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Feral doesn’t know what his first mission is going to be.
He's been told that Maul and he are going to retrieve some old Jedi texts from a library somewhere, but that's about it.
Yet he's practically jittering with excitement.
Fortunately, the force is doing it for him. Rustling at his robes, and vibrating the pebbles that litter the tarmac beneath his feet.
He spots Maul's ship quite a while before it's en-route to reach him, keen zabrak eyes identifying the black dot in the distance, and then focusing on that dot until it's close enough to officially confirm the identity of.
It’s a pretty ship, and he's always liked it. Surreal in its appearance, stolen off of a pirate somehow, and fixed into a regal Coruscanti transport instead. Its paint so dark that it’s nearly invisible against the backdrop of space, and so matte that it looks like a silhouette. No curves or seams visible, except wherever the windows and lights are installed. All of which can be tucked away behind protective shields in the event of a radar blackout.
The closer that it comes, the more effort Feral puts into calming his nerves. Forcing the pebbles to stop rattling, because even if he did want his brother to see his childish force outburst, it still wouldn't do to have the shaking disturb his brother's landing protocols.
Coruscanti's air control is so strict, that it could take hours to get reapproved for a landing again.
He's waited years to see the man, and another minute sounds like torture.
As a better use for his over-flowing abilities, Feral reaches out for their sibling bond instead. Distant and faint, so that he has to concentrate on it, and so far away that it really does take most of his energy. Feeling, but not tugging once he finds it, and basking in the familiar firebrand that is his oldest brother's presence. Healthy, if a bit weary, and just as happy to greet him as he is to greet Maul.
It can be pretty difficult to get a handle on Maul, because even without the extensive shield training that he's received since becoming a shadow, he was always very good at hiding his presence. Shields and aura impervious, even when he's sleeping, because his master is always looking for him.
Feral overheard him talking to Mace once, telling him that the Sith actually know where he is, and that the blocking was really just to prevent his old master from altering his mind or stopping his heart, should the desire ever arise for him to do so.
After that, Maul never came back to Coruscant ever again.
But, just like his shuttle, it’s not him that sticks out. It’s the void that he creates in the world around him. Blocking out the stars behind it-- or in this case, the flow of the force in the world around him.
Feral's odd connection to the living force-- his force guardian as the masters have always called it-- is easily aware of his brother's presence when it arrives. Itching at the peripheral of his own abilities, and directing him to the things he might've otherwise overlooked.
It's another half hour before the ship finally lands. Powering down, and with a final thwip of the airlock, Maul appears.
Feral doesn't waste a moment before running up to hug him. Undoubtedly chancing a startle response-- always a bad idea with zabraks-- but willing to risk it after so long apart.
Maul catches him clumsily in a one armed grip, because, as it turns out, his right arms been tied up in a sling. Feral reflexively uses the force to investigate so that he can make sure his brother isn't in pain. But Maul rebukes this with a little force-push of his own, always uncomfortable with that sort of a connection.
Feral pouts, but Maul acts as if nothing's changed. Looping around his littlest brother to pull at his horns, and probably about to chide him that they're in need of filing. Only to pause and balk, "Where is your strand? Did you not recieve it?"
"I've been told my master is supposed to tie it for me."
His expression flickers briefly to embarrassment. A look he really only gets when he messes up some Jedi thing he doesn't understand-- or in this case, even know about. But it doesn't fester as doubt anymore, because he is a Jedi now, and therefore he usually just gets flustered.
"Of course...I'll attend to that before we leave."
He steps away now, Feral resisting the urge to cling to him, because he may be hiding an injury, and stepping back to size him up instead. Checking for tension in his movements, and any of the tells that his brother sometimes has when he's in pain.
As ever though, he's an impeccably striking figure. Dark robes hemmed with old protection runes of Savage's make, manicured nails and horns, and a regal posture that is only slightly wilted. Indicating he's hiding some sort of back or rib injury, though it could just be his cybernetics acting up again.
"You were supposed to be here hours ago." Is the annoying accusation that Feral ultimately settles on to break the ice.
Maul chuffs a soft noise at him. The one that Master Kolar says is supposed to soothe infants-- though Maul kind of does it to soothe himself, "I see...yes." And then he frowns up at the sky. "I was delayed by identity re-registration. Is it morning or afternoon?"
"Evening, actually."
“We'll share dinner then.” And his eyes flicker in the sunlight for a moment when he looks back down. Gold, and then warm brown as the reflectors turn from overbright to kind again. A parody of the color play that used to happen when he was still falling back and forth between his beliefs as a Sith and a Jedi.
Feral used to think it was such a cool trick.
--
The council chambers are pretty warm this time of day. The Sun beaming in through the windows, and a steady calm in the air as the temple settles into its post-dinner routine.
Naturally, it’s the moment that Mace lets his guard down that Maul comes stalking in, manically demanding, “Jedi, How do I perform the Padawan initiation ritual?”
Mace has no idea how the man continues to make Jedi sound like an insult when he is one, but logic has never been Maul's strongsuit, and despite how long he's spent here, he still seems to think he's the exception.
In any event, one would think he'd have discovered the art of manners at some point. They certainly exist, according to his diplomatic mission reports, but some battles just aren't meant to be won, and Maul has long been one of them.
