Chapter Text
When careful hands fell on Devon’s shoulders, her instinct kicked in before her fractured self control, and whichever Lawson had attempted to grab her went flying backwards, landing with a grunt. But Devon’s eyes remained fixed on the empty space where Maul made his final stand against her, and at the miserable little scrap of metal he’d left abandoned on the ground. Without thinking, Devon scrambled forward, stumbling over herself to reach the broken saber hilt. She fell to her knees beside it, and when she carefully scooped it up with her good hand, the metal was cool to the touch.
There would be no fixing the cherished weapon.
Even if the kyber crystal wasn’t lost, the metal itself was splintered and warped; if Devon did not know its shape so intimately, she never would have guessed the scrap was once a lightsaber hilt. The shards still clinging to Devon’s burned skin were dull and lifeless, yet Devon made no move to remove them.
When careful hands reached for her a second time, she did not shake them away, and beside her, she felt Rylee kneel on the cobblestones as she wrapped an arm around her.
“He’s gone,” she whispered, after a beat. Beside her, Rylee was silent. He wasn’t pulling her up or anything, just kneeling beside her and pressing into Devon’s side, the side with her useless, ruined hand. When she spoke, his arm squeezed ever so slightly, and Devon was weak to it. The destroyed saber still clutched tightly in her uninjured hand, Devon fell against Rylee, going limp as she stared listlessly at her lap.
“He’s gone,” she repeated, and when still Rylee said nothing, she finally turned to look up at him. When his lips voiced soundlessly, Devon realized he might very well have already responded or asked her something, and she was apparently rendered deaf from whatever the kyber did when it shattered in her hand.
Going by Rylee’s increasingly worried expression, she must have already failed to respond to his words. But she was unable to explain, her own words failing, and all Devon could do was blink up at him. Her eyes still burned as they met his, but the source of the pain could have been anything, the least of which were the tears slowly slipping down her cheeks. The boundless power she’d lost herself to was gone, now, leaving her body to feel every injury with a brutal force.
When Rylee said something again, Devon could only shake her head, mouth twisting. Whatever it was she’d answered, it seemed to be enough for Rylee, and his focus turned away from her to his father as he approached. Devon was vaguely aware of his presence as he knelt on her other side, a gentle hand carefully resting above Rylee’s arm at the nape of her neck. She still could not properly answer them if she had no idea what either Lawson was saying, but Devon did not fight when Rylee’s father carefully pulled her from his son’s side, sliding a hand carefully under her knees to heave Devon up into his arms.
She was not a large Twi’lek, yet still she felt Lawson’s step falter when they managed to get upright. But he did not drop her, and Devon was too worn out to wince. She did not cling to him, she only clung to the saber remnants clutched to her chest, even if the sharp edges of the metal cut into the burns of her other hand.
The journey back to the Runaway was slow, but Devon was unaware of most of it, numb to the world around her even as she felt Lawson’s pace slow and the angle change as he shuffled up the gangplank, Rylee flitting in and out of Devon’s blurring vision and disappearing entirely when his father turned to head to the cabins where he lay Devon gently in one of the alcove bunks. He did not take the saber from her, did not try to position her to be comfortable where she ended up flat on her back. Instead, Lawson just sat on a little stool she did not remember ever being in the room and watched her with an odd expression.
Yet again, Devon tried to open her mouth to speak, but he shook his head, and Devon could guess the brief movement of his lips by his expression and the slight, placating movement of his hand. And so Devon remained silent, lost in the crushing silence, both external and internal. She could feel her burned hand trembling where it rested on her stomach, but she was unable to do anything to lessen the tremors.
An indeterminate amount of time later, Rylee joined his father at Devon’s beside, kneeling on the floor in front of Devon armed with bacta batches, soft bandages, and a pair of silver pinchers. Why Devon had not fallen unconscious despite her obvious lacking physical state, she did not know. But her eyes remained open and able to track each of Rylee’s movements as he worked.
