Chapter Text
Mustafar, 19 BBY
Obi-Wan was dueling his brother. Anakin grappled with him for a moment before forcing himself out of the saber lock and attacking Obi-Wan again. At this point, he felt as if he were a bystander, watching as his body fought Anakin, who was trying his best to destroy him with extreme prejudice.
He came back to his body with a snap, because now they were dueling on the lava, heat radiating off of, well, everything, and the air was permeated with the hatred that radiated off of Anakin, even though he was distantly aware that the Anakin that he had trained was not the one who was trying to separate his head from his body. And it hurt because he knew that he had to stop Anakin, even though he would have no sooner harmed Anakin than himself.
The probability that a few ribs were broken at this point was high; breathing felt like he was sucking in shards of glass. Cody would have been pushing him toward Ivee now to get a check-up, but then, Cody wasn’t quite Cody anymore, Obi-Wan remembered dispassionately, because he had felt his troopers’ force signatures scream out in agony and horror before they buckled before a stagnant gray force and fired on him.
Crossing blades with Anakin hurt like his men shooting at him hurt, he decided. He had been hurting since, well, since Bandomeer. Or maybe earlier. But he supposed that since the start of the war it had started to hurt more, especially when Anakin told him a particularly blatant lie and he was never really knew what to do because Anakin had always made an effort to at least try to make a decent lie before, but after a point in the war (he didn’t know when) Anakin simply didn’t care what havoc his words caused and left Obi-Wan to clean up the broken pieces after him. Most often the shattered pieces of his heart, although he didn’t think his mask ever slipped off; Obi-Wan had gotten quite good at the mask during the war.
Obi-Wan had now jumped up onto the hot sand (how Anakin hated any kind of sand) and watched as Anakin drifted past him on the lava currents until Obi-Wan was certain Anakin was planning to jump, and that couldn’t end well.
“It's over, Anakin. I have the high ground.” This could not end well. And he supposed it would result in one or both of their deaths.
Anakin still radiated stifling hatred in the Force, and gods, it hurt to know that the bright light in the Force that Anakin was, had been corrupted with darkness and hatred. Although perhaps he hadn’t been pure for a long time. He had never asked Anakin what happened on Tatooine when his mother died, but he had heard the rumors and decided not to believe them because he did not believe Anakin could have fallen so far. Because he was still the beacon of Light in the Force, but perhaps he let his love for his brother blind him to the truth. “You underestimate my power!” Even though Obi-Wan knew Anakin better than he did himself, and knew that if he wanted to, Anakin would die by his hand today.
And hence the broken, “don’t try it,” please Anakin, that ripped its way out of his chest and left him feeling worse than he had ever felt.
And yet Obi-Wan can feel Anakin gathering the force about him and preparing to attack, and knows that he must choose whether or not he would harm his little brother, his vod’ika like Cody and Satine (don’t think about her) taught him and remembers that Cody had asked him if Anakin was his ad, his aliit. And Obi-Wan had smiled at Cody and told him, yes, Anakin was his aliit.
And Anakin brought his ‘saber up in a furious stroke, and Obi-Wan, knowing a mou kei would effectively stop Anakin from hurting others in one smooth, graceful move, hesitated long enough for Anakin’s hate-filled eyes, sulfurous and red-rimmed, to meet his own blue-grey eyes and for his ignited lightsaber to slide its way into his chest.
Obi-Wan distantly felt his ‘saber falling from numb fingers into Anakin’s organic hand as he fell heavily to his knees, a burning pain filling his chest and stopping him from drawing breath even as he opened his mouth and raised his eyes, once again, to meet Anakin’s. And found, once again, that the pure blue was no longer present, and had given way to the bright gold of hatred. And realized that the man he had been facing was no longer Anakin and that he was Darth Vader, twisted by the dark into something unrecognizable, his once handsome face twisted in fury, and perhaps something else.
Obi-Wan was on his knees before Vader, who held his lightsaber in his stomach; they held that position for an indeterminate amount of time. Probably seconds, until Vader deactivated his lightsaber with a hiss and let Obi-Wan waver on his knees with his right hand now clasped over Anakin’s mech hand, which had gotten there sometime in the last few seconds. He was dimly aware of the blistering heat around him fading away along with the angry hiss-spit of the lava. He sucked in a rasping breath, feeling the air in his broken lungs.
Obi-Wan brought his left hand to hold Anakin’s mech hand with his right, trying not to go to sleep because his vod’ika needed him right now and he couldn’t help him if he was dead, and sucked in another unsteady breath.
