Chapter Text
When Rampart got home from supervising Wrecker’s lashings and getting his arm repaired, he took one look at Crosshair, grabbed him by the hair, and slammed his head into the stone wall before storming off. The empty sound of the bone connecting with the rock rang out in the slave’s head and left him stunned for a good while. Crosshair sank to the floor in the hall and stared at nothing while he waited for everything to get less wobbly. He could feel the blood running down his head and neck and he was pretty sure he was concussed. It gave the same sense of confusion that fell over him, familiar from back when he’d been hit in the head with a brick while hunting down a group of insurgents on a planet he no longer remembered the name of during the war.
Eventually his vision cleared somewhat, but Crosshair continued sitting there on the floor, feeling like he was about to vomit or finally pass out, until Tech appeared and hauled him down to their room before gently guiding him to sit on his pallet. The engineer brought their small electric lamp close to Crosshair’s face, staring intently at him, looking for something in his eyes Crosshair didn’t know about, until the he let out a sigh and set the lamp aside. He walked out of the room and came back several minutes later with a wet rag, which he used to carefully wipe the blood out of Crosshair’s hair and face.
“Mayday has called a meeting,” Tech noted while helping him, his voice pitched low and quiet, “Are you up for it?”
Crosshair nodded and immediately regretted it because of a sudden wave of nausea, still feeling not all there, but Tech just let out another sigh and sat down on his own pallet, “Lay down, try to sleep, I will wake you when it’s time to go.”
“M’kay,” Crosshair mumbled as he flopped over on his side. He tried not to think about Wrecker getting all those lashes for him with nobody to treat him afterwards. Crosshair had taken lashes, he knew the whip could split your back open, that it could do serious and permanent damage if the person wielding it hit you even a little bit too hard. Crosshair rolled over on his side and hid his face in what passed for a mattress here, hoping the dark would soothe the pain in his head.
He did eventually doze off, because he woke up startled when Tech said his name. Crosshair was suddenly on his feet with no memory of standing up, his hands balled up into fists in a guard stance. His head still wasn’t on straight, but Tech just gave him a solemn look before walking out of the room. After a second Crosshair shook himself out and followed through the cold night streets of Mos Espa.
Mayday was there when they arrived at their secret basement. There was no food this time, it must have been too short notice for anybody to put anything together in time. Crosshair’s military friend took one look at him and his face morphed into a scowl.
“You look like hell,” Mayday said, walking over as Crosshair let go of the ladder and stepped the rest of the way into the cellar. He came right up to him and took him by the shoulders, looking him up and down, “What happened?”
Crosshair blinked at him, his brain feeling foggy as he tried to make his tongue form into words, and Tech spoke up instead. “Multiple incidents, but the more serious ones were strangulation and a head trauma. He is concussed at the very least.”
Mayday swore violently and guided Crosshair to sit down with his back against the wall before sitting down next to him and slinging his arm over his shoulders. Tech sat down on Crosshair’s other side and Mayday glanced at him, “You don’t look all that great either.”
“I was also strangled,” Tech told him matter of factly, carefully rubbing the bruised skin “but by somebody different in an unrelated incident.”
“Shit,” Mayday huffed, scratching his fingers through his beard, “This is a lousy week already isn’t it?”
Tech just nodded and changed the subject, “I was told you had something important to say to all of us.”
Mayday dipped his chin in agreement before moving his eyes to his friend. Crosshair only now gathered his thoughts enough to comprehend his surroundings, and the people gathered in the hideout were not all slaves he knew. Many were carrying weapons and even wearing armor, their clothes, hair, and horns well kept.
The one who seemed to be in charge stepped forward. He was some sort of cyborg, with ports all over his head and a brain implant that covered his ears and wrapped around the back of his head. He also looked to be missing a few limbs, one of his arms ended in a scomp and when Crosshair really looked it seemed that at least part of his legs were prosthetic.
“This is Echo,” Mayday introduced as the final group of slaves climbed down the ladder and settled in the room. Mish and Nalla sat down next to Tech while Cyra and Mish’s friends quieted the children, “He’s the friend that saved me, he’s going to help me get you all out.”
