Sup Hoes:)

* Astrophage is more like a virus that either alters people, causing them to commit crimes or violent acts, or a power that supervillains are starting to use.

* Grace is still a middle school teacher who got bitten by the spider, obviously.

* Adrian is the one who stitched up the suit (the Aunt May of this universe).

* He has all the perks of a normal Spider-Man, but he's still Grace, so he's incredibly clumsy. He does have a super-strong spider sense, and that's what saves him 100% of the time, but he absolutely does not have the agility. When adrenaline kicks in, he can do anything, but otherwise he'll trip over the most ridiculous things.

* He was wearing his yellow raincoat the first time he saved someone, so now he wears it over his suit (along with his white Converse).

* The spider was discovered by SHIELD (which is undercover as a scientific research facility that Grace works for part-time). After the original test subjects (who were only able to survive the spider mutations if they possessed a specific gene) were killed in an attack, Eva delivered the spider to Grace so he could be bitten before other villains got their hands on that power. (My boy gets unwillingly turned into a savior in every universe.)

* Simon is still an ex-convict who, in exchange for his freedom, is asked by the evil company of the day to test a series of mines infected by what appears to be blood from a meteorite (which eventually turns out to be the symbiote Ellie!).

That by itself could have been manageable. After all, they were all only human (or human enough, in the case of Cathal) and bad days did happen. Admittedly, it was less than ideal while he was in charge of their unit’s 100 odd troopers, but Akor could forgive him that. It was too easy during this war to forget that Cathal was still a padawan learner. He’d grown up fast (hell, they all had) but still leaned heavily on his master for guidance. They all did, really. It was a group effort and force only knew how the General withstood the pressure.

No, what managed to push Akor over the edge from nervous to exasperated was seeing the Vice Admiral at the loading dock, doling out 10 shiny new vods to be loaded into their mission-designated ship. They were by far the newest brothers to join the 32nd. Even if he hadn’t personally been on the mission to select their new recruits, he could’ve spotted their inexperience from kilometers away.

For one, they didn’t even manage to pull off standing at attention as the Commander sauntered into the bay with Helix and Aesop hot on his heels. Well, most of them. There were one or two whose eyes had widened upon spotting the Commander and gave genuinely good spirited attempts to salute.

If he hadn’t been with Cathal for so long, he almost would’ve missed the small smile that quirked at the edges of his mouth at the sight of Akor’s fumbling younger brothers. He also would have missed the dark circles under his commander’s eyes, the ragged hitches in his breathing, and the slight tremble in his shoulders. Akor frowned under his helmet. This didn’t bode well.

Even worse was when Aesop caught his eye and mouthed “Commander’s sick. Wouldn’t let us help.” Fuck. This wouldn’t end well.

Still, Cathal was giving one hell of an attempt to rally the men.

“I know you all are new to the 32nd and it’s been a hectic few weeks. I promise that is not our normal way of doing things. The General and I will make every effort to ensure we are back on our regular rotation. Today should be a simple mission, but be on your guard nonetheless.” Cathal folded his arms into his outer robe, the perfect image of the Jedi commander.

Helix coughed uncomfortably, leaning forward to whisper the Commander. Akor caught only a few words that made his frown deepen: storm… bad drainage… uncertain hostiles. Cathal, to his credit, doesn’t so much as let his expression waver. (Akor can still see his shoulders trembling. They will be discussing this later, once Akor has turned in his report and debriefed the General. Then he can focus on commending his commander into Aesop’s capable hands.)

As they load up into the transport shuttle, Akor can’t help but nudge his shoulder against the Commander. Cathal all but jumps out of his skin, his eyes flashing angrily to confront the offender. Akor has only seen that look directed at defiant patients and clankers, never at him or any of the men. He’s about to stammer out an apology before Cathal softens and lets out a sigh.

“Force, am I glad to see you. I’d hate to think they left me on my lonesome.” He’s not quite as carefree as his words would suggest. Akor nods anyway, taking the facade for what it is: an admission of need.

