Star Wars: Spirit of Survival #Watty's2017

Chapter Seven-Fugitive

Aboard the Ravage,
18 years BBY

"Spirit, you awake?"

Spirit looked up at Milo quietly and nodded. The younger clone gave him a quiet look that said he couldn't sleep again and Spirit rolled onto his back, allowing Milo to crawl onto his cot and snuggle into his side. Putting his arm around the boy, Spirit laid his head back against the rolled up blanket he'd been using as a pillow. He felt Milo settle down and closed his eyes, but felt the boy shift again after a moment and looked up. Spirit cracked his eyes open and looked down again.

"They said they were taking someone away tomorrow, I'm scared," Milo said softly. Spirit pulled him a little closer to try and comfort him. All of them knew that if someone left there were only two places they were going, back to the slave market, or into that cold darkness known as death. Usually, it was the latter.

"They won't take you, I promise," Spirit whispered in a thin voice. "I won't let them," he added. Milo again looked up at him with soft hazel eyes. The kid was brave most of the time and he certainly had personality, but there was still a scared little kid underneath all of that who needed comfort and reassurance as well.

"Last time you fought them they burned you," Milo whispered. His young voice was shaking a little but Spirit shifted and wrapped his other arm around Milo, hugging the boy close.

"I-I know," he whispered. It was true, he got burned with the water at every move of resistance he made, but what little resistance still existed inside him told him that he wouldn't let anyone touch this boy. He could care less if he had to grovel at Folter's feet for the rest of his life, as long as Milo was safe.

Milo nodded quietly and curled up into Spirit's arms, resting quietly as Spirit hugged him close and closed his eyes again. He waited until he heard Milo's quiet breathing even out and become deeper, indicating the boy was asleep before he himself dozed off.

////

The next morning Spirit woke up and found Milo still sleeping soundly in his arms. He cracked a tiny smile and grabbed the makeshift blanket pillow, pulling it over the boy's sleeping form before he sat up and winced at the pain in his hands. Any contact with anything still hurt the raw skin that bled frequently, but Spirit couldn't just not use his hands. He needed them, and he'd learned to bear the pain silently so as not to anger his masters.

He looked up when the door swung open at the usual time and their breakfast of stale bread was thrown to the floor. Spirit stayed back and let the other's eat, keeping close to Milo until they came for him. When they did, he quietly got up and managed the few steps it took to get to the door before allowing the guards to grab him and haul him up the steps. There was no point to resistance anymore. They owned him, and it was bad behavior to show disrespect to the person that fed you, clothed you, and made sure you had somewhere to sleep.

The guards pulled him down the hall as Spirit took faltering steps to keep up with them. Part of him feared he was the one they were getting rid of, but part of him had comfort in knowing that if he was the one they no longer wanted, at least Milo was still for the most part safe. He would've much rather helped the boy get out, though, and suffered the consequences of that.

Spirit felt them shove him and he tripped, unprepared for the rough movement. He collapsed to his knees in front of Folter and put his head down, waiting in silence. Folter stepped to the side and kicked him in the ribs slightly.

"Get up," Folter said. Spirit nodded quietly and pulled himself onto his feet. He ignored the pang of pain that spiked through his chest when Folter kicked him. He wanted to be good. Didn't want to be a bad slave.