Chapter Text
It takes Seokjin a second to realise Namjoon is carrying something when he enters the medbay. It takes him another to realise that it’s a person.
Not just any person, no, but an M-trooper.
His stomach turns at the sight of the indigo plastoid uniform, anger and worry crashing into him.
“Namjoon, what are you doing?” He hisses, torn between rushing towards his crew member and getting the fuck away from the soldier. His heart races in his chest.
“They need help,” Namjoon says, as though that explains anything.
“Not from me, he doesn’t,” Seokjin splutters, his attention briefly shifting to Namjoon’s physical state. He scans him for injuries, his gaze wandering over him in search for blood stains or limp limbs. Thankfully, he seems unharmed – although boarding the enemy onto their ship could count as a sign of concussion.
“Did you hit your head?” Seokjin asks offhandedly, already moving onto an assessment of the threat. The M-trooper is draped across Namjoon’s back, Namjoon’s bicep bulging where he’s clasped his arm under the soldier’s knees to keep them steady. With every imperial soldier looking perfectly identical, it’s hard to imagine a face underneath the helmet. Jimin always claims it makes them easier to kill.
“What? Hyung, no–”
They’re interrupted by a staticky whimper — soft and pitiful despite its radio-like sound. It’s not until Namjoon starts waving his hand apologetically that Seokjin realises it’s coming from the M-suit.
“Sorry, sorry, let me put you down,” Namjoon rambles, already lowering the soldier onto one of the cots.
Seokjin clenches his fists. The mere sight of the uniform makes his skin crawl, the red insignia engraved in the shoulder pads like a thorn in his eye. At least the soldier lost their blaster on their way onto the Bangtan.
“You’re okay. Hyung here is a doctor. He’ll help—”
“Does Yoongi know?” Seokjin cuts Namjoon off, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Not yet,” Namjoon responds. He avoids Seokjin’s eye, fiddling with the straps attached to the bed.
Seokjin sighs in exasperation. He can already feel a headache coming on. “Namjoon-ah, you can’t just smuggle people on board. Especially not an M-trooper. Surely you know that.”
“Hyung, please.” Namjoon turns towards him, his eyes wide and innocent. “They’re hurt.”
This time, it’s Seokjin who looks away. It’s hard not to crack in the face of Namjoon’s unrelenting empathy, hard not to feel like a monster when Namjoon pleads with him for mercy. Namjoon is one of the few crew members who joined out of a determination to do good, rather than a thirst for vengeance.
Seokjin swallows. He forces his gaze onto the red insignia and reminds himself of the blood that has been spilled in its name. Some of it here in this very room, on this very bed, with Seokjin struggling in vain to stop the bleeding.
Voice hard, he turns to Namjoon. “Judging by the footage I saw, so are about two hundred of their colleagues. Taking out as many M-troopers as possible was one of the goals of the mission.”
Namjoon, of course, doesn’t relent. “Hyung, I know that. But this one–this one’s different, okay? Please just trust me. I didn’t mean for them to get hurt. I would have—they would have—it was one of Jimin’s bombs. I think there’s some shrapnel inside their body.”
“I can’t treat them without Yoongi’s permission.”
Namjoon rolls his eyes, making Seokjin bristle. “Of course, you can. Since when do you await orders?” He holds his hands out placatingly. “Look, Yoongi-hyung is busy with the aftermath of the mission. I don’t want to bother him with this right now. If he gets mad, I promise I’ll take full responsibility.”
Seokjin clenches his jaw, his shoulders squared. “Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me,” he hisses. “And I don’t care about getting reprimanded by Yoongi. I’m a doctor. I care about safety and bringing the enemy on board is not—”
Namjoon’s wireless beeps. “I’m sorry, hyung, I have to go. Taehyung needs a hand before take-off. Please take care of them for me.”
Before Seokjin can protest, Namjoon is rushing out of the medbay, his cargo left groaning on one of the beds. Seokjin grits his teeth, annoyed. Regardless of the outcome of this situation, he’ll have a talk with Yoongi about discipline and respect on board.
He stalks towards the bed, careful not to let his guard down. He doesn’t think Namjoon realises just how high-tech M-suits are. A blaster is not an M-trooper’s only weapon. He won’t let himself be fooled by the whimpers filtering through the helmet. Even if they are real, he’s not about to pity an Empire Murder Machine.
