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just-here-with-my-thoughts · 2 months

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Day 24: "I'm doing this because I care about you" / Victim Blaming

@febuwhump prompt: "I'm doing this because I care about you" @badthingshappenbingo prompt: Victim Blaming

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Cadet Crosshair, Cadet Hunter, Cadet Wrecker, Cadet Tech Cadet Batch as featured in my WIP fic 'Pieces of the People We Love' - haven't read it? All you need to know is that Crosshair is the oldest, and Hunter is the youngest! Word Count: ~1725 Click here to read on AO3

Synopsis: Crosshair is severe and unyielding when it comes to dealing with a headlice infestation.

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“Headlice treatment,” Tech read from the bottle’s label. “To be applied weekly until infestation is cleared.”

Wrecker grinned broadly, leaning back and linking his hands behind his head. Cropping his hair back to his scalp had some advantages.

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” said Crosshair, scowling as he caught himself itching his nape and forcing his hand back down to his side. “So what do you do? Just… use it like soap?”

“It is a little more complex than that,” said Tech, turning the bottle over. “The lotion has to be left on the hair to act, followed by a thorough fine combing to remove as many lice and eggs as possible.”

“You got eggs in your hair?” sniggered Wrecker. Crosshair punched him in the shoulder to shut him up.

Hunter took the bottle from Tech’s hands, reading the label for himself. “Do you… d’you have to do the combing step?” he asked with an apprehensive grimace.

“Yes,” said Tech firmly, snatching the bottle back. “And if you would comb your hair daily then it wouldn’t seem like such an ordeal to get the tangles out.”

Crosshair threw an arm round Hunter’s shoulders, ruffling his hair and feeling his fingers catch in the knots. “He’s right,” he said with a merciless grin. “This is going to be agony.”

Hunter moaned and clamped his hands to his head, shielding his matted hair. Wrecker bellowed a laugh at the distressed look on the youngest’s face.

“Let’s start with your hair, Hunter, since it’s likely to take the longest,” sighed Tech, eyeing Hunter’s shoulder-length locks. “At least Crosshair and I should have an easier time of the treatment.”

Hunter reluctantly allowed himself to be guided to the freshers, stripped to his waist and with a towel thrown round his shoulders.

“The lotion is to be applied directly to the scalp and left to saturate the roots,” explained Tech, cracking the seal on the bottle and twisting off the lid.

The pungent chemical scent hit all of them. Tech covered his mouth and Crosshair wrinkled his nose in disgust – even Wrecker, leaning in the doorway, wafted a hand in front of his face in objection.

Hunter paled under his tanned skin. Then he was shoving past his brothers, promptly emptying his stomach into the basin.

“Hunter!” and “Eugh!” and “Gross!” echoed simultaneously from the three other enhanced cadets. Tech quickly stoppered the bottle, although the acrid fumes lingered in the small fresher room, mingling with the stale smell of Hunter’s vomit.

The dark lineart of his tattoo stood out against Hunter’s pallor as he turned back to face the others, wide-eyed panic painted on his face. “You can’t put that stuff on my hair,” he pleaded, pointing shakily at the offending bottle. “You can’t. The smell will kill me!”

“Stop being so dramatic,” scolded Tech, although he backpedalled towards Wrecker and the door as a sympathetic wave of nausea made him gag. “We all have to have the treatment. Otherwise Crosshair and I will continue to catch headlice from you, even if we clear our own infestations.”

Crosshair chucked a towel at Hunter. “Clean the sink, then meet us back out here,” he said, eyes narrowed in a familiar glare. “I’ll think of something.”

Twenty minutes later Hunter slunk out of the fresher and back into the bunk room, his colour looking a little better.

Crosshair, Tech and Wrecker quickly straightened from where they had been clustered in deep discussion. Hunter shot them a mistrustful look.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ve got a plan,” announced Crosshair.

“And?”

Crosshair pounced.

It was only Hunter’s recent nausea that let Crosshair catch him unawares. The taller clone knocked his brother to the floor, immediately moving to grab his arms.

“Crosshair!” Hunter yelled, the name a curse as he bucked wildly and came close to shaking the older boy off. Crosshair responded by flipping Hunter to his front, quickly wrenching his arms up behind him and placing a knee firmly on his back, leaning all of his weight into it to keep Hunter pinned.

“If you can’t handle the lotion treatment,” said Crosshair, baring his teeth in a humourless grin as he fought to still his ferocious younger brother, “we’re going to go for the Wrecker special.”

Hunter wrenched his head to the side, gazing in terror up at Wrecker’s shaved head. “You wouldn’t dare,” he snarled, trying and failing to twist away.

“Wrecker?” said Crosshair, almost casually.

Wrecker grinned at his cue, cricking his neck and sauntering over with the clippers in one hand. Hunter renewed his struggle in earnest as the blades whirred to life.

“I feel somewhat uncomfortable at the idea of forcing this on Hunter against his will,” protested Tech from several feet away.

“If you’re not going to help just keep your mouth shut,” hissed Crosshair. Awkwardly he locked both Hunter’s arms with one of his and with his newly freed hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, holding his head in place.