Mace shakes his head, opening his mouth to point out that there isn’t an initiation ritual (but also that they still need Maul's mission report) when Plo suddenly interrupts, “How much time do you have, dear one?”
And really, he should have expected that. Plo's never been one to pass up a good prank on an ex-apprentice, and this opportunity has been set out on a silver platter. It's hard to say how long it's been since the two last shared a space together, anyway.
Maul, naturally, detects that something is amiss and narrows his eyes, still treading carefully in the event that Plo's serious, “We’re leaving within the hour.”
“Unfortunate, unfortunate." Tuts the master. "An improperly initiated Padawan is an attractant to bad luck, you know?”
“Bad luck?” Maul repeats, ever a victim to superstition, for reasons that Mace has never understood. Eyes big and gullible like he’s not a thirty something year old man, and clearly oblivious to the prank, despite it being the six trillionth one that Plo has played on him throughout the years.
Naturally, the Kel-Dor nods in sage agreement. A sure sign he’s making this up on the spot, even as Maul fearfully awaits whatever nonsense wisdom he's cooked up today.
“We will meditate on this together, my dear student, and see where the force leads us.”
So, in other words he didn’t think that far ahead and now needs to come up with something.
Mace is just glad he's not the one dealing with Maul today. A quiet night of paperwork is in his future.
--
Feral really didn't want to be pulled into a meditation with Plo and Maul today, but his brother insisted, and so here he is. Watching the man fall headfirst into whatever scheme his Master has concocted, and so terrible at reading between the lines that he hasn't even noticed Plo is trying not to laugh at him.
As amusing as all of this is, Feral had really hoped they'd be out in space by now, checking his chrono, and grumbling faintly, “Master Plo, we need to go soon.”
"Feral!" Hisses Maul, not even opening his eyes. "Quiet. This is part of your initiation."
Funny, considering neither of them seem to care that Feral isn’t partaking in the mantra, and is just trying not to fall asleep after yet another restless night. Resisting the urge to play games on his communicator, and watching them try to one-up each other on the astral plane. Or whatever the hell it is that they do when they meditate together.
It gives Feral a good view of Plo's claw caps and mask though, which he’s never seen up close before, and never realized had so many carvings. They're pretty. He wonders if that's traditional on Kel-Dor, or if it's just a Plo thing. Either way, he likes when people customize their gadgets.
Maul has some claw caps too, but his were made to replace a few of his actual claws-- not to protect people from his existing ones.
They’re a smooth polished gold, sharpened to a lethal degree, and covering three of his nails which he lost while he was still a Sith. Long before Feral was even born, and in a circumstance he doesn't think he wants to know about.
Maul's natural ones have even been painted gold to match, and maybe it's a little childish, but Feral's bored and wants to asks if he can get his claws painted too. So he decides to join the meditation in the hopes of finding Maul, and giving him a hard time about it; since this whole thing is a joke anyway.
--
All things considered, shared meditation is actually Feral’s specialty. So joining Maul and Plo should've been a piece of cake.
Which is why he knows something is up when he gets lost on the way there. The living force kicking his attempt astray, and sending him tumbling into someone else’s meditation instead. A sterile hospital room and a cot, swirling with calm and warmth.
He suspects it’s a human’s dream, because humans have a broader spectrum of color than zabraks do. But their force presence is unfamiliar and he doesn't think he actually knows the person himself.
A young man-- confirmed human-- sitting on the cot in a meditative posture. He's wearing an out-of-place blue tunic and robes, instead of a hospital gown or scrubs.
He of course becomes aware of Feral’s presence almost immediately. Force visitations not exactly subtle, as dark blue eyes snap open to look at him.
But neither of them actually get a chance to speak, because Feral's unceremoniously jolted back into the waking world by his brother barking in rather impressive revelation,”Master! You're teasing me!”
Plo's laughing mercilessly by the time Feral fully blinks awake, chortling, “You never visit anymore. I wanted to see you."
“Master.”
“Fine, fine. I won’t hold you two up any longer. I suspect Feral is on the verge of death-by-boredom. But I took the liberty of helping some of the swelling in your wrist while we meditated.”
Maul gives a petulant scowl, but gives his broken wrist an investigative turn, appraising the changes, though not announcing whether or not he approves. He must, however, because otherwise he'd've complained.
Feral sighs in relief, “So we can go now?”
“Patience, brother. I still have to find out how to initiate you properly as my Padawan.”
“Maul, you literally just tie the braid! He’s screwing with you!”
Maul squawks in offense at that, and when it's obvious Plo's laughing at him again, he gets flustered, shouting petulantly, "Fine! Then I'll develop my own ritual! At least the Sith knew the importance of tradition!"
--
They leave Plo with well wishes and friendly words-- mostly from Feral-- but are quickly intercepted by another master vying for a visit. Master Che blocking their path in the hall, and sizing Maul up with a snort.
“Maul.”
“Che .”
Shockingly, the man stops without a fight, and his glare is the one that he reserves for people who he doesn’t hate. Because as long as the healers don't try and make him get cybernetic spine recalibration, he holds them in high regard. Acknowledging their existences when they speak, because they did save his life once or (thrice) upon a time.
