Hunter And Crosshair - Blog Posts

Cadet Hunter & Crosshair! Just started drawing, but these two are definitely my favorites 😍

If you like, also check out my matching story of the two cuties named „The invisible bond of heart“ on https://archiveofourown.org/works/55820524/chapters/141724516

Comments & Kudos are appreciated ❤️

Finally 🙌🏼❤️

Now all that‘s missing is a hug with Cross 🥹🥹

What else do you need to recover than Lula, new toothpicks, a beautiful sunset on Pabu, regrowing hair and brotherly love?

Come back home Crossy ❤️🩶

Hunter chatting up Crosshair during a break, one of his dumb jokes even gets the man to smile for a second

i reach for you in the night (you're still my brother, after all)

@summer-of-bad-batch week 12 prompt 'Nightmares'

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Hunter, Crosshair Set in Season 3, just before they go back to Barton IV in The Return Word Count: ~2585 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Since his return from Tantiss, things between Hunter and Crosshair have been nothing but tense. But even in his anger, Hunter is unable to ignore how distressed Crosshair is when he is trapped in a nightmare.

Written by request for @theproblemwithstardust after I made a throwaway comment in "Forget I asked" about Hunter holding Crosshair through his nightmares. Specifically, the request was phrased as "well if it’s in the hair braiding universe, and before Crosshair left Pabu… what about when he first got back to the squad with Omega (after Tantiss) and was still sort of fighting with Hunter. Maybe between them all meeting up again and The Return? I bet Crosshair might have nightmares while he’s stressed about returning to Barton IV 🤔 (and Hunter wouldn’t let him suffer even if they’re fighting)"

Hunter was dragged from the edge of sleep by that ill-defined sense that told him something was amiss, even if he couldn’t put his finger on quite what.

Tech had always told him that his trouble-sense was nothing to do with his enhancement, and everything to do with his leadership skills. Sometimes he wondered if it wasn’t a bit of both.

Now, as he stretched his senses out through the sleeping ship, he was certain it was the manipulated genetics that were at play. He should be able to sense three sleeping bodies – Omega, Wrecker, Crosshair.

But he could hear erratic breathing. Feel the shudders of a trembling body vibrating through the stack of narrow racks to reach him.

Not Omega then.

Still, he cracked an eye open and glanced up at the curtained gunner’s mount just to reassure himself. The curtain was motionless, and he could sense nothing from beyond it that would cause him concern.

One of his brothers then.

There was a time when he’d known all their life-signs so intimately that it wouldn’t even have taken him this long to sense whose distress had woken him.

Momentarily derailed by regret, he covered his face with one hand, drawing in his own shuddering breath. Then, steeling himself, he pushed sleep from his mind and sat up.

He was in the middle rack. Wrecker’s breathing beneath him was deep and even, and when he peeked over the edge he could see his brother fast asleep in open-mouthed exhaustion.

That left Crosshair.

Hooking one hand under the rack above to steady himself, Hunter leaned out and peered up at the form on the bunk overhead. A thin grey blanket was wrapped around narrow shoulders which twitched and spasmed with whatever midnight haunting tormented his brother.

He wasn’t awake, that was for sure. Just a nightmare.

Hunter paused, half-way to retreating back to his own narrow berth.

Just a nightmare.

Something bitter caught in his chest, so sharp it almost choked him. He was angry at Crosshair. So angry.

Yet at the same time the knife of guilt twisted in his gut, unable to ignore his distress.

Not now he could do something about it.

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, breathed hard through his nose as he banished the feeling that stung unbidden at the edge of his conscience. He wouldn’t feel bad. He wouldn’t.

They had been separated. So many light years and the Empire a gulf between them. He didn’t have to feel responsible for what Crosshair had been through at their hands.

Crosshair had chosen that for himself. Hunter had given him another option, and he hadn’t taken it.

Leaving him on that platform, skyline streaked with destruction as Kamino burned, had torn his heart in two.

But it had been Crosshair’s choice.

No chips. No control. Hunter knew that now, no matter how he’d wanted to believe otherwise at the time. Crosshair had looked at him with that bruised expression, hurt and bitterness and spite etched into the stern lines of his face, and he had turned his back on them. Refused to consider rejoining them, even when the Empire had bombed the city out from under them.

Hunter tried to summon that core of anger and hold onto it. But it was a slippery thing, the spiky edges of his hurt made slick with the sounds of Crosshair’s suffering.

Because suffering he was, trapped at the mercy of whatever memory or vision stalked his sleeping hours.

If he could just quiet the rest of his senses enough, Hunter would be able to feel the lightning-storm of firing synapses that danced in the sniper’s mind, neural pathways surely altered by torture and conditioning that he couldn’t even begin to conceive of.

Not his brother’s mind any more. Not as he’d known it before.

But still his brother who tossed and whimpered in his sleep like he had when they were cadets.

