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loganlostitall · 8 months

Text

Talking to the Moon

Rating: 13+

Word count: Just under 3.5k

Characters: Judith Grimes, Negan Smith (NOT A SHIP!!!!!!); mentions of Carl, Rick, Michonne, Carol, Enid, and R.J.

Setting: Alexandria, post 6 year jump

Content Warnings: sibling grief, talks of death, a little bit of suicidal ideation in here too I think, vulgarity, light talk of typical TWD violence, just lots of sad. Sorry. Fluffy ending tho!

Summary: Judith is getting older, and it’s not fair that Carl isn’t.

Author’s Note: Okaaayy so I really did not want the first piece I published on here to be an angsty vent but life kinda decided to bodyslam me (as usual) so anyways have this lol. I spent all day yesterday writing this in between crying fits and I’m only finishing it now.. oopsie whoopsies. A little context I guess, my older brother was shot and killed 5 years ago, and in 5 years I will be older than he got to be. That’s heavily implemented in here, as well as just the majority of Judith’s dialogue being my own thoughts/feelings. Sometimes it just hits you again, man. My therapist likes me to write it out 🤷🏻 I’m workin on other stuff that isn’t like this so pls bear w me y’all 😭🙏🏽

Beta’d by @murdadixon as alwayysss

Midnight marked her 10th birthday.

She liked to keep track of time in intervals of five. R.J. was currently an interval of 5. He died at an interval of five. She was reaching an interval of 5 herself, right now. In a demi-decade, she would encounter the age he’d never passed; and in a decade, she would be 5 years older than he’d ever be. Five felt significant, and she did not—she simply felt like her brother’s stand-in.

Judith sat on the edge of the wooden boardwalk with her legs drawn up to her chest and both arms wrapped around her knees, chin rested atop them, and stared blankly at the water source before her. Tried to mimic its stillness. But she disrupted it, instead, because the tears swimming in her brown eyes splattered down and sent ripples coursing across the surface, growing larger the further they fanned out and expanded.

That was, similarly, how missing Carl felt. At the start, it was a heavy impact, it obliterated the calmness, and as the years blazed past, it got further away and yet simultaneously… bigger. How could something shrink and grow? How could she grow, every day; and yet consistently feel as if she were being pushed back, made smaller? Small enough to be back in his arms again, like before, like that final night she knew him.

She would appreciate his last words this time. She would wrangle her brain up into her juvenile hands and pin it down to carve them over the top of her damn hippocampus to keep them there; even if it did mean her blood got everywhere, even if it meant she lost all the rest of her cognitive function. Truthfully, she did not want to function this way. Being medically brain dead would be a graciousness. Or maybe just being bit.

Feeling the fever Carl did would unite them in a way.

The panels beside her creaked recognizably, a familiar gait and stride, and Judith’s fingers twitched to move instinctively for a gun she knew she wouldn’t brandish. The scuffed tips of two large black boots entered her peripheral vision but she did not turn her gaze.

“Hey there, Miss Grimes.”

Negan sat in a loose mirror of Judith’s position—he struggled with holding his legs in exactly the same manner and had to improvise considerably. He got himself comfortable with his legs toward his chest but with a short gap between his thighs, toes pointing outward instead of inward as Judith’s were, and both forearms crossed above his knees to lie his head upon.

“Don’t really like water, kid, but I’m diving in there after ya if you jump, so please don’t, alright? For me?”

The preteen wiped her right cheek against her bicep and tilted her head to rest the left cheek against the adjacent knee and look at her guest. Her eyes weren’t really seeing him, but she was trying to acknowledge the fact that he’d joined her. “How’d you get out?”

He ignored that she ignored his question and instead plastered on the usual grin, even if the edges were heavy and worn down, and lifted a finger to his smile.

Shhhh, it’s a secret. It went without saying.

“I should shoot you. I brought my gun,” she pestered, poking a bear with a stick. Only, this bear was a puppy. And the humor behind the words didn’t reach her tone.

He decided not to address her monotony.

“Mmhmm. Right.”

“I would.”

“I know,” he grinned again, more genuinely, and his side administered a dull throb almost out of nostalgia. She had, in fact, shot him. He wouldn’t challenge that.

There were only a few moments that went without speech. Judith found herself gazing ahead again, tapping her right cowgirl boot without tempo because it was simply to alleviate the odd, incessant gnawing in her gut that screamed to bounce her leg, or else.

