Work Text:
“17!” One of the karking thorns in his side calls — and that can only be Wolffe, none of the others have managed that smug tattle tale voice yet and Prime’s small, miniscule mercies, none of the others seem to be trying to, 17 can only barely handle it from Wolffe.
17 groans and the other three karking useless lumps that have decided to invade his room share a look that makes violence look like a wonderful option.
“17,” the bitey little osik stirrer calls again as he breezes into 17’s room without a care, “If anyone asks or says anything, it’s very important for you to know that Rex has been here the entire time.”
17 almost doesn’t want to ask, and the glee on 6’s face is one of taunting retribution.
“Why, for the love of Prime’s hairy—”
Jangotat flicks a stylus over with vicious accuracy and a hissed, “Language.” like the karking hypocrite he is.
Wolffe ignores 17’s perfectly viable protests with the ease of someone used to walking all over, or biting, their poor trainer and dumps a bundled mass of something that hisses and thrashes with far too much stamina for how old 17 feels right now, into his lap.
“We’ve already agreed Rex has been here the whole time,” Wolffe says, and ignores 17’s “No we did not”, as if he can’t hear 17 and doesn’t fear the impending laps he’ll have to run, “and that means he clearly couldn’t have bitten anyone.”
17 wraps arms around the thrashing bundle before it can squirm off his lap and finds himself thoroughly occupied making sure the feral little monster doesn’t fall off and break his fuzzy little head open.
17 hopes his glare is dark enough to curdle bantha milk, suspects by the amused glance that Jangotat and 6 exchange that it’s more longsuffering than anything.
Wolffe’s smile is blinding and falls so far short of innocent it’s painful, he pats 17’s head with a cheerful, “Glad we had this talk!” and then disappears from the room as 17 curses viciously under his breath and dodges the stylus Jangotat throws.
Wolffe is gone before 17 can tell the little shithead to go run laps and 17 can feel his age creeping up on him.
He’s made it this far raising the four of those hooligans and so far managed not to murder any of them, but the addition of their little pest is somehow managing to run him ragged.
It’s distinctly unfair.
“Am I just getting old?” 17 asks, arms locking the pest in his arms in place and ignoring the hissed threats.
“You looking for a smack in the face vod’ika?” 6 asks, serial killer pleasant and Spar’s grin is all ominous agreement and a promise of violence, 17 ignores that too.
If they didn’t want to be reminded of their increasing age, then they should be in someone else’s room, laughing at someone else’s misery.
“Or” he continues, pinching the side of the blanket bundle when it gets particularly hissy, “is he just worse than the others were.”
“I’m right here.” 17 thinks he hears the bundle hiss out, a shame his hearing is suddenly going.
Spar snorts and waves an unconcerned hand as he throws Jangotat another stylus, smile all malice, “You're imagining it.”
Jangotat nods, “You are aware that your oldest call themselves ‘The Shebse’?” he muses from where he’s busy unaurebeshizing every karking one of 17’s ‘pads.
How long has it been since he pitched him off the docks again? He can get away with doing it soon right? All the better if Jangotat’s brats are there to see it, might humble them all a little. Might even get Jangotat to shut the kark up.
It won’t, but 17 is trying something called hope out.
It’s not going well.
“I am well aware.” He growls as the little monster struggles to pop his head out of the swaddle of blankets and elbows him in the stomach with the attempt.
“In comparison to them, Rex is a delight.”
17 whips his head around in horror, “Do not name him,” he hisses, “I’m putting him back the moment Cody is distracted, they are not keeping him.”
Jangotat and Spar share a look of pity that grates and 17 snarls.
6’s smile is all vindication and 17 makes a note to toss him in the water sometime soon.
Jackass, he’s in 17’s room, lounging around on 17’s bed, and karking around with 17’s files which 17 actually needs if he ever wants to find where he put all the age-appropriate lessons before someone does something stupid and the pest ends up in Med Bay.
Small, pitiful mercies, the pest in his lap is too wrapped up in his single-minded determination and trying to escape to take any notice of the conversation going on around him.
The little beastie finally manages to poke his head out with a cry of victory and a snarl that makes 17 think more of Death than any actual language.
“17,” the little monster squeaks, face screwed up in rage, “I’m gonna need you to lemme go now.”
17 tightens his grip, all the warning signs that raising his brats has given him going off violently.
“Why?” he asks, and knows he won’t like the answer.
Spar watches from his corner, eyebrow raised and smirk beginning to grow and if 17 had a free hand he’d tell him exactly where to shove it.
“I need to rip some faces off, with my teeth,” the tiny cadet — who is maybe half a snack soaking wet — squeaks, all clenched-tooth murder.
17’s eye twitches and 6 smiles viciously.
“Delightful,” 6 murmurs and Jangotat’s shoulders shake from laughter.
Spar’s look is all judgement and 17 is going to beat the osik out of all of them one day.
The little beastie seems to decide 17 doesn’t understand and wriggles around again, hissing, “With my kriffing teeth 17.”
17 sighs, “Why?”
The pest freezes, looks up at him with the most judgmental eyebrow that 17 has ever seen from someone who could probably be crushed by someone in full kit.
“ ‘cause they were talking osik about Cody.” 17’s pest says, easy as anything and 17 twitches.
“Language,” he says and the judgment grows stronger.
“You said it.”
Jangotat cackles and 17 sighs.
What did he do to deserve another one? It’s not too late to put him back, he could still manage it, no one would notice.
“17,” Rex hisses, “lemme go so I can rip their faces off.”
Kark, he’s been named, 17 is screwed.
“No,” he admonishes and wishes desperately for a kiddie leash of some sort, or liquor, or a karking nap.
“ ‘m gonna bite their noses off,” 17’s newest problem mutters as he tries to find a way out of 17’s arms.
How the kriff did he end up with two biters, and what did he do to the universe to get all the feral ones?
Jangotat cackles even harder as Spar smirks and 6’s grin says, ‘you’re getting everything you deserve.’
He hates every single karking one of them, and he hopes their brats all end up adopting even worse brats.