The shards of kyber were carefully removed and deposited on a scrap of bandage first, and even with the drastic state of the injury, Devon’s entire forearm and hand still felt numb, completely missing from the rest of her body. Rylee was careful as he turned her hand this way and that to check for any last bits of kyber crystal, turning to say something to Devon again. But still his voice was soundless, nothing but ringing in Devon’s addled mind, and she could only shake her head once more.
Rylee’s brow furrowed, but he returned to his work, carefully laying the fresh bacta patches along her skin and covering them with an inner layer of bandages so when he added the split back in its place, the metal didn’t press against her damaged skin. Despite the fact she was sure, even delirious as she was, that there were better splints to be used somewhere in their storage, it was the little scrap of metal from Two-Boots Rylee placed against her wrist to hold it straight. The fact he had it meant Rylee, at some point, went into the room she used to share with Maul. Was it just to find the scrap metal splint? Some other reason? The question was inconsequential, yet buzzed around Devon’s empty mind.
As Rylee finished his work, he tried one last time to speak to Devon. This time, she could only blink at him, and by the way his face fell, he understood. If Devon were to guess, the last thing Rylee tried to say to her was an apology; which made sense when he suddenly lifted a well-hidden syringe and injected it straight to the base of Devon’s neck.
And her miserable, empty mind faded away into nothing, lost to whatever cocktail Rylee gave her.
Waking up in her bunk with her arm splinted and heavily wrapped to the sight of Two-Boots sitting beside her gave Devon an odd sense of deja-vu; for one very distressing moment, some panicked part of Devon worried she’d dreamed up the increasingly confusing series of events since their discovery of the droid on Corellia. But- no, this time Two-Boots was perched on the little stool Lawson used earlier, and he was still painted black, even if his photoreceptors had returned to their usual gold.
And this time, Devon’s mind was silent and empty, nothing but her own spiking anxiety to keep her company.
As soon as she tensed, Two-Boots leaned forward to scan her with some handheld device she didn’t recognize.
“You are currently suffering from a mild fever,” he muttered, not even glancing at Devon as he eyed the readings in the scanner. “And along with your rebroken wrist, I am certain you have at least one bruised rib, possibly two. We will also need additional support for your ankle, as it may not have broken, but the swelling will require you to refrain from putting weight on it…”
His voice trailed off and Devon didn’t bother responding for a full minute before she realized she heard him. He was a little muted, her hearing imbalanced and favored to her left side, but she could still, finally, hear the world around her.
Desperate to communicate her sudden return to her senses, Devon made a small noise, as her throat still felt swollen and dry.
The droid glanced at her quickly, then reached to the floor and lifted not a water pack, but a physical cup to her lips, which Devon drank from gratefully before he pulled it away again.
“I am unsure if you still cannot hear me,” Two-Boots continued to ramble in a hushed tone, “But you must not move too quickly. You are severely injured, Devon, not to mention there is no way to tell what your… corruption has done to your physical health…”
Devon once again could only blink, watching as the droid fussed over her. She felt… better in some ways, and unbelievably worse in others. And because of her return to her senses, she could now feel her wrist, including the radiating ache and the stinging burns hidden under the soft bandages. Despite the pain, she still felt largely numb, possibly from whatever Rylee injected that knocked her out so effectively.
At her lack of verbal response, the droid continued his rambling, comforting white noise surrounding Devon as she tried to relax despite her severe wounds.
“The Lawsons are quite worried,” he continued, bending to pick up a small box which he rifled through as he spoke, Devon still watching him. “The Captain is currently piloting, as I volunteered to watch over you while Rylee sleeps.” The droid pulled out a small cylinder, which he opened with a twist-off cap and dipped a small swapstick into, then leaned over Devon. “Please remain still,” he said, even if he likely thought she still couldn’t hear him.
Even without verbally responding, Devon let the droid carefully apply what must have been some kind of balm to a few spots along her cheeks, her temple, the side of her lekku.
When pulled back, Devon settled back against her pillow, still gazing upon the droid, now with affection. “Th’nks, T’boots,” she murmured, finally getting her voice to work. It was still a hoarse whisper, but Two-Boots reacted quickly.