The first thing he learned out of the tank, aside from how to be a damn good soldier, was that he was to serve the Jedi and they were some of the proudest, most stubborn kriffing people in the galaxy. Okay, maybe that last bit wasn’t in his programming but it might as well have been for how every damn clone seemed to be on the same page about it. From General Windu to General Yoda, they were all prone to pushing themselves too far and never asking for help. Y’know, Akor’s sole reason for existence. He wasn’t at all bitter about this.

“I’m right behind you, sir.” Akor promises, taking up the rear. The vice admiral is stone faced as they depart, but he can see some of his brothers waving. Hector and Paris look as though they’d run from the gym just to see them off. They’re good men, he thinks.

Cathal is standing at his right, also watching from the window. Not for the first time in the almost year since he was assigned to the General, Akor finds himself wishing he could tap into the Force just to have an inkling of what went on beyond those golden eyes. Cathal is so tense lately, with none of his tell-tale glimmer that warned everyone he was plotting something.

They land on Dagobah to be hit with one of the worst planet side storms that Akor has ever seen. The wind is howling and their plasteel armor echoes with every drop of rain that hits them. Unloading the equipment seems implausible at the moment and the Commander seems to agree. He shakes his head as two of the shinies go to start unloading.

“Hold off on that for a minute there… the rain will only make the photon cannons sink.”

One of the brighter ones nods immediately. “Should I pass it along?”

Cathal looks to Akor as if looking for permission. Unfortunately, there is nothing he can do. This is Cathal’s mission to lead, no matter how much he wants to jump in. The shinies need to learn the chain of command; he can’t have them coming to him later and overriding the General or Commander’s requests.

When Akor doesn’t respond, Cathal nods. “Yes, tell the others. I want a tight formation, no stragglers.”

Akor finally chimes in: “You heard the Commander. Get your asses in gear.”

The men struggle to fall in, with the mud slicking them down with every step. A fog threads its way through the trees above and Akor swears he can hear the forest breathing. Cathal has taken point (without any armor - stars, that man is going to lead him to an early grave), his green blade glowing softly up ahead as a beacon.

They’re only walking for what feels like 5 minutes before Cathal stops them. His arm shoots out and he signals for the men to wait. Akor settles into parade rest, scanning the tree line as he shoulders his blaster. One of the shinies is chattering over the comms in the back - something about how the woods creeps him out. He’s inclined to agree.

Cathal whips around from one direction to another, his robes fluttering around him. He’s whispering to himself, something only those closest to him can pick up on. The shiny from earlier, the bright one who had the good intuition to salute, turns to Akor slightly.

“Sir? Is the commander okay?”

He turns to look at the trooper. He’s standing firm despite the mud sucking at his boots and has his visor flashlight turned on to assist with the scan. A regular pillar of the community, this one.

Akor’s voice is clipped when he responds, not wanting to worry him too much prematurely. “Be on your guard. And shut your mouth; you can do more than stand there like a kriffing pillar.”

He can hear his brother’s jaw snap shut and he’s just about to call out to Cathal, to ask him if they can move, when the damn clankers burst out of the woods, firing blindly on their little ragged pyramid formation.

“Protect the shuttle!” He calls, charging forward with his blaster blazing. He sees Cathal disappear behind the enemy lines, his blade arcing gracefully through, around, across, and below the charging separatist forces.

It’s almost impossible for Akor to remember how long it takes for the first shiny to fall. All he knows is that one of his brothers surges past him, shouting something at the Commander up ahead, before a lucky shot hits him right in the chest. It burns through his brother’s armor, leaving behind a deep, gaping hole that shudders once, twice, before stopping entirely.

What he does know is that Cathal lets out an inhuman scream and charges forward to avenge his fallen soldier. Droid limbs go flying in every direction and Akor signals for his men to advance, to circle up and try to provide some sort of cover fire.

He catches Cathal’s gaze at one point and attempts to mouth “are you okay?” before remembering that he’s wearing his bucket. Cathal, though, isn’t wearing anything to protect himself when stray blaster spray catches him dead across stomach — catches him with his blade down, looking directly at Akor.

