Really, Fives thinks, it was only so long until something like this happened. Maybe not exactly this situation, no, but they’ve made it far too long without any Force bullshit to make it much longer.
Still.
Kids?
Tiny Rex puffs himself up next to Fives, completely at odds with the way he’s still half-behind Echo. To his credit, Jesse and Dogma are still whole -behind Echo, so perhaps he should cut Tiny Rex some slack.
Tiny Cody has no such inhibition.
“Sir, I assure you that my men and I are ready for action. Regardless of–”
“Commander– Cadet Cody,” General Kenobi says, looking pained. “I have no intention of sending you or your brothers out onto the battlefield in this state. Please give me a moment to explain.”
The commander snaps to attention and Fives cringes. The General is doing his best, but he’s still not the greatest at talking to the smaller clones. He wants so badly to treat them as he sees them, as equals, but it’s not that easy with the Littles. You have to be simultaneously blunter and more roundabout. It’s a delicate thing. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Kenobi sighs and Skywalker does that funny thing with his mouth that means, at least it’s not me this time. “Cadet Cody,” he begins again. “You haven’t been deployed as children. Ten minutes ago, you were a twelve-year-old Marshall Commander serving on the Negotiator. Now, for reasons as yet unknown to anyone present, you and three of your brothers seem to have been…”
“Mini-fied?” Skywalker suggests. “Shrink-rayed? Temporally displaced?”
Well, at least Fives isn’t the only one who finds this amusing. Echo elbows him in the ribs and he stops smirking.
Kenobi sighs again and Cody turns his little frown from Kenobi to Skywalker and back. “I was older?” the (ex? future?) commander says, incredulous. “That’s not possible.”
“And yet,” Fives says. “Here we are. I’m younger than you, squirt.”
“Yes, indeed.” General Kenobi says. “Here we are.”
Cody turns his attention from Kenobi to the computer displays. Fives can tell the instant he sees the date, because his little eyes go comically wide and he starts looking for another written date. He finds it, and the eyebrows go up. Then, he turns to the other Littles.
“You’re Rex, right? CT-7567?” Cody questions. Rex nods. “I don’t know the others, but you were all older a minute ago?”
Jesse and Dogma give Echo and Fives deer-in-the-headlights looks and Echo nods in their stead.
“And you…?” Cody gestures to Echo and Fives.
“We’re eleven,” Fives supplies.
“Same age as Jesse was a little while ago,” Echo agrees, patting Jesse’s head. “Older than Dogma, though.”
Dogma’s tiny. He can’t be more than three and he’s swimming in his greys, sleeves dragging on the floor and little collarbones showing at the neck. He hasn’t said a word yet, just stared around the bridge in wide-eyed shock.
Cody shakes his head, slipping out of parade rest. “I don’t… I can’t…”
“It’s going to be alright, Cody,” General Kenobi soothes. “We’ll figure this out.”
Cody stares up at him for a moment, chewing his lip. “General,” he says with the air of a man who’s used to repeating the obvious in the most respectful way possible. “My men and I are ready for duty, regardless of, of, of, weird stuff. Extenuating circumstances, sir.” He snaps back to parade rest, nearly tripping on his too-long blacks.
The looks Kenobi gives him is the sort of look one might give an old dog, or possibly one an old dog might give a child. “Cadet Cody, I have no intention of sending children onto the field of battle.”
Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? he wants to yell. Aren’t we all children? Isn’t Ahsoka a child? Fives thinks of Dogma and Tup growing into their shells and popping the last of the eighth growth cycle zits in the ‘fresher mirror. He thinks of celebrating the random day they’d chosen for the Captain’s twelfth decant day. He thinks of Skywalker tugging his hair out because he doesn’t know how to deal with Ahsoka not knowing how to deal with starting her period in the middle of a war. He bites his lip and tastes blood.
Cody looks as though he’s just had the same thoughts. “...Yes, sir. I apologize for assuming, sir.”