Of course, he could dose the soldier up with painkillers. It’s what he would do for any other patient in this state. But where’s the fun in that? Besides, he’d rather save his contraband analgesics for his crew members. No, he decides, they’ll do this the old school way.
Once he’s within reach of the M-trooper, he grabs hold of their right wrist and fastens the cuffs attached to the bed in case of emergency. The M-trooper jerks in surprise, their voice box crackling with a broken gasp when their left wrist gets the same treatment.
Seokjin ignores the way it’s bent at an odd angle. He’ll consider it vengeance for the crimes this soldier has no doubt committed.
A little more at ease now that the soldier’s hands are trapped, he takes his time strapping down their legs. The next step is getting off the suit, although Seokjin has no idea how to go about that, especially with the soldier tied up. He figures he’ll start with the accessible parts and untie and retie his unwanted guest as he goes.
Reaching for the dark blue helmet, he starts rattling off the speech they taught him in med school. “Soldier, you have been captured and brought onto the Bangtan. I am Dr. Kim Seokjin, charged with–”
He falls silent when the helmet comes off. The soldier looks young, younger than any of the Bangtan crew. His hair sticks to his forehead in long, sweaty locks, and his face is scrunched up in pain, involuntary whimpers tumbling from his lips. His cheeks are wet with tears, his eyes wide with fear. Every inch of him screams terror and torment, their intensity so staggering Seokjin stumbles back in shock.
“Oh goodness.”
A wet sob startles him into action, his hatred no match for his bleeding heart after all.
“God, fuck.” His hands hover above the suit, suddenly desperate to get it off. He can’t ease the man’s pain without seeing its cause. “Tell me, how does this work?”
When the man doesn’t respond, he places himself squarely in his vision.
“Soldier—”
The young man flinches at Seokjin’s stern voice.
“—how do I get this off? I can’t treat you with the suit on.”
He gazes up at Seokjin, not an ounce of understanding in his face. There is only pure, unadulterated fear.
Seokjin hates to admit it, but suddenly he understands Namjoon’s gut feeling. Without thinking twice, he reaches into the cabinet beside him and grabs a dose of anodyne. The soldier’s out before he even realises Seokjin injected him.
݁⋆⭒˚.⋆
Outside, word about Namjoon’s little stowaway spreads around the Bangtan. Jimin nearly breaks down the door to the medbay when he finds out.
“Seokjin said he doesn’t speak Standard Intergalactic,” Hoseok reminds him from where he’s sat at the table.
“That just means he’s a paid mercenary, rather than a capital recruit,” Jimin huffs.
“We don’t know that,” Namjoon cuts in. “When I saw him, he wasn’t shooting anyone. I think he was trying to get away. He wasn’t—”
“So he’s a coward,” Jimin shoots back, one eyebrow raised. “Your point?”
“Look, we can still kill him if it comes to it,” Taehyung interjects, ignoring Namjoon’s protests. “We outnumber him 6 to 1.”
Yoongi holds up his hands placatingly. "Let’s hold off murdering anyone until we get a clear idea of the situation.”
Jimin huffs in frustration. “The situation is that hyung brought an enemy onto—”
“That’s enough from you,” Yoongi says sternly. “I understand that you’re worried, but your attitude isn’t helping us right now.”
Jimin clenches his jaw but keeps quiet, discontent emanating from him in waves. Yoongi ignores it, turning instead to his engineer.
“Hoseok-ah, do you still have that translation device we bought in Lonia back when Achu was travelling with us?”
Hoseok nods, tearing his concerned gaze away from Jimin. Head tilted, he takes a moment to think. “It’s no longer in working order, but I should be able to fix it up by tomorrow morning.”
“That’s great. Thanks, Hobi,” Yoongi says. He runs a hand through his hair, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. His head pounds with a migraine that is getting worse by the second, and the four sets of eyes on him feel like needles prickling into his skin. “Let’s wait for Hoseok’s translation device before jumping to conclusions, okay? Until then, I want at least one extra person keeping an eye on the medbay.”
“I’ll do it,” Jimin volunteers, already pushing his chair back. Yoongi nods, too tired to protest.
