathroom before he expelled the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Tears slipped down Tech's cheeks as he slumped against the rim of the toilet, his left arm sliding across the bowl as hatred towards himself boiled up from inside Tech's chest.

His stomach ached and swam as sharp, uncontrolled memories hooked into Tech's mind and left him weakened and unable to move - except to continuously expel the contents of his stomach into the toilet, all while his tears slipped unbidden from his eyes.

There was no point to anything he had done in the last year. Nothing at all, when he had failed so severely. And he had not just failed them, he had failed himself and his weak, pathetic heart. If only Tech had been there on Holess. He could have done something-

No, you could not. You never could have.

It was his fault.

The wood beams of his ceiling glowered down at Tech as he lay in his bed, the goggles that Tech had forgotten to remove before he'd fallen asleep the night prior providing a clear vision of the solid redwood beams he had felled by hand so many months ago. Building the house had been all that Tech could focus on when he had first landed on Rannon, and had become his life mission for months. He had been proud of his work when Tech had finally finished the house, a pride that had flourished when each of his brothers had congratulated Tech upon his hard work.

Hunter's brown eyes had softened, even when Tech's older brother's arms were crossed over his chest and a scowl touched the corners of his lips. There had been such a hesitance within Tech before he finally heard Hunter compliment his work, and that compliment from the man who Tech had respected for so long had made every injury and every hour and all the sweat and tears worth his efforts.

Impressing Hunter - as well as Wrecker and Crosshair - was a goal that had resided within Tech's heart since the very day he had met his brothers. To finally see his brothers' pride over something Tech had created with his own two hands had been almost too much to bear. But he had and lived each day with his brothers' happiness and openness within the house Tech had built his family.

That usually made Hunter's overly worried concern worth it, but not this morning.

Nightmares had plagued Tech endlessly once he had fallen asleep, nightmares of Kamino and the war clashing until all he could see in his memories were strange flashes of fire and screams of terror. Screams that were not Tech's own, but others. Screams he had become used to during the war and screams he had tried so hard to prevent.

It was those screams that kept Tech in a state of listless emptiness that made the mere prospect of moving entirely tasteless. He'd been awake for three hours already and had not moved but to roll onto his back. He was tired, and his exhaustion had been a very part of his soul for years. Tech had always been tired, but never more so than in the last year - and never with such disinterest.

The sound of prowling, light feet drew Tech's gaze to his left and to deep, worried brown eyes. No longer was there any warmth in Hunter's eyes, let alone any hint of pride over Tech's prowess, skills and intelligence. Instead, all Tech could see was Hunter's usual disappointment and his scowl and it was that which made Tech turn his back on his brother.

"Leave me alone," Tech growled, "I do not need your disappointment once more, Hunter."

A wounded sound, akin to the sound of the dying forest ibex Tech had killed three weeks ago - the day after Kelona 20th - with a bow he had fashioned after the guarlara plainsmen of Naboo, escaped from Hunter at Tech's statement. Tech ignored Hunter pointedly, even when he heard his older brother call his name with a yearning to it that seemed so similar to the day on Naalol when Tech had nearly lost himself within his rage. Hunter called for Tech once more, though in a quieter, desperate tone that made Tech's chest hurt.

"Go away."

Hunter flinched, the rustle of his shirt and the short gasp all Tech needed to hear to visualize the wounded agony that would be present upon Hunter's face should he turn to look at his brother. But Tech could not face the hurt of his brother when his very own hurt was even too much for Tech himself to stomach.

"Please," Tech gasped out, his voice breaking as Tech applied venom to his words, "leave."

"Tech, I can't." Hunter's voice wavered, his former sergeant's words choppy and stilted as he spoke, "I can't leave. I won't leave, little brother."

A dark, humorless chuckle slipped from Tech's mouth at Hunter's response then, before Tech could stop himself, he snapped. Tech looked over his left shoulder, gaze locking onto Hunter's with a cold sneer that Hunter flinched at. Hurt flashed through Hunter's brown eyes and lingered there, even as Hunter bowed his head and stepped away from Tech's bed.

Tech glared at Hunter until his brother's mouth twisted with a sick expression of bewildered hurt and, with a quiet apology, Hunter stepped towards the open door of Tech's room. Before Hunter stepped through the threshold and left Tech to the devices of his uselessly enhanced mind though, Tech heard his brother mutter a soft, "I love you."

The declaration from Hunter hit Tech in the stomach with the same agony a high-g-turn in the Havoc Marauder would have, and it took every ounce of training Tech had ever had to resist pain that kept him from throwing up. He hated when Hunter offered his love in such a pleading manner, hated how much Hunter's voice itself hurt and hated who Tech had become.

Silence resounded through the house for minutes on end, the only sound the quiet ticking of Tech's clock. That infernal clock that ticked down every second, minute, hour, day and month-

No!

Tech shook his head as if the action could chase away the memories trying to bubble to the surface of his stagnant mind, though all his attempts resulted in was the deepening knowledge of how devoid of noise the house was. Hunter's quiet rumbles were absent, as was Wrecker's booming chuckle and Crosshair's cold hiss, lilted always in jest towards Wrecker.

The house was dead.

As was Tech, in all senses of the word except physical. For what else could he call his listless state of inanimate living but death? After all, death was the truth, wasn't it? Where Tech wished he could be, rather than in a quiet house made of hollow spirit and fathomless pain. A house where Tech's brothers haunted every corner of the house, yet left the house as silent as Tech's mind.

He needed his brothers back. And Tech needed Hunter and his nagging most of all.

"Hunter?" Disuse and hurt cracked from Tech's dry lips as he tried to call for his brother, only for no response to follow.

Tech shifted in his sheets slowly, a creaking pain all that his body offered in receipt of his hours of laying on his back as Tech sat up. His eyes cast around his room and to the hallway outside his room in search of Hunter, but his brother was gone.