“Why don’t I get to have a word?” she blurted out, albeit quietly, almost unaware that Negan could not read her mind and was clueless to what she really meant. The man hummed questioningly as if to say ‘continue,’ and Judith finished verbalizing the thought. “I mean… mom’s a widow, and you’re a widower. Enid is an orphan. Aunt Carol is a v- vi..lo..mah, she lost her daughter Sophia.” The young girl struggled on the pronunciation momentarily before returning to the point. “But what am I? Just… a kid who lost a brother? Don’t I deserve a word? Doesn’t Carl? I think he deserves more than one. I would give him them all.”

In truth, Negan would not have heard the second half of her statement had they not been knee-to-knee. Even from only having a view of the profile of her face, he could tell that she was fighting back the need to cry. The intensity with which she swallowed, the twitch of the corners of her frown, her small nostrils flaring. She was probably also avoiding allowing her voice to crack.

Kids don’t ever deserve to feel this way. Adults can hardly even cope with loss. He’d seen it sometimes before, the occasional teen with swollen eyes and dark circles wordlessly offering him a slip with a small, rectangular obituary card stapled to the top left corner to excuse a few days of absence after the passing of a parent, guardian, or otherwise crucial family member. And similar to now, he truly tried his best… when it came to situations like that. It was hard—shit, it still is hard, but after eventually grasping that what most of them wanted was to just be heard (and not to be told that a kick-ass exercise routine could distract a weak mind, or about how being a pussy didn’t get you pussy), he’d take his attendance and approach again with a juniors mitt and baseball to throw at the wall and catch while they cried, screamed, shook, even dissociated some of them. He’d never been a great man, or honestly even a kind teacher; Savior Negan essentially just carried on acting as he had before Lucille’s confrontation, diagnosis, and passing; but the kids who saw through him loved him. When the rest loathed to hear ‘Mr. Smith,’ though no one was to blame for that but himself. To the damaged kids, the whole façade of coolness he tried to upkeep around his classes was utter horseshit because they found him badass when he let them bitch about things without taking to the nearest phone as a mandatory reporter.

Judith was, arguably, the most mature ten year old with significant trauma that he’d ever sat with. Children that young hadn’t been his area of work, really, but there were a handful of times one of his high school students had to drag along a little sibling because they’d emancipated after the death of the only responsible parent, were granted custody of the kid, and the younger had a day off. Other stories, heavily similar or drastically different, with the same outcome. Judith was more put together than half of the seniors that had dished their shit out on him. In a strictly militant world and with no empire turning to him for guidance, there was no excuse to be assertive around her age bracket. He would tell her she was strong, that she was an Amazon warrior who could brave anything and then have to explain Wonder Woman comics, but the probability was massive that she could only grasp some variation of control over herself in these heavy moments because life now held a sickening promise that anything could be marred with a streak of blood. That you have to always be ready to mourn.

So fucked up.

His prior internal assessment to remain silent and give her more time to process her feelings into words proved correct when Judith turned her head back in his direction again with more to express to him.

“Dad isn’t here anymore to tell me what Carl was like at my age. Or tell me stories about before everything got bad. And mom wasn’t around for all that stuff. But even if she was, I- I hate always hearing about him from other people. About how they won’t ever get to see him grow up. Why does everyone else get to remember my brother? Why doesn’t anybody care that I gotta know he’s not watching me grow up anymore? I want to remember Carl on my own, but I was too little!” Her delicate voice shattered beneath the weight of her last sentence, and the way her eyebrows were flying into all different angles on her face betrayed that her developing mind didn’t know what to do with the guilt that ignited furiously behind her ribs for seemingly such a selfish notion. It was a vicious fact that Judith almost never understood what she was feeling, not acutely.

But, she trusted Negan. He’d told her things that no one else had cared to let her know. About Abraham. About Glenn. About Sasha, Denise, uncle Daryl. Everyone she loved had been damaged by him in some way, but… they’d all together affected him, too.

Maybe he changed. Or maybe he’d been keeping this Negan safe. Whatever the case, here he was, out of his cell, not even allowing his knee to bump her own.

This man had killed people? He was the kindest one here to her. Especially when it came to stuff like this. Other Alexandrians always dismissed her; she didn’t have any “adult” problems worth sparing their time for. How could the big bad wolf be so tame?

Judith wiped both of her eyes and straightened her left leg out halfway. “If… if Carl hadn’t got bit, what do you think things would be like now?”

And that question certainly beckoned an answer. He had been allowing her to talk as much as she felt necessary tonight, content to simply sit quietly and be an ear for the little girl as she often was for him. His skull would have been split open on one of those prison walls years ago had it not been for his little window and Judith’s spark of rebellious humanity.

