Chapter Text
Jason crouched on the floor, rubbing at his tired, burning eyes with the heel of his hand. The floor of his cramped Nar Shaddaa apartment looked like a rainbow had exploded: colourful blocks scattered in chaotic constellations, plush animals piled in mangled heaps, and a sprawl of baby books fanned across the floor like someone had tried to summon a demon made of paper. Even the toy speeders had ended up in precarious messes that nearly sent Jason tripping to his death three separate times that morning.
In the middle of it all sat Damian.
Sixteen months old. Fast. Sharp. Dangerous in a way only a Sith heir could be—and yet utterly, painfully adorable. He tapped a cube with one tiny finger, knocked it into a wobbling tower, and the entire thing toppled in a soft clatter. Damian squealed as though he had conquered a planet.
Jason exhaled through his nose. “Alright, kid,” he muttered, stretching out a hand to stabilise a second tower of blocks. “We talked about this. Today is word day.”
He gestured at the pile of baby books beside him: chunky readers, flashcards, alphabet blocks, and a few stuffed animals he definitely didn’t need but had bought anyway because the vendor claimed “learning companions encourage development.” Jason wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but now, amidst the chaos, he might have believed it—if only it didn’t make the mess worse.
He grabbed a small plastic cup and shook it gently in Damian’s field of vision. “This one. Easy. Cup. C-u-p. Cup.”
Damian blinked. Tilted his head. Then slapped the mat and giggled, “Hehe!”
Jason froze. “…No. No, you don’t laugh at the word. Say cup.”
Damian leaned back, legs kicking in delight as he giggled louder. “Hehe!”
Jason grabbed a picture book and flipped it open, pointing to a cartoon cup. “Cup. Look—cup. Say cup.”
Damian poked the page. Then yanked the book from Jason’s hands and threw it across the room.
“With force,” Jason muttered under his breath. “Oh, good. He’s strong. Great. Perfect.”
Floating above them like a vigilant, judgmental angel, HK tilted its head, photoreceptors blinking.
“Observation: Juvenile organic displays interest in auditory patterns, but compliance is suboptimal. Recommendation: adjusting teaching methodology.”
Jason glared. “Adjust your face, toaster.”
He didn’t know how a droid could look offended, but HK managed to do so.
Jason grabbed a plush bantha. “Okay. Bantha. B-a-n—Damian, look at me—bantha.”
Damian grabbed the bantha, squished its head, then chucked it at HK with remarkable precision.
HK bobbed slightly. “Commentary: The miniature meatbag has impeccable aim. Concerning.”
Jason groaned. “Step one: accept that teaching is impossible. Step two: attempt survival. Step three: figure out how a tiny Sith toddler is both the funniest and scariest creature in the galaxy.”
He leaned back against a stack of alphabet blocks and sighed. He had survived near-death chases across Nar Shaddaa’s spice dens, evaded gangs, and survived ambushes by mercenaries and slavers alike.
Still, none of that had prepared him for parenting a Sith toddler. Here, in this small apartment, a tiny human could destroy more than any gang or syndicate ever could. And still, somehow, Damian was adorable while doing it.
He tried holding up another block. “See this? Block. B-l-o-c-k. Block. Can you—” Damian grabbed it, chewed the corner, then flung it into the plush pile. Jason sighed so hard he swore the blocks trembled.
“Step four: survive without losing my mind,” he muttered.
The door slid open with a hiss.
Jason didn’t even glance up—until Roy strolled in, like this was his living room, not Jason’s. Because, of course, Roy already knew about Damian. He had been here multiple times, checking in, bringing supplies… and chaos.
Today, however, he carried a bottle of Corellian whiskey.
Jason froze. “Roy. It’s morning.”
Roy took a casual swig. “And a piece of toast.”
Jason’s jaw dropped. “This is not breakfast, man! There’s a baby here. A Sith baby! You can’t just—”
HK’s photoreceptors swivelled. “Warning: Human organic enters with alcohol during daylight hours. Immediate confiscation advised.”
Roy waved at the droid. “Relax, toaster. It’s morale.”
Jason rubbed his temples. “Morale purposes?! He’s sixteen months old!”