Again, Hunter had left Tech.

"Hunter?" The plea came out far too desperately this time, so desperate that the returned silence deafened Tech.

He had chased off his brother.

Had he not always feared chasing off his brothers?

What if Hunter never wanted to speak to Tech again? What if Tech had given up Hunter for a moment of anger and inaction? Why had Hunter walked away from Tech?

Tech hadn't meant what he'd said! He loved Hunter, Tech always had!

So why had he chased Hunter away? Why?

The fogging of Tech's goggles went unnoticed as he cried, his tears hot as they pooled at the edges of his goggles - though the heat did nothing to drag Tech out of his mind. Not when his mind sang of better times and happier moments, of brothers who smiled and laughed and needed Tech. That place was far better than where he was currently and, with a low gasp, Tech sank into his mind and hoped he would stay trapped forever.

Crosshair sat beside Tech with nary a word, though his golden brown eyes spoke for the sniper with the chasm depths of his love. Tech watched Crosshair as his best friend quietly cleaned his Firepuncher, the oil-soaked cloth pungent as Crosshair rubbed the cloth meticulously along the rifle's barrel. A sheen glistened where Crosshair's cloth passed over metal, a sheen that haughtily declared the love Crosshair had for the weapon. A weapon the sniper had used to defend Crosshair's brothers for years - practically an extension of Crosshair's ceaseless desire to defend his family.

Seeing Crosshair so happy in one of his most routine activities made Tech smile, a drawing of his lips that made the muscles in his face hurt. Crosshair stiffened as air hissed from Tech's mouth at his smile, the sniper's gaze wary as he looked towards Tech.

"Are you okay, Tech?" Crosshair's question held some form of quiet to it, as if a sheet of ice that hid tumultuous seas underneath.

Crosshair's repetitive motions with the rag over the rifle's barrel slowed as his gaze turned to face Tech, a penetrating, worried expression that Tech could not combat. No lie could form on his tongue at Crosshair's penetrating gaze, not even when Tech wished he could shrug off Crosshair's concern and move on with his day.

Alas, Tech could never lie to Crosshair, and he could not start now.

With a pained breath, Tech explained his every hurt and frustration in a steady stream of rambling that was intertwined with galactic facts. Crosshair listened the entire time, his attentiveness stopping only when Tech felt a broken sob escape from his mouth. Crosshair's eyes softened before his brother reached towards Tech's shoulder. Crosshair wanted to touch Tech. Tech wanted Crosshair to touch him-

Then Crosshair's hand brushed Tech's shoulder and Tech felt nothing. The sniper's touch was empty and unfeeling, devoid of Crosshair's warmth or his gentle worry. Crosshair wasn't even there, was he?

Tech flinched backwards from Crosshair, a weak sob cracking from his mouth even as Crosshair's voice hissed beside him. Tech needed his brother's comforting presence as he needed air, yet he had been deprived of his family's touch for so long. He was drowning within his own mind, without a clue as to where a life preserver would be in reach. One of his brothers' touch - a hug or their hand caressing his cheek; anything - was all that Tech longed for in life, even when reality told him the truth.

His family could never again return to the way they once were, before Holess. Before Tech failed and before-

"Tech." Crosshair's voice floated over him as if a cool breeze, the sound of Crosshair's familiar rasp soothing Tech's racing mind. Tech's thoughts swirled into a peaceful stream as Crosshair's voice whispered over him,

A few moments later, Crosshair's rifle clattered to the ground before Tech caught the stench of spilled gun oil, then felt Crosshair's arms loop around him.

"You're alright, Tech. Breathe. I'm here, I promise."

Truth rang in Crosshair's words, those which were punctuated by the firm pressure of arms that lulled Tech into a peaceful sleep. A peaceful, dreamless, mindless sleep that blinded him to the moment Crosshair's presence vanished from his side, the quiet footsteps a memory from the past that had always soothed the engineer.

"Tech, it's time to get up. Come on, kid."

Hunter's husky rumble pulled Tech from his sleep, his eyes cracking open slowly to the concerned gaze of Hunter staring down at him. Tech blinked twice then, slowly, swung his feet out of the bed and to the floor. A chill raced up Tech's bare feet as he pulled away from the ice-cold hardwood floors, his knees tucking into his chest as Tech shook his head slowly.

"No."

"Tech, get up. There are people at the front door and it's already mid-afternoon." Hunter's words cut under Tech's skin like the tip of his brother's vibroblade and, with a tired sigh, Tech pushed himself out of his bed. He heard Hunter congratulate him as Tech trudged outside his bedroom, entirely unaware of the fact he had not even bothered to put his goggles on, then stopped at the front door.

"Don't open it," Crosshair, who was perched on the island in the middle of the kitchen, warned, his voice low and deadly as he spoke.

Another knock on the door jarred Tech away from staring at Crosshair, who looked supremely bored, and to the thick wood door. He could hear two voices muttering on the other side of the door, followed by another firm knock.

Tech groaned as he heard Crosshair warn him from opening the door again, then slowly unlocked the deadbolt. He stiffened slightly as Tech opened the inswing door, his myopic vision passing over two blurry forms. They did not have the color of the local Rodian colony, though he saw a strange mix of white, blue and brown.

"What do you need?" Tech's voice cracked with disuse as he spoke, his attempts to see who was standing in front of him half-hearted at best.

Members of the Rodian colony that rested miles from Tech and his brothers' house visited Tech on occasion, always seeking his help with mechanics that needed fixing. He was accustomed to visitors, and used to completing repairs for the Rodian colonists, but he never cared. So Tech did not care now as he squinted at the two blurry figures and waited for their answer.

"He doesn't look like a clone," one voice - familiar, to a degree, though not one Tech knew personally - whispered, "are you sure this is who we are looking for?"

Clone? They are looking for a clone? Why?

