86 dogma and tup

rowansparrow:

86. 

“You broke my nose!”

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On the night in question, there was a thunderstorm on Kamino. Three cadets had been trying to sneak out after lights out. They wanted to see the rain, feel it on their skin. Dogma watched the three brothers creep out of bed, all hushed whispers and socked feet, then swung out of bed himself, seeking out the nearest Training Officer to report the three cadets. 

The next morning, after the cadets had been punished with cleaning every latrine in the facility – only the first day of their week long punishment – they cornered Dogma before their morning drills. 

“Sell out your own brothers, Dogma?” One of them sneered, shoving him hard in the chest. “Where’s your loyalty? Did you lose it somewhere, between licking one officer’s boot to the other?”

“He hasn’t got any loyalty!” Another jeered. “Got no sense of adventure in him. Good boy, Dogma, always doing what he’s told like the dog he is.” 

The remark was followed by a swift gut punch. Dogma didn’t register it fast enough to dodge it, and crumpled in on himself. 

“I -.” He coughed. “I was following instructions… we have orders -.” 

“Brothers come first, Dogma!” The third cadet finally spoke, delivering a swift kick to Dogma’s prostrate form. “You’ve got to be defective, going against your own brothers.” He shook his head in disgust. “Get up.” 

Dogma made no attempt to move, and the cadet kicked him again. “I said get up!”

The cadet knelt down by Dogma’s face, pulled his lips back in a feral smile. “What’s the matter, Dogma? I thought you liked following orders?” 

“I don’t take orders from you.” 

The cadet whistled. Another chuckled from behind him. “We’ll see about that, dog.” 

He straightened up, lifting his boot to stomp on Dogma when a tightly curled fist came out of nowhere. Where the cadet had once been standing, he now lay flat on his back on the floor, clutching his face, rivulets of blood pouring out from between his fingers. 

“You broke my nose!” He bellowed thickly. “You kriffing piece of bantha shit-.” 

“Make one more move and I’ll hit you so hard your teeth will rattle for a month.” A sharp, clear voice cut through the haze of pain Dogma felt. “Anybody else want a broken bone?” 

The other two cadets knelt down to their ringleader, helping him to his feet before darting off down the hall towards the med-bay, shouting threats over their shoulders. Dogma squinted up at his savior, watching the other cadet kneel down beside him. 

“Don’t move too much,” he said softly. “Your ribs might be broken.” 

Dogma felt soft hands gather up the fabric of his fatigues, carefully pulling it up and running delicate fingers across his abdomen. He let out a sharp breath through his teeth at the contact. 

“You wouldn’t get your ass kicked so much if you’d just let things go.” The clone commented, a sharp edge to his voice. Dogma studied the brother, took in the too-familiar face, set apart only by the shagginess of his hair, tickling his earlobes, at this length. 

“Your hair’s too long, Tup.” He mumbled. Tup jabbed him in the ribs, and Dogma gasped sharply. 

“Your ribs aren’t broken, just bruised.” Tup snapped back. “And I’m growing it out. General Shakk Ti said I could.” 

“It’s against regulation-.” 

“For kriff’s sake, Dogma, how ‘bout a thank you?” 

Tup helped Dogma to his feet, let Dogma lean on him a bit. 

“Thanks.” Dogma grumbled half-heartedly. “We’re going to be late for drills.” 

Tup rolled his eyes, shook his head fondly. “Yeah, probably.” He gave Dogma the once over again. “Feeling alright?” 

“Yeah.” Dogma muttered, pulling away from his brother. “Thank you,” He said, emphatically this time. “I mean it.” 

Tup smiled, pushed his bangs out of his eyes, and followed Dogma down the hall towards drills.