Anakin was his brother. And Obi-Wan had failed him, just as he had failed everyone else.
Anakin had pulled away from Obi-Wan, leaving him sagging and falling further into the sand. His anger in the Force was extreme now. It bombarded his mental shields, sharp spikes of anger-resentment-sadness that thrust painful splinters into his mind. No longer certain of the purpose of staying awake for Anakin, because it was now evident that Anakin did not want his help (he was standing with his back turned to the dying Obi-Wan), he sucked in another draft of air in an effort to still his choking breaths, and told Anakin, in a barely audible voice, precisely how much he loved him. And tried to project his flickering love and light into the anger around him, failing miserably, and finally collapsing on his side to watch Anakin, who had now turned back toward Obi-Wan to watch his father-brother die of a lightsaber wound that he gave to him.
Obi-Wan could no longer feel anything, not the coarse sand beneath his tunics, nor the angry heat from the lava, or even Anakin’s angry force presence, and found himself wishing he could feel Cody’s strong, steady presence, along with the rest of the bright lights of the 212th. Obi-Wan regretted that he didn’t know what happened to Ahsoka, who had to be with Rex now, Rex who loved Ahsoka like his little sister. And hoping that he did not have to shoot Ahsoka down as Cody did. Half-formed regrets and hopes swirled around in Obi-Wan’s dim consciousness; that he hadn’t realized that Palpatine was the Sith Lord until he saw Anakin kneeling before him in a holorecording, that he hadn’t saved his men, that he had failed to save everyone; the list went on, until, eventually, his bright beacon of light flickered out, extinguished by the hatred of the Sith.
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Utapau, 19 BBY
Cody offered the General a brief, genuine smile when he came back from rescuing the Chancellor. They were so close to the end of the war, all they needed was Grievous, and then it would be over. It seemed that the General recognized this as well because while he still sported the usual look of absolute exhaustion, it was tinted by the slight upturn of his mouth as the General informed Cody that they had located General Grievous on Utapau and that they were almost there, Cody.
Cody couldn’t stop himself from watching the General’s face as he stood over the holoprojector as they planned their attack. The General would go to the surface to make contact with the Utapauns, and he would report back because it was only a scouting mission. Although, if Cody knew his General (and he hoped he did,) Kenobi would find Grievous and engage because that’s just the sort of luck the General had.
“Remember, General, don’t engage until we’re there to support you.” Cody hoped his warning would be heeded, because he just wanted Obi-Wan to be alright, to see the end of the war, and to truly smile, as he did around General Skywalker and Commander Tano when she was still around. Kenobi only offered a half-smile in return, and Cody would take what he could get.
They were standing on the bridge, watching the blur of lines wash the deck with a pale blue light as the ship thrummed beneath their feet and Cody’s vode added to the background noise as they went about their work in the ship. Kenobi was standing next to him, watching the streaks of light crease the lines in their vision.
“What do you want to do after the war, Cody?” The question was rather unexpected.
“Sir?” The General gave him a wry smirk.
“What do you want to do after the war?” Cody rather thought he would want to follow his General, but that wasn’t much of an answer.
So he answered as truthfully as he could, seeing as the General hadn’t told Cody what he wanted to do after the war, himself. After the war was an interesting idea. “I don’t know, General. I haven’t thought that much about it.” And he hadn’t, hadn’t dared to hope that he would make it to the end of the war. This hung in the air unsaid, and it seemed that the General realized this as well because he glanced sharply over toward Cody and gave him that sad smile that always made Cody want to walk toward him and give him a tight hug (and maybe more, but that was impossible because the General was a jetii and they couldn’t have attachments.)
“Well, I suppose we’ll take it one step at a time then, Commander.”
“Just so, sir.” Cody flicked his eyes over the General once again, cataloging the auburn hair, steely blue eyes, and jetii tunics, sans armor. Which always gave him more stress than necessary, because really, the General needed armor with the number of times he got into trouble, and Cody didn’t give a kriff about all the osik about ‘the Force will provide’ and whatnot. And his eyes flicked forward again because staring at one's General too long gets one in trouble.
Waxer, Boil, Crys, Rex, and Gearshift sat down next to Cody in the mess hall, all giving him inscrutable looks. After a while of these cryptic looks, Cody looked up from his “soup” and glared at his vod’ika.
“What, Rex?”
“Be honest, Cody?” Rex was facing him now.
Cody was utterly perplexed. “Okay, vod’ika. Stop looking at me weird, you lot.”
“Sure, Commander.” Cody gave Boil a death glare.