The slaves looked at Echo with awe, but the chain-breaker’s expression was no-nonsense as he looked over them all. “We’ve got a chip scanner,” Echo told them seriously, “and a team of surgeons. This is going to take time, but if any of you can slip away for a few hours we should be able to remove your chip, then we’ll hand you off to the freedom runners who will help you escape Tatooine.”
There was excited whispering from the gathered slaves, and Crosshair saw blinding hope in the expressions of the younger ones like Nalla and Mish. The older, more beaten down slaves like Cyra seemed doubtful, but even they nodded. Nobody in their right mind would pass up a chance like this.
“What about Wrecker?” Crosshair spoke up and his voice sounded absolutely awful, little more than a raspy croak that burned all the way down his throat.
Echo looked at Mayday, a question in his expression, and Mayday said, “The pit fighter I told you about.”
“We’re still working out how to pull that one off,” Echo told him, his tone solemn, “We need more time.”
Crosshair nodded listlessly, and blanked out the rest of the conversation. Whatever they were planning on doing, he wouldn’t be getting out of there unless it was with Wrecker, so it didn’t really matter, but late into the night Mayday shook him slightly to get his attention.
When Crosshair glanced at him, Mayday’s frown deepened, “Not all there, are you?” he asked, but Crosshair didn’t have anything to say to that so he kept quiet.
“The head injury was quite severe I think,” Tech whispered as the others talked to Echo and his soldiers about their escape plans, “It was a stone wall Rampart slammed his head against and there was a lot of blood, but without a scanner I cannot say for certain how badly he is injured.”
Mayday nodded, “I’ll see if I can get somebody to take a look at you within the next couple of days, alright Cross?”
Crosshair gave him another listless nod and Mayday let out a sigh. “When we free Wrecker, he will likely need immediate medical care. He is injured and it seems as though his wounds are getting infected. Rampart has refused to give him antibiotics or access to a doctor and in fact only gave him lashings,” Tech added.
“Alright,” Mayday sighed again, “I’ll talk to Echo about it. We’ll work something out.”
There was more talking, but by then Crosshair had slipped into a half-drowse half-stupor and didn’t rouse until Mayday pulled him to his feet.
“Done for the night,” Mayday told him, “Get some sleep, Crosshair, bodies need sleep to heal and we need you in good enough condition to make it out.”
“Sure,” He mumbled and Mayday gave him a pat on the back before Crosshair followed Tech back out into the open night, heading home.
***
Over the next couple days some of the brain fog lifted, although in its place Crosshair was wracked with splitting headaches and violent nausea. He didn’t get the chance to go back to the pit for nearly four days and the worry for what sort of condition Wrecker would be in ate at him. When he did get the chance to go it was with Rampart leading him there at an angrily brisk pace. Any reminder that Wrecker existed seemed to stoke Rampart’s temper back into a roar and Crosshair avoided talking to him as much as possible and didn’t dare look him in the eye.
When they arrived at the pit and walked down into the area with the cells, Crosshair’s breath caught in his throat as they stepped up to Wrecker’s cell. He could smell the infection, the air was a rancid sort of sweet that he recognized from men dying of their wounds. Wrecker was sitting on the floor, practically curled into a ball with his arms wrapped around his knees. He looked up miserably when Rampart stepped up to his cell.
“Not feeling great?” Rampart asked him sweetly and one side of Wrecker’s mouth twisted in a snarl. This time Rampart wasn’t stupid enough to stand within grabbing distance of the cell and he smiled cruelly at the miserable sight of his fighter. “You have a fight in half an hour,” he said with delight, “Of course I’d love to see you get eviscerated, it’d be what you deserve, but I intend to get as much money out of you as I can before you drop dead, so I’ve got a little gift for you.”
Crosshair watched him talk with confusion and growing concern which worsened to dread when Rampart pulled out a hypo and tossed it to him. “Give him that,” that slave master ordered before turning on his heel and walking away.
