Hmmm could you make a playlist for Kix? Pretty please?

(Oh... He’s already wondering what you will come up with?)

Alright, let's see what we've got!

Bad Case of Loving You (Doctor, Doctor) by Robert Palmer

For What It's Worth by Buffalo Springfield

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from Les Mis

The Chain by Fleetwood Mac

Hey Brother by Avicii

(...) He used to have million of brothers. Now, he’s the last. But he still hears them. They whisper to him(...)

Star Wars Adventures #7 

===

This takes place in an Alternate Universe, about four an a half months into the Clone Wars. The Cannon Divergence began shortly after Anakin turned 13 years old (or so I'm claiming. I don't actually know very much about Anakin's apprenticeship...yeah. 13.) Why 13? It's very simple.

Anakin needs literal years of therapy for his literal years of mental, emotional, and physical abuse as a slave on Tatooine. 13 is about a year after Anakin apparently started getting to know Palpatine. I am going with the version of Cannon where Palpatine threatened Mace Windu if he didn't allow Palps access to kid! Anakin. At 12, I figure Anakin would be a ball of trauma, poorly bottled emotions, and several tangled knots of low self-esteem. A year gives Palps plenty of time to work. A year gives the Force enough time to get angry that it's literal child is being manipulated, and his guardians aren't even trying to help him. What do I mean by that?

Before I answer, I need to make somethings clear.

I like the Jedi. As individuals. I love a well written Mace Windu. Or even an okay written Windu. Yoda is a troll with a sense of humor I can get behind. Plo Koon. 'Nouph said. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Beautifully flawed human being that he is, he is, to a certain extent, very easy to write.

The Jedi culture has an unparalleled potential to be one of the most diverse, and wide spread found-family known to Science Fiction, if not The Most. What with how they accept members regardless of species, background, or talent. The only real requirement is that they must be Force Sensitive. Which just makes sense, really, given they are an order of Force Sensitives. I will not be trying to drag that through the mud, because a good chunk of it is...nice.

This fic is going to be exclusively through the perspective of Anakin, and his men. Anakin, in this fic, has spent the last decade getting all of the Jedi's worst traits dumped on top of him with very little help from within the Order. He has seen the good, but very rarely turned toward him...and that came from two people. Obi-Wan, whom I will be *hurting*, and Aayla, whom I love and who is much more observant and compassionate them she really has any right to be, given what I will be doing to her. The 501st, who will be having a rough four months in the War before meeting Anakin, and a rough...ten years or less before even that (Seriously, Rex's past will make you *feel* things if I have anything to say about it) are going to be insanely protective of Anakin. So all they are going to see is how they treat him, and hate it.

And, as the last thing for this list that I can think of for this moment, the point of this fic, is not to be Jedi Critical. I wanted a fic where Anakin was forced to be self sufficient, was forced to mature, had to be more then he was, or die. Only, I didn’t actually want that; I wanted to see what this new and improved Anakin would do. Forget the Growth, I wanted to see the results. A side effect of this is that it is Jedi Critical, because there is no way Anakin ‘I want to free all the slaves’ Skywalker was ever going to be truly happy as a Jedi ‘everything you do reflects on us, we are peace keepers’ Knight. Slave stealing is a very good way to make the Huts angry. Not exactly peaceful.

Will I be using things the Jedi messed up on to push Anakin more? Yes. Will I be doing it for the sole purpose of burning the Jedi at the stake? No. That is a waste of resources, and I am not in the business of such foolishness. Besides. People are rarely so simple.

Beyond that, I cannot get enough of the Overprotective Clones tag. Or the BAMF Clones tag. Except most of that seemed to focus on Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka, and the 212th, which, okay, but I want Anakin to be taken care of too. You can’t tell me that right there wouldn’t have helped...something. Clone piles, for the win. The closest one I could find was Soft Wars on ao3, but that was Anakin getting adopted as a kid, not as a brother, which is what I want. Also, I’ve been waiting for the fourth book in The Making of a Man for over a year now, and I’m salty. (by Project0506, Behold. a Gentle Man, excellent Kix & Anakin interaction, I strive to be so amazing, it is beautiful)

As for details that you may or may not be catching, well. You will have to be more specific because I know things that Kix and Anakin do not, and so it was written around. ;) All will become less foggy in due time.