"I believe so," the second voice - or the first? They sounded precisely the same, after all - replied, "the townsfolk implied as such and they said this was his location."

"But he doesn't-"

It was then that Tech recognized the two identical voices, for he had heard that same tone for years. They were fellow clones, brethren to Tech yet not brothers as Wrecker, Hunter and Crosshair were, and they were looking for Tech. The Republic had found him, then, and had sent these two troopers to execute Tech for desertion.

He thought a thrum of worry would surge through his chest at the thought, but all that came up was a strange calm. This was acceptable. Understandable. Tech would make this easy, for there was no fight in him and his brothers did not protest.

With a quick snap of his right hand, and his posture rigid, Tech saluted the two clones standing at his door. "CT-33-7641, reporting for duty. Technician of Clone Force 99, along with field corpsman, pilot and slicer. I am known as Tech by my brothers, and I will cooperate."

He didn't want to suffer, not when a simple moment of cooperation and subservience was a simple solution. And so Tech stood there, his rigid posture unyielding as he waited for the two clones before him to respond. Tech blinked slowly as he heard the two men whisper to each for a long minute then, finally, he saw one of the blurry forms move close enough to Tech that he could define some of the man's features.

He recognized the features of a clone, though he could not recognize this brethren as anyone he'd met before - no scar like Cody, nor the harshness in the eyes and mouths of the regs he'd always been bullied by. The clone, even for Tech's poor vision, was an enigma and someone he knew nothing about. The approach of the clone made Tech step back into the threshold of his house ever so slightly - and shift his formerly saluting hand to the door frame. He was willing and ready to turn himself in, but he was also afraid. What if they hurt his brothers?

"Easy there, Tech, we are not here to apprehend you. The name's Rex," the approaching clone said, "and I need your help."

What?

Tech gawked at the clone then, suddenly aware that he was making a fool of himself in front of his brothers, snapped his jaw shut. Somewhere to his left, Tech heard Crosshair's protective growls rattle through the house, yet his brothers still did not protest the arrival of the two strangers.

Strangers who needed Tech's help.

"Come in," Tech let out a weak exhale as he stepped to the side, held the heavy oak door open to the two clones and gestured for both men to enter.

A twinge of something uneasy nipped at Tech's chest as the two men entered his brothers' house, an unease that heightened when he saw one of the men stop mere feet from him. Tech straightened his back as he matched the man's gaze with his own blurry vision, unable to compromise and duck away from the other clone's gaze in his own house.

"What manner of help do you seek from me?" Tech had always jumped to the point in conversations, never able to understand the intricate delicacies of interpersonal relationships, and now was no different. Hunter would usually have to pull Tech aside to demonstrate how to properly address a conversation, but Hunter was elsewhere in the house, too busy to direct Tech.

"I heard from the locals that you might know a thing or two about mechanics. My friend needs some help with his prosthetics," the one who called himself Rex said, "and I was hoping you might have some time to help us with repairs."

Tech blinked then turned to stare at the second blurred form, his vision aiding Tech none whatsoever in assessing the prosthetics Rex had mentioned. So, with a slow step, Tech approached the second clone until he was almost nose to nose with the man.

Tech could see an undefined shape where the man's right hand was supposed to be, a curious oddity that made Tech gently grab the clone's arm and raise it to his eye level. He heard the man whose arm Tech was holding protest as Tech squinted at the prosthetic, its close proximity providing enough information for Tech to process the scomp device attached to the clone's arm. The clone fidgeted in Tech's grasp as he continued to analyze the prosthetic, using his fingers to see what his eyes could not.

The scomp device was made of smooth durasteel - exceptionally fine durasteel, too - and ran to the clone's elbow. The socket joint that attached the prosthetic to the flesh of the clone's elbow felt inflamed and raw and, when Tech's fingers brushed the irritated skin, the clone hissed painfully and yanked his arm from Tech's grasp.

"Rex, I-"

Tech listened to the clone snarl at his companion, aware of the way the man had stepped as far from Tech as he could. Confusion tilted its way along Tech's neck as he peered owlishly at the seething clone and, slowly, realized he had upset Rex's friend. He had taken the clone's prosthetic without permission, a taboo that had been beaten into his memories by his old handler from Kamino, and had never once checked for the man's comfort before Tech had begun investigating the prosthetic.

"I know you are curious, Tech, but you need to ask first," Hunter's voice sounded from Tech's left, the sudden and silent approach of his brother almost the cause of Tech jumping sideways. "Apologize to Rex's friend and then get your goggles. Alright, little brother?"

Embarrassment coiled upwards from Tech's belly at Hunter's reprimand, an embarrassment he felt scorch across his cheeks and ears.

"My apologies," Tech whispered, his throat tightening as Tech stepped backwards and hung his head, left hand quick to claw his sharp nails against the back of his right hand. He'd known about medical consent since he was a cadet! How could Tech be so stupid?

"I acted without thought," Tech could barely speak because of the tightness in his throat, and he could already feel the sting of tears in his eyes, "and I apologize deeply for not seeking your permission prior. I- My sincerest apologies, I was not aware of myself."

I'm sorry, Tech heard his fear squeak as he waited for Rex and his companion to reprimand him.

But no reprimand came, not one verbal or even physical. All he could hear was his own hitched breathing and the quiet shuffling of his feet, and nothing more. Then, slowly, Tech heard the obvious clomp of Echo's legs - prosthetic also? Very fascinating - stop before him. Tech cast an anxious glance towards Echo to see that the man was hovering inches from Tech, then snapped his eyes to a spot on the floor that was just as blurry as everything else around him.

"You're alright," Echo said with a rough edge to his words, "I wasn't expecting you to touch me, that's all."

