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After the battle of Khorm, the first few days passed in a blur. If Blunt was still alive, he would’ve dragged Patch off to his bunk 24 hours ago, but he was dead, buried under a snowbank leaving nothing but the red-painted glove in Patch’s hand. Even Captain Sharp was gone, after taking down an entire mountainside with a well-aimed blaster bolt and himself along with it.
Only Fixer remained of his old squad, and while he gave Patch concerned looks whenever their paths crossed in the mess hall, he hadn’t yet mastered the art of knowing when to push the medic to take a break, and without that steady presence, the grasping, clawing feeling in Patch’s gut was starting to come to a head.
It wasn’t until late that night, when Patch was doing some medical charting from the comfort of his bunk (not that it made any difference in his inability to sleep) that he finally got around to looking through his recent messages, including a performance review from… Captain Ozzel. Wonderful. Sighing to himself, Patch bit the bullet and opened the file.
‘Ineffective performance as battalion medic; overly emotional responses to the realities of war.’ Patch blinked in shock, eyes glazing over as he reread his performance review.
Throughout the entirety of their last campaign, he’d maybe spent a grand total of ten seconds near Captain Ozzel, their resident nat-born hut’uun. Last to the fight but first to retreat, he’d been responsible for more than half of the trooper deaths this campaign, even ordering them to leave the Generals for dead at one point. But apparently spending half a tic grieving a dead brother was viewed as an overly emotional response when the kriffing… or’dinii was waiting on a bandaid!
Normally, Patch would be furious, ears turning red in the way they usually did when he couldn’t keep his cool, but right now he just felt broken and numb, and his eyes pinched with the threat of tears, and that feeling he’d been running from now threatened to drown him.
During training as a cadet, a trainer had once knocked his feet out from under him so hard that he’d snapped his tibia, and this felt remarkably similar. Head spinning and brain wailing in warning signals, it felt like his breath had been knocked out, but unlike in a sparring match, he couldn’t call time-out when it was his own mind dragging him through the mire.
For a long moment, he wondered what it would be like to let himself sink into that feeling and just… disappear.
The temptation was strong, too strong, but somehow Patch found the strength to pull himself up from his bunk, heading for the door instead. Moving felt wrong, but staying felt twice as bad.
“Hey Patch, you going somewhere?” Fixer asked, starting to sit up in his own bunk. It was about 2300, so most troopers were in their bunks if not already asleep.
“I’m going to medbay. Don’t worry about waiting up for me.” Patch forced his voice to stay even, even as his hands shook and his skin started to crawl.
Fixer hesitated before nodding. “A-alright, vod. If you need anything, don’t be afraid to comm me.”
Patch swallowed, a knot forming in his throat. “...Thanks.”
Walking up to the medbay front desk, Patch was given a friendly nod by the medic currently working the night shift. Blu, a new member of the 104th, had only been there for a few months, but Patch counted it a blessing that the kid was a night owl at heart and didn’t mind pulling the late shift.
“Hey Patch, here to check up on the Commander again? Not much has changed since your shift ended, although the General did stop by with some snacks for the healing troopers.” Blu smiled, barely bothering to look up from his datapad when Patch stopped in front of him.
Chest tight with nerves, Patch hesitated. Even as he stood there, preparing to open his mouth, it grated on him to speak his next words, and to a vod’ika no less. “Blu…?”
“Yessir?”
“I would like to submit myself for medical supervision.” Patch squeezed his eyes shut, voice cracking as he finally spoke his intentions. His face felt hot, and a pit of dread welled up in his stomach, but there was no taking it back.
Blu blinked in shock for half a second, clearly not expecting that, but his indecision was brief before he shifted, going from friendly coworker to competent medic with a level of professionalism that would’ve made Patch proud, had it been for anyone else.
“Of course, Patch. There’s a bunk right over here where you can get settled and then we can talk, if you’re willing. After we speak, if you’re more comfortable in a private room, I’ll see what I can do. Sound good?” Blu asked, voice both gentle and casual, like it was perfectly normal for Patch to show up halfway through his shift and ask to be put on watch.
Patch nodded, steps halting before slowly moving to follow him.
After sitting down in the bunk, Blu offered him a pair of off-duty reds for him to change into, but Patch shook his head, feeling his breath pick up. Ever since the Malevolence, Patch wore his armor almost constantly, only ever taking it off to sleep, and even that depended on his mood.
“Patch… it’s standard procedure. Troopers on watch aren’t allowed to stay in their armor; too many hiding places. You can keep your bracers if I look them over first, but the rest has to go. I’ll be keeping it in the lockbox near the medbay entrance, so you can access it if there’s a shipwide emergency.” Blu reassured him, so with shaking hands, Patch removed his armor, feeling exposed in more ways than one.
Once he was done, Blu offered him an encouraging smile. “Thank you, vod. I know that was hard for you.”