“You can speak again!” Obviously excited, he leaned in to blink and peer at her face from far too close for comfort. “Can you hear me as well, or is it only your verbal skills that have returned?”
At first Devon nodded, before she realized that didn’t answer anything at all. “I can hear you,” she added, a soft, breathy whisper as she stared into Two-Boots’ receptors until he sat back with a satisfied pat along the edge of her bed.
“The Lawsons will be very happy to hear that,” he said. “Rylee especially. I had to threaten to sedate him, and even then his father still had to drag him out of here so he would get some rest.”
Devon might have laughed if she didn’t feel like she’d been flattened by a wampa and run over by a freight crawler. “Tha’s your job,” she mumbled. “Rylee, not me.” The sentence was a bit nonsensical, but Devon didn’t have it in her to explain any further.
The droid simply looked at her, then said, “I have decided I will look after you both, as you are quite inept at taking care of yourself.”
His bluntness once again ignited mild humor in Devon’s chest, even if she was unable to laugh. She could at least quirk her mouth in a tiny smile before she perked up again, glancing around the room. It was difficult to tell which it was, and while it didn’t feel like the room she shared with Maul, the bed across from her was empty.
“Where’s Rylee?” she managed, glancing between the empty bunk and the droid.
“I am unsure,” Two-Boots said, sounding apologetic. “I promised not to leave your side until he returned or you woke up.”
Devon blinked a couple times, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy. It felt silly and childish to ask for Two-Boots to fetch Rylee, and yet it was all Devon wanted. She cared for the droid, yes, and seeing him was a relief, especially with his now well-practiced first aid skills, but he wasn’t who Devon wanted to see. But it felt so unnecessarily needy to make the request, especially if Rylee was somewhere getting the rest he really did need. And that didn’t even take into consideration the fear she remembered in Rylee’s eyes when he stared at Devon before she’d fled and locked both Lawsons out of the cockpit.
But she should not have worried. With a tilt of his head and a hand placed gently on her knee, one of the few parts that didn’t feel wrecked, Two-Boots stood. “I will fetch him now,” he said, then lingered to add, “I am very glad you seem more like yourself again, Devon.”
With those odd words, the droid turned away and disappeared through the doors to the rest of the ship. He was not gone long, however, before they slid open again and Rylee came stumbling through looking more than a little wild.
His flightsuit was half undone, the soft, dark undershirt beneath rumpled, and his hair looked like some kind of small animal tried to nest in it. There were shadows under his eyes, which were bloodshot, and he very nearly tripped and landed flat on his face in his rush to get to Devon’s bedside, and yet Devon had never been more relieved to see him.
He stopped himself at the edge of her bed, hovering with obvious awkward tension, eyes flitting over Devon but not meeting hers. “You’re awake?” It was more a question than anything, and Devon pushed herself up to try and reassure him, even if she couldn’t do more than wiggle pitiful fingers in his direction.
“‘S that all the welcome I get?” she tried, searching to catch Rylee’s flighty gaze.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he explained, still avoiding looking directly at her.
Frustrated, Devon pushed herself up further, using her left elbow to prop herself up. She wanted to reassure him she was fine, but even Devon couldn’t manage that lie. Instead, she continued to try and catch his eye, adding an insistent, “Rylee…” when he continued to avoid her.
Finally, when Devon was about to try and get up even further, Rylee met her eyes. There was such fear in his eyes she nearly flinched, but it vanished the second he looked at her.
“You’re you,” he whispered, an echo of Two-Boots’ similar words. “Oh, thank the stars.” And Devon didn’t have time to question that, because Rylee was suddenly very close and kneeling half on her cot, wrapping Devon up in an all-encompassing hug. It made multiple points in her body flare with pain, but it was pain she would experience a hundred times over if it meant she could hug Rylee Lawson.
It wasn’t a very long hug, to Devon’s dismay, but Rylee did not go far when he pulled away. Instead, he reached back with his foot to drag the little stool forward, and he carefully took Devon’s hand (free of any bandages) as he sat beside her.
