Archive of Our Own

Umbara is over, Hardcase is dead, Dogma is gone, Tup and Kix shot at their brothers and Fives had thought he would die. He remembered walking to his own execution, the blue-ish lights around him, Krell’s silhouette up at the window. He remembered swallowing the fear down, don’t look up, don't let him see. Don’t let them know.

“Will the prisoners request to be blindfolded?”

Dogma’s voice had cut through whatever illusions Fives had like a vibroblade, let reality slam into him with such force his breath hitched. And suddenly it hurt too much to look at Tup and Kix on the other side, their rifles in hand, determined expressions on their faces.
Because Fives was a traitor, because he had disobeyed orders, because this was justice .

“I hope you can live with yourself, Dogma.”

Fives had been so angry, so hurt, so scared, and now Dogma was gone while he was still alive, sitting on an empty crate in a storage room on a venator. In his hand he held a half-empty bottle of moonshine, taking sip after sip, trying to erase the memories from his head. Would Dogma be able to live with himself?

“Wait, this is wrong and we all know it. No soldier should go out this way!”

Fives has been begging for his life, he has been begging to Dogma, Rex, Tup and Kix and Äon and everyone else, and Dogma wanted to proceed anyway. 

“Fire!”,

a pointed finger and Fives thought he was dead, he heard the shots and briefly wondered how he could hear anything with a fuming wound in his head, until he realized that there was no wound, nothing fumed, they were alive. Jesse and he were alive.
Their brothers had missed.

Jesse almost cowered, straightening his back with a confused expression on his face while Dogma, well, fumed with anger and Rex spoke meaningless words, everything just washed over Fives like waves over a corpse, washed up on the coast. 
There were noises and words and people touching him but he could barely breathe, he could not see, yet his eyes were open. Was he alive, was he dead, was this the afterlife? Everything was a blur, in his ear his blood rushed too loud, way too loud. 

Now it was quiet around him, only the soft whooshing noises of hyperspace, occasionally the thuds of boots running past or voices yelling across the corridors. 

Yelling, loud voices, screams, no, Fives would not remember Dogma in his worst moment. 

The moonshine burned in his throat, was bitter and too sweet and Fives hated it so karking much. But he hated everything, and at least his stomach felt warm now, and his hands had stopped shaking. Not like it would help for a long time, stupid booze, he’d regret this tomorrow but he couldn’t stay in his head and the only way to get out was drinking, one sip, another sip, Fives wished he was dead.

Maybe Dogma should’ve just pulled out his own blaster, pointed it at Fives and shot him. Bang, one shot and he’d be done, no more fear and terror, no shaking hands and racing hearts, no more nightmares, kark.

Another sip, another sip, Fives got up from the crate to walk towards the other side of the room and sat down there. It’s alright, it will be alright, another sip of burning moonshine while avoiding the thought of Äon brewing it. Äon, who had pointed a gun to his head, just like Kix and even Tup’ika and yes they had missed but what if they hadn’t, Fives would be dead, dead, dead, dead, murdered by his own brothers and yes he knew what he had gotten himself into but still, no brothers should shoot at a brother!

He was karking stupid, stupid and reckless. He should be with Jesse or Tup but the only person he wanted to see now was Echo, and Echo was dead. So Fives took another sip, groaning as the burning liquid ran down his throat, floating his senses with a disgustingly sweet taste. Why was he even doing this, why was he even here?

On Umbara, for a brief moment when Dogma ordered „Fire!“, Fives had felt relieved. He’d go out in a stupid way, sure, but he’d go out with a clean conscience. Now he was alive and drank like there was no tomorrow, and maybe there shouldn’t be one. The general had ordered his execution, Tup and Kix had shot, Rex had stood by the side doing nothing, and Dogma was gone now. 

How could he ever trust them again?
How could he ever trust himself again?

They had shot, and yes, they had missed, but they had acted like cowards. Shooting, hoping someone else’s bolt would hit him, hoping they could walk away with a clean conscience without having to stand up for him in any meaningful way.

None of them had stood up for him, only when the execution had failed did they think twice. Only after all of them realized what kind of cowards they really were, only then, only karking then.

Another sip, or more an attempted sip, because the bottle was almost empty and Fives vision had gotten blurry, his head heavy. Karking stupid, „Do the prisoners request to be blindfolded?“, Dogma should’ve just given him some booze and it would’ve done the job.

Kriff, Fives needed water, or something to bite, he couldn’t just pass out in a storage room, di’kut, get up and move, sith’spit, everything was turning. Tubie steps, one foot before the other, hand on the crate to not stumble over but his legs gave in anyway and his arms didn’t catch him. 

A sharp pain shot up his head, when has he fallen down? - oh yeah, a moment ago, at least he was slumped against a crate now, breathe in and breathe out, you need to calm down so you can walk to a fresher.

Nausea, his stomach convulsing, hand on the floor don’t fall into your own vomit di’kut , he hasn’t even thrown up yet, was just gagging pathetically while his whole body tensed up in pathetic attempts to get the poison out. Kark, don’t piss yourself di’kut , but he couldn’t care anymore, everything was spinning and heavy and drool was dripping down his chin but no vomit no booze just spit under his face as his hands finally gave in and he slumped down onto the cold duracrete floor.  

When he woke up the light above the door had switched to red, indicating that they were in a sleep cycle now - maybe it’d make the fresher empty, Fives couldn’t bear looking at anyone, he could barely stand. Luckily he needed only two steps from the crate to the door where he could lean against the wall again, taking shallow breaths while trying to stop his head from spinning. 

An impossible task, if his eyes were closed it was like he was the center of the galaxy with countless stars spinning around him making nausea rise again, Fives needed water but the fresher was too far away. It felt like an impossible task and he needed help but there was no one to call. Rex had stood by when Dogma ordered his brothers to shoot him, Kix and Tup had pulled the trigger, it didn’t matter Fives could pull through this alone. Just tubie steps, one foot before the other, he pressed the switch and the door slid open with a whooshing noise. 

The corridor was white and bright and Fives made the mistake of squeezing his eyes shut - spinning stars all around him - but he kept walking, using the wall to guide him, stabilize him, make sure he won’t fall again. At least not until he reached the fresher where he immediately slumped down next to the toilet, head resting on the seat while his stomach convulsed again.