God, trust Kim Namjoon to smuggle an enemy onto their ship. Yoongi sends him a meaningful look, satisfied when Namjoon lowers his gaze in response. Besides the obvious misconduct of bringing back an M-trooper, Yoongi is concerned by Seokjin’s complaints about Namjoon’s disrespectful attitude. The two of them will talk later — in private — when Yoongi’s headache has subsided enough for him to be able to think straight. For now, keeping their unfortunate guest confined to the medbay and leaving Namjoon feeling scolded will have to do.
݁⋆⭒˚.⋆
Seokjin wakes up to the sound of sniffling. It cuts through the late night silence of the medbay, the only other sound the soft humming of the LED emergency lights. He blinks away the last dregs of sleep, rubbing his eyes as he pushes away the blanket and swings his legs off the bed. His fingers find the control panel blindly, and the room is bathed with blue light.
The sniffles transform into a poorly smothered whine, drawing Seokjin’s attention to the occupied bed. Two wide, red-rimmed eyes meet his gaze, peeking past a mess of brown hair. The soldier is pressed against the mattress, flattening himself as much as possible as though that could hide him from Seokjin’s gaze.
Seokjin’s heart aches at the sight. No one’s ever looked at him with that much fear before.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks softly, mindful of Jimin out like a light in the corner of the room. He’s not sure when Jimin dozed off — his crew mate had been determined to stand guard all night — but Seokjin can’t say he’s surprised. They prepped this mission for weeks. Usually, they’d all be winding down in their own rooms now, sleeping off the exhaustion.
“Let’s see if there’s anything I can do for you,” Seokjin hums while he approaches the bed. He knows their guest can’t understand him, but he’s hoping his tone of voice will convey his good intentions at least.
The stranger creeps further back as Seokjin comes nearer, his lips pressed together to stave off his sobs. Seokjin sees them wrack his battered body, his chest seizing pitifully. The soldier is shaking all over, his cheeks glistening with tears underneath the blue LED lights.
“Are you cold?” He asks, mimicking the act of shivering and wrapping his arms around himself.
The young man doesn’t respond. He only continues to stare at Seokjin like a terrified animal backed into a corner. When Seokjin grabs a second blanket from the metal cabinet next to the bed, the man jerks violently, rattling his cuffs.
Seokjin’s heart aches at the sight. Before they turned off the lights, Jimin insisted on keeping at least one arm and one leg chained to the bed during the night. While the soldier was sedated, it felt like a smart thing to do. But now, while he lies shivering and terrified, it just feels cruel.
Seokjin bites his lip. In the quiet hours of the early morning, the empire and its violence seem impossibly far away. It’s hard to remember the bloodshed, the reason for any animosity, especially with the imperial uniform safely discarded. But he knows Jimin’s right in following the procedure. Until further notice, the stranger in front of him remains a threat, and it would be foolish to forget that just because of some tears.
“Let’s see if we can make you a bit more comfortable at least,” Seokjin whispers, shaking out the blanket. He moves slowly and intentionally so the soldier can track his movements, and so he himself can keep an eye out for any alarming behaviour. “Here, this should be better.”
He lays the second blanket onto the first and tucks in the corners, his heart breaking at the soldier’s shivering. Despite his determination to stay vigilant, it’s hard not to empathise when the sight in front of him is so familiar.
Taehyung used to have nights like these, back when he first joined them. He tried to hide it as long as he could, waving off their concerns about the bags underneath his puffy eyes and his poor state every morning. When they realised it was nightmares terrorising their new pilot, they took turns sleeping next to him. How many hours did Seokjin spend rocking him, murmuring silly things into his ear until Taehyung quietened down and slipped into sleep? He’d been so young then — haunted by a violence so shattering it refused to let him go.
It’s the memory of Taehyung that moves Seokjin to bring a caressing hand down the soldier’s free arm. He flinches at first, startled by the sudden movement, but he settles when he realises Seokjin means him no harm. He eyes Seokjin curiously, almost longingly, fresh tears still streaming down his cheeks.
“You like that, don’t you?” Seokjin hums, taking the soldier’s cuffed hand in his, still stroking his arm gently.
His skin feels cold and clammy against Seokjin’s. When Seokjin gives his hand a soft squeeze, the soldier starts crying in earnest.