Anxiety wormed through Tech's chest as he ducked his head in a quick nod, invited Rex and Echo to sit wherever they desired, then scurried to his room. The door to his room shut behind Tech as the young technician pressed his back against the mahogany door, his lungs heaving for air. He'd made an embarrassing and wholly unethical mistake around guests. How stupidly arrogant of Tech.

Tech's legs wavered underneath himself as tears burned down Tech's cheeks, his hand clutched over his mouth as a sob hissed from his lungs. He couldn't afford to mess up in such a fundamental way around these clones, let alone allow Rex or Echo to see him so vulnerable, yet he had. They were here for Tech's help, not for his penchant for mistakes and idiocy.

Stars, he'd learned nothing over the years, had he?

A few minutes passed as Tech gathered himself, wiping the tears that had welled within his eyes, over his lashes and down his cheeks with the back of his hand before Tech slowly pulled himself to his feet. He could vaguely hear the sound of Echo and Rex speaking from down the hallway, though their voices were too faint for Tech to understand what either were saying. His visitors needed Tech while he was in control of his emotions and his mind, for they had come for help. His help.

Determination - an emotion he hadn't felt in nearly a year - washed over Tech as he reached his table, fitted his goggles over his face, then turned to find his utility belt. The old leather utility belt was worn and frayed from use, yet supple under his touch as Tech ran his thumb along the many pockets and straps that encompassed the make up of his belt. So many months of war had passed with the utility belt providing the tools and equipment Tech needed to protect his brothers, yet it had laid discarded over the last year as Tech moved to his workshop and forgot about the memories encased within the old utility belt.

But they were memories Tech had never wished to forget, no matter how much his mind tried to push everything to the point of emptiness his soul had become. For those memories were his brothers in war, and the men they had been and would become on their homestead. His family was happy on their homestead, Tech had ensured that with his months of work, and they would stay happy while he helped Rex and Echo.

When Tech stepped outside of his room with utility belt in hand, Rex and Echo - seated at the wood table where Tech usually spent his days reading literature on animal husbandry - were deep in discussion, their heads dipped together as they spoke. Neither man looked up as Tech approached them slowly, his gaze quickly examining Echo's prosthetics before Tech placed his utility belt on the table. At the sound of the hydrospanner clacking against the wood table, Rex and Echo snapped to attention, though Rex was quick to relax when he noticed Tech staring down at them. Echo shifted in his chair before Tech watched the man move his right arm from Tech's view, hiding the strange scomp link prosthetic fused to his elbow.

Tech looked between the two men before he self-consciously pushed his goggles up the bridge of his nose, then tactfully inclined his head so he was not looking at either man. A quiet offering of his assistance was greeted by hushed whispers, then Echo finally explaining what he needed. Tech listened with rapt attention as the duo explained how they had come to travel together, though his eyebrows could do nothing but raise as their tale deepened.

Rex wove a history of the Clone Wars to Tech, starting from his first meeting with Echo on an outpost on a moon of the planet Rishi. Echo pitched in quietly, in a cadence that was flat, yet deeply strained, as he spoke of losing all but one of his batch. One, who Rex and Echo both seemed to mourn as they continued speaking, their gazes distant whenever the survivor was mentioned. At one moment, Echo's mouth twisted into a scowl as he reminisced about the battle of Kamino - a battle that Tech and his brothers had been on the opposite side of the galaxy for and, thus, had only heard rumors through clone intelligence of the siege -, his words leaving a fog of bitterness in the living room. Finally, their weaving led to an ill-fated mission on Lola Sayu, and it was there Echo's gaze fell to his lap.

Horror scythed through Tech in a surge of emotion he hadn't felt in months when Echo described, in vivid detail, the explosion that had nearly taken his life. Yet it was not the explosion, but the Separatists and the Techno Union who made Tech's skin crawl. Echo wavered as he described his mangled limbs being removed by the Separatists on Lola Say to preserve his life, with the Techno Union's purchase of Echo leading him to Skako Minor. Rex picked up the story as Echo's arms crossed over his chest, blocking the man from whatever demons lurked inside Echo's head. Sympathy for Echo gnawed at Tech as Rex described a fierce battle over Anaxes that had led Rex to discovering Echo's whereabouts.

Where Rex finally faltered was as he described failing Echo by not being able to pursue the signal that Rex - as well as Cody and men from the 501st and 212th - had discovered on Anaxes until months later. Echo uncrossed his arms to place a reassuring hand on Rex's shoulder before his gaze shifted to Tech. Tech straightened in his chair at the direct eye contact, then listened as Echo described a litany of issues with his prosthetics. Issues that had led two desperate men to seek Tech out, from across the galaxy, for skills he had not used in more than a year.

"I would be more than happy to assist you," was all Tech said before he worked with Echo to remove the clone's prosthetic limbs, Tech's expert hands slowly reconnecting with the analytical part of himself he had not recalled since the initial creation of the house.

Echo watched everything Tech did as he first began a routine maintenance cleaning of the three prosthetic limbs, a wire brush dipping into each joint as Tech scoured for anything that could have caused the joint lock up Echo had complained about. As he worked diligently, Rex and Echo continued to converse amongst each other, only pausing at times when Echo would ask Tech a question about his prosthetics. Each time Tech would answer succinctly whilst he worked, though it was only the questions directed specifically towards him that Tech noticed.

Everything else Rex and Echo were saying washed over Tech like water over boulders in a stream, inconsequential and beyond his level of concern or care. He was happy where he was, for the farm was safe and his brothers were there at his side - usually. Whatever manner of lifestyle Rex and Echo led, which he could allude to from the shabby state of their dress and tired expressions, was not of concern to Tech. Maybe during the war he would have asked, when he used to hold a state of curiosity that benefited his team at times, while hindering them other times, but not now.

Not now.

Never again.

Never-

"Do you know about the inhibitor chips?"