Che of course has already noticed Maul’s splinted wrist, and he stiffens imperceptibly. Only relaxing when her response isn't to corral him into medbay, but rather to laugh, “Well now, that’s a rare sight. The only other zabrak I've ever seen with a broken bone was Eeth when he tripped over that second story banister on Canto Bight last year.”
Maul rolls his eyes, but must realize she's being cordial, because he answers plainly, “I needed to get out of some cuffs, so I broke my hand to do it."
“Oh yes, of course. Shadow escape move 101. Why pick a lock when you can just maim yourself instead?" She shakes her head. "How'd you manage it? You don't weigh enough to get the right leverage."
He gives a rare grimace, nearly imperceptible, and lessened by the mellow tone of his eventual answer. “I was on the back of a speeder. So I crashed it, and my hand naturally absorbed the impact."
“Ah yes, naturally. And that's just the excuse I needed to give you a pre-mission physical before you leave today.”
“Che.”
“And I can tell you all about Feral’s studies while we're together! So you'll know where to start him off when you take over."
Maul's annoyance turns to interest, and he glances over at Feral, who’s making faces to his right. “You’re learning medicine?”
“Uh...Slowly? Don't ask me to patch up your disgusting shattered limbs, Maul. I'm not there yet."
--
With his black tattoos, it can be pretty hard to find injuries on Maul when they aren't in the right locations. So in addition to having to fix them, Feral is shown how to feel for them. Both manually, and with the force. It's different than the way he's always done it on reflex, because rather than searching Maul's aura for sparkles of pain, which is never very easy, he's actually following the pulses of his body. Searching for twisted vessels, and other signs of damage that not even a force shield can disguise.
It’s relievingly easy to find the changes, even with his admittedly limited knowledge of internal anatomy. Swelling, and warmth where it shouldn't be, and jagged edges in the bones of his wrist.
Maul doesn’t flinch when Feral moves to heal a bruised rib, but he does tense when Che starts unwrapping the wrist.
Ignoring that part of the treatment, Feral reaches out with the force, and uses a healer’s meditation to dissolve away his brother's shields. Slipping between them, with the aid of their physical proximity, and using his own shields to protect them both from the outside world. A protective bubble, as it were, that not even Che has access to at the moment.
It's actually a bit weird seeing Maul so openly, because the last time Feral got to do this was when his brother was unconscious a few years ago. Concussed by a falling brick of all things, while attending an anthropology excavation in the mid-rim. His force abilities trained so thoroughly to protect his shields at any cost, that they actually maintain themselves even when he's out cold. Requiring a healer to slip underneath, because when the force is busy shielding, it doesn't leave a lot of energy for healing.
Feral's never done it with Maul awake, though. So it's strange feeling the way that his thoughts and emotions organize. Like shoe boxes in a closet. Tightly packed, with a few scattered about the floor and sitting open.
Every thought has a place, and even his pain seems to be linked to one. Not stored itself, but rather the emotions and worries that accompany it.
In other words, Maul's in severe pain, but has somehow convinced himself that that's not a problem. Dispelling all the anxiety and stress that is supposed to accompany the experience, in the way that only a Sith really could, simply by convincing himself that it isn't a big deal.
Most Jedi block their pain via the force, which means the pain usually comes back the moment that their healer steps in and blocks their connection to it.
Maul's a bit different, and it's actually Feral's thoughts that begin to swarm him. Contaminating the neat organization of his feelings, and making him doubt the mental constitutions that he's so masterfully put into place. Reminding him how frankly absurd it is for him to just ignore a basic survival instinct.
Che, sensing this exchange of worry, pushes some reassurance towards the two of them, and manages to give Feral enough confidence to move on, and enough control over his own feelings to reorder them. Tamping down that part of his mind, and directing his brother somewhere more useful.
But there's not much left for Feral to heal, so he glances briefly to see how the wrist is faring. Not a pretty sight, because pulling it from the cuffs-- apparently at full crash-speed, not only crunched the bones, but shredded the skin. Stitched neatly back together, but definitely bound to scar, as he admires and balks at the sheer perfection of those stitches.
Maul doesn’t trust droids, and he knows Che hasn't had time to do any sewing, so the immaculate handiwork must be his brother's own.
The thought of the man patching himself up makes him a little woozy, and Feral thinks, not for the first time, that he probably isn't cut out to be a healer after all. Maul nudging him with some vague reassurance on the force, even as Feral continues to wonder if his brother also put his bones back into place by himself. Helpfully, he's offered some memory of the man using the force to put all the bits into place like a jigsaw puzzle, and while that's impressive-- it's still incredibly gross
Che says the longer he does this work, the better he'll be at handling his disgust at certain things, but apparently zabraks have a harder time with gore than twileks do, so it'll take him longer than it did for her. Some innate instinct of his constantly trying to make him search the room for predators at the first sign of blood.
As a result, he goes back to ignoring what Che's doing, trying not to get dizzy, and focusing on his own work instead. Soothing bruised skin, calming the swelling, and breathing as much as he can. Because every little panic he feels is currently rippling through his brother at unfiltered intensity.
