#darr gifs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shadestepping · 3 months

Text

The Bad Batch- Trespass: “Crossroads”, pt. 2

Word Count: 3,179 Characters: Crosshair, Trinn Kryze (Original), Captain Mal Kryze (Original), Commander Reina Darr (Original) Date: 9 rotations after “Kamino Lost” Themes: NO romance, NO smut, simply a “what if” AU with OC’s- My purpose(s) for writing this specific fic were simple: I wanted to get a better picture of what was going through Crosshair’s mind in Season 1, and I wanted to write a fic that told the story of what could and would have happened if he had deviated from the canon path, and gotten out from under the Empire’s control sooner rather than later. This starts with the decision to get off Kamino rather than sit and wait for the Empire to come looking for him. One crossroad leads to another, and each decision made steers him toward a better future- one of redemption and a life of his own making.

Synopsis: Crosshair is found by the crew of the Trespass, and offered a lift off of Kamino.

Archive link: [ Crossroads ] [ Part 1 ]

Mandalorians? Was he having a fever dream?

Well, this was certainly a surprise.

Crosshair stopped in his tracks and took a suspicious step back from the approaching craft. Of all the wayward ships he’d theorized might have picked up his distress beacon, the Night Watch—who had been busy staging their own uprising against the Empire on Mandalore, at least twelve thousand parsecs from Kamino—wasn’t even an honorable mention.

There was no reason for them to be out this far on the opposite side of the outer rim. And even if they were already within range, the reasons why the rogue warriors of House Vizsla would respond to an Imperial distress beacon were few- most of which did not bode well for his survival.

An Imperial Commander ranked high on the rebellion’s list of targets, not only as a necessary piece to remove from the board, but as a valuable source of intel. Fortunately for him, all commandos had been rigorously trained to resist interrogation; unfortunately , he’d just spent nine days exposed to constant battering rain, on minimal nutrition and little-to-no sleep. He was starving, sick, weak and paranoid, and high on his last stims. Even the most hardened ARC’s would crack if their Jedi General was to get her hands on them in this state.

Suddenly his ticket off Big Stormy didn’t look so appealing.

Cross squinted, shakily slipped a toothpick into the corner of his mouth, and kept a safe distance from the edge. “You’re a long way from Mandalore,” he drawled with pointed apprehension.

“And you look mighty miserable, standin’ there all by your lonesome.” She grinned with such familiarity it made his stomach churn. “Why don’tcha come in outta the cold and we’ll take you to the nearest starport?”

Hunger pains nipped at his resolve but he didn’t bite. He shifted the pick from one corner of his mouth to the other and further narrowed his eyes as she moved between the support pistons.

“Somethin’ wrong, trooper?”

“You could say that,” he answered with a crooked nod. “Why are you here?”

The Mandalorian furrowed her brow. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“ Humor me .”

“We were passin’ through and picked up your distress beacon,” she explained as the freighter lowered just enough for him to hop onto the ramp, if he chose. “Ain’t seen hide nor hair of anyone else for at least ten parsecs… nonna whom were rushin’ to Kamino to respond to an Imperial in distress, anyway.”

And there it was, the hook: no ships in range that would consider braving the Kaminoan storms to rescue one lone Imperial. If the Night Watch were convinced enough that they were safe risking a stop, then the Empire really must have abandoned the system.

One arm trembled as he crossed and tucked it under the other, a tell that he needed food and rest soon. “And why did the Night Watch decide to rush to my aid?” he sneered. “Are you really doing this out of the goodness of your hearts? Or are you just hoping for a hostage?”

She was taken aback by the heat in his assumption, but he wasn’t wrong to be skeptical of their intentions. The Night Watch was about as friendly to the Empire as the Republic had been to the Confederacy during the Clone Wars, and it was unheard of for Mandalorians to offer help to their enemies.

“We heard comm chatter about Tipoca’s destruction, so when we saw where your beacon was comin’ from, we didn’t really think twice. The clones helped us once, and we wanted to return the favor.”

He was almost inclined to believe her. These do-gooder rebels were known to have taken in clone deserters and sympathetic parties. If they weren’t looking for a hostage, they were probably hoping to convert one more disillusioned soldier to their cause, the irony of which wasn’t lost on him. They would have had better luck recruiting Clone Force 99 into their ranks, had they come across his brothers rather than him. Swearing allegiance to the Night Watch would have been an easy transition for men in their position- aside from fulfilling their need to ‘do the right thing’, they’d have the security of the clan to protect Omega, stable sources of food and work, and clarity of purpose-

All of which he could have provided, had they just returned to the Empire.