Blood spurts out of his tunic, spraying his white skin with a shower of pink. The roar of battle dims around Akor as he darts forward to catch his commander before he falls. Cathal is spluttering out nonsensical words as he does; the only word Akor can make out is his own name. He squeezes Cathal to him, not even caring about the blood that will surely tarnish his paint job.

The damn clankers don’t stop pouring out of the trees, threatening to overwhelm them. Akor lowers his body to press against the commander, shielding him partially while returning fire with his officer’s pistol. This is it, he thinks, i’m going to die cradling his body in my arms and I can’t even take a second to reassure him. He’s almost made his peace with this, really he has, when a blinding cannon shot ricochets through the center of the battlefield.

His troops let out a ragged shout as one of the cannons comes rumbling towards them. Three of his men have rigged it to slide on a pulley system while the others fall back behind it. With reinforcements chasing off the straggling horde, he tears off his helmet and presses his ear to the commander’s chest.

Cathal’s pulse is weak, stuttering with every shuddering breath. Akor swears under his breath and begins a furious set of chest compressions. Unaware of himself, he growls out: “Stay with me, damnit. I am not letting you die on me.”

One, two, three… he sucks in a breath before pressing his lips to Cathal’s. They’re rapidly cooling and dry and salty with blood; Akor nearly pulls back before he’s done as the sheer wrong-bad-hurt overwhelms him. One, two, three… he presses his lips against his Jedi over and over and over.

He doesn’t even notice when the second shuttle lands and the General steps out with another crew of his brothers. He doesn’t notice when she kneels next to him and starts pumping her apprentice full of the living Force.He doesn’t hear Paris and Hector’s attempts to shake him from his panic-induced frenzy. He doesn’t even notice when his brothers close rank around him in a desperate, makeshift privacy screen.

Akor loses steam quickly, his adrenaline fleeting, and his muscles spasming so that Cathal slides down to the cool earth beneath them. His hand is tangled in those messy blond locks, with Cathal’s padawan braid wrapped around his fingers as they scramble for purchase.

“Captain, if you would, please.” Master Gemara’s voice is warm and gentle as she places a hand on his wrist. “I appreciate what you’ve done for him, but you need to give him space to stand up.”

Akor’s knees are throbbing as he forces himself to unwind himself from Cathal. Paris clasps him on the shoulder, guiding him to lean on his sniper. He’s temporarily fine, raiding his head to do a head count of his men. He’s just finished counting their casualties (four. Four of his brothers are dead.), when he catches sight of his commander’s limp body and has to be held back to prevent him from scooping the commander up once more.

Gemara has entered the healing trance, both hands splayed on either side of Cathal’s chest and chanting. Cathal moans and splutters as she works. The surviving shinies watch in awe as the blaster wound knits itself back together and the commander stumbles to his feet.

His eyes are downcast as he reports to his master about the ambush, contrite and embarrassed. Gemara’s face is impassive as she nods along. The command holds its breath as they wait for her response.

“Come now, Cathal, this is not a failure. You could not have known what you were walking into. In fact, I commend you for keeping a cool enough head to lessen your loses. Your willingness to sacrifice is your greatest gift to the 32nd.” She pulls her saber from her belt and activates it, the blue glow washing over the clearing as a tiny hint of sun clears away the clouds from above.

“In fact, I believe I speak for the order when I say that you have more than completed your trials twice over during this war. I am pleased to have trained you and I raise you now happily to the rank of knight.”

Cathal bows stiffly, grimaces as his stomach compresses the wound. Gemara gentle grabs his head and severs the training braid. It falls to the planet’s surface with a dull thud. Cathal turns back to the men and smiles gently; the survivors swarm around him, all eager to congratulate the newly promoted general.

Akor hangs back, nudging his brothers to go on ahead. There are parts and bodies strewn about the clearing and it almost makes him nauseous. He barely even notices when Gemara calls out to him.

“Captain? I wanted to thank you for supporting Cathal today. You know, he thinks quite highly of you.”

Akor swallows hard, recalling the weight of the comm-no, the general’s body against him. “Yes ma’am, i’m aware.”

She continues, unfazed. “I know we’ve been asking a lot of you lately, and I wanted to let you know that if there is anything I can offer to provide you with a break, all you need do is ask.”