Rex's question startled Tech away from his work, his head shifting up from Echo's prosthetic leg and to the former captain as Tech shook himself from his thoughts. Tech tilted his head slowly as he analyzed Rex's body posture and stance - rigid, uncertain and wary? -, then shook his head.

"No."

The wire brush moved in Tech's hands without a second more of delay as he answered, his hands moving to clean the prosthetic once more as Rex's expression contorted at his answer. Tech held no interest in his heart for such an odd question. Why Rex had asked about inhibitor chips made no sense to Tech, after all, he had never heard of inhibitor chips in his life before. Perhaps Rex had meant restraining bolts for droids? It did not-

"The inhibitor chips are what enslaved our brothers and turned the clones on the Jedi," Echo spoke up, his tone clipped and defensive as Tech felt the man's eyes bore into the side of his head. "It is because of the inhibitor chips that the Republic has been dissolved and replaced by the Empire."

Empire?

Tech looked up from the prosthetic leg draped across his lap, his eyes narrowing on Echo. Echo's expression was impossible to decipher, for the clone seemed very skilled at masking his feelings behind a fierce scowl. A scowl that remained even when Crosshair stepped up behind Tech and, loudly, snorted a mocking, derisive laugh.

"Maybe the Jedi deserved it?"

Horror knifed through Tech as he shot his brother a glare then, with a quick, anxious glance towards Echo, shooed Crosshair away. "Be polite, Crosshair!"

Crosshair smirked before he rolled his eyes, turned his back on Echo, and strolled off - though not without the sound of the toothpick shoved between his teeth snapping in half. Tech glared after his brother before he slumped his shoulders, sighed, then continued to clean Echo's prosthetic leg.

"My apologies for Crosshair's behavior," Tech exhaled as he worked, "he has always been irascible and, frankly, ill-mannered around strangers. It is best you ignore his indecent manner, for Crosshair enjoys raising the ire of those he does not trust or like."

Tech expected a response from Echo or Rex, anything to show their displeasure at Crosshair's sneer, but neither said anything. And their silence drug on, until Tech looked up and met the strangely worried gazes of both men. Echo's eyebrows were quirked in bewildered confusion, while Rex's expression was scrutinizing as the blond clone looked over Tech, his gaze coldly searching.

"You said you were part of Clone Force 99, correct?" Rex asked, his question redundant after their introduction and entirely unnecessary-

"Yes," Tech clarified before he found himself in debate against his own wandering mind and tongue, the wire brush now having been replaced for a hydrospanner as Tech began removing the outer plates of the prosthetic's shinplates.

"Tech."

Rex's voice hesitated, though the brief hesitance sounded far more similar to Hunter than Tech could fathom, drawing his gaze from his work and back to the older clone once more. Rex's expression was waged with conflict, his eyes dark with worry while his mouth curved into a harsh frown that mirrored the way Echo had begun staring at the floor soundlessly. Bewildered, Tech placed Echo's prosthetic to the ground, returned his hydrospanner to its place on his belt, then stood up to face both clones.

"What?" Tech asked, aware of the way his voice cracked as Rex raised a hand to his short blond hair.

"Clone Force 99 was killed in action," Rex admitted finally, "on Holess, more than a year ago. Their shuttle was shot down by surface-to-air missiles and, by the time rescue teams arrived at the crash site, there was nothing left of the shuttle but twisted, burnt metal. Your brothers are deceased, Tech, they aren't here with us. You are supposed to be deceased as well, but-"

A man was dying.

Tech had become used to the sound of his brethren dying since he had been injured, though not enough that Tech could drown out the way his brethren wailed as their lives were stolen from them by the horrors of the war. He had seen more brethren than he cared to admit leave the medical outpost in tears as they bade goodbye to their fallen brothers for the last time, and each time had been more desperate to hear word from his own brothers in turn.

Today, though, Tech was worried - and far more than usual.

His brothers had been sent out as air support for the planned invasion of the Separatist stronghold on Holess hours before. Hunter was supposed to report in more than two hours prior, yet Tech had heard nothing of his squad since they had each bade him goodbye that morning. They were late to their check ins. Clone Force 99 was never late.

His brothers were supposed to be there-

"Tech?" Sulfa, Tech's designated medic within the field outpost, stared down at him, his expression haunted as the medic's hands wrung together.

"Your brothers were shot down today. They… they're gone. I'm sorry-"

"No!"

Tech staggered backwards from Rex and Echo, eyes wild as he snapped his gaze around his house, desperate to find his brothers. Crosshair had just been at his side, mocking the Jedi as he always had over the years of the war. Echo and Rex had seen him. They had to have.

His brothers were alive.

"You lie," Tech spat as he backed away from Rex, hands instinctively searching for his holstered DC-17s as he did, only for them to come up empty. His weapons weren't in his belt. They were in his room. His brothers were-

Twisted metal lay at Tech's feet as he stared down at the carcass of the shuttle that had once been his. The Havoc Marauder had been through thick and thin alongside Tech and his brothers, the shuttle's strength unerring even in the toughest of dogfights or roughest of crashes.

Yet, as Tech stood before the huge furrow in the ground where his brothers and their shuttle had crashed, he knew that to no longer be true.

Flames licked at the edges of the impacted cockpit, having finally died out from the roaring inferno Sulfa had reported to Tech as he scrambled from his bed to see the truth for himself. A piece of metal lay many feet to his left, and it was only through Tech's years of maintaining the shuttle that he could recognize part of his shuttle's wing. The rest of the impact site was scattered with small pieces of metal from where the surface-to-air missile had obliterated the shuttle's engines, sending the Havoc Marauder into an endless spiral.

The rescue team, who had already whispered apologies and well wishes to Tech as they left the site, had explained to Tech how one clone had seen the shuttle fight its way level, only to crash nose first into the ground in a shower of flames and metal - though in enemy territory, which had forced the rescue team to wait until the enemy had been pushed back before they could rescue Tech's brothers. His brothers' bodies had been burned beyond any form of identification or recognition as the rescue team covered the charred bodies with sheets, before departing.