“How long this time?” she asked, when Rylee was settled.
“How long?” He blinked, lost, then thankfully caught on a moment later when Devon stared at him with pointed silence. “About a day,” he answered. “You woke up a few times, but were still…” he shrugged, glancing away from her again. “But you’re back now, right?”
Still a little confused, Devon shifted up to lean against the head of her bunk, Rylee automatically moving to adjust her pillow so she could sit upright. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Around her hand, Rylee’s fingers tensed. “You…” he trailed off, pulling his helping hand away from fluffing her pillow to worry at the frayed edge of Devon’s sleeve cuff. “Devon, you were… You were so angry,” he whispered. “And your eyes…”
In Devon’s memories, fading quickly even as she tried to recall everything that happened, she did seem to remember Rylee mentioning something about her eyes when she met him again after pulling his father up into their ship. There was a sharp, sickening suspicion what might be the cause, but Devon felt reluctant to ask. Still, she needed to know, needed to be sure. “But it’s gone now?” She tugged gently at Rylee’s hand. “I’m… They’re not- they’re…” the words died again as fear started to claw its way back into Devon’s chest.
In the face of her anxiety, Rylee shook away his own uncertainty. “Blue,” he said, voice soft. “They’re just blue, now. You don’t… look like him anymore.”
The confirmation sent a wave of nausea through Devon, but she forced it down as she closed her eyes and focused on nothing but drawing air into her lungs and clinging to Rylee’s hand. Desperate to focus on anything but the extent of her rage and what exactly it drove her to do, Devon shifted, then grabbed at the first thing she could think of.
“How did you reach us so quickly?” By her estimate, the ship repairs should’ve taken far longer than the few hours it took for the Runaway to follow her to Corellia.
That made Rylee smile, even if it was tired and a little strained. “You did plenty of damage, but we had extra hands to help. And between my dad and Two-Boots, they were able to instruct the prisoners who didn’t know what they were doing.”
“The… prisoners?” But why would they help? From what Devon remembered, they’d done everything they could to avoid Devon and her path of destruction. “But they were… afraid.” The of me went left unsaid.
But Rylee just squeezed her hand again, comforting. “But you rescued them. The least they could do was help us patch the ship back up before we left them behind.”
Even in their fear, they’d helped the Lawsons and their droid fix the ship to make a rescue attempt for Devon? Even with her rescue, her strength being what got the prisoners out of the Imperial mine, they had no real reason to provide that help. And yet they had, a fact as shocking as the distraction provided by an old Twi’lek with no stakes in Devon’s success.
Feeling a little overwhelmed, Devon slouched a bit, staring down at her injured hand until a more distressing thought occurred to her. And even if she didn’t want to ask it, she couldn’t stop herself from whispering, “Where’s the saber? And… the shards?”
She expected Rylee to dismiss the question or tell her they’d tossed the scraps. But instead, he fumbled with his free hand to reach inside his flightsuit. First, he pulled out the remains of Maul’s saber hilt, which he placed beside Devon. And beside it, he added the small folded bandage scrap that even if she could not feel it, Devon knew contained the last shards of kyber.
“I figured you’d want them back,” Rylee explained, as Devon eyed the remains of the saber she’d grown so attached to. “Dad said we should toss them, but…”
“Thank you,” she murmured, then carefully let go of Rylee’s hand so she could pick up the little bundle of shards. The bandage was light enough even her fully wrapped right hand could pick it open, and Devon eyed the dim shards with apprehension. And yet there were no whispers, no warmth, no recognition. The kyber was dead, now, nothing but dark red chips with no power to wield. They were as quiet as Devon’s mind.
In the beginning of her time at Maul’s side, Devon often found herself with low-level headaches from the whispering of the gifted saber and the pressure in the back of her mind she now knew was Maul and the twisted bond they shared. But as time went on, she adjusted, until the constant white noise was something of a comfort. And now, faced with nothing but silence, Devon felt a little sick.
She set the shards aside and considered grabbing the saber, but tucked her hand back in Rylee’s, instead.
