Work Text:
If Cal Kestis had a credit for every time he'd been forced into a fight on an extremely fast moving train hundreds of feet above the ground, in torrential rain...he'd have two credits. Which wasn't a lot, but it was strange that it had happened twice in the space of just a few years.
...Well. Perhaps not that strange. He had lost count of the number of fights he had been in, after all, numerous and constant as they were, particularly in the months since his family had gone their separate ways and he had floated aimlessly back to a delighted Saw Gerrera and handed himself over to be used as a very flashy rebel fighter. He liked Saw, albeit there was a madness about him that could be a little unnerving...but he had to hand it to him, this mission had been a disaster from start to finish, he'd had to separate from the rest of the rebels he had been sent with to protect them from a much bigger force than they had anticipated on this enormous supply train, and they'd left without him. On his instructions, sure, but now he was on his own. The regular troopers had gone down with little fuss, but this Purge Trooper was proving particularly tenacious, and he was a real crack shot with that rifle, as Cal's screaming shoulder was telling him. He reeled back away from another shot and licked his lips, wet with the rain that pounded down around them. He lifted his saber with a grimace, soaked to the bone and very ready to be done with this entire shitshow.
“Traitor scum!” The Purge trooper screamed, the helmet distorting his voice into a shrill, metallic snarl. He threw his weight behind his rifle, and instead of firing it, he slammed the butt towards the side of his head. Beedee trilled a warning, ducking out of the way, and Cal only just ducked out of the way of it in time. He had no time to relish the brief victory, as the Trooper immediately swung it back again, and this time, the butt of the rifle smashed into his shoulder.
He hit like a hammer, and Cal grunted, staggering backwards several steps. His boots slipped on the wet metal beneath his feet, and he was forced to crouch so as not to overbalance. He ignited his second saber, holding the double blade out in front of him and preparing to fight, Beedee crouching low on his back and peeping in alarm at the sudden proximity of the dark armoured trooper. Cal bared his teeth and started forward, only for the Force to scream a warning, deep and vibrating in his bones. He looked up at the sky, and he could feel ice trickling down his spine, his bare arms pricking in a full body shiver as a TIE bomber swooped low over the train. Oh. Oh this was really bad. The Purge Trooper followed his gaze, and Cal could see the moment he realised what was about to happen.
Neither of them had time to do a thing about it as the TIE bomber fired on the train, and it disintegrated beneath their feet in a fireball of screaming metal. Cal felt his stomach swoop as he began to freefall, tumbling through the air wildly amongst flaming debris and the armoured bodies of the stormtroopers he'd already dispatched. He flung his saber at his belt, a little twist of the Force securing it in place, then snatched at his shoulder, dragging Beedee into his arms to keep him close. He flung out a hand, pulling a piece of dented and warped metal gantry towards him, using it as a foothold to slow his downward momentum. He'd fallen further than this before, and luckily, the Birren mountains were liberally sprinkled with deep lakes, albeit most of them were largely underground.
It felt like he was falling forever, dragging as much tangled debris towards him to slow his fall as he could, before suddenly, the blackness of the lake was right beneath him, and with a snatched breath, he plunged into icy water. The force of his fall was still acutely awful, and he felt the jarring impact shuddering up his ankles, knees and hips, settling as a sharp ache in his midsection. Something struck his temple and he let out a curse in a burst of bubbles.
For a moment he was still, the sudden silence of the water a shock after the whistling terror of the fall. His limbs were weightless, aching with pain, and the galaxy screeched to a momentary halt around him as his body reacted to the shock of the cold and adrenaline rush of the fall.
Then he was pushing for the glimmer of light above him, his legs and ankles screaming, and he broke the surface with a ragged cry of pain. He waited only long enough to get his bearings, his teeth already gritted against the cold. He had fallen through the mountain into an underground lake, the light from above dim, the shoreline barren and rocky. He drew the Force in around him as best he could, managing a clumsy paddle to the closest shore. He crawled out of the lake with a groan of pain, collapsing onto the rocks and coughing up what felt like half a lung, pressing his forehead into smooth stones weathered by centuries of dripping water. For a beat, there was silence, then Beedee trilled a shaky little enquiry.