Kenobi deflates and something in Fives gives again. It’s not the General’s fault, not really. There’s no use being mad at him. “Don’t be sorry, Cody,” he sighs. “It’s not your fault.” He runs a heavy hand down his face. Fives catches a glimpse of gray streaks gleaming in red hair. “I believe we have some calls to make.”
Mace Windu picks up the phone looking more harried than Fives has ever seen him. Honestly, Fives has never seen him anything less than cool and collected, even in the heat of battle, so the way his eye twitches as he answers the call is almost as indicative of the way the conversation will go as the voice of a vod in the background growling, “Stop it, you little fucker. I’m trying to help you!”
“Kenobi,” Windu greets, curt as ever. If it weren’t for Ponds’s repeated assurances that General Windu was a very kind person cursed with one of the worst cases of RBF Fives has ever seen (and Fives knows both Fox and Cody), then Fives would say he’s getting angry. With his Windu-Knowledge, though, he feels confident enough in his assessment of Little-based frustration, third degree.
Sure enough, before Kenobi can get a word out in response, Commander Bacara comes into view with one supremely pissed off cadet pinned to his chest in a basket hold. “Sirs,” he addresses the holo as though nothing’s awry. “We’ve got a problem.”
Kenobi’s eyebrows are in his hair. “I see. We’re having the same one. Who is your… victim?”
Windu frowns. “It’s widespread, then. We’ve only had the one. Commander Neyo.” He gestures to the child, who has moved on to biting Bacara’s arm with extreme prejudice. Of course. Fives should have known.
Kenobi nods. “I’ve got four between the 212th and the 501st. I’m going to continue making calls to ascertain the spread of this thing.”
“Good idea,” Windu says. Neyo lets out a garbled scream and Bacara curses, tugging Neyo tighter to his chest.
“I know, kid, hang on,” he says. Then, turning away from the holo by just a fraction, he leans down to Neyo’s level and mumbles something in his ear.
For a moment, Neyo quiets. Then, he stiffens and bucks harder against Bacara’s hold, nearly escaping before Bacara squeezes his eyes shut and barks, “Cadet! Stand down.”
Neyo doesn’t stand down so much as he shuts down entirely, going lax in Bacara’s arms and staring into empty space. Bacara opens his eyes and loosens his hold on Neyo. “Good, Cadet.”
Neyo doesn’t blink. Fives shivers.
For a moment, they all watch Neyo and Bacara. If Fives had to guess at the look in Windu’s eyes, he’d call it horror, or maybe shame.
“Commander,” Windu says to Bacara. “Take Cadet Neyo back to my quarters. You can both stay there for the time being.”
“Yes, sir.” Bacara looks drained.
They walk out of view.
“Obi-Wan,” Windu says, rubbing his temples. “I’d like this figured out sooner rather than later. For all our sakes.”
“I have to agree, Master.”
Fives and Echo are tasked with amusing the children while the Generals continue their calls. They remain on the bridge, of course, as proof of the impossible should anyone ask, but Fives and Echo herd everyone in the general direction of the star maps for some good old fashioned disruption of the peace.
“So,” Fives begins, shifting his grip on Dogma. The kid had been reluctant to follow the others around, but seems content with a piggyback ride. He’s clinging to Fives like a little koala. It seems tenacity is something Dogma was decanted with an excess of. “This is the whole quadrant, broken down into a few chunks shown on the close-up displays. Can anyone tell me where we are?”
Four sets of wide eyes peer up at the star charts. Echo looks at him over their heads and Fives shrugs, signing, better ideas? Didn’t think.
Echo flips him off.
“We’re in the Outer Rim,” Cody declares. “Probably near the Gani system.”
“Show off,” Tiny Jesse mutters under his breath.
“Good job, Cody,” Echo praises, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Did you use the Juniper Constellation as a ref–”
“Fives? Echo?” General Skywalker calls. “We’ve got another case of the Littles.”