The Empire that had just destroyed their home? The Empire that turned their noses up at the very soldiers who had single-handedly eradicated the Jedi and seized control of the entire Galaxy with one order? The Empire that had made it very clear that the future of their service, their very survival, was not guaranteed…?

Why in the nine hells had he chosen this over his family? For purpose, for stability, for influence ? Fat lot of good that had done him.

Crosshair grimaced, reached up and pressed the heel of his hand into the piercing headache as it shot through his temporal lobe. He hadn’t had a single independent thought that went unpunished, nor a moment of painless clarity, since his chip had activated.

“... hey- you okay?”

“Do I look okay ?”

He caught the way her face lit up in recognition out of the corner of his eye but didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t need her sympathy—it wouldn’t have helped him anyway—and he didn’t want her empathy.

A deeper feminine voice boomed from inside the cargo hold, beckoning Trinn to get inside and close the hatch so they could leave. After gesturing back to them to ‘Give me a minute’, she turned her attention back to him and tried again.

“Look- I can only imagine the week you’ve had, but I’d hope you’d still have enough sense t’not look a gift-fathier in the mouth.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he replied before he could change his mind. Leaving now—after all that time spent gaining ground with Rampart—would be a waste, and he wasn’t about to concede.

“You sure? Maker knows when your next chance will be. Do you really want to sit here for another…” Her voice trailed off and she rolled a shrug to illustrate.

Fierfek , she was right. Not even pirates or scrappers would have bothered withstanding Kamino’s hazards for the promise of a mediocre payday. Crosshair’s throat bobbed at the thought of being stuck on Kamino any longer. Due to his accelerated metabolism, he was already running dangerously low on rations, despite his best efforts to make them last. He could stretch them maybe another week if he bit off just enough to keep himself from starving to death, but he could already feel the weakness creeping into his bones. He was losing muscle density, ketosis was setting in. At this rate, it was either stay and risk an unpleasant death, or leave and possibly be taken prisoner. Had he been at full strength, he had no doubt he would be able to fight back in the case of the latter, but the number of soldiers aboard the craft was an unknown variable.

And who knew if the Empire would really be back.

His voice cracked as he forced the question. “You’ll take me to the closest starport, no strings attached…?”

“So long as you don’t rat us out.”

The lines in his forehead crinkled, arms dropped and balled his fingers into fists at his sides. He’d have plenty of time to rehearse the conversation with Admiral Rampart about how he had gotten his team killed and survived an orbital bombardment on a city that was now completely underwater. Lying about Clone Force 99’s survival wasn’t an issue, but crawling back empty-handed yet again wouldn’t earn him any favor. At the rate his failures were piling up, he’d be lucky to get an early retirement.

Don’t fool yourself- all you'll ever be to them is a number.

Trinn’s boots scraped as they shifted against the durasteel and turned away. “Fine, I’ll just tell my pilot to turn around-”

“ No ,” he finally conceded with a low, snarling growl. If the objective was survival, the strategy was obvious: control what you can. Even if he ended up in a cell, he’d have food and shelter. His odds of survival were better if he took the gamble of leaving with sympathetic enemies.

So long as he gave them no reason to distrust him, and nothing to work with.

Vertigo hit him as he lunged onto the swaying ship. One leg staggered and buckled, and he hit the deck hard as Trinn reacted and reached for his forearm. It slipped out of her grasp until her hand caught at the neck of his wrist and tightly gripped the plating over his hand. His body lurched with all of his weight pulling at his shoulder socket, and whipped his head around to bring him face-to-face with the Kaminoan deep. Sickness rose in his gut as the swell crashed beneath him, and just as he started to black out, he was yanked back into the safety of the cluttered cargo hold with incredible ease. Crosshair groaned as he hit the ground and pressed his fingers into his eyes, writhing on the vibrating floor beneath him.

Another heavier pair of boots approached him from across the room and came to a stop inches from his face, and he looked up into the face of a behemoth of a Mandalorian woman—as thick as he was tall, yet dwarfed him in presence alone—staring down at him with a steely blue, unyielding gaze. Impervious didn’t even begin to describe her.