“I'm good buddy. You okay?”
The little droid peeped somewhat miserably.
“...Yeah, me too. That sucked and we are not doing it again.” Cal promised, rolling onto his back and drawing in another ragged breath. “My legs hurt.” He complained to his friend, who was already popping a stim out of his little stash. Cal pressed the plunger into his chest with a grunt. “My hero, little buddy.”
Before the stim's effects could fully set in, a violent eruption of water had him tensing, twisting his head towards the black water. Somehow, somehow, the Purge Trooper had also survived the fall, and was splashing towards the shoreline with ungainly, jerky movements that mirrored the pain lancing through Cal's body.
Cal rolled over with a curse, scrambling for his lightsaber, only for his entire right side to light up in agony. He choked back a cry, clutching at his bruised ribs, falling back onto his back.
At least the trooper didn't seem to be doing much better, choking inside his helmet on his hands and knees beside the black lake. He too collapsed, and Cal tried to force himself to sit up, to move, to do something before the trooper could lay hands on his rifle. Debris was still splashing into the water behind them, and Cal groaned, looking up at the high rock walls. Across from him, the trooper was still grunting in pain, clutching at his head and tugging at the clasps of his helmet. Finally, Cal's scrabbling fingers found the hilt of his lightsaber, and he clutched it close, another cry of pain forcing its way past his lips. He staggered to his feet just as the trooper finally threw his helmet aside, trying to breathe past the agony in his ribs.
And immediately, he collapsed again when the Purge trooper who'd spent the last half a rotation trying to kill him looked up at him, and a painfully familiar pair of brown eyes met his.
A clone.
For a split second, Cal was back on the Brave, being hunted down by hundreds of the men he'd considered friends, brothers. Big brothers, brave and fun, protective and funny and clever. He clenched his fists, suppressing a whole body shiver, forcing himself to his feet and holding out the saber, swaying, dizzy and aching.
The clone stared up at him, looking...actually, looking terribly confused as he lifted a hand to his head and groaned again. His hand went for his rifle – and it wasn't there, lost to the lake along with the rest of the debris. He glanced down in horror, and a thrill of fear flickered through the brown eyes Cal had seen so many times before as he looked back up at the wounded Jedi standing over him. Cal might be injured and disoriented, but he had a weapon, and the Purge trooper – the clone – did not.
He looked older than Cal remembered clones looking, dark hair greying at the temples and wrinkles around his dark eyes, his weathered skin betraying the accelerated ageing that Cal had once found acutely horrifying.
Cal didn't move. He knew now what he hadn't known for years after the Purge – that the clones had chips in their heads that had overridden their free will and turned them into little more than sentient droids, forced to turn on the Jedi they had served with. Some had been abandoned in the aftermath, replaced with Stormtroopers, but others...clearly others had continued to serve the Empire.
Or be used by it.
Cal didn't know how the chips functioned, but given how confused and frightened this clone looked, he was willing to bet that a certain degree of control had continued beyond Order Sixty Six, and he had been retrained as a Purge Trooper. Cal had seen first hand how those Troopers had been treated on Nur, in the Fortress. He didn't envy them the torture and brutalisation that came with being the assigned troops of the Empire's best Jedi hunters. This Clone had quite possibly been forced into this, and had been the Empire's slave, at least until now – the way he was clutching at his head, and the confused horror written all over his features strongly suggested that that awful chip functioned no longer, and he was in full control of himself for the first time in a while.
Cal couldn't really afford to take that risk, but he couldn't in good conscience kill someone unarmed and quite possibly newly truly aware of himself and his surroundings. He raised his lightsaber, green eyes regarding the kneeling man warily. “You have no rifle. You're wounded.” He ground out, trying very hard to push the images of dozens of clones turning their rifles on his unarmed twelve year old self firmly out of his mind. “And you're -” He shivered again, damp clothes clinging to his body, only adding to his acute discomfort. “You're a clone.”
The fierce flinch the Trooper gave in response, as though the very word clone was a physical slap, almost sent him toppling to the ground, wobbling dangerously on his knees in front of Cal. “Cee...Ceetee thirty three fourteen.” He croaked, voice hoarse and gruff. “I was called -” The trooper drew in a shuddering breath and shook his head. “I was called Trickshot.” His fingers flexed as though clenching around an invisible rifle. “Best sharpshooter in the seventeenth division. Not that it meant much after the Purge.”