Once Rampart was gone Crosshair checked the label on the hypo and sucked in a breath. He knew this drug, it was a pain blocker. Anybody who got injected with it wouldn’t be able to feel pain for hours afterwards no matter how badly they were hurt. But it was a double edged sword, because pain was important, it stopped you from pushing beyond your capabilities, from hurting yourself by accident. When soldiers used pain blockers during the war they always came out injured, they’d tear their own muscles or charge forward after being shot. It was very bad news and Crosshair knew he should just get rid of the hypo and say he gave it to Wrecker…but…
When he looked at Wrecker, Crosshair could see the man wouldn’t be able to fight without it, not in his condition. If he didn’t fight he’d be killed, if he fought without the hypo he’d be killed, but with the hypo he might survive.
Making up his mind, Crosshair set his jaw and called for the pit keeper. Once the man let Crosshair into Wrecker’s cell, he edged over to the injured pit fighter and then knelt down beside him. Wrecker looked up at him miserably and Crosshair sighed.
“You’re dying,” he told him somberly, “but you might make it if you can hang on a little longer, okay?”
Wrecker nodded, but his expression was tired and wracked with pain, although the latter at least could be dealt with for now.
“This is a pain blocker,” Crosshair told him showing Wrecker the hypo, “Once I give it to you you won’t be able to feel any pain for a few hours, no matter how badly injured you get, but while that sounds like a good thing, and it might be the only way you can fight like this, you need to know it’s dangerous. You won’t be able to tell if you push yourself too far, you could easily make your injuries worse by accident, so…be careful, if you can.”
The pit fighter gave Crosshair a deeply solemn look and then nodded, so the ex-sniper let out a sigh and then pressed the hypo against Wrecker’s neck, pushing down on the plunger. The pit fighter grimaced for a second and then did that same “thank you” sign at Crosshair.
“Don’t thank me,” Crosshair told him unhappily, “Not yet.” Wrecker frowned but nodded. “I think your pain should be gone in the next couple minutes and it’ll be gone for a few hours, just…don’t die alright?” Crosshair pleaded.
With a sigh, Wrecker released his arms from around his legs and stretched his legs out on the floor, then gave Crosshair a fond smile before signing something at him. Crosshair didn’t know what it meant, but he tried to repeat the signs until Wrecker nodded in approval.
“Alright, let me see what I can do about the rest of you,” Crosshair mumbled. He knew he was just going to have to patch Wrecker up again when his match was over, but if he could do anything for him now then he would.
The lashes on his back already festered, red skin and half dried pus surrounding the long wounds. With how dry the skin was, Crosshair doubted that Wrecker had been fed or given water in the last few days, it was difficult to sew together, the pit fighter having to arch his back to make sure the skin could be stitched together. The job was probably useless, it was almost inevitable that the stitches wouldn't survive the next fight, but it didn't stop Crosshair from trying that and then coating the wounds in bacta and bandages. If Wrecker survived long enough for it to scar, the scars would be bad, but at the moment that was the least of his worries.
When Crosshair had finished with his back he checked the rest of his injuries, which were universally inflamed, with some even leaking pus that had soaked into the bandages and made them foul. His eye was especially bad, but without antibiotics, Crosshair couldn’t do much but clean them again and then apply more bacta and rebandage them. When he was done he stood up and let out a sigh, “That’s all I can do for you right now, but I’ll see what I can do when your fight’s over, just…win, however you have to do it, you have to win so you can survive long enough for us to get you help.”
Wrecker nodded, his expression grave, and then mouthed a couple words, exaggerating them so Crosshair would be able to tell what he meant. “I promise,” was what he’d intended to say, as far as Crosshair could tell, so he just nodded and held his hand out. When Wrecker took his hand Crosshair hauled the pit fighter to his feet, only to let out an embarrassing squeak when Wrecker used his grip on Crosshair’s hand to pull him in for an all encompassing hug. Crosshair went stiff until it was over, but Wrecker didn’t drag it out, it was over before Crosshair had fully processed what was happening. Once Wrecker had finished hugging him he held Crosshair at arm’s length and then signed ‘thank you, Crosshair,’ once again, some of the only signs Crosshair actually remembered, his face solemn. The way he did it made Crosshair’s stomach twist, because it felt like Wrecker was saying goodbye and Crosshair didn’t like that at all.
