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"-but it was you."
The sheer effort to speak is utterly exhausting, draining the final energy reserves that Waxer has. But it's vitally important that Captain Rex and his men know that General Krell sent the 212th to kill their 501st brethren. They killed their own brothers.
Waxer doesn't understand why. Before his eyes close he watches Rex’s face contort in wretched understanding and fury. He trusts Rex and the rest of their brothers to find out why they've been betrayed by their own Jedi General. Waxer knows that Rex will look after his own men until the 212th and 501st are reunited at the end of this terrible campaign.
He's too exhausted to raise his hand to wipe the streaking heat burning down his cheek. He's so cold now. The spill of heat from his body steadily ebbing as he feels his breathing slow.
He's so tired.
He's so cold.
The numbness spreads. It creeps through his body, taking Waxer with it, and all Waxer wants is Boil. Waxer wants to say goodbye, even though he doesn't want to go. He doesn't want to leave Boil alone to face this war that takes more and more each passing day. Waxer had secretly hoped for an after the war - there isn't going to be one for him anymore.
He doesn't realise that the sounds around him had muffled until someone above him swears.
"Fuck this! I can't lose another brother."
The voice is furious and desperate and suddenly the spreading cold numbness becomes agonising, blinding pain - setting fire to every nerve ending in his body. Waxer arches, a soundless cry trapped harshly in his chest. His limbs start working again, gloved fingers clawing into the dark Umbaran mud, heels digging in to the soft earth beneath him.
"Sorry, I'm sorry," the brother says as the pain sears through Waxer's body.
It's scalding hot, warming Waxer's cooling body, blood pumping fire in his veins, heart beating furiously in his chest. It hurts, but Waxer welcomes it - welcomes a chance to stay with Boil, to stay to protect his brothers, to maybe see Numa again one day. Commander Cody needs Waxer to watch his six and ensure he sleeps enough. Boil needs Waxer to make sure he eats and tease him until he smiles. Wooley needs his ridiculously fluffy hair to be ruffled.
His mud-coated hands leave the earth behind, blindly flailing for the brother refusing to let him die through sheer force of will. If Waxer could hear anything except the roar of blood in his ears and the voice of the man saving him, he'd hear the armour creaking beneath his fingers.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," the man beneath his crushing grip murmurs.
The galaxy is alight with starfire, the shadows of Umbara obliterated into blinding starlight. Static fizzes. Stars blinking in the Umbaran undergrowth. Armoured silhouettes outlined in technicolour.
"Kix!" exclaims someone with alarm. "Kix! Kix, you need to stop. It's okay. It's okay."
"I -"
There's a tremor under Waxer's fingers.
"I - I don't know how! I can't-"
The blinding heat suddenly dissipates as fast as it had ignited, leaving Waxer gasping raggedly in its wake. A gentle warmth remains though; security and protectiveness, like a cosy blanket wrapped comfortingly around him. He blinks, trying to clear his tear-blurred vision, before struggling to push himself up with one elbow.
A brother in what was once blue and white armour lies sprawled in the mud next to Waxer, another pinning him in place across the hips.
"What?" Waxer croaks. He rolls himself onto his front, crawling over to the pair. He needs to help, he needs to understand, he needs…
"Lieutenant?" the man on top of their brother says. "Sir! Stay there, sir. You're injured, sir!"
"Pretty sure I was dead," Waxer mumbles to himself, ignoring the protests from his 501st brother.
More blue and orange and white come dashing out of the gloom and flora. Armoured bodies shifting in the sticky mud. Waxer ignores them all, eyes only for the brother that's pinned to the ground and shaking violently. The warmth in Waxer's body rises and falls, the pulse calm and reassuring.
Beyond exhausted, Waxer hauls himself the last agonising distance to the man's head, past the medic shoulder bell. His eyes are blown wide open, unseeing, as he pants and convulses against the Umbaran ground. Waxer has never seen the collected medic like this before.
"Kix?" he says softly, placing a hand against his cheek, fingers curling behind his ear. Kix shivers violently.
"Waxer!" Captain Rex's knees thud into the mud next to the pair of them. "Oh, Kix," he breathes so quietly that his vocoder barely picks it up.
"I'm sorry," Kix stammers as his hands flail, fingers catching on the edge of Waxer's vambrace. "I couldn't lose someone else, I couldn't- you were so cold and I couldn't-"
"I'm warm now," Waxer reassures, "I'm okay and I'm warm and we're going to figure this out." Waxer's thumb rubs gently against the medic's skin. Mud and blood smears from the motion.
Kix nods shakily. Swallows. Blinks. His eyes slowly refocus. Only then does Waxer slowly remove his hand, the warmth trailing after it. Kix looks around and startles.
"I'm sorry I sat on you, Kix," the trooper sat on top of Kix this whole time says apologetically. "I might've panicked a bit."
Kix’s hand reaches over to pat the man's arm. "You did good, kid," he says. "You did good." He pauses before adding, "Can I get up now?"
"Oh! Right, yes! Sorry!" the trooper says before scrambling off of the medic, who sits up unsteadily.
Kix looks between Waxer and Rex a little sheepishly. "May I check? It's just I don't know what I did and I-"
Waxer glances at Rex, who looks as shell-shocked as Waxer feels.
"Of course," Waxer says, letting Kix check what Waxer was sure was a fatal injury. The skin around the blaster shot is blistering red and angry, but there isn't a hole and he isn't dead.
Kix touches the area gingerly, eliciting a hiss of discomfort from Waxer. Waxer watches curiously, not sure if any questions he wants to ask would have any answers.
"Sorry," Kix whispers.
"Do you feel the warmth?" Waxer asks. Kix’s concerned gaze snaps to his. Waxer shrugs. "It's nice, feels like being safe in the barracks," he tries to explain. "Has a kind of pulse to it."
Kix’s face creases in puzzlement. Waxer's starting to feel silly for mentioning it when Kix nods.
"I feel it," comes the medic's hesitant response, his fingers retreating from Waxer's injury. "Not a pulse, but a - I don’t know how to explain it - connection? Maybe?"
That makes sense to Waxer, in a way. Kix looks to Rex, the Captain's expression turning thoughtful.
Rex’s smile is small, fighting through fear and exhaustion and anger, but soft for his brothers. "We'll figure it out, Kix," he says.
"Krell first?" Kix asks darkly.
"Yea," Rex says, the lines on his face and his eyes grim, "Krell first. Would you like to join us, Lieutenant?"
"Oh," says Waxer at the Captain's invitation. Waxer is not normally an angry man, but right now it simmers just below the surface of his skin. "Yes, Captain, I would like to have a word with the General. I'll inform General Kenobi of the situation."