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“Something’s wrong with the reg,” Crosshair says. When Hunter looks up, he half expects to see Wrecker trailing behind with Echo passed out in his arms. It wouldn’t be the first time.
But Wrecker and Echo are nowhere to be found. It’s just Crosshair.
He raises his eyebrows. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“If I didn’t know better,” Crosshair begins, “I’d say he was having a sensory overload. But that can’t happen to regs, right?”
Impossibly, Hunter’s eyebrows raise higher. “And you left him with Wrecker?”
“I told him to be quiet.”
Hunter pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “If he is having a sensory overload—”
“Doubtful,” Crosshair interrupts. Hunter glares at him.
“—then what do you expect me to do about it? Ear defenders won’t work with his headpiece. I’m not lugging one of our weighted blankets to the training room. And I have no idea if he’d like a stim toy, or if he’d just laugh at it.”
“Well, he’s not leaving the training room without a fight,” Crosshair says, settling on his bunk in a way that means he’s not about to move anytime soon. “So figure something out.”
“Teeeeech,” Hunter drawls, looking across the room at his brother, in his natural habitat: hunched over a bench, tinkering with something-or-other.
“I’m busy,” Tech calls back, not even bothering to look up.
“Is it possible to turn down the volume on Echo’s headset?”
“Yes,” Tech responds, still not looking up. “But as Crosshair said, regs don’t get sensory overloads. In fact, they are specifically designed to tolerate more stimuli than the average human. More than likely this is just a normal panic attack, in which case, that would probably make it worse.”
“No matter what it is, sitting around and talking isn’t helping,” Hunter says. “We should go see if we can help him.”
“We?” Tech asks, finally looking up at Hunter. He doesn’t look happy.
“Yes, we,” Hunter says. “I’ll make it an order if I have to.”
Tech rolls his eyes. “Okay. Fine.”
He follows Hunter into the hallway, clearly not happy about having his hyperfocus broken. Hunter feels a pang of regret, but he knows Tech will be better for this task than any of the rest of them.
They’re all still getting used to Echo, and likewise, Echo is still getting used to them. But so far, he seems most comfortable around Tech. It’s a strange phenomenon. Hunter supposes they have similar skill sets, at least now that Echo is able to hack into things with his mind—but that’s not it. There’s something else he can’t quite put his finger on.
“He likes you,” Hunter says, trying to lighten the mood.
“I know,” Tech says. “I was the first person he saw upon exiting the stasis chamber. My theory is he’s sort of…imprinted on me.”
“What?” Hunter asks. “What’s that even mean?”
Tech brightens slightly, happy to divulge information as usual. “Imprinting is something that occurs in some animals during their infancy. They usually imprint on a member of their own species, which allows them to gain a sense of their species and its behaviors. Sometimes, they’ll imprint on a different species, which can cause problems for them later in life, as they don’t know how to act like their own species.”
Hunter furrows his brows. “How does this relate to Echo?”
“Well,” Tech says, lowering his voice. They’ve stopped outside the door to the training room, and likely, Tech doesn’t want to be overheard. “You say he likes me. But what I see is that he’s latched onto me in order to figure out how to fit in with us better. Like an infant animal imprinting on a member of a different species.”
“Don’t tell him that,” Hunter says, frowning. “Also, I think he just likes you. Like, in a normal way.”
“Think what you want,” Tech says. He turns and pushes into the room.
On one side of the room is Wrecker, sitting on a bench, looking concerned and unsure. On the other side is Echo, on the floor, knees tucked up to his chest, head bowed. His left hand cups the side of his headpiece, right where his ear is, but obviously it’s not doing much to help. He’s rocking back and forth slightly.
It sure does look exactly like a sensory overload.
Hunter has experienced several different genres of panic attacks in the days they’ve been on Kamino with Echo: ones where he yells, ones where he thinks he’s going to die, ones where he shuts down, ones where he lashes out at everyone, ones where he lashes out at himself. He supposes this is close enough to a shutdown, but something’s not right about it.
Hunter can almost feel it; in the way he’s rocking, in the way he’s breathing. It’s prickly, it’s blindingly bright, it’s a ringing in his ears. It hurts. It’s too much.
If this isn’t a sensory overload, Hunter will eat his damn bandana.
“I dunno what’s wrong,” Wrecker says to them in his best imitation of a whisper, “I tried to get him to do a grounding thingy, like when he wakes up from a nightmare, but I think that made it worse?”