Hunter clenched his teeth so hard that the tendons in his temples ached. Then finally he made his choice and swung out of his bunk once more, carefully tucking his feet onto the lower rack without disturbing Wrecker so he could stand up with his elbows linked on Crosshair’s bunk.

“Hey. Cross.”

The nickname slipped out by accident. Some deep-rooted instinct had set it at the tip of his tongue without conscious thought, and it had slid out before he had time to click his teeth shut and bite back that instinct towards sympathy.

He didn’t feel sympathy for his brother, he reminded himself. Crosshair had suffered, but no more than they had in his absence. No more than Omega had, taken captive by the Empire and held against her will.

“Crosshair.” The name was a grunt, and this time it was accompanied by digging his knuckles between Crosshair’s shoulder blades. An open hand to his back felt too soothing, and Hunter wasn’t ready for that gesture yet.

Crosshair woke with a flinch, spinning towards the source of the perceived threat with his hands up defensively. He didn’t cry out; was dead silent except for a breathy gasp inhaled as he surfaced from his nightmare, and the ragged breathing that followed.

And his eyes. Hunter had been waiting for a scowl at being woken, that same dark, closed glare that Crosshair directed at him for every one of his waking hours.

No. Crosshair’s eyes were wide and frightened, tear-glaze glinting in the darkness. Hunter startled at the way it constricted his heart, gaze locked on the look of slack panic on Crosshair’s pale, narrow face.

Several blinks cleared the child-like panic from Crosshair’s face, and Hunter watched in real-time as the veil of discontent settled back into place, defences quickly rebuilt. Crosshair’s shoulders hunched protectively, open hands which had shielded him on instinct as he woke bunching to fists and folding across his chest.

“What is it?” he hissed, some of the displeasure of his words lost between panting breaths that he still hadn’t managed to regulate.

Hunter let his own frown fall into place to match Crosshair’s, wiping away any evidence of that intuitive concern he had felt to see his brother so distressed as he woke. He chewed on his answer a moment, then offered it gruffly into the silence between them.

“You were having a nightmare.” Then, as though that weren’t explanation enough, “Thought I’d wake you from it. You’re welcome.”

He couldn’t help the bitter sarcasm that leached into his voice. Crosshair had that effect on him, even when he was trying to be nice.

“I didn’t ask you to,” spat Crosshair, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Like he was looking for Hunter’s angle of attack.

“No, you didn’t,” agreed Hunter with a bite of anger in his words. “Because you were too busy whimpering like a tubie.”

It felt dangerous to be stood on the edge of the bunk like this, facing down Crosshair’s sharp tongue and acerbic mood. He couldn’t predict how his brother was going to react.

He’d done it often enough when they were cadets.

But they’d known how to trust each other back then.

Crosshair made no move to lash out at him. Nor did he roll away, turn his back to Hunter and ignore him. His gaze might bleed with distrust, but he didn’t look away from Hunter’s face.

Hunter waited for another agonising minute, both of them locked in mutual silence. Neither was ready to be the first one to break their rapport, however tense it may be.

He sighed and reached out again, this time lightly cuffing Crosshair’s shoulder.

“Move over.”

“What?” Crosshair’s question was acid even as he complied.

Hunter levered himself up onto the top bunk, shoving at Crosshair’s body until he sat, then settled himself alongside. On the top rack they didn’t have space to sit up fully, so he slouched until he didn’t have to bend his head to stop it hitting the roof of the Marauder and dangled his legs off the edge of the bunk.

A wordless snort of displeasure punctuated Crosshair’s own movements, but he copied Hunter until he too was slid down in the rack, arms folded across his body so he was hugging himself protectively.

“What’re the nightmares about?” Hunter asked, voice rough and low in the night.

A long, long pause before, “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

“If you’re back with us, it concerns me.”

Hunter wasn’t sure if he allowed the edge of command into his voice, of if it happened subconsciously. All he knew was that with Crosshair back, wrapping himself in the distance of being the Sergeant made things easier.

It wasn’t the right thing to say; there was no ‘right thing to say’ between them right now, time and distance and hurt an unscaleable wall between them. He felt the electric thrum of tension through Crosshair’s body.

“This really doesn’t.”

Hunter let it rest for a moment, before trying a more direct question.

“Is it about the planet we’re going to?”

From the way Crosshair immediately stiffened, the answer was yes. But Crosshair’s reply was, “It won’t affect the mission.”

Hunter wanted to curse. There were secrets hiding in the silences between Crosshair's words, and he would tear them out of him with teeth and nails if he had to.

Eventually.

For now, they needed Crosshair and what he knew about Tantiss. That meant he couldn’t risk starting a fight; the kind of argument that would lead to Crosshair walking out, refusing to help them.

And Crosshair needed him.

“You should sleep,” he said with a resigned sigh. “We need you rested for whatever we’re going to find at this Imperial base tomorrow.”

Crosshair merely sniffed, and didn’t move.