Unfortunately, the minute that Feral fully slips into the healing trance, Maul tenses. A soft hiss as Feral stumbles in his search for strained muscles, and ignites a nerve instead. Not a pleasant sensation, to say the least.
Altogether, it almost jolts him from the attempt entirely, but Che puts a steady hand on his shoulder, reminds him to focus on their shields, and assures, gently, “He’s alright. His pain is reflecting back through your shared bond, and he's not accustomed to experiencing it in the way that you do. You'll learn to block your outputs when you're older."
Which is an odd thought, but better he try this with his brother than someone else.
So Feral soothes over the racing discomfort as best he can while continuing to work. A skill that he kind of understands, thanks to the migraines that Savage used to get when they were younger. But, such as Che's told him a few times now, self-taught methods aren't always the solutions that he thinks they are.
Maul pushes him away without preamble. Their shields snapping back into separate metaphysical spheres, while the man mumbles faintly, “We’ll try this again later, okay?”
He looks pale, queasy on the force, and Che gives a sympathetic chortle. Reaching out to take Maul's treatment over in its entirety now. “You’ve made his blood pressure drop, love.”
“What?! How?"
“You tried to calm him, not heal him. Unnecessary, since he's already very calm.”
“I…oh.” He supposes with Savage it usually was more of a sedative approach than a healing one, but he'd never really thought that hard about how it worked before.
"His blood pressure was already low." She adds, making Maul lie down before he actually does faint. Using the moment as an excuse to do a proper physical on him. Since he's still too woozy to swat her away. "Hypotension is listed in his file-- I suppose you didn't think you had to read it, since he's your brother."
Maul scowls at her, as if she's the one responsible for this, “He's still learning.”
But it's still pretty embarrassing, and Feral is thoroughly chastised. Knowing Che's gonna scold him about using techniques he hasn't actually been taught yet-- not for the first time-- and wishing medicine didn't have such high stakes.
--
Finally, they’re allowed to leave the planet.
“So where are we going?”
Maul types something into the nav-computer, entirely ambidextrous so his left hand proves no trouble, and answers simply.“Jevha.”
“Jedha?”
“I said what I meant."
Feral's skeptical. “Well, I’ve never heard of it. So enlighten me.”
Maul's still a little dazed from their excursion into the medbay, but answers as patiently as he can muster, “It’s a moon. The people focus their teachings on love and attachment, and curate documents for the order. It's disgustingly sentimental, and they like seeing the order encourage relationships."
“So we got picked because we’re brothers then?!”
“Yes." He sets the ship for takeoff, straightening out. "Those Mikkian twins were the original choice, but Jevha’s festival of connection is currently in session, and Yaddle felt you would enjoy it for your first mission. It's a celebration of family."
“Like love day?!”
“Ugh. You and that silly holiday.”
--
Their trip is a decently slow one, thanks to the zig-zag of trade lanes that they have to dodge through. Constantly coming in and out of hyperspace to avoid them, and going long swathes without using it at all.
Over the span of two weeks, Feral has fallen back into his old bad habit of sleeping during the day, and Maul doesn't actually seem to care-- which is odd.
By the time he wakes, Maul's getting ready for bed, giving him the daily reports, and briefing him on the ship's status, but otherwise letting him make his own decisions.
He has some responsibilities, like air cycler tests and navigation protocols, but the rest is up to him.
They barely trusted him to sweep the floors in the temple, how the hell is the guy gonna trust him to run their life support systems without supervision?!
It's so structureless in fact that he keeps forgetting when to remind himself to do things.
Only realizing that he should have eaten dinner when he’s suddenly starving, or that he should’ve gone to bed when it’s nearly time to take over the ship. He's even forgotten to shower a few times. Only realizing his mistake when the water recycler shut off for the day to conserve energy.
It’s jarring to say the least.
And then there’s that part of himself that wants to see what the limit of Maul's passiveness is. Eating junk food instead of anything proper, wearing clothes that aren’t quite warm enough, and skipping his bedtime meditations every time he turns in, because those are what padawans always get scolded for.
But Maul really doesn't seem to care, and all Feral’s got to show for it is a stomach ache, a bit of a cold, and a lot of poor sleep.
He isn’t even sure if Maul noticed any of it. It’s not like they’re ever even awake at the same time.
But that isn't to say his brother doesn't fuss over him. Visiting the bunkroom when he thinks Feral is sleeping, to pet his back and check his pulse like he always used to when Feral was little.
But that's just the typical Maul stuff, and if Savage were around, he'd be doing it to him as well.
The problem though is that if Maul is watching him sleep, then he must know about his nightmares. And that's just a little embarrassing.
Because although he has the tonic now, it doesn’t stop the visions altogether. It just makes them blurrier, so that he forgets them when he wakes up.
So when he wakes this time, final dredges of blood and plastoid fading from his thoughts, he's not entirely surprised to see his brother hovering beside him. Gaze suspicious and angry, as he demands, “Did something happen to you?”
“Happen?” He repeats, sleepy and slow. “Happen how?”
“Your nightmares. What are they from?”
“Oh, no...” He can see how Maul would think they’re memories. Most people's are, after all. “They’re just visions. I take medications for them.”
