Take Me Far That Road

Chapter 3 - 'Cause I Believe That You Could Lead the Way

Author's Note: Bracca. :D

~ Amina Gila

Echo has already moved away from Wrecker when Crosshair gets back there. "You okay?" he asks, feeling a little awkward, eyeing the dark spot on Wrecker's armor, and the edge of the bacta patch he can see beneath.

"Yeah," Wrecker answers, rolling his shoulder, expression scrunching when his injury is jarred. "Ow."

"Moving it won't help," Crosshair says dryly, coming to sit on the rack next to him, bumping against his non-injured shoulder. "Don't tell me you got distracted by those droids – or was it the height?"

He fully expects Wrecker to shove him back twice as hard with a complaint about how he's not scared of heights, but instead, Wrecker just. Sort of deflates and hunches in on himself with a frown. "'M wasn't distracted," he answers defensively.

Crosshair stills entirely. He – Wrecker – what? The sudden silence is deafening and awkward in equal measures. He doesn't – what changed? They used to tease each other all the time. Crosshair would say something antagonistic, and Wrecker would respond with aggressive affection. He doesn't know why that's different now. He can understand Hunter being so different – he would have taken it hard, thinking Crosshair was dead – but Wrecker? He's – he's always been so chaotic and goofy and – why?

He doesn't understand why Wrecker is so different, and he hates it. He hates that Wrecker is... like this, hates that he doesn't even know what to do to make him... better. Cheerful. What's he supposed to do? Apologize? He doesn't apologize, not verbally. At least rarely. And how's he supposed to handle this? Hunter brooded sometimes. It was a thing Crosshair knew how to handle when it happened. Tech would be fussy sometimes. Crosshair learned to tolerate it, accept it, even appreciate it. But Wrecker? In Crosshair's memory, Wrecker has always been the same. He's always been, well – Wrecker.

"It was a joke," he mumbles sullenly after a moment.

Wrecker makes a sound that could be classified as a sniffle – please no – before he wraps an arm around Crosshair's shoulder and tugs him against him, almost crushing him. Crosshair presses his face against his older brother's chest plate and breathes out shakily. He misses Wrecker, and he is well aware of how incredibly stupid that sounds, but it's true. He misses the Wrecker he remembers, the one who wasn't so... haunted and dead.

He pulls away as soon as he can without it feeling like he's running away and goes in search of Hunter. He would rather deal with a brooding Hunter over a depressed Wrecker any day because at least one of those two doesn't make him feel like he's a miserable failure and a very poor excuse for a brother. Wrecker's not supposed to be depressed. Even after he lost his eye, he was joking about it when Crosshair only wanted to cry.

Hunter's in the cockpit, feet up on the dashboard as he spins his knife around, expression tensed and thoughtful. He's brooding again.

Crosshair drops unceremoniously into the pilot's seat and turns it toward Hunter before sneaking a glance back to make sure Tech's not in range to see as he puts his own feet up onto the control panel, crossing his arms. "So," he drawls because he doesn't much feel like his old self – at all actually – but he wants to pretend to be him for a little bit. It's easier to hide than it is to dig through time and poke through the fractured pieces of the person he's become and try to find some semblance of wholeness. "You were right about the kid."

Hunter looks at him, blinking, nearly dropping his vibroknife in the process – but he's too good with it to actually stab himself in the thigh. Thankfully. Crosshair would have been very, very concerned if Hunter stopped using his knives. He loves them. Maybe not as much as the Batch, but he's still obsessed with them, and – focus.