Roy shrugged, flopping down on the couch. “Relax. I survived babysitting my niece. Barely.”
Jason glared. “You can’t compare your niece to a tiny Sith.”
Roy held up a hand and revealed a stack of books. “Kids this age love stories. Helps with speaking.”
Jason blinked. “Stories?”
“Yeah. Instead of repeating words a thousand times, tell him the adventures. Action. Vocabulary comes naturally.”
Jason arched an incredulous brow. “Adventures?”
Roy leaned toward Damian, grinning. “Well. There was that time on Ryloth—”
“Roy—NO.”
“—a squad of Twi’lek guards thought they could stop us—”
“ROY!”
But Roy was already animatedly narrating, arms flailing, and Damian’s eyes were wide with delight.
Roy suddenly threw up his hands. “Dammit, Jason! Can’t believe you did that!”
Damian’s green eyes widened. He blinked, tilted his head, and repeated, ideally: “Dammit!”
Jason froze. “…He heard that.”
Roy shrugged. “Fast learner.”
Damian clapped. “Dammit! Dammit!”
Jason buried his face in his hands. “I… I’m doomed.”
HK tilted. “Observation: Juvenile organic successfully mimicked adult lexical pattern. Caretaker stress: critical.”
Jason collapsed onto the mat, staring at the chaos around him—books, toys, blocks, and a swearing Sith toddler. The chaos reminded him of the spice dens he used to navigate, the criminal syndicates he had evaded, the bounty targets who had tried to kill him. But none of that had prepared him for this. Parenting was worse.
He picked up a book with colourful animal pictures, holding it upside down. Damian grabbed it and threw it. “Not again!” Jason groaned. “Step five: survive interactive learning. Step six: survive the toddler.”
Damian crawled onto his chest, tiny hands gripping his shirt, giggling. Jason felt the faint warmth of it, the impossible sweetness that made him want to protect this kid with his life. He could train him in words later. Survival first.
Roy leaned back, casually flipping through a picture book. “See? He’s learning life lessons early. Tactical education.”
Jason groaned. “More like tactical insanity.”
Damian squealed, repeating “Dammit!” once more, clapping happily.
Not content with one story, Roy began another. “And then there was the time on Korriban—giant Sith tomb, ancient traps everywhere, and—oh, this is my favourite part—electrocution! Educational, right?”
Jason flopped sideways. “Seriously, Roy! A sixteen-month-old! Do you even—”
“—care? Nope!” Roy finished for him, laughing. “And then Jason ran straight into the Sith tomb traps because he thought he could be sneaky. Spoiler: he wasn’t.”
Damian squealed and batted at Roy’s hand. “Hehe! Dammit!”
HK hovered beside Jason, servos whirring softly. “Observation: Juvenile organic exhibits high-stress amusement correlation. Caretaker fatigue probability: critical. Recommendation: continue supervision, repeated interactive play, and lexicon reinforcement.”
Jason exhaled, letting Damian curl against his chest. “Yeah… interactive play. That’s my life now. Play, teach, survive, repeat.”
Roy leaned back, casually tossing a small toy car toward Damian, who squealed and waved it like a wand. “Chaos teaches lessons, too. Reflexes, vocabulary, decision-making.”
Jason flopped back, staring at the mess of books, toys, and a laughing, swearing Sith toddler. “I… I give up. This is impossible.”
Damian squealed again, clapping happily. “Hehe! Dammit!”
Jason buried his face in his hands. “Oh boy. Oh… boy. Long, messy, hilarious days ahead. And he’s already smarter than me.”
Roy smirked, tipping the bottle in mock salute. “Don’t worry, buddy. You’ll survive this. Probably.”
HK whirred quietly, lens focusing on Damian. “Assessment: Juvenile organic exhibits optimal mimicry and engagement. Caretaker fatigue probability: critical. Recommendation: Continue supervision, repeated practice of lexicon, storytelling, and interactive play.”
Jason exhaled, letting Damian curl against his chest. “Yeah… interactive play. That’s my life now. Play, teach, survive, repeat.”
And even if his first word wasn’t cup, bear, or bantha…
It was dammit.
Thanks to Roy.