Chapter Text
Galen barely remembers his life before Fox - his buir - took him away from Lord Vader; he was only nine when they left after all, and he’s almost sixteen now. He remembers even less of his life before Vader, only the single, traumatic memory of his father’s death remains. As Vader’s apprentice, Galen had been beaten mercilessly during training, to empower his connection to the Dark Side of the Force - he had been four when Vader took him, untrained and scared, and the Sith had taken advantage of that, and it was a year later that he met his buir.
He had been called CC-1010 back then, just another faceless, emotionless Stormtrooper assigned to watch over him when his Master wasn’t around; but Fox had taken one look at his bruised face, and dropped the act. He had let the mask he used to protect himself fall away, and he had taken Galen under his wing.
When he had been nine, Fox had taken him away from that life, and brought him to Pantora; he had claimed Galen as ad, as his son.
“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Galen.” His buir had said to him, the greatest gift the young boy had ever been given before in his life. Within a year of his willing kidnapping from the Empire, Galen had a buir and a móðir. He had gone from Galen, the boy who almost forgot his name, to Galen Chuchi, the son of Fox and Riyo Chuchi, a citizen of Pantora through his adoption by the former Senator, and the lightsaber he wields slowly turns from red, to orange, before finally settling on yellow as the years pass. He wears the marks of Clan Chuchi with pride, and learns the way of a vod from his buir.
His younger brothers are born soon after Galen’s twelfth birthday, with the blue skin of Pantora. The identical Fennec and Swift Chuchi look a lot like their father; the same brown eyes, black curls, and high cheekbones visible even through the baby fat lining their marked cheeks, and like Galen, both are able to connect to the Force. His baby sister Runi comes three years after Fennec and Swift, her brown skin splashed with blue, spattered like paint and dotting like freckles. Her lavender hair curls wildly around her head, even as a baby, and she watches the world with big golden eyes. They’re his; his little siblings and his to protect, Galen has known that since the first time he held them in his arms, and he takes to the role of big brother with ease.
He’s not Starkiller, he’s not the assassin Vader had wanted, not anymore.
He’s Galen Chuchi, and at almost sixteen he learns about the reformation of the Jedi Order for the first time.
Galen is seated at the table, patiently trying to get baby Runi to eat her breakfast pudding while their buir tries to wrangle Fennec and Swift, the two four year olds having escaped their baths and are now running free and naked through the dining room while a soaked Buir chases them down, towel in hand, when his móðir slips into the room, a serious expression on her elegantly lined face. Within moments, both boys are caught and dressed, and seated at the table, breakfast in front of them, and Galen watches from the corner of his eye as Buir and Móðir move off to the side, talking in hushed tones.
There’s a moment when his buir seems to almost collapse in on himself, and Galen is standing in alarm just as his móðir winds her thin arms around him, supporting him as his head drops to her shoulder, running a petite hand through her husband’s white hair. He learns why a few moments later.
A new Jedi Order had been formed, working alongside the Alliance to Restore the Republic; being led by Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and former Marshall Commander Cody.
Galen knows of Cody only through his adopted father’s stories of his younger years; he had always spoken of his brothers and batchmates fondly, and his buir had thought that he was the last. But if Commander Cody was working with the Rebellion, with other free clones, then Fox wasn’t alone, and Galen can already see the desire in his buir’s dark eyes.
And if there were Jedi… maybe Galen could learn how to wield the Force beyond the lessons Vader had left him with, the techniques that made him feel slimy and disgusting inside. Maybe he could learn a part of his birth parents’ culture, and maybe Fennec and Swift could get actual training in their newfound abilities.
The decision is easy in the end, both of his parents still hold loyalty towards the ideas of the Republic - what it should have been - and the allure of free clones and living Jedi is too strong. Former Senator Riyo Chuchi reaches out to her old contacts, and gets the coordinates for the flagship used by the New Order; soon, Galen is helping his parents bundle his siblings onto a shuttle, and they’re leaving Pantora for the first time in almost seven years. The trip makes Runi a little fussy for the first few days, but she calms down as she gets used to her new surroundings - on the other hand, the twins start getting restless as soon as their sister calms down it seems, the two boys not used to not having large spaces to run around in, and Galen finds himself drawing the two of them into his training just to help them spend their over abundance of energy.