“Ah,” Fives says. “Of course. Right when we get to the fun stuff.” In an exaggerated stage-whisper, he hisses, “I was going to show you how smugglers plot spice running routes.” Echo smacks him and the Littles burst into red-faced giggles. Before they can continue, though, the voice from the holo-table cuts them off.
“...Really don’t think it’s best to leave them unsupervised; who knows what kind of adverse effects this might have?”
Oh, boy. That’s Commander Fox’s Panic Voice, limited edition, only available when you’re in the drunk tank and someone’s famous uncle’s bratty kid is trying to bribe Fox and Thire and Thorn are out on a mission and Palpatine is paging Fox and Fives definitely didn’t break that speeder, I have no idea what you’re talking about, Fox.
Commander Fox also has two children in his arms, one on each hip.
Fox’s Littles, Fives determines as he and Echo approach the table, are about four standard, big enough to look a bit awkward clinging to his armor but little enough that Fox’s helmet is slipping around on one of their heads, entirely too big. Fox looks like he might start crying.
“Commander,” Echo greets, beckoning Tiny Cody to come forward. Tiny Dogma is still on Fives’s back and Fives can see the moment Fox registers the shared state of their predicament.
“Commander,” Fives echoes. “Having fun?”
Fox doesn’t dignify this with an answer, choosing instead to send Fives an acerbic look and turn back to the Generals.
“So it really is wide-spread.”
“It would appear that way,” Kenobi sighs. “You’re the third case, counting ours, I’ve run into. I haven’t heard reports of more, but that means very little considering the unusual circumstances.”
“Who’s the other?”
“Commander Neyo of the 91st,” Skywalker says.
Fox closes his eyes, looking very briefly twice his age. “Of course,” he says, taking a moment to redirect the un-helmeted child’s mouth away from his pauldron. “This is Thire,” Fox hefts the helmetless Little, “and this is Thorn.” Thorn nods enthusiastically, nearly losing his helmet. “Generals,” Fox continues. “I think it might be in our best interests to keep the Littles together. It might help… reduce stress.”
Fox has an odd look on his face, and Fives wishes Commander Cody was here in full. Cody is adept at reading Fox Faces in a way few are.
The face seems to fly right over Skywalker’s head, as he continues, “You’re right, Commander. Should we send a team to meet you on Coruscant?”
Fox’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “I’m not sure that would be the best idea, General,” he says. “It would be more expedient to bring them to your location.”
Skywalker opens his mouth to protest, but Kenobi shushes him, a contemplative look on his face. “Perhaps you are correct, Commander Fox,” he says. “How about you meet us aboard the Negotiator and we’ll discuss further measures then?”
“Thank you, General. Will do.”
“Excellent. I’ll forward you the necessary flimsiwork in a few minutes. In the meantime, we’ll contact General Windu and let him know to send Commanders Bacara and Neyo our way.”
“I’ll see you then, sir.”
“Goodbye, Commander.” Kenobi kills the connection and turns to Skywalker. “Anakin, would you accompany troopers Fives and Echo to the medbay? I’m sure Kix and Freefall would like to give our new companions a once-over.”
“Sure,” Skywalker agrees. He turns to Fives and Echo. “Alright, men and smaller men, let’s head out.”
Neyo is silent for the first half-hour of the shuttle ride. He glares through the call to General Kenobi and sulks through the jolt to hyperspace. When Bacara so much as looks his way, he stares resolutely at the floor, kicking his little feet.
Bacara aches.
When Neyo talks, it’s out of nowhere. “Are you really ‘38?” he asks, not turning away from his intent examination of the control panel.
“Yeah, kid. I go by Bacara now, though.” Bacara swipes through another automated message in his inbox.
Neyo huffs. “That’s a stupid name.”
“Your name is stupid,” Bacara retorts.
