The Bad Batch: One Shot Collection

Soultwins

"Negative. The odds of escape are not in your favor," Tech replies.

Hunter sucks in a trembling breath, biting his lip hard enough that he tastes blood when another spasm of pain runs through him. "Go! That's an order!" And Tech knows not to argue with that voice. He's being a little more harsh than he means to be, but – but he doesn't want them to realize how badly hurt he is or how much pain he's in. If they know, they'll never leave, and they have to. If they don't leave, they'll be captured to, and they can't – he has to protect them. It's enough that he's failed Crosshair.

"Hunter, tell them to come back! Order them to come back!" Omega screams through the comm.

Hunter can feel the gunships approaching, and he shoves himself to his knees through sheer force of will. "Sorry, kid," he rasps, "I can't do that." He cuts the connection and then braces himself against the ground as he hauls himself back to his feet. He can't stop the strangled cry that escapes from him as the pain makes his vision white out. Stars. If Crosshair doesn't heal him –

He shifts, swaying, and his legs buckle from under him. He hits the ground and doesn't get back up. Can't get back up. He's only still conscious through sheer determination. He doesn't want to be unconscious in Imperial custody. If he has to be a prisoner, he'd rather know what they're doing to him.

They drag him onto the gunship, and he only doesn't scream because he refuses to give them the satisfaction of knowing they're hurting him. They throw him into a cell – he does cry out at that, though he tries not to – and then leave him there.

Time passes, and Hunter thinks he might black out at some point, but it could be minutes or hours or even longer before he hears footsteps approaching his cell. Familiar footsteps. His heart is already pounding too hard, and it only speeds up further, his breath coming in short pants. He tips his head to side to see Crosshair's boots enter his field of vision. "Figured you'd show up," he says, and he thinks he sounds more shaky than he means to, but he can't – he's been injured before, but not like this. The pain is more than he knows how to handle, and he just wants to either scream or cry or both, but he can't because he can't show a weakness like that.

There's a pause. "... Why are you laying on floor?" Crosshair asks, and if Hunter could feel him in his mind, he imagines he'd feel confused. Or maybe incredulous.

Hunter tries to get his thoughts in order enough to make words when Crosshair deactivates the ray shield with a dismissive, "doesn't matter. Get up."

If only he could.

"Can't walk," he says.

"I don't have time for games," Crosshair bites out, and Hunter can feel the heat of his glare.

It only makes him want to cry more. He's not going to beg Crosshair to heal him, but he doesn't know if Crosshair even cares enough to do it of his own. Before – before, Crosshair would have done it without a second thought if he could have. If. The Kaminoans gave all the clones injections to partially disable their soulmate bonds. They could feel who each other was when they touched, but they couldn't heal each other. The helplessness of it, feeling a soulmate's pain as your own but not being able to help, is... indescribable.

It changed Tech, after Wrecker was in the explosion and lost his eye. He hadn't been able to heal him. He'd sat by his bedside the whole time – they all had – and held his hand, but it hadn't mattered. Tech had felt the pain Wrecker did, every last bit of it, relived it over and over and over, but he hadn't been able to make it go away. He was never quite the same afterward. None of them were, for that matter, but it was worst with Tech in many ways. He never forgave himself for not being able to find a way to heal Wrecker, and their bond has never been the way it used to be.