There was nothing left for her in those shards. She would carry the injury forever, even if somehow, by some miracle, they found ample enough care to heal the scars of her skin. But Devon would always remember the feeling of the saber in her palm in those final moments as she and Maul fought for control. And she would always remember what it felt like when the crystal shattered, taking everything of Maul with it and ripping Devon to pieces.
“He’s gone now,” she said yet again, watching as recognition flashed across Rylee’s face.
“You said that before, too.” Rylee inched a little closer, both hands wrapping comforting warmth around Devon’s. “And we saw him leave… But he looked alive.” He sounded a little lost, a little apprehensive, which Devon couldn’t hold against him. Maul might have left her this time, but would it stick? And even if he did try to find them again, would it even be possible without the tether tying his mind to Devon’s?
“Not dead,” Devon tried again. “Gone from me. From… my head.”
Rylee looked confused for only a moment before he understood. “The bond is broken?”
Devon shook her head. “If it was just broken, I would still feel it. It’s… gone. Erased. There’s nothing left of him.” Were it anyone else, she might have tried to better hide the twisting, melancholic regret tinging her voice. But this was Rylee. If anyone knew Devon’s conflicting feelings for Maul, it was him. Even if he didn’t understand them, he was the only one privy to the closeness she and Maul developed. “I’m alone again,” she whispered, something small and miserable sticking in her throat.
And instead of telling her not to miss him, or vocalizing how he felt about the separation, Rylee said, “Maybe in your head.” When Devon shot him a mildly betrayed look, he hurried on. “But you’re never going to be alone again, okay?” His voice grew more and more firm with each word, the resolve in his gaze steadfast. “I know I let you chase after him last time, but you did that, and you barely made it out. So you’re stuck with me now. Well-” he paused, then huffed. “Well, me, my dad, and Two-Boots.” At the mention of the droid, Rylee sighed, adding, “Actually, you might want to stop needing such intense medical care, or Two-Boots is gonna lose it. He’s not trained for this stuff, remember.”
“He never lets us forget,” Devon murmured, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I’m sorry I scared you guys again.”
“I’m not,” came Rylee’s swift reply. “Medical care means you’re alive. And secretly, I think Two-Boots kind of likes playing nurse.”
With a sigh, Devon glanced down at her bandaged hand. “I guess he won’t be getting his plating back any time soon,” she mumbled, wiggling her fingers and then immediately regretting it. “And we don’t have endless supplies from Maul’s contacts. Might be better to ration the bacta.”
Rylee’s sigh matched hers, but he shook his head. “We’ll use whatever’s left on you. There’s still a bunch of credits in the cargo hold, we can ration those.” Trying for reassuring again, Devon watched Rylee shake off his thoughts, turning an attempt at a confident smile that fell short of his usual warmth. “We’ll figure it out, even if we’ll be doing nothing but running. We’re staying together.”
How could Devon turn him away yet again? She’d lost both her masters, both her sabers, and without more advanced treatment, her right hand would likely remain weakened for quite some time even with the rest of their bacta stores. But most of all, Devon was tired. She was so tired of pushing Rylee away.
She thought of their promises made on the floor of the Runaways cockpit, of a half-formed future spent never resting yet together.
Once, she’d resented her master for his refusal to fight back. Now, Devon understood that refusal better than ever before. His reluctance to raise a hand against the thing that destroyed their lives was not out of cowardice; it was a type of bravery and belief in their own survival Devon had been woefully unable to understand.
It was too late for Devon’s master, for both her masters, but it was not too late for her. And it was not too late for the boy still watching her with an earnest, open expression, his hand still tightly clasped with her.
“Runaways for good, huh?” she murmured, squeezing Rylee’s hand again.
This time, Rylee’s smile was genuine, warm and bright and full of glimmering hope. “Just runaways,” he agreed. “No more revenge.”
Somewhere out there, Maul still lingered; his injuries were not so severe Devon thought for even a moment he did not survive. Maybe they’d stolen his ship, but Maul was resourceful to a dangerous degree, and despite his solitude without Devon, she knew he would find a way to crawl back to power. Even without one of his sabers, she knew he would find a way to enact terror and cruelty upon those he lured to his side.