Negan responded honestly, as was always the case with her. “I woulda killed every last one of these dickwipes, and brought you and Carl back to the Sanctuary with me. I don’t kill kids. But I don’t think your brother would have been too crazy about that. Nah, with those titanium balls of his, he would have taken me down, torn all of my people apart limb from fuckin’ limb. Yeah…,” he peered down at Judith, who was just watching him with her elbow on her extended knee and her cheek rested on her palm. No signs of distress. He continued on. “Yeah, Prick thought he was a badass, but Carl? Well, he was the real badass. Anybody could’a killed me, my bet was on him. Catch me off guard, I wouldn’t have fought back. I think he would have stocked one of my big ass trucks with everything he needed and taken off with you knowing he won. But he also would have lost everything.”

Now, Judith’s energy had shifted back into that murky cloud it had resembled before. Not entirely, but to a noticeable degree. Negan cursed under his breath.

“Did I scare you talking abou-”

“You think Carl would have raised me all on his own? You really think he would have done that?”

“Oh, I know it,” Negan nodded adamantly, without aggressive urgency, and chipped a piece of plastic from the aglet of his shoelace to chuck into the water. “Carl loved you more than anyone else, I think.”

A brittle, cracked sob drew his attention immediately to the little girl beside him, left hand reaching out to comfort on instinct and then hovering uselessly between them. Judith gave her permission with action instead of words; turning her legs off to the side to be able to roll onto her right hip and notch herself against Negan’s side. She rested her head against his knee and old tears from her cheek seeped through the thin material of his jumper. The previously awkward arm dropped around her own and he settled for hanging his hand at an outward angle away from her body. He’d comfort the kid but any one of the adults here would send Michonne into a goddamned stroke by reporting that he’d made an attempt against her daughter's life by, say, scratching the back of her head. Some asinine bullshit. He wouldn’t risk it, and not because of himself. No, he’s a big boy and can handle his own conflicts. But Judith would get in so much unnecessary trouble.

After taking a minute to gather herself, Judith whispered, “I think I would have liked that better.”

“…What, Carl taking care of ya?” He queried. “Y’know that means you wouldn’t have your mom, or dad, or-”

“Mommies and daddies die before their kids do, or they’re supposed to. Siblings are- they’re supposed to be there the whole time you grow up, and after. You’re supposed to live your life together. And they’re not supposed to die before you mom and dad do.”

“Kid-”

“I want Carl. I’d give up anyone here to get him back.”

It proved remarkably difficult given how much taller he was than her, but Negan managed to make do. He tilted his neck to a sideways angle and rested his head on top of hers whilst fishing through his right pocket.

Judith peeked up at him. “What’re you doing? Are you gonna stab me for making you sad? I’ve still got my-”

“No. Don’t be nosey,” he goaded and even ventured so far as to stick his tongue out and wrinkle his nose. Her head dropped back down to his leg just as quickly as it rose, and Negan’s fingers closed around the surprise.

“Sounds like a candy wrapper…,” she mumbled, still too lost in her own head and the darkness residing.

Two bright blue pouches withdrew from his pocket, and his brown eyes traveled skyward. “Moon’s right above our heads now. Means it’s midnight. I got ya a gift.”

A second, smaller pair of brown irises gazed upon the same sky, and her bottom lip began to give way into trembles again so Negan damn near shoved the quite literally sweet present directly in front of her face.

Judith blinked, eyes focusing on the text in front of them that stood out violently against the package design. “What’s ‘Razzles?’” A small hand accepted the curious, but still exciting new treat, and read the yellow script surrounding the name at the top and bottom. “‘First it’s candy, then it’s gum’? What’s gum?”

Negan had already ripped his open. “You’re about to give me one fat ass kiss, Miss Grimes,” he mused delicately, tossing three colorful disks into his mouth.

His much younger counterpart followed suit, unsure of how to react while the candy crunched before a scintillating smile broke out across her face and two more pieces joined the first. “Where’d you get these?”

“…Okay, don’t laugh,” he deadpanned, and couldn’t help but smirk when Judith narrowed her eyes at him and raised an accusatory eyebrow, still blissfully chewing away. “I’ve gotta secret admirer.” He drew his shoulders up into a loose shrug, threw his hands out in a ‘surprise!’ gesture and dropped his mouth open to an overly enthused smile as the preteen choked on gum.

“WHAT?!? What do you mean?! Tell me, tell me!”

He wouldn’t comment on how much tension finally dissipated from his body and mind at the eager enthusiasm on Judith’s face. This had all been so… glum. “Don’t know, but they slip me goodies through the bars on the window. I asked Father Freaky for some paper to draw, keep my mind busy y’know, and left a note up there requesting a special birthday gift for my best friend. They got dropped in this morning.”