“No,” he bit out automatically, “You’re not done yet, you better karking survive this or I’ll kill you, this isn’t goodbye.”
The pit fighter smiled at him fondly, but then nodded again. Crosshair let out a sigh and raked his fingers through his hair, only to wince when he touched the sore spot on his head that shot a spike of pain through his brain. The wince must have been obvious, because Wrecker’s expression turned concerned and he made a sign, but Crosshair didn’t understand it, so Wrecker let out a sigh and reached out to take Crosshair’s chin in his hand and then tilted his head so he could see the spot Crosshair had touched that had hurt.
Crosshair let him, mainly because he was too tired to kick up a fuss about it, and Wrecker swiped his hand through Crosshair’s hair once, only to frown even deeper when Crosshair winced again. Wrecker let go of him and then gestured to his head, a question in his expression.
“Rampart was pissy when he got home after your lashings and he slammed my head into the wall,” Crosshair sighed, “I’m alright, just on the tail end of a concussion. A friend had somebody look at me and I don’t have a skull fracture or brain bleed or anything. Worry about yourself, I’ll be fine in a few days.”
Wrecker let out an annoyed huff, but then nodded. With no other reason to linger, Crosshair speared Wrecker with one final look and emphasized, “Don’t die and make me have to kill you,” which Wrecker simply laughed at and nodded again. Satisfied with his compliance, Crosshair nodded to himself and then turned and called for the pit keeper to let him out.
Inevitably Crosshair wound up in the VIP box with Rampart, who had a nasty smirk on his face as he watched the fight going on below, the precursor to Wrecker’s fight. He really did seem to want to wring every ounce of suffering he could out of Wrecker before finally letting him die, but Crosshair wasn’t going to let Rampart be the death of Wrecker, of either of them, them or Tech. They were going to get away and if Crosshair got the chance to kill Rampart on the way out he’d take it without hesitation.
The current fight ended with the audience roaring at the death of one of the fighters while Crosshair poured Rampart another round of spotchka, then the announcer started hyping them all up for the next fight while the dead body was dragged out of the pit. Wrecker stepped out a moment later to an accompanying roar. Crosshair could see that the pain blocker had taken effect. When he’d been with Wrecker earlier the giant’s movements had been slow, careful, and pained, but now they were back to being smooth and confident, with none of the earlier hesitancy. Crosshair wished he could say it was a relief, but it only made him that much more worried.
A second later the opposite gate opened and Wrecker’s opponent stepped into the pit. It was a Trandoshan this time, a huge one, almost as big as Wrecker himself was, whose scaly hide was marred with scars and whose head sported a crown of feathers. The lizard pulled his lips back to show his razor sharp teeth and Crosshair had the sneaking suspension that Wrecker was going to end up getting bitten at least once in this fight. Sewing that up afterwards was going to be a mess and half.
Wrecker had his knuckleduster gauntlets back, while the Trandoshan didn’t seem to be sporting any additional weapons, likely because his claws and teeth served the same purpose, and in response to the Trandoshan’s display of teeth Wrecker slammed his fists together and tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck. It was obvious he was relishing the break from his pain the hypo had given him and Crosshair couldn't really blame him, he had to have been suffering immensely as his infection had steadily worsened, running unchecked through his body.
The fight started a moment later and Crosshair was already wincing at how hard Wrecker was pushing his body, the pit fighter lunged forward and caught the Trandoshan around the mouth with his gauntlet, knocking out a few of the lizard’s needle teeth and getting a slash across his forearm from the remainder of them clipping him, which only had Crosshair wincing all the more. The Trandoshan responded by raking his claws up Wrecker’s chest and the wounds it opened looked like they weren’t too deep from were Crosshair was standing, but it was obvious Wrecker hadn’t even noticed he’d been hurt as he twisted in a way that likely popped at least a few of the stitches in his back so he could catch the Trandoshan in a headlock.