“Stop that.”
They now shouted “Sir, yes sir!” in unison. Cody gave a long-suffering sigh.
“What, vode?”
Rex turned toward Cody and looked him in the eye. “I have creds riding on this bet, Cody. Are you in love with General Kenobi?”
Cody panicked for a moment, but Rex’s presence calmed him slightly. Did he love his General? And that was a sickeningly easy question to answer. It was yes, of course, because loving his General was as easy as breathing. So he looked down at his hands and whispered, “yes,” to his brothers. And he knew that some lucky vod, probably Rex, earned lots of credits today.
Rex clapped his hand on Cody’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, ori’vod, I’m sorry.”
After acknowledging the tightness in his chest whenever the General smiled at him, or the way his heart started beating faster when the General was in the same room as love for Obi-Wan, he resolved to wait until regulations no longer demanded Cody refrain from a relationship, and for the General to hopefully reciprocate his feelings. "After the war ends" became a promise to himself that one day he would be able to be with Obi-Wan without worrying about anything besides the teasing of his brothers.
After the report came in that the General had eyes on Grievous, Cody cursed because the di’kut was without backup. Sending troopers to the General’s position, Cody cursed again a short time later when he recognized the General’s lightsaber lying in the dirt at his feet. He scanned the upper levels for a sign of his General, because now he was engaging Grievous without a weapon, and wasn’t that wonderful.
Cody dragged his focus back to the task at hand; destroying the Separatist forces. He also contacted the Jedi Council and informed them that the General had engaged Grievous.
Hearing a bird-like shriek, Cody turned to see his General, tired but alive, and let a relieved smile split his face because they were almost there.
The General gave him a wide smile.
“Commander, contact your troops. Tell them to move to the higher levels.” Cody nodded.
“Very good, sir.” Cody couldn’t help the smirk that entered his voice, and judging by the General’s continued smile, he heard it too. “Oh, by the way, I think you'll be needing this.” The General gave him a wry look as if to say it couldn’t be helped. They both gave each other a tired smile.
“Thank you, Cody.” The smile the General flashed at him was smaller but infinitely warmer. After the war seemed very possible now, and Cody couldn’t help but hope now that Grievous and Dooku were dead. He watched the General ride up the cliff, his mount shrieking the way up when Cody got a comm. Confused, Cody did not recognize the comm number, but he answered.
His mind went blank under the assault of CC-2224 and when the hooded figure said, “Commander Cody, the time has come. Execute Order Sixty-Six,” CC-2224 agreed.
“It will be done, my lord.”
CC-2224 turned to a nearby trooper, Fritz, the part of him that was still Cody remembered, and recalled that he was the worst shot in a company of exceptional soldiers.
CC-2224 shouted, “Blast him!” and watched dispassionately as the animal and traitor fell toward the water from an impossible height.
Cody screamed in silence, trapped inside his head as he watched his General plummet toward the unforgiving water from such a height and screamed his grief again, for the after the war, but more for his General, who he loved, and whom he killed.
—————————————
Death Star, 0 BBY
After the war, CC-2224 was singled out by Vader to be in his command. It followed his orders without question, but sometimes it halted in its steps when Cody was screaming in his mind because destroying people and their way of life was wrong. Because if General Skywalker had gone Dark, serving the Emperor, Cody would have to resist CC-2224. Unfortunately, it never amounted to anything.
CC-2224 noted, dispassionately, that clones were being replaced by stormtroopers. They were used as cannon fodder. But Vader kept CC-2224 by his side, for years, until on the Death Star, CC-2224 saw a young man with dirty blond hair running toward a shuttle with another young woman and man, both with hair a shade of brown, and a Wookie. Vader pulled out two lightsabers, one a silver cylinder with black ridges, the other with a black handle, silver casing, and gold activation button that was eerily familiar.
Cody recognized the 'saber as Kenobi's lightsaber with a jolt and beat at the confines of his mind with a new fervor (he had given up some time ago) because if Vader had the General's lightsaber, he had to have found his General's body, and desecrated it, at the bottom of some Force-forsaken Utapaun sinkhole.
Cody pounded at the confines of his mind, screaming because he needed to be free, and he realized he had fallen to his knees, and tearing his helmet off, he sucked in huge drafts of breath and distantly recognized the pounding in his head and that the blood that dripped down his temple was from him, and he wasn't sure what to make of that.