Tech himself couldn't find it in himself to stomach looking at the bodies underneath the sheets, nor was there a point in him trying. His brothers and shuttle were gone. He hadn't-

He'd left them.

He should have been in the Havoc Marauder alongside them, should be the fourth body underneath a draped sheet. He should be dead.

Tears burned Tech's eyes as he turned away from Rex and Echo, legs taking him to each of his brothers' rooms in a desperate bid to find them. He moved like a tornado through their closet and rooms, only to find that there was no sign of habitation in either of the three rooms. The sheets were clean yet unrumpled, perfectly made as Tech had first done so when he'd finished the woodwork for his brothers' bed frames. There were no clothes in any of his brothers' dressers or closets, nor any sign of their armor or weapons anywhere.

His brothers were gone.

No…

They'd never been in his house.

Everything was…

"Tech?"

Rex's whisper, from directly behind Tech as he stood stunned in the middle of Hunter's bedroom, hands shaking at his side, made Tech turn around to face the other clone. Pain sang through every nerve end as Tech removed his tear soaked goggles, let them dangle in his hands, then met Rex's gaze with a broken sob.

His brothers, the ones he'd seen every day, the ones who woke him up or pestered him daily to tend to himself, weren't real. They had all been part of Tech's imagination, hadn't they? His family was dead, and he was the sole survivor. Hunter had never truly been there for him in the year since his brothers had died. Everything that had been his brothers were his imagination. His memories playing up fantasies for Tech - but for what reason?

The feeling of a hand on his shoulder went unnoticed, just as Rex's reassuring voice failed to make sense to Tech as a deafening roar filled his ears. He was alone. All alone. He'd made this house for brothers he imagined were alive, their presence a trick of his mind that now made every failed touch make sense.

Tech did not notice as he pushed Rex's hand away from his shoulder moments before he slumped onto Hunter's bed, palms digging at his eyes as his repository of tears continued to burn his eyes and cheeks. Rex's footsteps soon faded, only to return moments later with a heavier gait that made Tech look up long enough to see Rex place the prosthetic leg he had been working on over Tech's lap. Rex said nothing more before he turned, then departed Hunter's room, leaving Tech to stare at Echo's prosthetic.

Slowly, Tech moved his right hand to run along the metal of the prosthetic, feeling the groves and texture of the metal as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. How much of the past year had been a creation of his mind, luring him into a sense of calm and safety since his brothers had died. Stars, he truly was a fool. He should have known. Should have been able to tell.

"I'm sorry," Tech whispered to the hallowed walls, his throat stiff with his choked voice, "I'm sorry…"

Metal scrapped against his palm, the feeling making a deep sigh rattle from Tech's chest.

His brothers were gone, but Rex and Echo were… they were real. Rex had touched him as none of his brothers over an entire year had been capable of, the warmth of the man's touch surprising in how much Tech wanted it again. Even the prosthetic was real, meaning Echo was real, just as his need for help was very real-

Shock shot Tech to his feet, arms instinctively locking around Echo's prosthetic, as he realized he'd left Echo without any means of ambulation. Embarrassment flashed through Tech before he paced about Hunter's room, the fingers of his left hand rapidly tapping at Echo's prosthetic as his mind raced with thoughts. Not since the death of his brothers had Tech felt his mind working so quickly, multiple tracks of thought tripping over the other in a head splitting way that made Tech frown.

He had to help Echo and Rex.

They were real… not phantoms of his mind as Crosshair, Hunter and Wrecker were.

Tech was the last member of Clone Force 99, and he could not fail his brothers' legacies. All he had left now were his brethren in the clones Crosshair and Wrecker used to call "regs", in a world he knew nothing about. For the first time in Tech's life, he knew nothing of the world around him, and it was a feeling he greatly disliked. Rex and Echo had mentioned inhibitor chips and an Empire, of which he had heard of neither throughout his entire year on Rannon. His brothers were gone, the world had upended whilst Tech had been entirely ignorant and unaware, and he had two clones who needed his help.

He was not one to act out on sentimentality but, for the memory of his brothers and his unit, Tech knew he could no longer live in his ignorance. Not while his brethren were in need, and not while his heart burned with the desire for a purpose once more. His farm was his home, but not his purpose. Tech was still a soldier, though he knew he looked nothing of the part anymore, and a soldier could not sit idly by while his brethren were in need.

It had been two days since the morning Echo and Rex had left Tech's homestead, after Tech had fixed Echo's prosthetics, cooked the two clones a large, welcome dinner, then allowed each to use one of the empty rooms in his house. Tech had never realized how much he missed the true companion of others until both clones had left, for the large homestead was deathly still without the lilt and charm of the two clones' voices as they explained the new world order to Tech.

Their explanation on the Empire had shocked Tech, though he had listened intently and absorbed everything the two men told him. It was late when all three had finally gone to bed and, for the first time in a year, Tech had woken promptly in the morning. He had cared for himself, cooked breakfast for himself and his two - friends? Could he even call them that, after knowing them only for a few hours? - visitors, then had wished the two clones a safe journey before they left. Seeing them leave had left a gaping hole in Tech's chest that he could not understand fully, and so had taken to the nearby settlement to escape his silent house after he'd spent the entire previous day working around his farm.

Voices whispered around him as Tech waited in line at the feed store, bags of feed for his animals slung over his shoulders, his gaze on a constant swivel as Tech tapped his right foot against the ground. Two Rodian farmers were in front of him at the counter, purchasing their supplies, but it was not their rapid conversation in their native language that Tech's attention was caught by, but the Togruta and Twi'lek standing behind him.

"Did you hear from the Oacril's recently, Runik?"