“Weapons off, Comms and beacons out the ship,” she demanded with a curt nod over his shoulder.

Crosshair sat back on his heels. “Is that really necessary ?”

“Not dealing with you reneging on our agreement, or having your Imperial friends tag us mid-flight.”

He couldn’t fault them for being thorough, but he still hesitated and grimaced in protest as he pushed himself to his feet. He reached for the backup deecee pistol first, then Hunter’s knife which he’d tucked into the plate over his calf, and set them down on the fold-out lockup bench to the left of him. As he reached for his Firepuncher, he leaned forward to give it enough room to swing over his head without hitting the bulkhead, and set it down next to the others with a more reverent touch.

“Commpad and distress beacon.”

Crosshair grit his teeth and held her gaze with a curled upper lip, unclipped the comm-pad from his vambrace and thrust it out the ship behind him into the raging sea. “Beacon’s wired to the power in my kit.”

“I’ll handle it.” Trinn stepped up behind him and unseated the pack from the mag-plate in his cuirass, then motioned him forward and raised the loading ramp as the muscly woman reached for the vibro-blade and let out a low whistle of approval.

“I want that back,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed past her into the staging area of the cargo bay and smothered the urge to share that it held sentimental value.

The redhead gripped the hilt and flipped it around and over between her fingers with practiced ease, testing the balance with marveled interest. “Who wouldn’t ?”

Trinn set his pack down at the workbench against the wall to the right and raised her commpad to signal to their pilot.

“Sentry-one, we’re clear.”

“ Copy .”

The miniscule shift of directional force as the ship departed the platform disrupted his equilibrium mid-step. One hand instinctively reached for the bulkhead handrail but he instead caught himself on the cargo webbing strung along the walls. His shaky legs wobbled as he pulled himself over onto the bench in the corner beside the interrior blast doors and dropped with all of his weight onto the bare durasteel. Crosshair’s tired eyes fell shut as he drew in a deep breath and released it with a relieved grunt. Circumstances aside, this was already infinitely better than sitting on that platform in the rain.

The female officer folded the bench containing all of his weapons into the wall and secured it for hyperspace, then cast him a skeptical glance before she passed through the doors. Her heavy footsteps receded deeper into the ship until the vibration could be heard no more, and she greeted someone with a curt “ Commander .”

“ Captain ,” an androgynous voice replied, equally as curt. “ Report .”

“ Found one Imperial, right where they said he’d be. ”

They…? Someone had sent them here for him…? The only people that even knew he was still alive was Clone Force 99, who—as far as he knew—had no affiliation with the Night Watch. If they had friends like that, they wouldn’t have been scurrying from job to job like rats. So who would they have told…? Rebels? The clone underground made the most sense. So they did have contacts somewhere out there looking out for them.

And he did as well, it seemed. Despite leaving him behind, his brothers hadn’t given up on him after all. They were still giving him chances he didn’t deserve.

“ So he’s not a clone? ”

“ Doesn’t look like any clone I’ve ever seen… ”

“ Then why are we taking him with us? ”

“ We’re already here, the chakaar looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. You really gonna leave him here to die? ”

“ He’s an Imperial , we gain nothing by helping him, bringin’ him on board the ship is a huge security risk to us. ”

“ Trinn’s disabling his beacon, he has no comms. We’ll be fine. ”

Trinn kicked at the toe of his boot to get his attention and snapped him out of his focus.

“Plates off.”

“Buy me dinner first,” he sneered back without looking up.

She puffed out a low chuckle. “Savin’ your sorry shebs wasn’t enough?”

“I know what I’m worth.”

“C’mon,” she persisted, dropping his pack next to him on the floor. “You wanna stay on the ship? I need to disable that beacon. Then you can sleep as long as you want.”

Crosshair grimaced and turned away from her in protest. His entire life, his plates had been the only thing between him and an untimely death. It didn’t feel right being out of them, much less in the presence of his enemies.

“What’s the matter, you shy?”

“Forgive me for not trusting that you won’t shoot me in the back the moment I do.”

“We could still shove you out the airlock at any time.”

He stiffened and bristled instinctively before realizing it was a joke. She was joking with him.

“I’ll give you a minute to yourself,” she said as she double-checked that the weapon stores were locked up tight on her way to the door, then turned on heel and pointed back his way. “But don’t try anything, or you’ll have my sister t’answer to.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes and gave her a sarcastic two-fingered salute as the door shut behind her before reaching up to unclip his breastplate. He’d lost track of the conversation between the Captain and Commander once Trinn interrupted him, but without the distraction he could hear them again clear as day.