“Aigo,” Seokjin coos, and that’s all it takes for him to raise his hand to the man’s crown. The soldier eyes him warily but doesn’t flinch, and he shivers when Seokjin starts petting his hair. “You’re okay.”
Seokjin isn’t sure how long they sit there, fingers entwined while the man sniffles softly. Seokjin lets his fingers trail down his face, now caressing his cheek and then tracing the slope of his nose.
The man sinks further and further with every touch, a deep sorrow washing over him while the fear ebbs away. It’s instinctive, the way Seokjin inches ever closer. He leans in until he’s almost hovering over the bed, the man’s wet nose pressed against his collar bone. Seokjin wraps a tentative arm around him, his hand splayed across the man’s back so he can survey his body language. Underneath his finger tips, he can register every muscle and tendon.
After five minutes or so, Seokjin allows himself to relax. That’s not the posture of a trained soldier, ready to spring into action at any given moment. Instead, the man is melting into Seokjin entirely.
The last of his wariness defeated, he leans away from the soldier, who whines at the loss of contact. Seokjin uncuffs him slowly but efficiently, first the foot and then the hand. As soon as the restraints come off, the young man draws his knees up to his chest and curls up into a ball. Mindful of his injured hand, Seokjin scoots onto the bed beside him, pressing himself against the soldier’s back.
Finally, the young man’s shivering starts to abate. Seokjin sighs softly, fatigue creeping up on him now that adrenaline is seeping away. It’s a little cramped on the small medbay bed, but he’s tired enough that his eyes start to slip shut. The soldier quietens, too, his breathing growing more regular as they creep closer to morning.
“Hyung, what the fuck are you doing?”
Jimin’s angry voice startles Seokjin awake, his head shooting up in surprise.
He finds Jimin towering over them, fury written all over his features.
The soldier whimpers in fear, pressing himself closer against Seokjin’s chest.
“He was crying,” Seokjin explains, flinching at his own reasoning. He sounds foolish, even to his own ears, and is reminded of his anger at Namjoon the other day.
Jimin clenches his jaw, swiftly restraining the soldier. “That doesn’t mean you crawl into bed with him,” he hisses.
Both Seokjin and the soldier flinch, and Seokjin heaves himself up reluctantly. At the loss of his human shield, the soldier scampers back in fear, crawling as far away from Jimin as his cuffs allow him.
“Jimin-ah,” Seokjin tries, at a loss for words. How can he explain his actions? His certitude that this young man is not a threat?
Jimin shakes his head, unforgiving, and shame curls in Seokjin’s belly at his junior’s sharp disapproval. “I’m calling hyung.”
Seokjin’s eyes widen, his stomach dropping. “What? Jimin, no, it’s late. We said we’d wait for the translation device.”
Jimin ignores Seokjin, pressing the emergency button on his wireless before Seokjin can stop him. “That was before you climbed into bed with the enemy. Hyung, we don’t know this guy. Less than 24 hours ago, he was armed and aiming at us. Don’t you understand? Mercenaries are lethal. They don’t need a blaster to take you out.”
Seokjin gulps, desperate all of a sudden. “Namjoon said–”
Jimin squints, his hands clenched into fists. “I don’t care what Namjoon-hyung said. Namjoon-hyung doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Jimin-ah–”
“What’s going on?” Yoongi interrupts their arguing, appearing beside Jimin with both a blaster and a dagger attached to his waistband. He manages to look intimidating, even sleep-ruffled in his pyjamas.
Beside Seokjin, the soldier starts hyperventilating, trembling like a leaf. Brusquely reminded of their position, Seokjin scrambles off of the bed. His heart aches when the soldier’s distress only grows. He looks like he’s about to vomit.
Jimin nods his head in Seokjin’s direction with his arms crossed over his chest. “I woke up, and hyung was in bed with the soldier.”
Seokjin’s ears burn in embarrassment. Guilt squeezes his throat when he sees the bags underneath Yoongi’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Yoongi-yah. I didn’t–I wasn’t thinking.”
To his surprise, Yoongi shakes his head. He looks stern, but not angry or upset. “No, I’m sorry,” he tells them. “I shouldn’t have put this off till morning. I’ll talk to him right now.”