When he raised his head again, the young blonde was looking at him, and Cody, who could now feel the cool floor beneath his gloves, and feel his body again, looked into the shockingly blue eyes and recognized the curve of the man's face, his nose, his eyes, and realized that the man was Vader's son (Vader had certainly screamed at CC-2224 enough about how his General took Padme from him, how Obi-Wan killed his unborn children.) Vader was now almost to the group, who were running, ever closer to the shuttle and taking the occasional shot at the other stormtroopers and on occasion, Vader himself, who deflected the bolts with his two red, bleeding blades, which was wrong because the General's 'saber wasn't supposed to be red. And now in control of his own body, which Vader had controlled too long (he had even stopped the accelerated aging because he wanted to maintain his twisted possession of his old master's commander), he unholstered his blasters and steadily shot at Vader, who had to twist and dodge around his shots, his black armorweave cape twisting in contorted shapes around his body. The delay in Vader's progress was enough to let the group run up the boarding ramp, where Cody caught sight of a familiar blue and chrome dome that he distantly recognized as R2-D2.
Vader raised his arms as the shuttle's engines strained against him; Cody was now too dizzy to raise his blaster again; he watched distantly as Vader drew the shuttle back with the Force, brow furrowed in concentration and yellow eyes burning, and he realized that there wasn't much point in shooting at Vader if the group didn't escape, so he summoned the last of his strength and shot, again and again, at Vader's turned back. The lapse in concentration was enough to force him to let go of the shuttle which gunned its engines and jumped to hyperspace as soon as it cleared the Death Star, and Cody continued shooting until he drew in another breath and found that he couldn't.
He could feel the invisible hand around his neck, crushing delicate cartilage and tissue, lifting him off his feet, his body dangling limply below him, suspended by his neck. Another presence was also there, wrapping its warm force presence around Cody, soothing and forgiving, reminding Cody of his General, of when he used the Force to throw him skywards, out of danger, or when he simply wrapped his Force presence around Cody to comfort him, and Cody found that he no longer truly cared if Vader killed him now, staring into his sulfurous eyes.
Vader was now standing in front of Cody's hanging body as he choked and desperately clawed at his throat to try to get some air, the warm presence still wrapped around him and dulling the pain, drawing it out of him and soothing him.
Vader's face was contorted with silent fury, watching Cody choke to death, surrounded by the masked faces of stormtroopers and one Grand Admiral Tarkin. Vader's lips twisted and he stepped forward, curling Cody's helpless fingers around Obi-Wan's lightsaber, his thumb over the activation button and the 'saber pointed toward Cody's heart.
And Cody, who had killed his General, and would surely die sooner or later, still struggled for life because he was free now, and he needed to make amends, until a dark and oily presence took hold of his thumb and pressed the button, igniting the lightsaber in Cody's hands with a snap-hiss and Cody's world fell away, the already faded paneled walls of the Death Star disappearing at an alarming rate, and he let go and fell into the warm comfort of the unknown presence until both it and Cody were yanked, twisted out of something, and tugged down threads and strings of energy, and he was shoved into blissful darkness.
—————————————
When Cody sucked in a deep breath, feeling warm dirt beneath his body, he was distantly aware that his limbs felt wrong, that his armor was far too large and loose around him where it used to fit snugly (or at least as snugly as it could fit), and the place where Vader had stabbed him did not hurt at all.
Cody grimaced when he realized that, no, he was not dead (even though, generally speaking, getting stabbed in the heart killed people), and no, he couldn’t just slip back into unconsciousness because he had to find out what the kriff had happened to him.
He forced his limbs to move, again noting the odd feeling that his limbs were smaller than he was used to.
Cody was in a forest, the orange-brown atmosphere clearly breathable, and the dirt beneath was mixed with various organic materials, namely leaves. When he finally pushed himself to his feet, his first observation was that he had the body of a child. A very, very small child, complete with small, pudgy hands and short limbs and a complete inability to fit into any of his armor. Not that he cared about the stormtrooper armor. The second observation that he was able to make while running his hands over his face, was that while he had none of the scars that he had gained after a few decades of service, the scar curling around his temple was still there. And seeing as this situation was by far the oddest thing that had happened to him, (Obi-Wan would say that this was as the Force willed; perhaps this was what the Force willed because he should be dead right now) he needed to get up and figure out what was going on. Acquire intel. That was something he could do, especially now that he knew the chip was disabled, or at least not currently on and preventing him from doing anything.
He stepped out of the now useless pile of armor, keeping his blacks, and pulling those on. He rolled the sleeves and pant legs up a few times, kept the too-large boots, and stuffed the stormtrooper armor in the hollow of a weird tree under a pile of leaves.