“ I don’t get why they’d send us out here for one stormtrooper. ”

“ Well, maybe we’ve got it wrong. Maybe he is a clone. ”

“ Oh, for sure he is., ” Trinn proclaimed without hesitation, drawing a snort from the Captain.

“ What makes you so sure? ”

“ Well, for one thing- I don’t think a teekay trooper would have survived that mess on their own.”

Crosshair set his chestplate down on the floor and almost laughed at the thought. The TK’s had been trained by Clone Commandos for infantry combat and security. They hadn’t undergone the rigorous survival training that had killed many clones before they had even deployed.

“They’re not exactly bright, I’ll give you that.”

“ Exactly, and this one’s too smart- gehatyc, ramikadyc.”

“A Commando? You think so?”

“Yeah, they all have the look in their eye- resentment, guilt, instant distrust of anyone that ain’t a brother... ”

“Could be the shell-shock.”

“Or, it’s ‘cause he’s still chipped.”

“And you left him alone!?”

“Relax, Reina. Mal can handle him.”

He wasn’t the only one that was smart. Trinn was observant ( too observant for his liking ), the Captain was cautious. If he’d learned anything about Mandalorians from Skirata and Vau, it’s that they were not to be underestimated. Each was a Commando by their own right, their entire culture had evolved around survival. Mandalore’s heritage had made the Clone army, without their training he and his brothers would have been long dead.

And this crew was well-trained. If the rest of the Night Watch was half as competent—and he was certain they were—it was no wonder they were giving the Empire a run for their credits. Though their rebellion against the Imperial occupation of Mandalore had just begun, their notoriety had already spread to the farthest reaches of the Galaxy, inspiring other Separatist-allied planets like Raxus to follow suit.

It was dangerous for him to linger for too long.

“We should have Noei take a look at him.”

“No way. We’re not taking a chipped Commando back to base.”

“Just drop me off at the nearest starport and I’ll find my way,” he cut in from the doorway behind them.

All three heads snapped around in unison. Trinn’s hand flexed over the blaster on her thigh, Captain Mal braced herself for a fight, the Pilot fixed an intense gaze on him from behind their goggles. His vision blurred, he swayed on his feet. For a brief moment of confusion, in the dimly lit hallway, he saw the faces of his brothers staring back at him in cautious apprehension…

Then Trinn straightened up and shoved Mal back onto her heels with a muttered udesii as she passed. Their pilot-Commander exchanged a glance with Captain Mal, grunted and finally ceded.

“We’ll drop you off at Capital City on Uyter. It’s about a day’s flight out, but you shouldn’t have a problem gettin’ in touch with your friends there.”

“Works for me.”

Trinn motioned him back into the cargo bay, stooped to pick up his armor as he carefully lowered himself back onto the bench, then sat down at the workbench and popped open the backing that protected the circuitry. The distress beacon in his kit exhaled a low, digitized squeal as it powered down minutes later. He was truly on his own now, no one else was coming for him.

And yet, part of him couldn’t help but feel like he should be making better use of the situation he’d found himself in.

“I knew you’d change your mind,” Trinn offered in the silence that followed.

“You did, did you…?” Stars, this one was as irritating as she was cute. He was starting to wish he was alone again. The sooner the better.

Crosshair sank down into his seat until he was laying flat on the bench with his legs stretched out long, folded his arms, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t see her face, but the silence was telling. He knew she was grinning.

Worldbuilding

The Night Watch: The name for the Mandalorian Resistance against the Empire, following the Imperial Reformation of Mandalore, which consisted of Bo-Katan Kryze and her Night Owls, the Protectors, what would eventually become known as “the Clan”, and most of House Viszla. This Resistance was led by a former Jedi Padawan named Fae-Rao Viszla—the first Mandalorian to enter the order since Tarre Viszla—and was aided by a group of mixed non-Mandalorians and clone deserters, who sympathized with the plight of Mandalore.

#tbb:t #the bad batch trespass #tbb fanfiction #bad batch fanfiction #tbb crosshair #bad batch crosshair #ct-9904 #trinn kryze #commander reina darr #captain mal kryze #tbb #the bad batch #sw tbb #star wars the bad batch

18 notes · View notes