“I’ll use the lotion! I’ll use it!” howled Hunter.

Crosshair scoffed. “You threw up just at the smell of it!”

“I’ll… I’ll put up with it! I can! Please, Cross–”

“And having your hair combed?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Crosshair!” Hunter’s pleas were rapidly dissolving into sobs. “I’ll do it, I’ll use the lotion, I’ll comb my hair. Please don’t cut it!”

Now Wrecker hesitated, crouched by Hunter’s head and looking to Crosshair for guidance. “Whaddya say, Cross? Gonna let him up?”

“To be applied weekly,” Crosshair quoted. “You’ve got long hair. It will take weeks.”

“I’ll do it!”

“I’m not having you throwing up and sick every week!” Crosshair dug his knee more firmly into Hunter’s spine, drawing a whimper of pain from the boy. “Your hair will grow back. Probably quicker than you’d get rid of the lice.”

For a moment he loosened his grip on Hunter’s hair, stroking his scalp almost soothingly. Then he twisted his fingers into place once more, glancing at Wrecker with a nod.

“I’m doing this because I care about you,” he ground out through gritted teeth, ignoring Hunter’s sobs as Wrecker started to shave great hanks of hair from Hunter’s head. “Better this than weeks of sickness.”

By the time they were done the humour had faded from the situation. Wrecker looked solemn as he made a final untidy pass over Hunter’s shorn head. Tech had retreated to his bunk, curled up with his back to the others and headphones turned up so loud the noise spilled into the now-quiet room.

Beneath Crosshair’s weight Hunter’s fight had subsided to piteous submission. Crosshair knew Hunter hated having the clippers near his head. Hated the noise, hated the faint electromagnetic field from their power-pack. They had cut Hunter’s hair once before. Only once.

Wrecker shut off the clippers and rocked back on his heels. “There. All done.”

Crosshair ran his hand across Hunter’s unevenly clipped hair, making a soothing noise. “Hey. It’s over. You’re okay,” he murmured softly, gently easing himself up to free the younger boy.

Hunter curled in on himself, hunched over his knees and wrapping his arms tightly round his chest.

“I hate you Crosshair.”

It was a venomous whisper. Crosshair looked taken aback and glanced at Wrecker for support.

“It’s better this way,” he repeated, but there was a note of doubt in his voice. “Better than the lotion making you sick.”

Hunter pushed to his feet, keeping his head tucked down and shoulders hunched defensively. He grabbed a clean shirt from his bunk without a word and let himself out of the room.

Crosshair watched him go in bewildered silence. Beside him Wrecker toyed with the clippers, and used his toe to nudge Hunter’s shorn locks into a single pile.

Glancing over, Tech removed his headphones and stood.

“If you’re quite done with that drama, perhaps we can treat our headlice now.”

Crosshair followed him to the bathroom without comment.

The scent of the lotion made him gag as he applied it, but he breathed shallowly through his mouth and scrubbed it into the roots of his close-cropped hair. Tech busied himself with his datapad, refusing to look at Crosshair. Crosshair didn’t like that. It gave him time to think.

He wouldn’t apologise. He wouldn’t. He was right. This was better for Hunter.

He cared for Hunter. Cared too much. Had felt a jolt of panic when the fumes had made Hunter throw up.

No matter how Hunter felt about it, this was the best option.

As he stood in the fresher, feeling sick to his stomach, he tried to tell himself it was the lotion that made his sensitive eyes water.

Not Hunter’s hurt and fear.

Not the way Hunter had fled without a backwards glance.

“Crosshair? Time to comb your hair.”

He followed Tech’s instructions numbly, scraping the fine-toothed comb through his silvery hair in careful sections until his whole scalp prickled. Then he leaned his head over the sink, lathering shampoo into his hair and rinsing it again and again until the chemical smell no longer lingered.

Until he thought the smell no longer lingered. Who knew what Hunter would think.

“It’s Hunter’s fault,” he announced, unprompted. “If he didn’t have such long hair it would have been easier to treat. Probably wouldn’t have caught lice in the first place.”

“Do you really believe that?” asked Tech cooly. He kept his attention fixed on his own reflection, combing through his hair with painstaking precision.

“Yes,” snarled Crosshair defensively. Yes, he did believe it. Had to believe it.

He busied himself towelling his hair roughly, so he didn’t have to look at Tech as he asked his next question.

“Hunter will get over this, right?”

Tech was silent until Crosshair peeked out from under the towel. He was staring at Crosshair in the mirror above the sink.

“Hunter’s hair will grow back,” said Tech, in a flat tone of voice that filled Crosshair with dread.

The young engineer grabbed his own towel and moved to the door.

“His trust… I don’t know.”

Crosshair watched Tech go. Watched the empty doorway for a while. Eventually he moved to the door and shut it, engaging the lock.

The privacy gave him chance to sift through his thoughts.

He sat with his back to the door for a long time, listening for Hunter’s return.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday24 #“i'm doing this because i care about you”#badthingshappenbingo #victim blaming #the bad batch #tbb fanfic #cadet batch #headlice

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