Knowing there was nothing better he could do- stormtrooper gear was trash, and he couldn’t lug around his armor anyway, Cody chose a direction and began walking.
—————————————
Korda VI, 52 BBY
Buir had sent Jango and a few other verde to go scouting. It was supposed to be an easy job; rescue a group of rookie security guards, but his buir liked knowing the lay of the land first. He had to agree with this assessment. So far, they had not found the security rookies, but Jango had his HUD scanning for heat signatures, as well as tracks, and if he didn’t find something, the rest of the team would.
As if on cue to that, Mjiir commed the team. “I found some pretty small tracks. If I had to guess, they belong to a child or a smaller species.”
“Alright, follow them and I’ll come with you.” Jango checked his location and started heading toward Mjiir. Jaster would want any tracks to be followed, especially if they could belong to an ad.
Meeting up with Mjiir and Myles, Jango kept a watch on the comm chatter as they followed the tracks. They hesitated when the previously straight tracks turned sharply to the right and just stopped. A flash of black, and he felt a small body hit him and twist away. Mjiir and Myles both had their blasters readied, but not before he registered that a tiny adiik had somehow grabbed his second blaster from his holster and had it pointing toward him.
Jango grimaced. To see such a young adiik already using weapons so easily and being wary enough to point them toward a stranger spoke of abuse, if not something worse. Behind him, he heard Myles slowly and carefully holster his blaster as he held his hands up. Both Jango and Mjiir did the same, keeping their hands in viewing range.
The adiik, however, did not lower their blaster. They had dark hair, cut short with military precision, olive skin, and a scar that curled around their temple and left eye. They were wearing a too-big bodysuit that looked like it had been rolled up several times, and their intelligent amber eyes never stopped sizing up Jango and his companions. They also resembled Jango, but that was not at the forefront of Jango’s mind. If it hadn’t been for the fact that this tiny ad had just attacked him and grabbed his blaster, Jango would have laughed at the expression of intense concentration on the ad’s face. Or maybe not, because that was an expression he didn’t think he’d see on such a young face.
Mjiir seemed to be the first to come out of the stupor that they had been in before. No one expected to be attacked by a kid who looked six or seven, no more than that. “Hey. I’m Mjiir, and these two di’kute are Myles and Jango. We’re not going to hurt you.” Mjiir liked kids. He had an ik’aad back home.
The adiik in question just looked surprised when they listed their names, dark eyes widening a bit and then narrowing again. He focused on Mjiir again, although his eyes flicked to Myles and Jango frequently, keeping track of their positions (which hadn’t moved from the frozen hands up position). “How do I know?” Their voice was rather hoarse.
“How do you know what?” Mjiir was evidently confused, and Jango was completely and utterly baffled. And a bit concerned to think about what made the kid like this.
The kid cleared their throat. “How do I know you don’t mean to hurt me?”
Myles pulled off his buy’ce, gesturing for them to do the same. He smiled at the adiik, his hands returning to the kid’s line of sight. “Because we are the Haat Mando’ade. The True Mandalorians. And we would never harm children, for to do so would make us dar’manda, and worse. We would never harm you, Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it.”
The ad had not lowered Jango’s blaster while Myles was talking, but their amber eyes had become less suspicious. A point to them, then. The kid seemed to ponder his words until they lowered the blaster and relaxed from the battle-ready position he had been in.
Mjiir relaxed, his buy’ce still held under his arm. “We have a camp not far from here. We can help you if you’re lost and need to get back to someplace. Your family, maybe?”
The kid searched Mjiir’s face. “Can I come with you? And, ah, I don’t have a family. Right now. Although, where are we?”
“You’re on Korda VI.” And for the kid’s benefit, who was quite obviously very disoriented, he added the date. At this, the adiik paled and they once again scrutinized Jango’s face for signs of deception. Finding none, they looked away, following them back to their camp in silence. Jango commed his buir to let him know they were returning with an adiik, just in case.
Myles broke the silence. “What’s your name, ad?”
“Cody. He/him.” The ad, Cody, said. He hesitated for a moment and said in Mando’a, “I also know Mando’a.”
“Where’d you learn it?” Myles looked at the kid with some curiosity, seeing as he had said he didn’t have a family.
Cody hesitated again when answering. “One of our trainers taught us,” and Jango did not like the sound of that. Judging by the sour looks of his companions, they did not like the tone in which trainer was said either. Cody just kept watching them.
“Cody, how did you get here anyway?” Myles was asking the question Jango had been pondering.