"Only that the Empire has put increasing taxes on anything they export off Rannon," the Togruta answered with a quiet growl, his teeth bared in a snarl.

The Twi'lek sighed in return before Tech heard him mutter to his companion quietly. "They told me that a squad of troopers had been sent to their farm to ensure 'quality control', whatever that means. Iezes said that the commander of the squad that relegated their harvest hit Etad when he attempted to argue with the man. She said the commander was a clone too, though not one she had seen before-"

Tech tuned out the rest of the conversation as the Rodians left, affording Tech the chance to purchase his feed while the Torgruta and Twi'lek continued to mutter in hushed whispers. The teller was counting out Tech's credits when the Togruta let out a contemplative hum that made Tech stiffen. They'd-

"-a Firepuncher? I haven't seen one of those in years, are you sure Etad knew what he was talking about?"

"Yep," the Twi'lek nodded, a noticeable gleam in his eyes as Tech felt the teller drop his spare credits into his hand, "a Firepuncher. He told me the exact specs and everything and you know he knows his guns. As much as he was smarting over the clone punching him, he said it was worth it to get a view of that rifle."

No, Tech thought as the Twi'lek's words washed over him, this is not possible.

The Firepuncher was Crosshair's weapon. The only clone he knew of who used a Firepuncher was dead. His brothers were gone, and had not returned since he had learned the truth of his brothers. His… delusions, for no better word, were gone, leaving Tech lonelier than ever, even to the point he almost wished he could see the versions of his brothers he now knew to be fake.

Tech froze in place in front of the counter, fingers tightening into a fist around his credits as he turned stiffly to the Twi'lek and Togruta. Both noticed the harsh look Tech was looking at them with, though neither seemed too bothered by it as Tech jerked his head in the direction of the Oacril's farm - far to the west, where they harvested grains and fruits for the local population, as well as others -, then moved away from the counter.

"When did this happen at the Oacril's?" Tech asked with a steady, measured tone, masking the sudden racing pace of his heart.

Getting his hopes up for something as impossible as one of his brothers actually being alive was naive and as foolish as his delusions, but he could not hope and yearn. A year was far too long to not have his brothers by his side, yet far too long to hope for his brothers to have survived the fiery crash. Crosshair was gone, why even waste his time hoping?

But the Twi'lek and Togruta did not waylay Tech's hope as they answered his question with an explanation that extended for nearly thirty minutes, and made Tech's heart race and sink all at once. The Twi'lek had not minced words as he described the black-clad armor of the clone commander whose squad had encroached on the Oacril's homestead, including the Firepuncher the clone had wielded proudly and his shock of silver hair.

Silver.

Tech thanked the two men for their time, hefted his feed sacks over his shoulders, then marched outside to where his guarlara was hitched outside the shop. He had been gifted the large equine by a local farmer during the building process of his homestead, and had bonded with the equine over the months. He'd never named the equine, yet he was a sturdy and all too real companion compared to his brothers.

A frown settled across Tech's features as he placed the feed sacks across the back of the saddle, unhitched his guarlara, then led it to the town library. The library was the settlement's court, hall of records and public gathering place all built into one, and was one of the only ways to connect with the galactic internet infrastructure without suspicion. Only there could Tech conduct research safely, and see if he could find information on the clone that had been at the Oacril's.

To find… Crosshair.

Hope plagued Tech as he reached the library, hitched his guarlara, then moved inside the library. He kept his wide brimmed hat tilted over his brow to better hide his face, his work clothes blending into the surroundings of the settlement. He could never wear his armor again, nor risk any of his neighbors truly taking him for a clone and it was in this instance he was never more thankful for the differences in his build than any other clone. Rex had told him to be wary of his neighbors, though Tech had never known to be wary before, and it was advice he heeded fully.

After all, the world he lived in had passed him entirely by. Tech knew nothing of his new world, while Rex and Echo had survived for a year under the Empire's reign as he had not. Tech had lived a sheltered life, he acknowledged as he sat down at a computer terminal, but it was a life he could not allow himself to sink back into. Not after losing his brothers and his own mind, for his delusions and his inability to motivate himself to care for himself for a year were all the indicators Tech needed to know he had changed.

And not for the better.

Hours passed Tech by as he used the computer terminal to catch up on everything he had missed, starting from the time he had deserted from the Grand Army of the Republic. In the two nights since Rex and Echo had arrived, Tech had come to terms with how he had arrived on Rannon without the Havoc Marauder or his brothers after their deaths. He had stolen a Z-95 Headhunter after the shuttle crash had taken his brothers lives, fleeing the war just as he had fled the truth of his loss with the hallucinated delusions of his brothers.

What had his mind done but entrap him into a state of eerie bliss, only for reality to snap anew his heart with Rex's words? Recovering was an improbability, not without his brothers, but he could not help but hope. He could hope for his brothers, as they would have him, had their positions been swapped.

Night was nearly upon the region when an alert from his computer terminal snapped all hints of sleep from Tech's mind, his gaze having been drawn to an article on farming shipments. His gaze narrowed in upon the long article, written by an Imperial sympathizer who claimed the work of the Imperial squads who were sent to round up supplies from local farmers was "good", before he read every line with a focus he hadn't had in a year. There were mentions of farms from all over the galaxy that had recently aided the Empire through "donations" of their yearly harvest, including the Oacril's homestead.

Only when he reached a small footnote at the end of the article was his hope realized. There, written in the blandest, understated of texts was the information on the squad that had besieged the Oacril's homestead. A squad that was led by an unknown clone commando, though one the author of the article claimed had fought for the Empire since its inception, and had done so with a success rate beyond compare. Little was detailed about the commander compared to the soldiers of his squad - all of whom were nat-born, the article stated - but there were hints… possibilities.

The commander could be Crosshair.

Tech hoped he was.