Also I need questions, or I have no idea what you’re taking about, because I finished writing this stuff days and/or weeks ago, and have since moved on. On top of that, I have things I want to be a surprise (what is one thing that is a rarity for Anakin to do? This Anakin will be doing it.), or have made changes to my Universe so ‘long’ ago that it is now normal to the character and thus not something to spend more then a sentence on (tell me, do you know Anakin’s saber form? It’s good.)

Truly,

Beginning, Next, Masterlist

A/N

Warnings:

Blood, blood transfusions, allergic reactions, fake medical practice (I did my research, but google hates me. Also, I need science to Not Work for plot, so...), competent medic who is Not Panicking, bad personal care, implied nudity (?), the clones’ situation, mention of decommissioning (How would a normal person phrase that?), Kaminoans (who really are their own warning), ruthless misuse of the em-dash

The usual host of bad spelling and grammar errors.

Don’t do any of this at home folks. Kix is a professional. I very much am not.

I can finally close the blood loss tab on my browser. It will be another chapter before I can get rid of the Transfusion tab, though...

~~~~

The medbay was quiet. The loudest noises were the Vod’e who wheezed with every breath, or when someone twisted in their bed. The lights were dim to allow the patients to sleep while letting the medics on shift move around freely. Everything was calm, and clean, and not even close to mirroring Kix’s mental state.

He stared sightlessly at the durasteel floor between his blood and dirt smeared boots, elbows to knees, head in hands. If he had enough hair to grab he’d probably be pulling on it. As it was, he settled for digging the pads of his fingers into his scalp. Something hot and heavy was draped over his hunched shoulders, prickly against his neck and the gaps in his armor. Somehow, that weight made it both easier and harder to breathe.

Kix wondered if this was what resignation felt like.

It wasn’t defeat. Kix was well and truly familiar with what defeat felt like. He was a clone medic in a suicide company made of expendable clones, in an army of other clones owned by a Republic that didn’t care if they lived or died, only if they completed their missions. Defeat was a weight Kix kicked off with his blanket every morning before he rolled out of his berth.

This was...heavier. Draining.

He kept replaying the last seven hours in his head, trying to see where he went wrong, could’ve made a different choice.

It had been Kix, his unconscious General, his Captain, and two injured shinies on top of a sheer sided Pilar of Rock with no foreseeable back up. His General was bleeding out right in front of him, because of course the self sacrificing di’kut had run on a leg with a cut artery then proceeded to tear it further open when he landed wrong after an impossibly high jump carrying two entire troopers all by himself.

Kix had needed to preform field surgery to close up the artery with his depleted supplies. There was no way around it, the injury was too severe to simply slap a bacta patch on even if Kix had had a patch big enough to work. Even if he wasn’t half certain bacta didn’t work half as well for General Skywalker as it should.

By the time he had stitched the site shut, the General had lost too much blood. He was laying in a puddle of the stuff, not to mention however much was caked in his clothes and what he’d left behind when they were running.

His skin was as pale as anything Kix had ever seen, though perhaps that shouldn’t have been so surprising since the General did have a lighter skin tone then any of Kix’s vod’e. A quick check marked the General’s heart rate as weak, and way too fast. Slower then it had before he had passed out, but still not good. His skin was clammy.

Kix’s skin was clammy too, but that was fear-sweat, not blood loss. Why hadn’t he noticed that the General was injured? He was going to die—the thought was crushed before it can do more then trace claws of fear down his spine.

He needed an IV. Kix’s medpack didn’t have an IV bag of anything, much less ringer solution.

“Kix.” The Captain’s voice sliced through the buzz of Kix’s thoughts.

Kix’s eyes snapped up and collided with determined brown eyes. His update comes tumbling out of his mouth by route. “I’ve repaired the cut artery, treated the blaster burn with bacta, along with the scratches on his side. He’s lost too much blood, and is going into hypovolemic shock. He needs fluids.” Kix snatched up his scanner from where he’d dropped it to treat the General’s leg, and tapped the screen sharply with a semi-clean knuckle. “I don’t have any to give him.” The device beeped, and the screen showed it was till set to the default natborn setting. Kix ran the wand over the General’s body again, hoping against all sense of logic that this time, this time the thing would find some injury, internal bleeding, stab wound, something for him to treat.

Kix made himself stop. Breathe. Reassess.

General Skywalker had three injuries that the scanner and Ki’s hands had been able to find. All of them have been treated to the best of his ability. The General was dangerously low on blood. He needed fluids. Kix did not have fluids.

Where can Kix get fluids?

“Check in with me, vod.” The Captain ordered.