“So, someone here in Alexandria?” she asked, munching her way through her bag of sweets. There was a twinkle in her eyes, finally, so he’d entertain it.

He shrugged idly. “I’d assume so. I’ve got my fingers crossed there’s some freaky deaky coming my way!!”

“Oh, ew. There it is, you ruined this whole thing.” Judith pushed on the side of his knee with both hands to amass enough force to actually shove his leg over.

“Damn. This whole thing, huh?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, her mouth now so full of chewed up gray gum that speaking proved difficult.

Negan chomped down on a considerable number of candies all at once and reached for Judith’s own pack of Razzles. “Alright, I’ll just take this then, since I fucked up your birthday and all.” A deep, rumbling laugh burst forth from up out of his chest when the ten year old shouted ‘NO!!!’ and a huge wad of gum rolled out of her mouth to plink into the water and bob along to float elsewhere. The pout her bottom lip garnished was impressive and Negan glanced around to the houses in the distance behind them, all of the windows being dark with the quiet insinuation of sleep, to ensure the absence of scrutinizing eyes before taking one of Judith’s hands into his own to unload half the contents of his own candy until her palm was overflowing and a few stray pieces thumped down against the wood. Negan administered the 5 second rule with a quickness and claimed them for himself.

“Thanks,” she chimed faintly, and set about organizing the surplus of thin, cylindrical candies into separate groups of yellow, purple, orange, pink, and blue.

Negan tucked his hand back to his side and pointedly did not give any attention to the prominent droop Judith’s shoulders adopted afterward. He wondered fleetingly if anyone in town ever just… gave the kid a hug. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Really. It’s not like I went out and found these myself.” He pointed one of his own bits of candy at her and added, “Well, you can always just find my paramour and thank them yourself.”

She tilted her head back against his arm to smile up at him. “You just want me to get you deets. You have a crush on this person already, uncle Negan?”

“I’ll love anybody who gives me attention at this point,” he shrugged again, tone steady despite the admission. “Aren’t I hopelessly in love with you, Miss Grimes?”

Her braid swung and the sheriff’s hat far too oversized for her head shifted slightly out of place when she nodded. She tucked the intertwined strands of hair behind her ear after they fell into her face and tickled her nose. “I never hear mom say that she loves me.”

“Ah, she does.” He tapped a finger against his temple once he knew Judith was looking at him and would see it. “She’s got a lot going on up here. But I bet if you went up to Mich and told her first, she’d say it back.”

The young girl nodded again, though this motion was a simple, stiff jerk and only once. Drastically unlike the one he’d earned for himself just moments prior. Judith didn’t believe that Michonne really loved her, but she could easily surmise that he did. “Love you, too,” she murmured and a hefty sigh followed closely behind. Judith tapped the toes of her boots against the boardwalk and followed Negan’s offered instruction to bravely attempt blowing her first bubble. It snapped into a sticky disaster on her lips. The pair fell into a comfortable, innocent, expectationless silence. Negan eventually polished off the last of his candy and crumpled the wrapper up to tuck away into the pocket he retrieved it from, along with Judith’s once she’d finished her own. She was, reasonably, exhausted, and it didn’t take long for him to realize that Judith had drifted off leaning against him.

Next thing he knew, the clouds were graying and little hands were nudging his arm, accompanied by a sleep-slurred voice telling him to wake up. His legs were numb from having remained in the same seated position for what had to be at least a couple hours, but Negan still managed to get himself up into his feet and follow her along as she led the way to his cell. A sheepish smile and tired shrug was all he could muster when her eyes lingered on the lock and bobby-pin discarded haphazardly in the middle of the concrete. He took his place on his cot and watched the child close the bars behind him and slide the lock back into place.

Judith turned from him to walk away, but threw a drowsy smile over her shoulder and waved. And pointless as it was, he spoke after she’d left and her shadow had already passed by his solitary window.

“Happy birthday, kid.”

I think I get attached to characters like Negan who are dangerous and have soft hearts because that’s exactly what my brother was like.

I miss my Carl ❤️‍🩹

This is my first time writing for TWD, and the first work I’m posting in over 2 years, so I hope it’s good for y’all 🥺

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fanfoolishness · 5 hours

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the mess you left behind

Tech called Plan 99. But Wrecker's still here. Wrecker tries to navigate new grief, but he can't do it alone. Wrecker POV, Wrecker & Hunter, angst, grief, family feels, a little bit of hope. 3500 words.