But Cody said, sounding rather confused himself, “I don’t exactly know.” Which hinted at being abandoned, which just further solidified the theory of the poor adiik of being abused. The scar certainly backed him up.
When they had gotten close to camp, Jango noticed that Cody seemed to be trying to decide whether he should say anything. He kept inhaling as if to say something, opening his mouth, hesitating, and then shutting it again. It seemed the others noticed this as well because Myles was shooting sidelong looks at Cody. He looked like he noticed them and didn’t care.
Mjiir broke the peaceful silence to stop the suspense. “What are you going to say?”
Cody looked at him, hesitating. He opened and closed his mouth once or twice before speaking. “You’re taking a job from the Korda Defense Force, right? To rescue a training squad pinned down by natives?” Jango stumbled to a stop, looking at Cody in astonishment. How the hell did the kid know about that?
In answer to the identical looks of surprise that they were probably sporting, Cody hesitantly said, “My friend. He has visions. Sometimes.” Well, that complicated things. But Seers we’re not unheard of, even if they hadn’t had a verde in years that had the gift of foresight.
“Is that why you’re here?” Myles questioned.
“Ah, I’m not sure, sir.”
Myles started at the title. “Just call me Myles, please. And why would your friend have a mission about this particular job?”
Cody’s eyes flickered over everyone. “Well, because a man with black and red armor, and a red cape is killed because a man named Montross leaves him to die to a man with long black hair, some of which is burned off, with a red shriek-hawk on his pauldron and you,” Cody says, pointing at Jango, “are, well, upset. And it’s a trap and you are ambushed by other Mandalorians with shriek-hawks on their armor as well. And a lot of you die.” Jango knows Myles and Mjiir have stopped to stare at Cody because if Jango’s not interpreting him wrong, he’s saying that Tor Vizsla kills Jaster, his buir on this planet. And that Montross is the traitor they’re looking for, and that. Well. It’s insane, but if Cody’s friend is really a Seer, then they should check what he says.
Myles just says, “Oh,” in response to this adiik’s grave statement. Jango would like to do the same, but he supposes his face speaks for him.
Jaster meets them at the entrance to the camp, his helmet off in welcome to the new ad they have found.
"Jan'ika, is this the ad you commed me about?"
Jango nodded his affirmation. "'Lek, Buir."
Jaster gave the ad a once over, his eyes lingering on the too-large blacks and scar. His face grew stormier.
Cody stared back, impervious.
"He's Cody. He also speaks Mando'a," offered Mjiir.
Jaster's eyes softened. "Su’cuy!"
"He has a weird accent though." Cody looked at Jango, amused.
"I'll have you know, my accent is perfectly understandable," said Cody as he stuck an absurd Inner Core accent on his words.
Jango could not help himself. He burst out laughing, along with what had become a few more verde along with Jaster and Mjiir. Myles seemed to be trying to keep in his laughter, because, Jango strongly suspected, he was trying to get a holo-recording of the adorable adiik.
Jaster straightened eventually and ordered Cody to the medics. He gave an absolutely adorable pout at that, digging in his heels until Jaster glared at him, and when that failed, he picked him bodily up and dragged him to the tent. It would make a hilarious holo, one which Jango would have to get out of Myles later, probably for blackmail. He always wanted a little vod'ika. Maybe he could get Jaster to adopt the kid. He was so badass.
When Jaster returned from wrangling Cody, he was looking extremely unhappy. He turned to Jango and grumbled, "Cody is malnourished, and underweight, and the scar is old, Jan'ika, old. He’s got some other scars, but nothing awful. Well. The kid had some dar'buire, that's for sure. But it can be fixed with help. And lots of good food. How did you find him?"
Jango grimaced, and retold the story of how the kid attacked them, taking his blaster (he definitely wanted the kid as a little vod'ika), and the subsequent conversation. And he also told his buir what Cody told Jango about the job.
His buir frowned. "That's definitely troubling. We'll investigate Montross. I'll comm the scouting verde and tell them to be a bit more subtle. And keep a sharper lookout. And I wouldn't suppose you know where Cot'ika's Seer friend would be?"
Jango had thought about that. He grimaced when he came to the most likely conclusion. "Well. He's probably with the dar’buire that Cody had for his buir'e." Or maybe he never knew his buir'e. Cody did say he didn't have a family, and he mentioned trainers. Maybe that was it. He said as much to Jaster, and he nodded.
"It's certainly possible for an ad who was so well trained." Jaster grimaced at that. "I need to get around to taking care of what Cody mentioned. You'll take care of him?"