Kix’s eyes darted back to his eyes. Something clicked together deep down in Kix’s mind. A very very tiny part of his mind noted that something broke to make that possible. This was easily swept aside in favor of the crash of realization rattling through his body.

He shied away from the idea.

He didn’t know enough about blood transfusions. This could go horribly wrong. He only knew this was a thing because of one class, from the single mention made by the sole Mandalorian medic trainer he had, and the resulting eight minutes of research Kix done after.

Even as he thought this, his traitor brain pulled up everything he’d found in those measly eight minutes. Variables, risks, everything blared out at him in warning—there was a reason why blood transfusions are considered a primitive practice.

There was testing. Kix didn’t have any sort of lab with him; he didn’t even have a ph tester kit.

The General’s red blood cell markers match the Vod’e’s.

But the consequences of a bad blood transfusion—

Kix cut his thoughts off there. That way lead panic, and death.

But Rex is right there.

“I will do what I must to save who I can.”

Kix forced the words through his teeth, because he had a vow to keep, and he would follow through. “The General needs fluids.” Or he will die, he didn’t say. “The only fluids we have to give him—” just say it“—is our own.”

Rex had blood. He could spare some for their general, if he was so inclined. If he wasn’t, or if he was, and the General needed more, Kix could spare some.

Kix dismissed the possibility of ‘68 and ‘57 giving blood, because ‘68 was at risk of an infection with how his knee had been skinned then buried in mud, and ‘57 with how his forearm had been filleted with a dirty vibroblade wasn’t any better. Who knew what kind of contaminants they were carrying? Certainly not Kix.

He pushed that from his mind, and reached back into his pack to remove the coil of clear tubing meant for— not this. He will do what he must. Next came the needles. Rex watched silently.

Kix arranged the tube in his lap, and hammered the words that needed to be said together ruthlessly.

“Do you want to go first, or shall I?”

Rex was very still for a very long moment. Then he sighed, and started removing his left vambrace. “I’ll go. If he goes critical, it’d better if you have a clear head.”

Kix nodded sharply, and got to work. He cut the sleeve on the General’s left arm, then cut Rex’s blacks away. A quick bacta wipe, then the first needle went into the crook of Rex’s elbow. Kix moved the tubes until there aren’t any bubbles he can see, and cleaned the crease of General Skywalker’s elbow. He slid the needle in and taped it down.

Just until pick up came.

Within six minutes of Rex’s blood reaching the General’s, hives had formed around all three of his injuries. The three injuries Kix had treated with bacta. Bacta, Kix was eighty-four percent certain the General had a biological resistance to. The hives even showed where traces of the bacterial gel had clung to his gloved fingertips before being smeared onto the skin surrounding the injury he was treating.

General Skywalker is allergic to bacta. This fact was not in his medical file. It is not mentioned anywhere in the rather extensive list of injuries he had raked up over the last decade, or in any of the many, many doctor’s (Healers, Jedi called them healers) notes.

Kix wasn’t entirely certain why he expected anything else.

He makes short work of removing the allergen with a fresh wad of gauze and reached back into his nearly empty medpack. Thankfully, Kix had had the foresight to pack four hypo cartridges of antihistamine when he was putting his medpack together for this mission since the debriefing package on the local plant life included a fern he could name no less then eighteen Vod’e to be allergic to off the top of his head. Kix had, miraculously, not had the need to use any of them since his boots hit the ground. Partly because he had only been in range of a a squad of shinies, Rex, and the General, and possibly because the filters in their buckets had decided to do their job this mission. Which was good, because he would end up needing all four cartridges to keep his General from asphyxiating before pick up.

Kix gave the General the first dose of medication with a hypo to the neck, then checked his heart rate again. Slower then before, likely because the General had actually allowed himself to sleep when Kix had told him to, but still weak. His breathing was still shallow, if more regular.

There was... nothing else Kix could do.

He shared a look with Rex, before settling down at his general’s side. They had time.

Pick up had been a long time coming. Kix gave the General another hypo when the hives started spreading again. Rex had given enough blood that he had started to show symptoms of blood loss, so Kix was forced to transfer the needle to his own arm. He gave General Skywalker another dose of antihistamine.

Time passed, marked only by the changing clock on his HUD, the beat of his own heart in his ears, and when ‘57 went to drag ‘68 closer. The shinies settled on the other side of Rex, who was actually following orders and laying down to allow his blood loss weak body time to rest.

It wasn’t long before Kix started to feel the blood loss himself.

It took ‘57 jumping to his feet, waving his one uninjured arm wildly for Kix to notice that the gunship converging on their position. Rex, he notes with concern, had only sat up instead of getting to his feet. Too much blood. Kix added fluids for him to his ever growing list of things to do.