-----

Something was wrong with him. He was sure of it.

It started with the food. At first, Wrecker thought the ration bars must have gone off. They’d been loaded in the Marauder for months, maybe they’d just expired. They crumbled in his mouth like ash, utterly flavorless, dry chalky stuff. It was hard to swallow them, like his mouth had forgotten how to make saliva. He choked them down and only ate three instead of his usual six on their way back from Ord Mantell.

But the food back on Pabu didn’t taste any better. Shep and Lyana made them dinner that first night back, their faces shocked and sad. Lyana brought out a tray of rockfish rolls and then ran back into the house, burying her face in her hands. Shep stayed out with them, took them each by the shoulder, told them he was so sorry. Hunter just nodded. Echo looked away. And Wrecker tried to smile but found his face didn’t work like that anymore.

He still tried to eat. They’d gone to so much trouble, making all this food for them. But his stomach turned, and he managed only a few bites before he shoved the food away and stared at the meal until it blurred.

It wasn’t just the food. His tongue felt like sand, no matter how much water he drank. Though sometimes he’d forget to drink any for hours, and realize only when he tried to talk, his voice coming out dry and cracked. He’d drink water until he felt he couldn’t bear to drink anymore, and his tongue would still stick to the roof of his mouth.

He thought sleeping might help. At least it’d be a break from Echo and Hunter scrolling endlessly through comms and intel, stuff he couldn’t help with anyway, focusing on that instead of anyone saying how much easier this would be if Tech was here. He tried not to think about that, too. Not that it made any difference.

Sleeping didn’t work any better. He lay there long into the night, listening to Hunter’s breathing, Echo’s typing, Gonky’s soft little night-gonks. If he closed his eyes, he could see him --

There is no time, Wrecker!

Tech dangling helplessly, Wrecker’s arms straining against the railcar, his heart pounding in his chest, there had to be a way, there had to be --

Plan Ninety-nine.

No. NO. Not the one plan he’d never forgotten, the one plan he’d always thought he’d be the one to carry out if it came to it, the one plan he’d never wanted to hear any of his brothers call --

Don’t you do it, Tech --

And he’d open his eyes with a gasp, panting, tears damp on his face. Okay. So sleeping wasn’t an option, either.

-----

The days blurred together. He wasn’t sure how to count them. They slid past, one after the other, all of them horribly the same. Beautiful weather. Birds singing. Waves on the shore.

No leads on Omega, just an empty room and endless dead ends.

Tech’s goggles, broken and awful and so confusing.

He tried holding them once, when Echo and Hunter had left the ship. They were so small in his shaking hands. He realized he’d never actually touched them before. Tech had always kept them in such good condition, and the strap had always kept them in place even when he’d taken hits and needed patching up. They’d been as much a part of him as Hunter’s tattoo.

So how could Wrecker be holding them now? It didn’t make any damn sense. Goggles. Tech. They were supposed to be together.

He half-thought he’d glance up and see Tech in the pilot’s chair, leaning in with a squint and an annoyed, “Wrecker, give those back.” Maybe all of it had been some massive mistake. Maybe Tech was injured, but alive. Maybe he’d come back --

The pilot’s seat sat empty. And Wrecker bowed over the goggles in his hands and cried.

-----

Echo left. Wrecker had been wondering how long it would take. Said Rex might be able to help him track down leads on Tantiss and how to find Omega.

Wrecker knew it made sense. But he also wondered how much of it was that Echo didn’t want to be here, where Tech’s ghost haunted the Marauder, where the ship seemed so empty without Omega’s laughter, where Hunter was grim and quiet and Wrecker was just… whatever he was.

“I’ll keep you posted. Anything I can find, I’ll be here in a heartbeat,” Echo said. “We’ll find her. I know it.”

“We’ll contact you right away if we find anything,” said Hunter, his voice rough. “We won’t stop until we do.” He clapped Echo on the shoulder and walked away, staring off into the horizon.

Wrecker didn’t have anything to say. He just drew Echo into a bonecrushing hug. Echo hugged him back just as fiercely.

“It’ll get easier,” Echo said quietly into Wrecker’s ear. “Eventually.”

Wrecker closed his eyes. Echo had told him about Fives, Hevy, Droidbait, Cutup. He knew. He’d lived it before.

Now he was having to live it again.

“Hope you’re right,” Wrecker whispered. “‘Cause I -- I don’t know how to do this.”

Echo sighed. “No one ever does.”

-----

AZI checked on them both regularly. He told Wrecker cheerfully one day that his neck had fully recovered and he was clear to resume his normal activity. “However, there is something else,” AZI said.