It sounded like an appeal, open and desperate, and slowly, the man – Trickshot, that was his name, Cal thought, fingers clenched hard enough around his saber that his knuckles were white – slowly, he raised his hands in surrender, dark eyes wide. Trickshot. The clones had names, and Cal had always used them, hating the cold designations given to them by the Kaminoans and used by some of the more pompous commanders in the GAR. He was a Purge Trooper, lethal and aggressive, but he had also once been someone brilliant and bright and Light, and Cal drew in a long breath. Trickshot shuddered, glancing at the saber, then back up at Cal's face. “I don't wanna die.”
Cal had killed so many purge troopers, how many had been the clones he'd once idolised and befriended...? He let out the breath he'd been holding slowly, evenly, centring himself and drawing the Force in and around him to filter out all the horrifying guilt and anguish that had wormed its way in in the face of this clone. “Alright.” He lowered his lightsaber ever so carefully. “...Trickshot. I'm Cal. Cal Kestis, and this is Beedee-One.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Trickshot replied, a shadow of a hopeful smile on his face. It looked crooked and odd, like the man had not smiled in a long time. More a grimace than a smile. “Your name is mud, back home.”
Home. Nur, presumably, and Cal pulled a face, not even trying to suppress the shudder of revulsion the memories of that dark, awful place brought with them. “I bet. I...you're wounded. If I give you a stim, are you gonna go back to trying to kill me again?” He asked warily, taking a step towards the kneeling clone and trying not to make it too obvious that his ankle was really karking hurting.
“I don't...think so?” Trickshot mumbled, that gruff voice still so painfully familiar. “I don't feel that crippling need anymore. It's hard to...to think straight, though, it's like there's this constant whining noise, in my head...” He trailed off, then squared his shoulders. “No, kid. I won't hurt you.” He decided, a fierce scowl on his face that looked angry, but might just have been determination.
“Alright.” Cal dropped down and Beedee peeped, giving him a stim, though not without a chittering admonishment that ensured Cal knew how bad of an idea he personally thought this was. “Yeah, buddy, I know.” He chuckled grimly, injecting the stim into the injured Purge Trooper, once again marvelling at the man's survival. That fall had been insane, it must have been sheer luck – or maybe Cal had been using the Force a little too liberally in his panic. He recalled throwing it at anything and everything to try and slow himself down, perhaps he had inadvertently slowed Trickshot's descent too. He looked up at the remnants of the skytrain's track high above them, and grimaced. “They'll send people down here.” He murmured. “Did you come with an Inquisitor?”
“...Fifth Brother.”
“Oh, kriffing marvellous.” Cal huffed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, he'll know that fall was survivable, for a Jedi. We gotta move. Unless you wanna wait for him, and I'll take off by myself?”
“No thanks, I like having limbs. And being alive.” Trickshot grumbled with a scowl. He tried to get up, and stumbled with a curse. “Dank Ferrik. Think...think I'll take my chances with the crazy Jedi kid with the stim stash.” Once again Cal flinched, memories of listening to the clones on the Brave snark at each other, gruff voices laced with sarcasm and humour. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Trickshot wasn't on the Brave. Nor was Cal. Maybe Trickshot had once betrayed a Jedi, but Cal forced himself to remember that he had not had a choice. Knowing...didn't make it much easier, but it made this entire strange encounter just a little more bearable.
He looped an arm under Trickshot's shoulder and around his back. “Yeah, I'd pick me over tall dark and ugly, too.” He joked, trying to ease some of the tension between them. He glanced back up at the dark sky once more, before nudging Beedee with his foot. “Pick a direction please, buddy, and get us out of this cave.” He sighed, watching the little droid scamper off, lighting the way with his torch.
The Clone's arm tightened around Cal brifly, and he heard Trickshot pull in a pained, tired sigh. “...Thanks, kid.”
Cal winced. “Let's just...try not to die before getting off this force forsaken planet.” He grumbled in response as the unlikely pair began to hobble after Beedee.