The gunship landed, the disruption from the stabilizers kicking up clumps of grass and long dead leaves from the sole tree clinging to the top of their Pillar. The door slides open and four Vod’e jump out. One of them, Kix saw, was bright enough to bring out a medpack and a stretcher. The red medic symbol on his spaulder said why.

Kix was on his feet before he could think. A tiny part of him took a sliver of energy to be very glad that the tube connecting his circulatory system to the General’s was long enough for him to do that without ripping anything out. The rest of him just called up the list he’d been making since the mission began, and started rattling off demands.

“You with the medpack, help me get the General on that stretcher. You,” he pointed at the Vod in the lead—who is thankfully not a shiny, small mercies— with his free arm, “help the Captain to the ship, then get a bag of ringer solution ready for him.” Kix pointed at ‘68, who ‘57 was helping to his feet. “He needs to stay off his leg. I need a bag of ringer solution for the General, asap.”

“Sir!” All four of them break to do as they were told.

The medic trotted up, and dropped to his knees. He situated the stretcher in front of him and started prepping the General for transfer. Kix paused for a moment, watching, to just take a moment to gather himself. Then he applied himself to getting the General packed up for pick up.

They are airborne within three minutes.

The moment General Skywalker was settled on the medical rack, Kix set about replacing the tube connecting their arms together with an IV of ringer solution. To the medic he said “Run a scan on him. He’s bleeding from somewhere and my scanner couldn’t find where it is.” He smacked a plaster onto his own elbow, and clamped his forearm to his bicep in hopes of staunching the blood flow.

The moment he had one of his hands free he turned to looking over the other three Vod’e he’s had with him. He checks the needle one of the others had stuck into Rex’s arm, the fluids he was attached to to check it was actually ringer solution. Rex endured his check over stoically.

Satisfied, Kix moved on to the shinies. He only paused long enough to check that the plaster had adhered to his needle puncture, before checking them over. ‘68’s knee was showing early signs of infection, so Kix gave him a hypo of antibacterial to hold him off, and handed him off to the Vod who had carried him onto the gunship. Kix rattled off instructions on how to change the bandages and which antibacterial gel to apply while he did a quick check on his work with ‘57’s hastily relocated elbow.

Kix was back at his general’s side just as the Vod’s scanner beeped.

The other medic didn’t even look up from his scanner as he read off the findings. “A blaster burn, cut and sutured artery that is no longer bleeding, some shallow cuts on his right flank. All of them had been treated with bacta, and all of them are showing signs of a bad allergic reaction. He has some minor bruising as well, and he may have strained his right elbow at some point. He’s running a fever of a hundred and one degrees, and has all of the symptoms of heavy blood loss, sir.” He tapped at the scanner’s screen, and continued. “The fluids will solve the blood loss, but he needs more antihistamines, and we need to bring his temperature down.”

Kix scowled. “Yes, except I’ve spent the last hour and fifteen minutes pouring over a liter of blood into him, and he still needs more blood.” That managed to drag the medic’s visor up to Kix’s. Kix made sure the Vod didn’t look away. “Something is wrong, trooper. Eventually fluids will be all the General has left if we don’t find out where it’s all going.”

The Vod stared at Kix, dumbfounded. His bucket jerked back and forth between him and the comatose General laid out between them. The next second the Vod yanked his vibroknife from his hip, and started cutting off all of the general’s clothing. Kix pulled out his own knife and set about helping.

They find nothing Kix wasn’t already aware of.

Even before they had arrived to the hanger of the Resolute, he and the still unnamed medic had restarted General Skywalker’s heart twice. Immediately after, on both occasions, he had dropped into shock. They managed to stabilize him each time, but only just.

The tingle of passing through the hanger shields washed over Kix as the pilot maneuvered the gunship to a landing. He ignored this in favor of checking his patient’s vitals again.

The General had been doing okay before, so why—

Kix glared at the man’s sleep slack face. Then his eyes slid to one of the Vod’e who had picked them up.

No. This won’t work.

Does Kix want to risk the General on something as mundane as logic? Something asked.

Kix ground his teeth together, eyes narrowing. It was probably a good thing he still had his bucket on; his vod’e didn’t need to see him like this. He looked back at his General. His eyes lingered on the sweat streaking through the dust that had gathered on his skin from their dash through the catacombs, planting the bombs that would hopefully— and had— end the battle. Stop the death, of only for today.

Kix made his call.

Kix gestured for the trooper who had helped the shinies onto the ship to get closer. “Come here, vod. What’s your CT number?” His other hand reached for a new IV line.