Patch nodded dully, avoiding eye contact. His hands gripped tightly around his bracers.
“Alright,” Blu started, pulling up a stool. “Is there anything you feel like telling me about why you’re here?” He kept his posture open, not demanding an answer that Patch was too afraid to give.
“I… I want to disappear…” Patch’s voice was almost inaudible, but somehow he managed to force the words out of his mouth. “...but I don’t want to hurt myself…” His eyes shone with unshed tears, and he refused to look up at the other medic, afraid of the disappointment he’d find in their gaze.
To his surprise, he heard Blu release a slow breath, in a way that almost sounded like relief. “Thank you for telling me, Patch. You’re in the right place; you did a good job coming here."
He squeezed his hand, and only then did Patch look up, finding nothing but kindness in the other medic’s eyes. ‘ The kid definitely deserves a promotion, ’ he thought to himself, detached, even as the first of his tears started to fall, painfully silent.
"Now, I'll have to ask you some questions, and they might be a bit uncomfortable, but they're important. Okay?”
Patch nodded, scrubbing at his face in an attempt to look slightly more put-together (a futile endeavor), so Blu continued, asking a variety of screening questions. Patch did his best to answer honestly, feeling raw and drained by the end, but almost... lighter, somehow.
“Do you want me to call anyone to stay with you here?” Blu asked, non-judgemental.
Patch shrugged, speaking slowly, feeling like his brain was moving through thick mud. “I dunno, maybe Fixer in the morning? Not right now...” Fixer was probably just getting to sleep now, and he’d hate to wake him.
“Alright, vod. No worries. If you change your mind, let me know. It’s not an inconvenience to anyone else.”
“... I know. Thanks.”
“No problem, brother.” Blu nodded easily. “Now, as for your bunk. Do you want a private room, or are you good here? Wolffe’s still asleep from his surgery, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you joined him in his pod.”
Like most medbays, the main area was sectioned off into groupings of two, so Patch nodded at the offer to move closer to his ori’vod. Even if he was still sleeping off the effects of his recent prosthetic eye surgery, the added level of security of having Wolffe nearby would probably help with the weird, ungrounded feeling he always experienced without his armor on.
Blu gave him another smile, happy to see that Patch wasn’t shutting his brothers out. “Sounds good, we’ll get you settled over there in just a moment. But first, mind if I do a scan, just to make sure you’re doing okay?” Again, standard procedure, so Patch nodded even though he knew nothing would come up.
They waited quietly for the whirring beep of the medscanner, which confirmed no serious injuries, although it did note that his heart rate was a little fast and his blood pressure was on the low side, and… “When’s the last time you slept, Patch?”
Patch shrugged tiredly, eyes downcast. If he sat down, then he had time to think, and if he started thinking about…everything… it wouldn’t stop. He’d taken a quick nap before his last shift, but that was more than 24 hours ago, which he communicated to Blu.
The other medic nodded in quiet understanding. “I can give you a sedative, if you want? It’s not a long-term solution, but it would help for tonight.” He offered, which Patch accepted, morbidly grateful to put his thoughts on hold for the next few hours.
With the basics decided, Blu guided Patch to the bunk across from Wolffe. The Commander’s injury was still covered by a large bacta-patch, and although he stirred slightly, he didn’t wake up when the other two approached.
“One minute,” Blu whispered before walking over to the storage closet, still keeping Patch in sight. Patch exhaled, sinking into the cool medbay sheets, feeling like he’d sink right into the floor with how empty he felt. He was startled out of his thoughts when Blu reappeared in front of him, carrying a colorful handmade quilt that Patch had almost forgotten about.
“A present from the Jedi creche,” General Plo had announced when he’d first gifted it to the medbay, free for whoever needed it most. It had guarded many a shiny after their first battle, and even though the first one was lost after the Malevolence, this one carried the same feeling of comfort and safety.
‘Never thought I’d be the one needing this, ’ Patch thought to himself, tears pricking at his eyes once again as Blu tucked it snugly around his chest. He tilted his head so that Blu could administer the sedative, and then he drifted, eventually falling into an uneasy sleep.
“Sleep well, ori’vod.” Blu whispered before grabbing his datapad to take Patch off the schedule for as long as he might need it.
The first thing Wolffe became aware of when he started to wake up was the sound of a brother’s snoring. He’d been halfway out of a nightmare, but the sound was strangely soothing to his fried nerves, even if it was a little annoying. Prying his good eye open, he looked to the bunk on his left and was surprised to find that Patch was the culprit.
Huffing in amusement, he scanned the medic, noticing the harsh bags under his eyes… and were those tear tracks? His gaze stopped altogether when he noticed the presence of the blanket. Patch wasn’t one to use such things lightly, so with a rush of concern, Wolffe vowed to keep an eye, heh, on the medic when he woke up.