“Yeah?”

“You have lost five kilos and are slightly underconditioned for your typical height and mass. Your exam also shows evidence that you have been sleeping poorly and may be experiencing erratic moods. This is one of many typical grieving responses in humans,” AZI said. “Perhaps you would like to discuss your emotions.”

Huh. So all of it came back to Tech, then.

“I thought… I thought if you lose someone, you’re just sad,” Wrecker admitted. “Never really had to do this before.”

It wasn’t quite true. He’d missed Crosshair -- sometimes badly, especially those early days out on their own -- but it had all been tangled up in confusion, anger, frustration, not knowing where the chip ended and where his brother began. And there’d always been hope, a thin small thread, that someday Crosshair would realize he’d been wrong and he’d come back to them. That they would be together again.

Of course, that was a hope that no longer made any sense. They’d never all be together again now.

“Grief is a complex emotional and physical response,” AZI explained. “It may affect sleeping and appetite, and it may include anger, sadness, denial, and acceptance. It is a process that is never fully completed, but time does appear to contribute greatly to healing.”

“Well, can’t make time go any faster.” Wrecker sighed, rubbing his face. “How else do I fix it?”

“Talking about the subject of one’s grief can be a great help. I am happy to listen to any stories you may wish to share about CT-9902. You may also wish to speak to CT-9901.”

“Easy for you to say,” Wrecker muttered. He looked up at the droid tiredly. “Maybe another time, AZI. Thanks.”

Talking to Hunter did feel like it might help. Except that Hunter was avoiding him.

Wrecker hadn’t been sure about it at first. He’d wake up in the morning after his jagged, stretched-thin sleep and find Hunter already at the comms. “Morning,” he’d say, and Hunter would wave a hand vaguely in his direction, grunt, and keep his eyes on the screen. He’s focused. I get it. I want her back just as much as he does.

But Hunter started skipping meals. Wrecker would go for dinner with Shep and Lyana, only for Lyana to say “Hunter got food earlier. He didn’t tell you?”

Wrecker sat alone with them, struggling for something to say that wasn’t Sorry we lost your best friend or Want to hear a story about my dead brother? Shep would usually fill the silence with something light, talk about the rebuilding efforts or stories about the day’s events, and Wrecker would listen gratefully. When he went back to the ship, he’d find Hunter already asleep or right back at the comms, eyes fixed on the screens.

He finally tried, one night. Came back to the Marauder with a cup of black caf, Hunter’s favorite. Spotted him sitting in the co-pilot’s chair -- never in Tech’s seat -- staring at a datapad.

“Brought you something,” he said, raising the caf. Hunter glanced at it for a second, then retreated back to whatever he was reading.

Wrecker set the caf down by Hunter’s arm and leaned over the back of Tech’s chair. He didn’t want to sit in it, either. He cleared his throat, keeping his gaze off Hunter, except that meant he glimpsed Lula all alone in Omega’s room. He turned the other way, and there were Tech’s goggles, shattered on the dash. He sighed, settling for looking out the viewshield.

“So.”

“...so.”

“Can we… talk?” Wrecker asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hunter lifted his head, looking up at him, waiting. This close, Wrecker could see the shadows under his eyes, the days’ growth of stubble, the headband rumpled and askew.

“About Tech.”

Hunter swallowed, looking away. “He’s gone, Wrecker.”

“I know that,” Wrecker said, an edge of irritation in his voice. Come on. He was trying here. “It’s just -- it’s hard. Maybe it’s not as hard if we talk about him, you know?” He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

Hunter leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Talking about him won’t bring him back,” he said heavily. ��It’s… better to look forward. Put everything we have into finding Omega.”

Wrecker growled, anger flashing bright and sudden in his mind. His hand curled into a fist, just for a second, and everything that had been boiling under the surface since Eriadu came erupting up. “Don’t you think I want to find her, too? Of course I miss her. Of course we have to find her. And we will, Hunter, but I’m not gonna pretend she’s the only one we lost! Don’t you even miss him? He’s our brother!” His voice rose into a shout.

No -- this isn’t what I wanted -- But he couldn’t help himself.

“He was a soldier! Like we all are!” Hunter snapped, getting to his feet, his eyes narrowed. “He knew exactly what he was doing, and he made the only choice he could. Any of us would have done the same. Plan Ninety-Nine was always a possibility. We have to accept that!”

“I don’t want to!” Wrecker roared, his chest heaving. He shoved his brother back into his seat, and turned and fled out of the ship, the walls closing in, the air too thin to breathe. He broke into a jog as he hit the cool night air, and he let his legs take him as far away from the ship as he could get.