~~~~~

Kix had been replaying everything again and again in his head. One of the benefits of an eidetic memory. The replays would follow him to his dreams now, but he couldn’t do anything else. There was no one else to treat, and even if there were, every time Kix tried to focus his eyes back on the real world, he was seeing double. For that same reason, he also couldn’t do the small mountain of datawork that was doubtlessly piling at his desk.

Kix needed to sleep, eat, to take care of himself, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to push against the hot, prickly weight draped over his shoulders. Every time he tried to do more then think about it, it almost got heavier, near dragging him back to his hard, uncomfortable chair. Kix didn’t need much encouragement to stay put.

He was going to have to explain, in words, why he chose to give his General a blood transfusion. Why he kept giving him blood, even after he had access to all of the ringer solution one human man could hold in his body. The blood was obviously harming him, what with the one hundred and three point eight degree fever, and his resulting delirium. IV solutions don’t do that to patients. IV solutions are as neutral as anything possibly can be in the medical field.

They hadn’t been working.

So Kix went back to the thing that had been ‘sort of’ working. The blood that had been half killing him, half sustaining him, instead of the fluids that were letting him die.

Rex had given too much blood. If Kix’s calculations, done after they had gotten back on the Resolute, were correct, Rex had let Kix drain almost a liter of his blood into their dying General. It was too much. Kix himself had given about half a liter. That had been pushing it, and he wasn’t too sure how much of his current exhaustion was from the missing blood.

While the General hadn’t shown signs of improvement from all that blood, he had gotten worse when Kix had switched him over to the fluids. Almost as if he was still loosing blood, for all that the only other injuries they had been able to find was a slightly twisted knee that really only needed rest and an ice pack.

In the end, General Skywalker was given just over nine point three liters of blood from no less then nineteen Vod’e before he stabilized. Besides Rex, all gave a little under half a liter.

He had a high grade fever of one hundred and three point eight, delirium, excessive sweating, shallow breathing, and pale, clammy skin. High iron content in the blood to the point of being almost dangerous, an extremely high white blood cell count though they had no way to know if they were his cells or one of his donors’, more then a few inflamed organs, and hives. Hives anywhere bacta touched him, including the spot some bright soul had decided to test Kix’s ‘theory’. On top of it all, he was officially unconscious. The only reason none of them gave him painkillers to ease his rest is due to the promise he had extracted from Kix on his first pre-battle examination. The only reason.

By the time the small team of medics working on him had gotten him stable, Kix was numb to everything except the yawning void of fear pulling on his bones. A silence settled on them as they stood around their patient’s bed, staring.

Coric was the one to shatter it. “Well.” He peeled off the sanitary glove, and balled them up in a fist. Kix felt him turn to look at him. “There isn’t anything else we can do for him. The rest is up to him.”

Kix washed his hands on habit, then found himself sinking into a waiting chair at General Skywalker’s bedside. He’d had to feel around for the soap dispenser, and he wasn’t entirely certain how he’d found the chair after, but...it was nice, to be off his feet.

It had been...a few hours since then.

Kix had been reduced to trying to think of how he could have done more, done better. Absolutely nothing comes to mind. Considering the options he had at the time, a tiny corner of Kix’s mind was actually kind of amazed the General had survived to this point. All that meant, however, was that he would die a long, slow death from bad blood, instead of a relatively painless one from blood loss.

Kix couldn’t do more for him. It was up to Anakin Skywalker and his rather impressive will power to decide if he could overcome this. If he didn’t—well.

The 501st would be without a General once more, and Kix would be decommissioned for his failure. The Kiminoans would make sure of that. On the bright side, Kix wouldn’t have to worry about much of anything anymore, so there’s that. Another nice thing is that lethal injection is a very quick way to die. On the other hand, it meant he would be leaving his di’kut vod’e behind to look after themselves, and the most experienced medic after himself is Coric, who is only a first aid specialist.

Kix rubbed his face tiredly. The weight curled more around his shoulders, like a really half-hearted prickly hug.

The only thing Kix could do right then was wait, hope, and—maybe—pray in hopes that something greater then one exhausted medic would save his general when he cannot.

The door of the medbay opened, then closed. Quiet steps, with a deliberate toe smack with each impact, moved toward Kix’s position.