Some understanding crosses his features, and Maul casts a dubious glance toward the nightstand where Feral keeps the tonics, making him realize that his brother must’ve been snooping around in his things and found them already.
What he thought of them, however, is impossible to guess.
“Visions of what?”
“Doom and gloom. The usual puberty stuff."
Maul snorts, giving one of Feral's horns a tweak, “I was under the impression that users of the living force didn’t have visions.”
"I don't use the living force. It just likes to follow me around. I'm more cosmically inclined."
“What does that...?” He knits his brows, frowning in that way he used to whenever he was told that his brothers had hit a development milestone of some sort while he wasn't around to witness it. "Alright then."
Now he just hopes Che doesn't tell him about the heart medication. Otherwise he'll never hear the end of it.
--
On the day that they land, the ship experiences so much turbulence that it rattles Feral awake in a panic, jolted out of his nightmares so quickly that he thinks they've become real. That they're crashing-- and-- well... he doesn't remember the rest of the dream.
He reaches out into the force in a panic, but is unable to find Maul. Force inhibitor tonic still strong in his blood, and his brother’s presence still shielded.
This of course doesn't help the panic, and he sits up, breathing fast as the door suddenly flies open to confront him.
But it's not Maul who enters, it's...Obi-Wan Kenobi? The man smiles apologetically when he realizes nothing bad has happened, shushing him softly, and sitting down on the floor beside him in a parody of a meditative posture.
“Sorry. Just turbulence. Our intel was off about the planet’s atmospheric composition. Are you alright?”
He scrubs at his eyes, hearts racing as he feels more confused than he kind of already was. “When’d you get here?!"
"Yesterday. Funny what you miss when you're nocturnal." The guy suddenly looks a lot more sheepish though. "Broke my arm on Ilum so they said I could come and take a bit of a break with you two while it healed. It's been years since I saw the festival and we were crossing paths anyway-- so--" a shrug.
And yeah, Feral notes with some amusement that he also has a splinted arm. The left one, though. Bound, but not in a sling.
Eventually, the ship settles, and so does his heartrate. They break through the atmosphere's uneasiest portions into traffic space, and his brain starts to calm as everything falls into a familiar landing routine.
Obi-Wan pats him on the wrist, softly asking, "Do you think you can fall back to sleep, Feral? We still have quite a bit of time left before we can leave the ship and I'd hate for you to be exhausted.”
"I think so." It's not as if he's really awake, anyway.
“Good. If you see any weird droids, they're just here to do infectious disease tests."
“Okay?"
"Common protocol on reclusive planets. You'll probably sleep right through it."
-
Shockingly, he does.
The next time he wakes, it’s to a pinch in his arm. Startling at the sight of a medical droid jabbing him with a hypo-- and then zipping off to program some information into a datapad nearby.
Feral jerks his arm back in delayed panic, demanding somewhat frantically, “What'd you jab me with?”
It whirs momentarily, its language processor identifying his Basic, then responding in a chipper voice, “Toli-X vaccine, all zabraks entering the planet must receive it.”
“But I’ve had that one.” He argues, rubbing the sore spot petulantly, and finding a few more. “What else did you give me?!”
From there it lists off a series of other vaccines, some he recognizes, some he doesn’t, and enough that he’s just glad he slept through most of it.
He hates needles. Most zabraks do. It's why the tattoos are such a big deal. Although... maybe in a roundabout way that's why they've all developed an aversion them?
Seriously, no toddler walks away unscathed from an experience like that.
Dathomir does the ceremony on yearlings, using the planet's Ichor, and he still remembers it.
Eventually, Maul comes peeking into the room, eyeing the droid a moment, before dismissing it. "Retrieve us when we're cleared to leave."
"Of course, of course." It toddles off, announcing cheerfully all the while, "Please arrange any further adoption and/or marriage certificates for review. I will compare your blood samples in the meantime.”
Feral grimaces, extra glad he slept through the blood letting. “What’s it looking for?”
“Signs of disease, and confirmation that we’re related. They used to have monks read people's soul bonds, but now there’s too much traffic to do that.”
Obi-Wan appears behind him, scoffing as he leans against the doorframe and picks at a few plasters on his arm. Human skin not nearly as forgiving as zabrak. “I preferred it the old way. There’s more to family than blood and paperwork, and I’ve met plenty of people who hate their spouses more than enough to singlehandedly disrupt this entire planet’s force ecology. They should just pre-screen people and send out invites in advance."
“The point is to bring families together, not just pick and choose the good ones, Kenobi. But feel free to tell them that when we visit, if it bothers you so much.”
Obi-Wan gives up on trying to remove his bandages, delicate skin not exactly permissive, and scowls right back, “In any event, it’ll be dinner by the time we get to head out. So remember to bring your credits.”
Feral immediately perks up at that. “There’ll be food?!”
“Of course. It’s a festival. The meals are one of the things I remember most fondly about Maul and I's honeymoon."
The man casts him a flat side-look, but Obi-Wan just grins, making it seem like he’s joking-- although Feral knows he isn’t.
These two and their accidental marriage was big enough news in the temple, that even he as a seven year old knew all about it.
So it’s probably a good thing that they use droids and paperwork instead of love bond evaluations, because he’s pretty sure they’d never pass, right?