Just as Crosshair had predicted, Wrecker got bitten, the Trandoshan sinking all his remaining teeth into Wrecker’s arm to try and get him to release the headlock, but again Wrecker didn’t seem to be paying attention, instead only squeezing the Trandoshan’s neck tighter while the other pit fighter scrabbled and bit at his arm with his teeth and claws in an effort to free himself. By the time Wrecker finally broke his opponent’s neck his arm was torn to shreds and Wrecker looked down at the ruins of his limb with an expression of surprise. He really hadn’t noticed that the Trandoshan was hurting him then. Crosshair just sighed and looked to Rampart, who rolled his eyes and made a gesture to dismiss him so he could go try and repair Wrecker yet again.
Wrecker was just being returned to his cell when Crosshair made it down to him and the pit keeper let out an annoyed noise when he was asked to open the door he'd just locked, but he did so and let Crosshair in with his medical kit.
Wrecker gave Crosshair a sheepish smile when the former soldier stepped into the cell, obviously correctly interpreting the annoyed look on Crosshair’s face. “I told you to be careful didn't I?” Crosshair bit out and the sheepish look intensified as Wrecker rubbed the back of his neck with his good arm.
The giant did a sign at him, rubbing his closed fist in a circular motion on his chest and Crosshair would guess that he was apologizing, but he didn’t acknowledge it, instead he put his hand out and Wrecker obediently stretched out his mangled arm for Crosshair to see. It really was in ruins and Crosshair was surprised he seemed to have retained most of the mobility in his hand, given the nerves and tendons had to have been at least a little damaged.
“If I were a doctor I think I’d make you undergo reconstructive surgery for this,” Crosshair told him bitterly as he started trying to piece the limb back together with sutures, which was as far as his limited skills could take him. Wrecker’s arm was karked honestly and if he was ever able to use it properly again Crosshair would be very surprised. Even so, he did the best he could, filling the limb with sutures and then coating it in bacta and wrapping the whole thing in bandages.
Wrecker was starting to look like a mummy with how much of his body was bandaged at this point, but once his arm was as good as Crosshair could get it, he turned his attention to the other injuries that had been worsened by Wrecker’s liberal movement in the fight. He had been right that Wrecker had popped a number of the stitches in his back, so he scolded him as he sewed those back up and rewrapped them. Wrecker gave him another sheepish apologetic look when Crosshair came back around and started on the slashes from the Trandoshan raking his claws across Wrecker’s chest. More stitches, more bacta, more bandages, more wounds that were likely only going to get infected, even with Crosshair having cleaned them thoroughly before he’d started trying to fix them.
When Crosshair was finally done he stepped back with a sigh. “Enjoy the rest of that pain blocker,” he told him, “because you're going to feel like total shit when it wears off, trust me. You’ll feel even worse than you did before, even without the new injuries.”
The pit fighter gave Crosshair a nod, but he was still smiling, obviously still flying high off the lack off pain, he hadn’t flinched once while Crosshair had been piecing his arm back together, but he’d be in agony once the hypo wore off, there was no way the way his arm had been destroyed would be anything but totally agonizing once he could actually feel it.
As Crosshair was packing everything back in the kit and then slinging it over his shoulder, Wrecker signed something at him, a phrase this time, instead of what had likely just been the sign for ‘sorry’ that he’d repeated over and over while Crosshair was putting him back together.
Just like before, Crosshair copied the signs a couple times until he’d gotten them right and felt he could remember them long enough to ask Tech what they meant, then he wished Wrecker good night and ducked back out of the cell once the pit keeper let him out. When Crosshair finally made it back home and had the chance to talk to Tech - only after cooking and then serving Rampart dinner and then laying out all his nightclothes and finally cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom - he found that the phrase Wrecker had signed was, ‘I kept my promise.’
And he had, he'd won, he’d survived, just like he’d promised. All Crosshair could hope for was that Mayday’s buddy Echo would come up with a way to bust Wrecker out before his next fight, because with the way things were going, Wrecker wasn’t going to last much longer.