Kix could recognize those steps in any state of mind.

Jesse’s boots scuffed the durasteel flooring right in Kix’s line of sight. Kix noted with a mildly concerning level of apathy that his boots are much cleaner than Kix’s. Freshly cleaned, if his unreliable vision can be trusted on even this small thing. Kix was going to need to clean his own armor soon.

“Kix?”

Kix focused back on the world around him, unclear on when he’d zoned out. He found Jesse crouched in front of him. If Kix knew anything in that moment it was that Jesse had a worried expression on his face, even if his bucket hid it from view. Gloves hands hovered near Jesse’s chest plate, palms toward Kix like they wanted to grab hold of him.

Kix blinked at him. He should move, acknowledge that he had heard Jesse at the very least, but it didn’t seem like the message was leaving his skull much less reaching his muscles.

Jesse moved closer, but still made no move to actually touch him. Kix dropped his eyes to those hands, and waited.

“What do you need, Kix?”

Kix counted each breath in and out of his lungs. He held that question in his mind, and waited for an answer. He did not know what he needed but something in him probably did. It came.

He needed the war to end, brothers to stop dying. He needed a life long vacation someplace safe and comfortable. He needed his datawork to be done, preferably by someone else. He needed food, a shower, and a really long nap. He needed the General to be okay.

Jesse couldn’t help with most of that.

So Kix rolled his jaw until he felt it reconnect to his brain, and said what Jesse could help him with.

“Shower.” It was almost slurred beyond recognition, but it left his mouth, and that was as good as it was going to be right now. Kix let it pass. “Food.” That was clearer. He hesitated on the next bit, because he knows what he will find in his dreams, and it wasn’t going to be him saving General Skywalker’s life. Kix also knew that he would have to face the firing squad eventually. The question was whether or not he wanted to do it on his own terms with company, or when he inevitably collapsed.

Let it never be said Kix was a coward.

He sighed, and let his eyes slide closed. “Sleep.”

Jesse shuffled forward until his poleyns knocked into Kix’s greaves. “Will you accept my help with those things?” He asked softly.

Kix knew he wasn’t going to be talking for a while, so he did the easier thing and tilted his body to the side until he could free a hand to hold out in reply instead. Jesse gripped his bare hand in his own gloved one, and dragged Kix’s arm over his armored shoulders. This threw off the careful balance Kix had been keeping to avoid crashing to the floor, but Jesse was prepared for that. He shouldered Kix’s slightly bulkier mass, and hulled him up to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist. Jesse’s spaulder dug unpleasantly into Kix’s armpit, but it was keeping him from face planting, and Kix moved the discomfort so far down his priority list it fell off the end. He let himself sag against his side. Jesse swayed to absorb his weight.

He felt Jesse’s helmet move. “Where’s your bucket?”

Kix waited for the memory of where he’d put it come to him. It did not. He conveyed this to Jesse.

Jesse just squeezed his side. “Well, you can get it in the morning, or I can. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Jesse took a step and waited patiently for Kix to remember that he was supposed to move with him before taking the next. Sometime between one step and the hallway, the hot, prickly weight around Kix’s shoulder pulled away with a squeeze.

Warnings/Tags: Kix | CT-6116, Angst, Pain, Death (description)

If I’m missing any warnings, let me know!

Wordcount: ~3k4 words

Heat, dust and the noise of explosives going off in the distance greet Kix as the gunship attempts to land on the forsaken planet. Its name has long left Kix’ memory by the time his gaze sweeps over the battlefield in front of him. And it doesn’t matter. Nor do the droids in the distance matter. Or at least not as much as his absolute priority of taking care of his injured brothers.

Having been trained to be a field medic for his entire life, the scene in front of him shouldn’t shock him as much as it does now. It is his first mission as a member of the 501st, yes, but he has already accomplished a couple of missions before. He has already gotten a taste of the grief and fear that you will be met with on the battlefield when you try your hardest to save the lives of thousands of your brothers.

But this mission seems to be on an entirely different scale and a small voice in his head wonders, whether such horrid sceneries will be what he will have to deal with for the rest of his life.

It doesn’t look well for his brothers up to now. Not at all. The dust that has been kicked off in the past hours obscures the view onto the enemy and the rocky ground that barely provides any cover doesn’t seem to be the most ideal place for an attack.

A short comics inspired by/based on GOING TO THE BAR by @anakinandthecaptainrex

---

i guess you guys like kix huh