A split of pain shot through Tech's temple as he surreptitiously downloaded the article and any other Imperial data centered on the squad that had given him strands of hope, wiped his search history, then left the library. A long ride back to the homestead left Tech plenty of time to contemplate and think, as well as to linger on the fear that he was imagining everything. If he had imagined his brothers for an entire year, what reassurances did he have that he was not imagining the hope that Crosshair was alive?

He had even seen the shuttle crash - a twisted, shattered wreckage of his beloved family and shuttle -, and had seen the dejection within the rescue team's eyes as they left the crash site. Tech's brothers were gone, yet he wanted to believe otherwise. Hope was for dreamers like Wrecker, not for the pragmatic and deeply logical technician of the defunct Clone Force 99. Not until now.

It was that small thread of hope that helped Tech as he returned to the small barn on the homestead, took care of his guarlara, then returned to the house with his downloaded datachip. All that remained on his mind was finding Crosshair, no matter how long it took, nor if he ever found what he wanted.

He was logical after all, and knew he was chasing a dream that his mind had struggled to cope with the reality of for a year. For once, though, he knew the truth and his mind was his own - at least for now -, which he could prepare for if his hope truly turned out to be nothing. But oh how his heart ached for Crosshair to be alive, to have someone survive the crash, even if it meant his brother was enslaved to the Empire by his…

Inhibitor chip.

Tech had an inhibitor chip, just as Rex and Echo once had, which Rex had volunteered to help Tech remove. He knew nothing but that which Rex and Echo had explained about inhibitor chips but, Tech acknowledged as he surfed through the Imperial data he'd downloaded, he trusted both clones more than he truly trusted himself. He needed their help, as they had come seeking his own, for Tech could not go about this potentially fruitless quest without aid. His brothers were gone, but he had… friends. Yes…

Friends.

With a deep sigh, Tech continued to read through the mission reports of the squad he hoped was Crosshair's, then turned to the datapad that held Rex's contact information on it. Quickly, Tech tapped out a message to Rex, asking for assistance with the removal of his chip, then turned to bury his nose back into his research. Perhaps he was desperate, perhaps he was a fool, but Tech would not allow his only chance to see one of his family again slip from his fingers.

He needed them, as he knew his family needed him.

Anger as hot as magma burned through his core.

Anger was him.

His squad had learned to fear the wrath of their commander on the worst of days, enough so that his squad would vanish to their sleeping quarters after each mission when he was in one of his vexatious moods and would only reappear at his request once his anger was tempered. He did not mind, for he preferred the quiet of his own company to that of his nat-born followers. His company, at least, was private, allowing the clone to expel his rage upon the targets he sought in the commando clone troopers targeting range, but the privacy also allowed for his mind to trap him.

A hand pressed against the bridge of his nose as a flicker of flames danced behind his eyes, the roar of engines and a howl of agony as persistent as his constant headaches chased his mind to the brink with unending violence. Silence was his enemy, unlike out on the field, where his missions took him to numerous worlds and locations, always in the name of service to Kamino and the Empire alongside his elite squad.

Those entities, and only those entities, could ever own his loyalty.

Could… own… him.

He had no one else, after all.

No one who mattered - he lied to himself, why did he always lie to himself?

Not since the crash.

Not since he had lost his brother.

His best friend.

"Tech..."

The name tasted foreign on his tongue, rasping along his throat and burning at his eyes as the flames of his memories always did, but they felt… right. That memory was what held his back strong as he marched through battlefield after battlefield, his wrath riotous as he fought the ones who had taken his little brother from him. Vengeance motivated his drive to finish every mission as his former unit had, without personal casualties and with complete mission success. His new squad was loyal and keen, even when he turned his anger outward upon his squad, listening to his every command without complaint. 

A necessary component to achieving the goal he had been given following the crash. The goal the Empire desired. The goal he desired.

Only when the Empire had the entire galaxy under its rule would they pay for the loss of his brother. Of his… family.

A splitting bolt of lightning arcing through his skull staggered him to his knees, moments before a quiet chime startled through the silent air of the range. The chime was as familiar as the one that called his squad to Admiral Rampart's office for their next mission, yet this was the one he wished he could ignore. He never wanted to see her, not when every visit entailed her three fingered grasp inspecting his frame as if he was an animal for slaughter. She was as hated as the rest of the galaxy, for she had failed to save his little brother from the crash. She had saved everyone but for his youngest brother, then had the nerve to speak of his youngest sibling as if his loss was inconsequential.

His loathing for her knew no bounds, yet he could do nothing but simmer in his hatred for her.

He knew well from experience that attacking her would only lead to his body freezing out of his own volition, leaving him exposed for further "corrections". His body was scarred and battered from the war already, and the Empire and Kamino had only leveled more scars over his body ever since.

A frown curled the edges of his mouth downwards as he shifted his left hand to rub at the skin underneath his loose shirt on his right side, fingers catching along an old scar that slotted directly between two ribs. Memories - though not of fire or death - raced through his mind as the clone turned to his datapad, tapped out a response, then headed away from the range.

The hiss of door hydraulics snarled behind him as the clone headed towards her lab, unaware of the tears that stained his cheeks as he marched down bright white halls. Not of his home, which had been destroyed when his little brother had died, but of his place of eternal servitude. He had been fool enough to believe he was different from the rest once, now he knew better.

All it had taken was the death of his brother to see the truth.

A truth he would rather still be ignorant to if it meant he could have his little brother back.

Until his own death, though, he was trapped with the truth and underneath her hands.

Until the galaxy paid for the loss of his brother, he would gladly serve.

He was the keenest of sight, after all, and he could see where the galaxy was headed. He needed only to ensure he was on the correct side for when the galaxy turned on itself, though no side felt right without… them.

Without his family.

Tears flowed freely from the keenest - blindest - eyes of them all, and did not cease even as he obediently allowed her to control him. She had taken everything from him.

Everything.

And she would pay.