“It’s okay, Wrecker,” Hunter assures. “Head back to the room. Maybe clear off a bunk and put a weighted blanket on it? Dim the lights? For when we get back?”
“Okay!” Wrecker sorta-whispers. He bounds out of the room. Now it’s just the three of them.
Hunter gestures with his head towards Tech. They both go kneel by Echo, who doesn’t bother acknowledging them.
“Hey,” Hunter says, quiet as he can, “what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong, ” Echo repeats, “what’s wrong. What’s wrong. What’s wrong is everything.”
“Care to elaborate?” Tech asks. “We’re here to help you, not antagonize you, for full clarity.”
“Just shut up and leave me alone!” Echo snaps his head up to look at them. He looks like he’s about to cry.
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Hunter says gently. “I’ll be honest, I don’t trust you’ll be safe if we leave you alone. Especially not right now. So let’s figure out what we can do to help, alright? Anything you want. Except leaving you alone.”
“Stop talking, please,” Echo begs.
“Echo,” Tech starts, leaning closer so he can speak even quieter, “I can turn the volume down on your headset, if you think that will help.”
That gives Echo pause. His eyes flit between the two of them, his hand visibly shaking. “I don’t want you to touch me,” he finally says.
“I won’t touch your skin. Just the headset,” Tech says. “May I?”
Echo stares at him.
After a moment, he nods.
Tech reaches forward and messes with something on the headset. Echo’s face almost immediately relaxes.
“I can teach you how to do it yourself when you’ve calmed down,” Tech says, closer to his normal volume. “Did that help?”
“Yeah,” Echo says. He sounds small, and embarrassed, and like he wants to melt into the floor. “I want…to go lie down. In the dark. Please.”
“C’mon,” Hunter says. He leads them away.
Later, Hunter asks what happened.
“I guess I’ve always been a little defective,” Echo says, refusing to make eye contact. “I mean, different. A little different. Fives always hated it when I said defective.”
“But you’re a reg,” Hunter states, puzzled.
“Maybe,” Echo says, laughing slightly. “But I think most regular clones don’t have breakdowns because there was a bad texture on the mats.”
“And you’ve always been like this? It’s not because of what the Techno Union did to you?”
“Kix said I’m autistic. If that’s what you’re prying for,” Echo says. “He’s not technically qualified to diagnose it, but I don’t really care that much.”
Hunter blinks.
He looks up at Tech, who’s eavesdropping not-so-subtly from the table in the center of the room. Wrecker’s sitting there too, blatantly listening in on the conversation. Crosshair’s in the bunk above them, and Hunter can never be sure if he’s listening, but he sure hopes he is.
“You’re autistic,” Hunter says.
“With a tendency towards echolalia and a special interest in GAR regulations,” Echo says. The corners of his lips twitch up in something resembling a smile, and he’s rubbing his hand repeatedly along the surface of the weighted blanket they’re sitting on top of.
Hunter is suddenly surprised he didn’t realize sooner.
Echo’s been stimming, repeating words, avoiding eye contact and overstimulating environments all throughout the days they’ve been here. Hunter had chalked it up to PTSD and maladjustment. This makes much more sense.
Across the room, Wrecker smiles. “You’ll fit in with us alright!”
“He would have either way,” Tech deadpans. “But I suppose you’re even more like family, in this case.”
“I’m missing something,” Echo says.
“We’re all autistic,” Hunter says.
“Oh,” Echo says. There’s a moment of processing time. “Oh! All of you? Really?”
“Yeah,” Hunter confirms.
Echo smiles.
Hunter hasn’t seen him smile so big… ever, he realizes. He’s been frowning or not-quite-half-smiling ever since his rescue, with the latter being rare. He hopes he’ll get to see that smile more often. Seeing his brothers happy is always an instant mood-lifter.
Crosshair leans over the side of the bunk, hanging upside-down to look at them. “You’re still more of a reg than the rest of us.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Echo chuckles.
Later, Tech shows Echo how to turn down the volume on his headset, and Wrecker presents their box of stim toys for him to rifle through. Hunter sends a request to Cody for another weighted blanket, and Crosshair finds a spare eye mask—for those days when someone has to stay up and work while he sleeps, but light is just unbearable. He has Echo test it to make sure it’s an acceptable texture before officially handing it over.
Over the course of one afternoon, they’ve grown exponentially closer. It gives Hunter a new hope for the future of their team, and for the future of their missions. If they’re all on the same page, things are much more likely to go smoothly.
They’re not so different, after all.