He loves his family, he really does, but after a few weeks in space with only them, Galen is going a little stir crazy. He’s a teenage boy, he needs his space, but it’s a little hard to get that on a small shuttle - the next time he hears Fennec ask if they’re there yet or Swift complain about a lack of things to do, Galen thinks he may just scream.
Luckily, he doesn’t have to, because soon they’re docking in a massive MC80 Star Cruiser, the symbol of the Jedi Order emblazoned on it proudly with golden paint, and Galen can finally breathe without worrying about his siblings throwing a tantrum. He’s the first off the ship, letting out a relieved sigh and stretching out his arms. He freezes, however, when he finally notices the three pairs of eyes on him.
The clones stand just a few meters in front of them, varying in physical ages - one has a prosthetic eye, another has a scarred face, and the oldest has yellow tattoos highlighting his high cheekbones.
“Galen,” He hears his father grumbling as he leaves the ship, wrangling two excitable four year olds to keep them from running off. “You could have at least-” His buir’s voice trails off with a choke, his shock projected strongly enough that even Galen, with his very limited training, can sense. “Vod’e.”
“Fox’ika .” The man with one eye says, voice gruff but just as choked. “Good to see you alive, vod.”
Neither Fennec or Swift bolt when Buir’s hands drop from their shoulders, both young boys able to sense the weight of the moment as he takes one stumbling step forward before bolting towards the three vod’e. The other men meet him half-way, all four falling in an ungraceful heap of limbs and tears, and Galen can’t help but feel like he’s intruding on the moment, stepping away to collect his brothers and herd them back towards the shuttle to help their mother collect their bags.
When they return, Móðir and Runi in tow this time and with duffle bags in hand, the four clones had extracted themselves from their huddle, talking quietly, but Galen sees the redness of their eyes and the way his buir’s hands linger, quick gentle touches to reassure himself that his brothers were still there. He’s smiling though, wider and unrestrained in a way that Galen couldn’t remember ever seeing, and he waves them over.
“Wolffe, Cody, Bly, I want you to meet my family.” He says warmly, and three pairs of eyes move from the man and to the four children and one woman, “You remember Riyo, my riduur, of course.”
“A pleasure to see you again, Commanders.” His móðir dips into a polite curtsy, smiling kindly at the three clones.
“And these are our children, Galen is our oldest,” Galen nods to them, unsure of what to say, “Swift, and Fennec are the two troublemakers,” Identical toothless grins are shot at the three men, who chuckle, and finally his father gently runs a hand across the top of a sleeping Runi’s head, “And last but not least is little Runi.”
“You have a lovely family.” The scarred clone says warmly, a small grin on his lined face, golden eyes mellow. “I’m Cody, vod’ad.” He holds out a hand, and Galen grasps his wrist, eyes wide, and he gets a firm clap to the shoulder from the one-eyed man next.
“Wolffe,” The man, one of his uncles, grunts, as Cody moves on to greet the twins and Riyo, “Don’t let the looks fool you, I’m the oldest.”
“And I’m Bly,” The last clone says, rolling his eyes and smiling at Galen, “As these shebs like to tease me, I’m the youngest.”
“The batchmates.” Galen realizes, and all four men chuckle.
“That’s right, kid.” Wolffe claps him on the shoulder again, glancing over with an amused huff, “Looks like Kote’s stolen the baby.” Galen follows his gaze, snorting at the sight of the scarred clone tickling a now-awake Runi’s button nose, a silly smile on his face as she giggles.
“He does the same with Arya.” Bly whines, though his smile is warm as he rolls his eyes.
“I’ve seen him sneaking around with Cal and Merrin’s sprog too. Maybe he should talk to Obi-Wan about more children instead of stealing other's.” Wolffe adds in amusement, mismatched eyes meeting Galen’s slyly, “If you’re not careful he might steal you and your vod’ika too.”
“Buir stole me first.” Galen says bluntly, and the two men laugh.