Neyo growls. It’s funny hearing the little growl again. Bacara’s grown so used to the deeper, bass-heavy one Neyo adopted as his voice changed. “I don’t believe you.”
“Okay.” Bacara leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. He pretends not to see Neyo watching him.
Neyo manages to live with that response for about forty-five fidgety seconds. Then, he breaks. “‘Okay?’”
“Yup. ‘Okay.’”
“You can’t just say, ‘okay.’” Neyo pulls his legs up until he’s crouched in the chair, staring at Bacara with furrowed eyebrows.
Bacara raises an eyebrow at the transparisteel viewport, deliberately saying nothing.
“You can’t just say, ‘okay,’” Neyo continues, voice hardening. “That’s not– You can’t–”
“Why not?” Bacara asks. “I can’t exactly prove to you that I’m ‘38, can I?”
The baby growl returns. Then, Neyo kicks his feet out, falling heavily back into the chair. “You must be ‘38, because only ‘38 could be this much of a bitch.”
There’s another moment of tense silence, and then Neyo carefully turns his back on Bacara. “When do we get there?”
Bacara is… not confident in Neyo’s ability to maintain this tenuous cool through the whole checkup. Even as they walk through the medbay doors, he’s tensing up again, falling behind Bacara and watching Kenobi with a hunter’s intensity. With Priest's intensity.
It’s been some time since Geonosis, but Bacara still remembers when the line Neyo walked was thin and ever-changing and talking to him was like walking around with a thermal in your cod. When Neyo was just as likely to blow up on you for disobeying his implied marching order as he was to help a shiny paint his shell.
These days, Neyo is calmer. Stabler. Approaching something Bacara might, in another universe, call healing. He knows better than that, though, knows Priest still walks his brother’s dreams. Neyo cannot begin to heal, not when his broken edges keep them all alive to see the next day.
Still.
Still, Bacara can hope. What’s that saying? Something something “Delusions are as necessary to our happiness as realities?” Maybe it was Bovee; Bacara can’t remember. It doesn’t matter. Bacara knows his delusions, looks them in the eye every morning, goes to bed with them at night. They’re just… harder to look at when they’re six and scared and trying not to hold onto his belt.
Bacara taps his fingers against his thigh, prompting Neyo to glance up at him. Carefully, he drops a hand to Neyo’s shoulder, holding him steady and measuring the tremble in his shoulders as the 501’s CMO makes his way across the bay to them.
“Commanders,” he greets. “Kix, CMO.” He holds a hand out and Bacara shakes it, pleased to see he doesn’t bother offering to shake Neyo’s hand. Medics have a sense for that sort of thing.
“Bacara,” Bacara answers. Then, when Neyo doesn’t seem inclined to introduce himself, “This is Commander Neyo.”
Kix nods. “Neyo, I’m sure you’ve already heard, but I’d like to run some tests to make sure you made it through your transformation alright. I’m not expecting any issues, didn’t find any in the others, but I’d rather play it safe than be sorry.”
Neyo scowls. “I don’t need a checkup. I’m fine.”
Kix drops down and sits on his heels, setting his medical bag on the ground. Now, Neyo is looking down at him and Kix has no idea how much he does not want to be in that position when things go sideways. “You’re not in trouble, verd’ika,” Kix assures him. “It’s just a precaution.”
“I don’t need it.”
“No, but I want to give it to you.” Kix leans forward and Neyo tenses and Bacara has to act now before someone loses an eye.
“Neyo,” he says, steady and deep. The kid’s eyes snap to him. Good. “You need a checkup. Not an option. Got it?”
Neyo rolls his eyes. “I fucking hate you,” he snarls, but Kix stands up with both balls intact and Neyo follows him towards the exam table, so Bacara is more than willing to count that as a win.
“Deep breath in,” Kix says, holding the steth to Neyo’s skinny chest. “And out. Good. You had a broken rib any time in the past few months?”
