ᴄʟᴏɴᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

Worried (TBB and READER)

When Y/N is injured, they try to hide the severity of it, causing the Bad Batch to worry.

This one is quite a bit longer than the others (2,237 words).  I'm trying out a newer style.  I hope y'all like it ^^

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Consciousness hit you subtly and you groaned, setting both feet on the floor, rubbing your eyes. Yesterday was one that you didn't want to remember, yet it came back to you in an instant. The darkness. A long breath. You made your body stand, though each sore, aching muscle protested. One step and your right leg gave out, flashing the memory of your fall. Your lips let loose a whimper. Stumbling, you got up, a hand found the far wall so your face wouldn't have to meet the floor.

You caught your breath, wincing. The next attempt to stand on two feet left you grimacing and defeated. It also sent a familiar nausea your way, and you fought the urge to vomit because your stomach was empty. Regurgitating stomach acid was very unpleasant.

Stubbornness made you try again without being as gentle. Perhaps the pain would go away soon. Yesterday, when you'd been hurt, you instantly lost the contents of your stomach. This struck the entire squad by surprise as you possessed a stomach of steel. Nothing could make you vomit. They brought you back to the ship and you passed out the moment your head hit the pillow of the lowest bunk. It wasn't your bunk, but they didn't want to fight you trying to climb. The last thing you remembered was seeing the look of concern in Tech's eyes your focus waned.

Fighting the urge to cry out, you limped into the front of the ship. Each and every step made you sicker. Your fists were balled at your sides. Pride encouraged the poker face you plastered on as you went into the cockpit. They didn't need to see you wimping out on them.

"That's the thing, Hunter. We'll be out of supplies in..." Tech trailed off, squinting at the newly arrived form. You nodded a greeting and found a seat, uncomfortably aware of the four sets of eyes on you.

"Go on,"

"You should be resting," he stated.

"I'm not running, am I?"

He frowned at you, then at his beloved data pad. "We'll be out of supplies in two weeks. It's time we stop back by Kamino to restock."

"How long has it been?" Hunter muttered, giving you a glance.

"Based on each solar—"

"A long time," you hummed. You leaned forward on your elbows, but quickly retracted, finding a sensitive bruise on one elbow. "I'd estimate two and a half months."

Tech paused, gears at work behind his goggles, "You're almost correct. Two months and nineteen days. How'd you know that?"

A shrug and tilt of your head, "I have a good internal clock."

"My internal clock says we've been gone for forever!" Wrecker exclaimed. "I almost lost track of how many successful missions we've done."

"Twenty-nine," you muttered, picking at a nail.

You knew that your uncanny skill with numbers freaked Wrecker out, so on average, you tried to keep them in when conversing with him. Tech was constantly testing your mind, finding you intriguing. Not that you didn't enjoy fascinating the genius, but the attention repelled you. You'd begun spitting out numbers that were either slightly off or completely wrong. Those instances confused the man, making him chalk up the accurate numbers as good guesses.