Hunter would have prompted again, but now he could feel a faint vibration through the bunk once more. He glanced down; noticed the shaking of Crosshair’s hand where it was tucked under his opposite elbow.

“Cross.” This time the soft-spoken nickname was deliberate. “Want me to stay up here a while?”

“No,” came the sullen response, although Crosshair made no move to pull away, or eject him from the bunk.

Hunter bristled, violence itching at his fingertips. He had consciously chosen to set aside his anger to wake Crosshair from his nightmares, only to be met with his brother’s difficult behaviour. What he wouldn’t give to be able to fight it out, like when they were cadets.

“Fine,” he muttered, his words a low growl. “I’m going to sleep.”

He pushed to the edge of the bunk, ready to slip back down into his own rack. Hesitated, then grunted back over his shoulder, “Wake me if you need me.”

Crosshair’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. He didn’t reply.

Hunter slipped silently back into the middle rack, settling on his side with his back to the rest of the Marauder. He tried to let go of the tension that coiled through him from confronting Crosshair, breathing deeply in an effort to trick his body into relaxing.

All it achieved was to enhance how aware he was of his surroundings, the faint scent of cortisol permeating the air. He had always been able to sense his brothers’ stress, but now it made him ache with inner conflict.

Again, Tech had called it his leadership instincts, but Hunter knew how the line between his enhancements and his role as squad leader blurred. Being able to pick up on the most subtle signs of distress had given him a preternatural ability to appear at his brothers’ sides before they even knew they needed him.

And it was hard, so hard, to lay there and ignore the distress he could feel radiating from Crosshair, sharpened now he was awake. Guilt licked at his conscience once more, wondering if it would have been better to let the sniper remain in the grip of his nightmares, if waking him only meant he would dwell on things.

He had tried to do the right thing. Except everything seemed to be backfiring on him since Crosshair returned.

He heard shifting above him, listened closely to Crosshair’s movements. There was no question that he was planning to lay awake until he was sure his brother had settled into a dreamless sleep.

A light touch brushed against the back of his shoulder. Hunter jumped, turning so quickly that his legs tangled in his blanket.

Crosshair’s arm dangled over the edge of the bunk, fingers pulled back into a loose cage as though he had flinched away after touching Hunter’s shoulder.

Hunter let out of the breath he’d been holding, settling onto his back. He watched the edge of the bunk for a moment, waiting to see if any more of Crosshair would appear. When none did, he raised his forearm up, elbow finding a resting place on the edge of the rack, and let their fingers brush.

A nervous twitch greeted him, Crosshair’s hand convulsing as though he was going to pull away entirely. Hunter held his hand still; held his breath. Waited, agonisingly, for his brother to make the next move.

Slowly, as if he didn’t trust the contact, Crosshair’s fingers threaded through Hunter’s – loosely at first, then as Hunter gave a faint squeeze, grabbing tightly enough to squash the bones of Hunter’s hand. Hunter merely rolled onto his side, bringing his other hand to cup his elbow and support his vertically held arm.

He didn’t say anything. Nor did Crosshair.

But the grip of his hand was vice-like, thumb tracing a deliberate track along the back of Hunter’s knuckles. Hunter could feel the unbidden tremor ripple through their joined hands.

Something aching and hollow opened up inside Hunter at that simple point of contact. Things were broken between them. Their bond, once so strong, torn asunder by betrayal and separation.

Pillowing his head on his upper arm, Hunter slid his hand up inside Crosshair’s wrist to grasp his forearm.

“I’m here, Cross.” It was mumbled half-into his own arm, voice thick with conflicting emotions. “’M here.”

Crosshair wasn’t okay. Hunter could hear it in his erratic breathing, in the racing of his heartbeat. He could feel in in the hand extended, seeking comfort.

And Hunter wasn’t okay either. He hadn’t been, for a long time, and had been doing a good job of squashing the uncertainty down to doggedly keep going, one day at a time.

He didn’t trust Crosshair enough to open himself up about any of that. Wasn’t sure if he’d ever trust Crosshair like that again.

But right now, in the dark and the quiet and with the tenuous bond of their joined hands, none of that mattered.

He hadn’t forgotten the betrayal.

He hadn’t forgotten the hurt.

But just for a moment, he could look past it and see that his brother needed him.

Hunter stroked his thumb across Crosshair’s pulse point, feeling the way Crosshair’s hand went tight around his own in response.

Holding hands wouldn’t stop the nightmares. But with every passing moment Crosshair’s breathing calmed a little more, slipping into a more regular pattern as sleep tugged at him once more.

An undercurrent of anger still hummed through Hunter’s veins. There was so much he wanted to shake out of Crosshair.

But that would wait, until tomorrow at least.

For now, he would lay here, his hand wrapped around his brother’s, and remember a time when Crosshair had been his world.

Lay there and achingly, yearningly, wonder if they would ever get back there.