Jimin frowns. “But the translation dev–”
“I can at least figure out where he’s from, okay? That might give us a clue. You two go to bed. I’ll stay with him tonight,” Yoongi says solemnly.
“Hyung–”
“That’s an order, Jimin.”
Jimin grits his teeth but nods and files out of the room. There’s a slight limp to his tread. Even though Seokjin can tell it isn’t anything serious, he feels guilty for not noticing sooner. It’s hard not to feel like he’s let his crew down tonight.
With a small nod in Yoongi’s direction and one last glance at the soldier, Seokjin follows Jimin out of the medbay. He’s not surprised to find him sitting right outside the entrance. Seokjin sighs, sinking down on the other side of the door, his back gliding against the wall.
“You should go to bed,” he tells Jimin softly.
“So should you,” Jimin bites back. His shoulders are tense, his lips pursed. He fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve, staring at the wall in front of him.
He’s scared, Seokjin realises. Scared for Yoongi, alone in the medbay with an M-trooper, when he knows very well what they’re capable of. In Seokjin’s seven years as a medic, he’s had many different members on his crew, but he’s never met anyone as fiercely protective as Jimin. It’s loss that drove him to the Bangtan, and grief that turned him into its fierce guard dog.
He’ll apologise tomorrow, Seokjin decides. A tired Jimin is a stubborn Jimin, especially when he’s afraid. It’s better to wait until sleep has mellowed him.
They wait in silence, their ears straining for a sound that might betray what’s going on inside the medbay. Only a couple of minutes pass before the doors slide open. Yoongi doesn’t seem surprised to see them sitting there.
“That’s not a paid mercenary,” he says, his face blank. “That’s a slave.”
Seokjin’s heart stops, his chest tight.
Yoongi crouches down in front of Jimin, his features and voice soft. “Thank you, Jimin-ah. You did a good job calling me. Go get some sleep now, okay? I want you in Hoseok’s room tonight.”
Jimin nods wordlessly, his lips pressed together as he bows his good night. Yoongi waits until Jimin has disappeared down the corridor before he turns to Seokjin. Seokjin tries not to squirm underneath his gaze, the softness he’d reserved for Jimin now gone. “Seokjin, you stay with our guest. I’ll explain in the morning, but you should know there’s no need for hostility. You can keep him unrestrained and make sure he’s comfortable. Don’t worry about using up the anodyne, I’d already planned a restock on Thanio III following yesterday’s mission.”
Seokjin nods. He’s glad for his captain’s presence, content to follow his clear orders after the confusing events of tonight. Now that the shock of Jimin and Yoongi’s appearance has worn off, he’s exhausted. His mind is empty, and it’s impossible to think straight. When Yoongi claps a hand on his shoulder, Seokjin nearly staggers.
Yoongi goes to leave, but he turns around at the last moment, levelling his medic with a dark, intense gaze. “Oh, and Seokjin? Never do this again.”
Seokjin nods, swallowing as he watches Yoongi disappear down the hall. He takes a moment to gather himself. His eyes burn, and it’s a struggle to keep them open. Yet his heart aches in his chest, words and images echoing in his head.
A slave, Yoongi had said. His own shock at the word surprises him. They all knew the Empire enslaved people whenever they invaded new territory. But a slave in an M-trooper uniform? That’s a new level of horror he can’t wrap his head around. How many innocent people did Jimin’s bombs kill today? How can they ever look at the impersonal M-suit as a clear target again?
When Seokjin slips back into the medbay, he finds their guest shivering underneath his blanket. He represses the urge to crawl back into bed with him, thoroughly scolded by his crew members. Instead, he finds him an extra pillow and yet another blanket and tucks him in as best as he can. The man stares up at him with wide doe eyes, entire constellations somehow glimmering inside them. He doesn’t look as scared as he did half an hour ago, but some stress seems to linger.
“Goodnight,” Seokjin says, his voice hoarse. “We’ll talk in the morning, okay? Hoseok will have that translation device, and everything will make sense.”
The man doesn’t respond, but he nuzzles deeper underneath the blankets and pulls the second pillow tight against him. That has to count for something.
Seokjin tries not to think about what the man’s body has been through tonight or the state of the stitches he meticulously put in. Instead, he turns down the lights and goes to bed. When he sinks down onto his mattress, he’s out in seconds.