"Of course, buir. Oh, and buir?"
Jaster turned to Jango in curiosity. "What?"
Jango grinned. "Can we adopt him?"
"If he hasn't been already!”
—————————————
Korda VI, 52 BBY
So he traveled about 52 years back in time. That was fine. Actually, it wasn’t. It was a good thing he was good at schooling his expression so he could silently panic while fielding the group’s questions. But thinking about it allowed a little golden flower of hope to bloom within his chest. He remembered what happened before. Or maybe he remembers what is to come. Either way, maybe, just maybe, he’d see his General again. He’d be a tiny adiik now, just like Cody. Oh, this was going to be great.
Talking with Jango, the Prime, was weird. Especially because he was not the angry, bitter, aloof person that treated them as his legacy, teaching them because he wanted them to be more effective (and later teaching them Mando'a and Mandalorian culture because he felt guilty when he realized that the clones had brains and individuality.) Although, maybe he couldn't resent Jango's bitterness. Everyone had a right to be bitter.
And when he told them about Korda VI (why would the Force send Cody here if not to fix the death that was about to occur?), Cody said his friend had visions. That was true, technically. Because if the General was his friend (the General was his friend, he called Cody his friend, even though Cody ordered his- don't think about it.) And the General had visions sometimes, that left him pale and shaking and sometimes he just collapsed. And Jango did tell the batches what happened on Korda VI. Very angrily and with lots of swear words. So it was pretty easy to get them to believe his statement. Maybe Jango wouldn't be such a hissy di'kut this time around if his buir didn’t die and if his clan wasn’t massacred. That was a good reason to be so bitter, just not an excuse.
Meeting Jaster was interesting as well. Jango had simply shortened his description of Jaster Mereel the Reformer down to; "He was my buir, he adopted me after my birth buir'e died. He was the Mand'alor." Or something along those lines. Turns out Jaster was actually a really nice person.
He had short black hair, warm brown eyes with small laugh lines, and he looked relatively young. Maybe in his thirties? Cody always struggled with determining natborn ages. He also hated the medics, which was where Cody was being dragged now. He hated being small and pick-up-able. It was awful. Although maybe it wasn't that bad.
"Cody, this is Baar'ur Iza Siver," said Jaster when they reached a kind-looking human, with dark brown hair and warm brown eyes. And then she hustled him off and told him to take off his shirt, and Cody remembered why he hated going to the medics. So much poking and prodding and questions and maybe the bacta reminded him of his vode dying. He shook his head to rid the image of Umbara out of his head as Baar'ur Iza poked at his tongue and told him to say ah. He restrained his grumble with some excellent self-control. Medics. He could still remember Ivee and his awful, awful tendency to threaten Cody with sedation if he didn’t sleep - although the General was the only one who ever got stuck with a hypo. Cody laughed at him for ages every time that happened, and Obi-Wan knew it. Jaster had left some time ago, presumably to take care of his little problem with Kyr’tsad. Okay, maybe it wasn’t little. He answered a few more of her questions, mostly about his eating habits.
He gave Baar’ur Iza his best death glare when he noticed her typing down data on a ’pad. Sure, he was underweight, but what imperial would care about a clone? It was fine. Some indeterminate amount of time later, she finished whatever Force-forsaken diet plan she had and gave it to him.
“Cody, here’s your meal plan. You may not be hungry for the first few days, but I want you to eat at least a bit of food each meal. Although, I think whoever adopts you,” and she winked here, “will take excellent care of you.” And then, just like Cody dreaded, she went off on another, long, medic lecture on health and self-care and stuff that Cody knew. Luckily, Cody had lots of practice with zoning out while pretending to pay attention.
When she was finished, Cody gave her another death glare, although she simply seemed amused. Cody cursed inwardly. That glare used to reduce shinies to tears and get his General to sleep. But it never got the medics to back down. They were more stubborn than he was. No wonder his General was scared of Ivee, although he never admitted it.
Baar’ur Iza was finally finishing. “And, one more thing. How old are you?”
Cody froze. How old was he? Technically, he hasn’t existed yet. Might as well tell the truth, or at least a bit of it. “I dunno.”
She nodded. “I thought so, but I wanted to check. Your body seems about six years old, so we’ll go with that. Oh, and are you related to Jango? You resemble him quite strongly.”
Cody started. What was he supposed to say? ‘I’m his clone?’ Nope. He settled for the small confused adiik vibe. “I’m not sure, Baar’ur Iza. I never really knew my birth aliit.” He even widened his eyes a tiny bit. Cody could have sworn she melted on the spot. So maybe being a tiny adiik had its advantages after all. Cody stored this information for later. He suspected he would have to use it many times.