He finally stumbled to a stop an hour later, somewhere down by the water, the soft sound of the waves a stark contrast to his ragged breaths. He staggered out onto the sand, finding a rocky ridge up above the high water line. He sagged down to the ground and tried to catch his breath.

Eventually his breathing slowed. He leaned back against the rocks and stared up at the stars. The constellations swam and shimmered above him, splitting back and forth into two sets of starfields. He blinked and lowered his head to gaze off into the dark.

Why won’t he talk about him?

He folded his arms atop his knees, pressing his face into them, screwing his eyes shut. He sat like that for a long, long time, until his cheeks were wet, until his head throbbed. He listened to the waves, and he knew he’d lost something he could never get back.

-----

Seabirds, squawking somewhere out in the distance. A cool breeze on his face, warm sun on the back of his head. A hand on his shoulder.

“Wrecker.”

He opened his eyes, narrowing them against the bright morning light. He groaned. “What am I --” He looked around, realizing he was still on the beach. Oh, hell. The fight --

Hunter sat beside him on his good side, a basket of food and a thermos resting near him in the sand. He gave Wrecker a tired smile.

“Morning.”

Wrecker yawned, stretching, carefully avoiding looking at Hunter. “Guess you found me.”

“It wasn’t exactly hard,” said Hunter. He sighed, leaning back against the rocks, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Hm. Guess it wouldn’t be, for you.”

“Yeah.”

They both fell quiet, looking out at the water. A pack of moon-yos played at the water’s edge, scampering in the surf. They chittered cheerfully at each other, completely ignoring the two soldiers in the sand.

Wrecker swallowed. “Sorry, Hunter.”

Hunter took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too, Wrecker.”

“For what? I’m the one that flew off the handle.” His cheeks burned at the memory. He’d been trying to get Hunter to open up at him, and all he’d done was get angry at him and run off. Some conversation that had been. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we just need to move on.”

Hunter shook his head. “No, you were right. Ignoring it… isn’t helping.”

Wrecker looked at him in surprise, his chest aching at Hunter’s words. Huh. He hadn’t been expecting that.

Hunter had fallen silent again, but looked like he was struggling to figure out what to say. This close, Wrecker could see his brother’s eyes were red and puffy. Had he even slept since their fight?

“You okay?” Wrecker asked.

“No.” Hunter tried giving him a smile, but his mouth twisted up all wrong. At last he managed to get a few more words out, but they were halting, nothing like his usual direct, confident way of talking. “I… I thought that if I could just focus on Omega… then I could… stop thinking about Tech. That’s why I didn’t want to talk about him.”

“You do think about him?” Wrecker asked hopefully.

“Of course I do,” said Hunter. He crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. “Every time I sit in that damn cockpit, I look over and I --” He closed his eyes, a muscle going in his cheek. “It’s too hard to think about him. So I kept trying to move on, tried to focus on something I could fix. I know I can’t bring him back, and I hate it, Wrecker. We couldn’t save Crosshair. We lost Omega. Echo’s moved on, and Tech…”

“I should have saved him,” Wrecker bit out. “I was there. Maybe if I’d tried something different, I could have got to him. I could have hauled him up, I know I could have. But the railcar -- I couldn’t figure out how to get to him --”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself,” said Hunter sharply. “That’s an order. If anyone could have seen another way out of it, it was Tech. You didn’t have any other options.”

Wrecker’s leg shook, boot jittering in the sand. Arms straining, trying to hold the second railcar back, he just had to keep it steady so Tech could climb up -- there had to be time, he had to make it --

Tech’s hand raising his blaster, Wrecker’s heart stuttering in his chest, no, no, this wasn’t happening --

When have we ever followed orders?

“Wrecker. Wrecker, hey.” Hunter’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Wrecker scrubbed at his eyes with his fingertips, shoulders heaving.

“Damn it, Tech,” he croaked. He broke into a rough chuckle, but it was dangerously close to a sob, and he stifled himself. “Look at this mess you made.”

“Well, he always was messy,” Hunter said slowly. “All that tinkering of his… the way he said he always had a system.” He smiled a little at the memory, though his eyes were redder than ever.

“Ha. I have a system for my stuff, too. Remember what he’d used to say? Something like this?” Wrecker pitched his voice higher, tried to adjust for Tech’s accent. It was a terrible impression, but he was doing his best with it. “‘Wrecker, my chaos is confined to my own living space. Yours is a tripping hazard for everyone in the vicinity. There is a difference.’”