But, then again...if Obi-Wan preferred the monks over the droids, then that must mean they experienced the assessment last time...
--
They’re called out into the ship’s lounge by the droid.
It whirs momentarily, organizing its notes, and then forlornly announces. “It appears we have one outlier in the group-- are you sure that everyone is present? All parties must have at least one close genetic or officiated relative in order to attend the festival of connection.”
They glance at Obi-Wan immediately, and he sighs in annoyance, hand on his chin, “Was something wrong with my papers? I could request some new copies if you'd like.”
“No, no. All submitted forms have been confirmed authentic. It’s our third resident who needs to supply documentation, or invite another relation onto the planet.”
It takes Feral a second to realize that they’re talking about him, because if Obi-Wan was approved, than Maul would have been too. “Wait, me?! Do half brothers not count?”
The droid, unphased, makes its whir noise again and states, “The DNA does not match. No maternal or paternal DNA shared-- only distant genetic markers.”
This has Maul plenty annoyed, probably not helping his already existing anti-droid sentiments, as he snaps, “Then test it again. It’s clearly been mis-evaluated."
“No contamination has occurred.” It retorts factually.
Feral feels a little lightheaded, mumbling uncertainly back, “But we share a mother.”
“No maternal match detected." It repeats. "If you are adopted siblings, paperwork will need to be provided.”
And hell...he doesn’t know what to say to that.
“You’ve done something wrong then.” He decides as well, because he can’t imagine any other possibility. Or at least, doesn't want to.
This, however, hardly phases it. Because a droid isn't gonna care that it's just dropped an emotional bombshell on the lot of them, when it's literally been programmed to do its job without remorse. “Additional testing will incur additional costs.”
"Who cares?!"
--
So Feral isn’t Maul’s brother.
But...he isn’t Savage’s either.
They’d hoped that maybe it was Maul who was the outlier in the situation, and requested some records from the temple on Savage, to see if maybe calling him to the planet might remedy the issue.
But as it turns out, Savage and Maul are brothers. Full brothers, even. And Feral is the odd one out. It explains some things, but not as many as he would like, and unfortunately, since Savage is currently on the other side of a nebula, he can't even call the man with questions.
It shouldn’t make Feral sad, logically. That goes against everything he's ever been taught as a Jedi. But it does. And getting left behind on the ship while Kenobi and Maul head off for the library doesn’t exactly make him feel any better about it.
Maul had hoped to stay with him, but the council would have had his hide if he’d skipped their mission for such a textbook display of emotional attachment. Begrudgingly leaving with his husband, and a promise to bring back some snacks, and a few ancient fairytales for Feral to read.
Meanwhile he's sure he’s supposed to meditate and come to terms with all of this. Blood ties aren’t everything, like Obi-Wan said. But it doesn’t come peacefully, and he turns to his healers' textbooks instead. Hoping to learn some bone mending techniques, now that he's got two people who need them, but only finding information on pain treatment instead. Some of the biological differences between species are listed as well-- but only through the lens of a person who knows healing techniques to begin with.
Zabraks have mineral dense, hard bones which are difficult to break, but slow to heal when they do. Requiring a lot of energy and extra mineral intake to support the new growth. Mineral nodulation is also common, and healing should be monitored closely alongside proper therapies to prevent it, especially in instances of joint or flexor-adjacent damage.
Humans have light, semi-hollow, blood rich bones, which damage easily, but contain everything they need to make new cells in an impressively short amount of time. Little assistance is needed from the force or healers post binding. Caution should be taken, however, because human bones will quickly set in the wrong alignment if not promptly returned to their correct order. Human bones are also known to chip and shatter, which can damage neighboring tissue and cause tissue calcification to occur.
He falls asleep in the middle of it.
His dreams come much more clearly without a top-off of the inhibitor tonic, and it takes him a moment to realize he even is dreaming, blinking into darkness so complete that not even his eyes pick up on it.
The room smells mildewy and humid, and he can feel rough wooden floorboards beneath his bare feet. Shifting to try and look around, but failing to find any light.
Normally he can’t sense other people in dreams. Creations of his own imagination, and therefore lacking presences of their own. But as he searches this space, he feels a foreign signature, force sensitive, and vaguely familiar.
A darksider, even. Though not nearly dark enough to worry about, and maybe not even as dark as Maul, which is an odd thought, since Maul's pretty mellow. He wonders momentarily if it's a trap, but feels no sense of danger from the living force, as a man's voice muses softly. “You’re back.”
A jolt of recognition, "You’re the person I saw a few weeks ago!”
“Indeed. Did you have a message from the temple for me?“
“A message?" He tries to squint through the darkness. An odd feeling, since his eyes shoukd be able to see in it just fine. "Uh...no. Just poor psychic control. Are you a Jedi too?"
"Used to be. Now we just keep in touch."
Feral fidgets, looking around again, but of course not seeing anything in the darkness. "Right...um, sorry to bother you again. I'm Feral. I haven't actually figured out how to wake myself up from these yet, so...sorry."
“It's alright. I'm Xan. Why are you anxious?"