Jango entered the tent, grinning. Cody pulled his shirt back on and hopped down from the table, leaving the ‘pad Baar’ur Iza gave to him up there in the hopes that he could pretend he forgot it. His hopes were crushed when she handed the datapad to Jango.
Jango reached a hand down and fluffed his hair, which he protested mightily. He just chuckled. Cody groaned, he needed to get out of the tent. Preferably into a nice bed. He was getting tired.
His tiredness manifested itself into a huge yawn while Baar’ur Iza was giving a Jango a talk about food and whatnot. Their attention snapped to Cody, who froze.
Jango walked over immediately. “We’ll take our leave of you now, Iza. Looks like someone needs a nap. And some different clothes.” Jango frowned at that. “I don’t know where we’ll find those; there are only verde on this mission.”
Baar’ur Iza gave him a sympathetic look. “If all else fails, he can walk around in the smallest clothes we have. It’s fine. And it’s better than an oversized bodysuit.”
Jango nodded his agreement. “Well then, Cody, shall we go? You can steal the guest bunk on Jaster’s Legacy.” He smiled fondly when they reached the ship.
“Ah, this is so great. Vor entye!” Cody was so looking forward to an actual bed.
Jango chucked at his enthusiasm. “N’entye, little Cot’ika.” At this, Cody unleashed the full fury of his death glare upon Jango who also just laughed. Apparently, his glare lost its potency after he got turned into a tiny cadet. That was fine. It was fine. Who was he kidding? It was so, so, irritating.
When he reached the bunk, Cody jumped up and quickly accepted the large sleep shirt and pants that Jango gave him; this Jango was pretty nice, and wasn’t that an odd thought? He pulled them on, seeing as they were infinitely more comfortable than the huge blacks. He grinned.
“Vor’e, Jango!”
“Kih’parjai, Cot’ika.” Jango fluffed his hair again, and Cody found he didn’t mind the nickname so much. After he was out on the CC track, he found most brothers didn’t use nicknames for him. Wolffe, the bastard, did. His mind immediately went to the casualty report for- don’t think about that. Nope. Not going there.
He forced a smile this time. “Sleep well, Cody.” And he hoped he would.
Cody was watching Obi-Wan fill Grievous with blaster bolts.
“Well done, General! The war is almost over! ” He frowned at himself. Why would he say that, like that?
Obi-Wan laughed. “Blasters are so uncivilized, Commander.”
“Here’s your lightsaber, sir. Try not to lose it in the future.”
Obi-Wan smiled at Cody. “But why should I worry?”
Cody groaned. “This weapon is your life, Obi-Wan. Try not to lose it.”
The General’s eyes lit up. “So it’s Obi-Wan now, huh?”
Cody stuttered. “Uhhh, well, you always say ’Anakin, this weapon is your life. So I uh, well.”
“Relax, Commander. It’s fine. I like it when you call me that. Besides, the war is almost over. ‘Obi-Wan’ is better for peace. And besides. You always have my back. Or in this case, my ‘saber.” Obi-Wan looked at Cody with those piercing blue-grey eyes and smiled.
Cody found that he wanted to smile back, but could not. In fact, he could not move at all. Or stop moving as the hand holding his General’s lightsaber from pressing the activation button as it pointed toward Obi-Wan’s chest. Obi-Wan gasped in agony as the blue blade surged forth into his chest, and Cody could not even scream as he watched him crumble to his knees.
Cody woke up screaming.
He gasped, trying to draw in air, to breathe, but he found that the image of Obi-Wan dying by his hand was etched into the back of his eyelids.
He curled up on his side and cried beneath the warm blankets, wishing he had seen his General one last time, to muster up the courage to tell him how he loved him. And how foolish he was, to think they’d last until the war was over and that Cody would have time to tell him.
He rolled over on his back, his little body not accustomed to such strain, and, unable to resist, he fell into another, much deeper sleep. When he fell asleep, he wished that he would not dream, sending a plea to the Force that Obi-Wan had said was in all living things, that he would not dream. Cody did not have another dream until he woke up, feeling better than he had felt in, well, years. Probably because he actually slept without a karking mind chip activated in his head. He still felt like he was being held by the golden warmth that he associated with his General.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat. Cody cursed when he recognized the sound of blaster fire. An explosion shook the ship, and he clutched the wall to keep upright. Why was it that whenever he slept, something went to hell?