Neyo scowls. “Twelve in the last four.”
Kix blinks. He’s getting better at controlling those reactions. Bacara’s not getting any better at not hating his past self. And Dred Priest. And Alpha-32, just a little bit, for letting Neyo go like that. For letting Bacara go like that. Fucking hell, he needs a drink.
“Alright, well, I suppose that would explain it,” Kix says, tucking his stethoscope back into its drawer. He takes out a new tool. “I’m going to look in your ears with this, okay?”
General Kenobi’s coming their way with a contemplative look on his face. Bacara stands and meets him halfway, heading him off before he can disturb the peace Kix has so carefully cultivated. “How can I help you, General?” he asks, bringing them to a spot by the main doors.
“Commander,” Kenobi greets, unflappable as ever. Gods, what Bacara wouldn’t do to try and make him crack. “Master Mundi is asking to speak with you from the bridge comms. I was wondering if I could pull you away for a moment?”
Bacara glances back to Neyo, still focused on Kix and his hearing test, dutifully reporting beeps. Mundi had paged him on his personal communicator, of course, but Bacara had hoped the messages he’d sent along would suffice. Evidently not. “Of course, General. Lead the way.”
Be nice, Neyo.
The yelling has already started by the time Bacara rounds the corner into medbay. By his estimate, it had taken him less than forty-five seconds to hang up on Kix and make it to the scene. Still not quick enough.
“Neyo’s panicking,” Kix had said, and Bacara’s never been one to wait around for things to resolve themselves.
“Cadet, you need to calm down,” Kix is saying, voice hard and firm and brokering no debate. “Calm down, or I’ll be forced to sedate you, and neither of us want that.”
Neyo has backed himself into the corner of the private exam room Kix had herded him into, and he’s got a scalpel. Bacara should have known taking the blasters with him wouldn’t have been enough. Neyo has always been self-possessed. “Don’t touch me,” he sneers, and his little chest is heaving so hard it’s difficult for him to get the words out.
Neyo has always reacted to fear with violence. He’s never had another option.
“Neyo,” Bacara says, somewhere between an officer and a friend. Neyo spares him the barest flicker of a glance. “Cadet, stand down. That vod is not the enemy.”
Neyo snarls. “Then he needs to leave me alone!”
Kix doesn’t take his eyes off Neyo for a moment, just nods at Bacara when he closes the door. “Neyo, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. But you need to calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“I’m not—I’m not going to hurt anyone I don’t mean to,” Neyo says.
“Neyo,” Bacara begins, and the kid looks at him for another half-instant, stiffening. “Kid, it’s alright. Nothing’s happening. Put the knife down.”
Neyo bristles. “Shut your karking mouth; you don’t know what you’re talking about.” He brandishes the scalpel and shifts into a more offensive position.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Bacara really doesn’t want to have to sedate him.
“Kid, come on. Think about this. He’s a brother. He’s not going to hurt you.” Bacara wishes Neyo had the luxury of believing that. “Just put the knife down and we can be done with the checkup.”
The kid looks at him and for a moment Bacara sees Neyo, cadet and soldier, and they are both devastated and scared and wishing Bacara could make everything alright again. Bacara lowers his hands and Neyo watches him tuck his thumbs into the belt of his greys. Come on, kid. Let me take you to the mess hall or something.
For a moment, Neyo looks at him and Bacara thinks he’s done it. The scalpel lowers, the wild look fades, and Neyo takes a step forward.
Then, a bed alarm starts wailing and he forgets where he is.
“Sedate him,” Bacara barks, lunging forward and trying to restrain the flailing storm of limbs and blade before he can deal the medic serious damage. “Sedate him!”
“I’m—fuck—doing my fecking best.” The rest of the medic’s curses are lost in Neyo’s screaming.
There’s the sound of a hypo discharging. The kid goes limp in his arms.
“Sorry, Neyo. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”