He was alive, and she was alive, and her first master was dead. But the burning, all-consuming rage that clouded Devon’s entire reality for so very long had faded with the shattering of the bleeding kyber. In its place was an ocean of grief so deep Devon feared drowning, but it did not pull her, did not whisper and encourage Devon to do unspeakable things in the name of revenge.
“No more revenge,” she echoed, her voice nothing more than a hushed breath. The choked lump in her throat returned, and with both her hands occupied, Devon had no way to brush at the tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. But the sting was just salt and water, not the darkness corrupting her, and she let the tears fall.
Perhaps she was now destined to live the rest of her life at a precipice, to remain caught at the shore of despair that washed through her in dull, aching waves. But Devon no longer felt the seductive calling of the darkness that once filled her, no longer felt like there was burning ice at her core that would destroy anything she touched if she chose to let it.
She would never avenge her first master, and she would never defeat her second; it was a double-edged failure Devon would carry for the rest of her days. She was no longer an apprentice or a padawan. Without her saber and after giving in to Maul’s corruption, she wasn’t even entirely sure she could ever call herself a Jedi ever again.
She could never accept a title she once coveted so pridefully, a firm belief in her strength, in the strength of the order, in the code her master guided her by. Whatever Devon was, she’d lost the right to bear that title the moment she accepted Maul’s saber and swore her revenge.
And yet despite her own failure, for the first time in far too long, Devon let go. She let go of the last vestiges of her driving desire to bring pain to those who hurt her, let go of the brash defiance that led her to Maul’s side, that first instilled her doubt in her old master as he insisted they live an impoverished life on the run relying on nothing but the kindness of strangers and the will of the Force.
What Devon did not let go of was the now clammy hand still clutched in hers. Instead, she squeezed tight, and made a new promise to herself; a promise to stay.
Whether or not she could still protect Rylee, Devon did not know. And while she knew she was once again destined for a life of running and hiding, she would not be alone. Because she had Rylee, and a bossy droid, and a police force captain who was now as wanted by the Empire as she. Between the four of them and their various treasonous acts of rebellion, they would never be able to settle down and live anything resembling a normal life. Instead, they would be stuck on board a too-flashy, out of date Mandalorian fighter built for two and filled by four.
“Hey, Rylee,” she muttered, tugging his hand gently again. When he turned to her with a curious quirk of one brow, she asked, “Do you think your dad will let us share a cabin, or is he gonna go all dad and make me share with Two-Boots?”
It was such an unexpected question that for a moment, his expression was blank. And then it clicked, and Devon finally did laugh as his face went bright red and he visibly wilted. Yet despite his obvious embarrassment, not once did his hand even begin to pull away from hers.
For just a moment, they felt almost like the children they were, stuck together by necessity but bonded by so much more.
She might never wield a saber again, and she certainly would never have a master, either of the light or the dark, ever again. By all likelihood, the crew of the Runaway would never be allowed to settle, would never be able to walk without glancing over their shoulders. If Devon somehow managed to reconnect with and find balance in the Force once again, she would never share it, would never have another who understood her and the connection she had to the light that filled everything in the galaxy.
Yet despite her fate, Devon felt more at peace than she had since her early days of youth spent in the golden haven of the temple.
And while Rylee muttered to himself over the inevitable bunking negotiations with his father, Devon leaned back and breathed. Somehow, against all odds, they made it.
She would live, but she would not be alone. Devon was uncertain about her path and her place in the galaxy and if she would ever be able to reach for the Force again, but she was not uncertain of her loneliness, for the vacuum in her mind was no match for the warmth beside her as Rylee continued to have his own minor crisis over his father’s opinions on how the ship would run.
Her masters were gone, and Devon lived, and would continue to live, with no saber at her belt and an empty, quiet mind, but with a hand in hers she would never let go of again.
It was not the ending she’d hoped for. Then again, it was not really an ending at all.