Looking around the medbay, he could see Blu and another medic, Korbel, making their rounds for the upcoming shift-change. Usually it would be Patch’s turn to take a shift, but he was pretty obviously in need of a break.
Wolffe was considering asking one of the medics for some water when all of a sudden, the medbay doors burst open and Fixer entered the room in a rush. Spotting his squadmate, he started to approach him, only to be stopped by the other medics who started speaking in harsh whispers, just barely out of Wolffe’s hearing. His concern for the sleeping medic went up a couple notches.
“What do you mean, I can’t talk to him?! He disappeared last night from the barracks, and I thought he’d only be gone a couple hours, but now he’s hooked up to a bed alarm? When he said he was going to medbay, I didn’t think–” The medics shushed him, and Fixer had the self-awareness to look chastised, probably realizing how early it still was.
A few more moments of quiet murmuring, and an unreadable expression crossed Fixer’s face. “Can I… sit with him? I’ll be quiet, I promise.” A moment passed before Blu nodded, and the trio made their way to Patch and Wolffe’s bunks, Blu giving a humm of greeting as he realized that Wolffe was awake.
“How are you feeling, sir?” He asked quietly.
“Fine,” Wolffe said gruffly. He still couldn’t feel half his face, probably because of the painkillers they’d put him on, but that wasn’t his main concern right now. “Is Patch alright?” He asked, fixing the younger medic with a hard stare, hoping it was still effective with one eye.
Blu hesitated, shifting from foot to foot before he was interrupted by a dull, scratchy voice. “... It’s okay, you can tell him…” Patch opened tired eyes, feeling like his body was being held down by lead weights. Only now did Wolffe realize that he’d stopped snoring a couple minutes ago.
There was a moment of silence before anyone responded. “I’m surprised you’re already awake, Patch.”
Patch shrugged infinitesimally before closing his eyes again, making it difficult to tell if he was asleep or not. Regardless, his unnatural stillness worried the group as Blu started to share. “Patch submitted himself for medical supervision last night, and will be residing in medbay until further notice.”
Wolffe gritted his teeth, biting off a wounded noise in his throat. He’d known, before battle, that Patch was running on fumes, and then he’d heard about Blunt’s death, and he’d seen the results of Captain Sharp’s sacrifice, but then he’d been attacked by Ventress and had been officially down for the count until recently. Still, it grieved him to learn that one of his troopers, his pack, had been struggling and that he wasn’t there to help them. First with the Malevolence and now with Patch.
“Patch asked to bunk next to you,” Blu mentioned quietly, mindful as Patch started snoring once more, prompting a bittersweet smile from the surrounding troopers.
“I-Is there something we can do? How can we help him?” Fixer’s hands clenched into fists, wishing for all the world that he could live up to his namesake and fix this.
Blu spoke up, addressing Fixer’s question with quiet conviction.“Be there for him. I’ve seen Patch pushing himself, and this has probably been building for quite a while. He’s going to need you, both of you, now more than ever. Be patient with him, recognize that there’s no quick fix, but let him know it’s okay to need help, and to have bad days… Something tells me he’s been having a lot of those lately.”
Both Fixer and Wolffe nodded, and over the next several days, they continued to be there for Patch, in whatever way they could, holding him through tears and excruciating stillness, pleading with the Force for their brother to be okay.
Later on, General Plo came to visit, talking quietly with Wolffe until Patch started to mumble in his sleep, looking distressed. All at once, his eyes flew open and he jerked upwards before realizing where he was, and the fight drained out of him, replaced by watery eyes and hitching breath.
Wolffe exhaled, feeling for his brother. It wasn’t the first time this week that Patch had woken up in tears, but it never seemed to get easier. Privately, Wolffe was starting to wonder if Patch would ever fully recover, between this and the Malevolence. It had already been a week, and Wolffe himself was practically ready for discharge. But even now that Patch was more-or-less caught up on sleep, his eyes hadn’t lost that dull, broken look, and there wasn’t much more they could do for him here. But he’d wait as long as it took for Patch to be okay, and if the look on the General’s face meant anything, he felt the same way.
“May I offer you some comfort, Patch?” General Plo warbled through his mask, once Patch had mostly managed to get a handle on his emotions. Patch bit his lip, nodding hesitantly only to be surprised when the Kel Dor stepped forward, gathering Patch up in his arms, blanket and all, resting one clawed hand on his head. When Patch didn’t pull away, he started to card that hand through his hair, letting Patch’s head rest on his shoulder.
Quietly, he spoke again, voice full of affection that Patch had only ever heard from a brother. “You might not believe it just yet, my son, but hardship does not last forever.”
Fixer had said the same thing earlier, squeezing his hand and promising, “It won’t always feel like this.”
And so, Patch gathered what little resolve he had left, leaning into the General’s embrace, and tried to believe it.