He snorted, remembering Tech’s indignation when Wrecker had made a joke about the two of them being the messy ones. Hunter had laughed fondly at both of them, Crosshair had rolled his eyes, and Wrecker had just laughed and said “Yeah, you keep telling yourself it’s a system!”

Wrecker stopped, a realization coming over him. He’d just laughed. He shook his head, surprised. Was he even allowed to do that right now?

“Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m all mixed up.” He shifted, grabbing a handful of sand and watching it pour from his palm, grain by grain. “I can’t… I can’t believe we’re never gonna see Tech again.”

“I know.”

“And I’m mad at him. He’s gone, and we didn’t even complete the mission. It didn’t mean anything. How could we lose him on this? How could he do this to us?” He closed his trembling fist, sand pouring out even faster.

“I know.”

“And I -- I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Me, can’t eat.” Wrecker dropped his hand, let it fall open. “Am I gonna feel like this forever?” he asked, voice going quiet. “Echo said it gets better. But I can’t see it.”

Hunter leaned against him, their shoulders touching. Wrecker raised his arm, settling it around Hunter in a loose hug. It was the first they’d shared in… a long time. Too long.

“I don’t know if it gets better,” Hunter admitted. “I’ve never done this before, either. But… I think you’re right.”

“Me? About what?”

“Maybe talking about him is exactly what we need to do.”

-----

The sun had risen high above them, wheeling toward the noontime hour, when they fell silent again. They’d been talking the whole time. Sometimes about the scary stuff -- turned out Wrecker wasn’t the only one struggling with flashbacks and nightmares -- sometimes about the weird stuff -- Hunter admitted he kept blanking out for minutes a time, and it was taking him twice as long as usual to get through reading anything -- sometimes about good stuff, like stories about old missions where Tech had pulled off the impossible and really shone.

They were so proud of him.

They always would be.

They’d managed, somehow, to laugh a few times. Wrecker had cried three times and Hunter had cried once. Now Hunter looked just as exhausted as Wrecker felt, but in a good way, like they’d both come through something. Together.

Wrecker yawned, leaning back against the rock, hands behind his head. “Hey, didn’t you bring something down here with you?”

“Oh yeah. Peace offering,” said Hunter, rummaging in the bag at his feet. He pulled out a thermos and a sturdy box made out of some of the large shiny leaves on the island. “Got some pastries at the market square and brought down some caf. Figured it was the least I could do. You hungry?”

Wrecker thought about it, and surprised, said, “Yeah, I think so. What you got in there?”

“I just asked for the variety box.” Hunter opened the box, and sweet scents of fruit, vanilla and pastry wafted out. His face fell.

“What’s wrong?” Wrecker asked. “Smells great.”

Hunter lifted up a delicate pastry curled into a horn shape, stuffed with fresh custard. Wrecker recognized it instantly. Tech’s favorite.

The skill necessary to create the overarching layers of pastry is remarkable. Preserving the architecture of the pastry while also suffusing it with custard is ingenious --

Hunter gave him a half-smile. “Want to split it?”

“Sure.” Wrecker reached out, and they tore the custard horn into roughly equal halves. Wrecker held his up to his face, catching its sweet scent. His stomach rumbled. He nudged his pastry into Hunter’s and said, “To Tech.”

“To Tech.”

He took a bite, expecting it to taste like sawdust like everything else had been lately. But it didn’t.

He tasted butter, vanilla, sugar, egg, flour. He tasted layers of flaky, golden pastry with a cloud-like center, vanishing sweetly within his mouth. He tasted comfort. He tasted home.

Wrecker finished his pastry, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. “That’s… that’s really good.” He reached out, taking the thermos, opening it up and taking a drink of hot caf. It was bold and rich, bracing without being bitter. He glanced at Hunter. “...you got any more pastries in there?”

Hunter laughed, passing him the box. “Thought you’d never ask.”

They finished off the box beneath the noon sun, watching the moon-yos play and scamper in the waves. And something shifted in Wrecker’s chest, clicking into place; not a question of if they would get through this, but a realization that they would. He had a feeling it was still going to be mixed up, and awful, and wrong, for a long time. Maybe always.

But he wouldn’t be going through it alone, and maybe that was all he needed, at least for now.

#the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #wrecker the bad batch #wrecker tbb #wrecker bad batch #wrecker #tbb wrecker #the bad batch wrecker #hunter the bad batch #hunter bad batch #plan 99 #my batcher fic #grief #sibling grief #because it feels like none of TBB writers have ever lost a sibling #and i'm here to show them how it's done #yes this is personal #and i hope it helps anyone else who has lost a sibling feel a little bit seen <3

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