"Embarrassed, more like it." He huffs back, crossing his arms and tamping down any rising worries about his predicament with his brothers. Focusing instead on the now. "Is this dream supposed to be dark, or is that just me?"
“It's supposed to be. Just reach out. Feel.”
That's a relief. He closes his eyes unnecessarily, and at first tries to use the force, because he's forgotten this is all pretend. When the only feedback he gets is the real world he's napping in, he Instead resorts to his more primal senses. Touch, hearing, even smell.
It turns out the man is right. It’s not mildew here, but petrichor. Earthy and alive, drifting in through an open window to the right of him, with seaspray in its midst. He can hear cheerful voices out on the streets below, and moves forward to find the sill. Gripping it, and leaning down to hear the ocean waves in the distance.
Sunlight warms his skin, and he realizes then that it isn’t dark. He just can’t see.
Or, more accurately, Xan can't. "You're blind."
"You're a quick learner."
With Feral's own influence though, the shared dream begins to change. Shaping out the features as he identifies them, and creating a room that looks real, but probably isn’t actually accurate to the one that Xan is envisioning.
It’s cozy how he's made it though. Wood trimmed, and humbly lived in.
The human, meanwhile, sits pleasantly on his bed. Sickly space-pale skin, and mussed black hair that looks like it hasn’t been trimmed, let alone cut, in at least a few years.
His eyes are a tired blue, and although he looks young, maybe Feral’s age, his force presence is much older. More akin to someone of Obi-Wan’s age. For Xan to have a personal image at all, he'd have to know what he looked like. So either he was able to see once upon a time, or somebody vision shared with his appearance with him when he was younger.
It's not surprising then that his image would be a little outdated.
Xan looks around now, fascinated, and cheery. "I can never begrudge a nice dream."
“You can see this then?”
“Of course, it's all in our heads, isn't it? You perceive the world very differently from a human. It looks like twilight here.”
Which makes Feral smile. Reminded of his lessons as a youngling, where the other students and he would share visions to compare the differences in their sight and perception. “Zabraks can’t see yellow. And we have an ultraviolet range. Though it's minor.”
“It's a soothing color palette.”
“Most diurnals don't like to be reminded of nightfall.”
Xan just snorts. "I can hardly be too picky. It's always night for me.”
"Fair enough." Feral turns back to the windowsill to ask, "Are you on Jehva like me?”
“Serrano. I take it you’re on Jehva for the festival then?”
He grimaces, not entirely sure if he should be revealing information like this to a complete stranger. "I was studying my homework when I fell asleep.”
But Xan just laughs. “I always found bookwork a bore myself. But I think I appreciate it a little more now that I'm older." a snort. "And have someone else to read it all to me."
Feral wants to make a joke about needing a helper like that, but an odd ripple on the force has him suddenly frozen, blinking as he tries to pinpoint it, but sees nothing amiss, “Did you sense that?”
“Sense what?”
Then the dream shifts.
Xan is standing beside him now, glancing appraisingly around the corridor they’ve ended up in, and noting, far too calmly. “You’ve brought me into a vision. Reminds me of Cloud City.”
“Kriff." He frets, not liking this at all. "You might want to stay close. I never have good visions.”
"Close I can handle."
The place is even more sterile than Xan’s hospital room was. White walls, white floors, and big glass windows that appear tinted at first, but are actually just looking out onto a planet so dark and stormy that there isn't anything to see on the other side.
Feral scoots a little closer to Xan, and the man rests a hand on his elbow, drawing in some of Feral’s force, and sharing his senses of the dream. Murmuring, "It feels like a shatterpoint."
"A shatterpoint?" He asks faintly, knowing very little about them, and only what he's heard Mace mention offhandedly about Maul's training.
Then there's another ripple.
Death. A lot of it. Discontent, worry, fear -- and then-- an explosion of anger and betrayal.
The sound of blaster fire makes them jump, ducking out of view into an alcove, as chaos erupts down the hall.
A long-limbed, pearly skinned alien is flung back and out from a doorway, dying in a pool of their own blood as a blaster wound smokes through their skull. They look a bit like a quermian, but still not exactly the same.
This bolt is soon followed by a human boy, fifteen at most, stalking forward in angry quiet to check his handiwork.
A lot of worry flashes through the force, but it isn’t coming from him. He really is just angry, as murmured voices filter out from behind him, and somebody stammers, definitely terrified, “Alpha’s gonna kill us.”
“Shut up, Fox.”
Then the first kid’s moving, followed by a few others who vary from frightened to confused, and all share impressive similarities. Brothers, perhaps, ranging from about ten years old, to the angry one as the oldest. Some of them are wearing bits and pieces of the white plastoid armor that Feral has grown accustomed to in his dreams, but its small and less complete. Others are in red tunics or even plain black undersuits.
Feral mostly chalks up their similar appearances to his inability to tell people apart when they don’t have tattoos, but then Xan whispers, “Sidious’ clones.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Whatever the man was gonna say isn’t audible over the ensuing sound of more blaster fire, alarms going off, and yells of pain as the boys-- clones, apparently, are suddenly confronted by a number of droids, unlike any Feral’s ever seen before.
Outfitted with weapons, and expounding euthanization protocols at the children as if they’re a bunch of rabid animals, not sentient beings.
But the lead boy never flinches, even as some of the little ones cower, clutching weapons and blasters in nervous hands.
One boy glances back at Feral then-- or whoever’s perspective he’s taken for this vision-- and shouts frustratedly at him in what sounds like Maul's Mando'a.
But when Feral goes to ask Xan if he recognizes the words, he wakes up, Maul standing over his desk and shaking him awake. Muttering, as it turns out, in Mando'a, like he always does when he's grumpy.
Feral scrabbles for the last fading dredges of his dream-- but promptly forgets them, gasping as he feels that ache in his chest again. Not sadness but...whatever it is that's been going wrong there.
He hopes his brother can't sense it.
--
When it’s clear that Feral doesn’t remember his nightmare, Maul relents, sitting down beside him to say.
“I brought some healers' journals for your datapad. The library had a few.”
“Really?” He asks, seeming dazed but determined to move on from the bad dream. “What kind?”
“Rare ones, on force healing. Banned from the Order’s temples, centuries ago.”
”Banned?”
No faster way to get a kid’s attention than tell them there are rules to break.
“Banned .” He repeats, smirking. “Or at least, they used to be. You'll be the first Padawan in centuries to read them. We’re filling in the gaps of our library’s records.”
"Uhuh, and why were they banned?”
He frowns in momentary thought, clearly trying to figure out an explanation, but eventually settling on, “Did I ever tell you what the final straw was in convincing me to join the temple?”
"Uh...No? I just assumed it was the whole life debt thing.”
“Psh, yes. But it wasn’t just that.” He takes a moment to find the words again, saying quietly. “My body was rejecting my spinal implant, and the only two options at the time were death, or removal. Which would have been irreversible. I’d've never walked again. Not to mention the other unpleasant side-effects of a full paralysis."
“But then they used the force to heal you, right?”
"They did. But it wasn't just the force. It was the dark side.”
“Um…”
“Healers view the force very differently than the rest of us. Speak to a darkside healer versus a Jedi healer, and their techniques will be nearly identical." He reveals a datachit then, saying, “The Jedi's disrespect for the darkside was one of the things that always bothered me about them. Their insistence that it was tainted seemed pretentious. Despite the fact that they did sometimes use it, but only ever when it would benefit them. It was disrespectful. But when those healers used it, I never saw anyone calculating their decision to do so, or regretting it afterwards. They just did, to save my life as I knew it."
“And what, you saw them use the darkside so you thought you’d become a Jedi?”
"Not just use it. But use it for good. The concept had been new to me, and I'd wanted to understand it more. They were able to harness pain and life force to achieve a kinder outcome."
Feral resists the urge to give Maul a hug, as he's often drawn to do, mumbling casually instead, “So that’s what the texts are? Darkside healing techniques?”
“Not just that. Dark texts written by Jedi . From the Order’s past, when it was commonplace for all facets of the force to be studied by them. Light, grey, and dark .”
“A dark Jedi text? ” He whispers, reaching for the datachit, which has some writing on it.
In dark and in light. A guide to advanced healing.
“Knowledge is power.” Maul chuckles back, “And people have been complaining about the council keeping the Order's history from them for years. Nu and Jinn have been hoping to remedy the problem, and Windu has started seeing the benefits.”
“So wait...Will I get in trouble for having these?!”
“Hardly. The only difference between those and a regular healer’s textbook is the acknowledgement that the dark is what’s being pulled upon. The modern ones use all sorts of flowery language to hide it from its practitioners.” He knuckles Feral's horns in fondness, “But if anyone scolds you, you can direct them to me.”
Feral isn’t expecting the cool sensation of metal against his scalp when Maul pulls his hand away, and reaches up to touch the padawan braid now looped around his longest horn in the aftermath.
“What happened to your ‘ritual’.”
“Well.” He muses. “Apparently Padawanship is considered a valid family bond on this planet. Had you been wearing the braid when the droid came, it would have approved your accompaniment.”
“Seriously?! Talk about a message from the force.”
“I suppose it agrees. Blood means nothing and we’ll always be brothers.”
"Or it just wants you to quit overcomplicating things."
Maul rolls his eyes, “Up. There's food to eat.”
"We're going now?!"
“Obviously. Though I’ll be needed back in the library before long.”
“Ugh, there’s more for you to do there?”
“Unfortunately. They want me to tell them about my experiences as a Sith, in exchange for the literature that they’ve provided us in return.”
“It's not you who wanted their texts, it was the temple."
“Knowledge for knowledge. I agreed to it willingly."
--
Obi-Wan surveys the Bothan librarian suspiciously, asking, flat and unimpressed.
“You’re telling me that you won’t release the kata poems to us unless I tell you how Maul and I got married?”
“A story for a story? I’m a curator of history. And the two of you are by far the strangest couple I’ve seen in a long time. Same-sex, interspecies, Jedi-Sith lovers? It’s poetic really.”
“Hardly. It was a cultural misunderstanding, and much of it is already documented here from our honeymoon.”
“And yet…” He gestures vaguely, only to immediately interrupt himself, “Oh, I’ll make tea.”
“And yet what?”
“And yet you can tell me your story! Back in a minute."