Chapter Text
You’re a True Mandalorian in that awkward period between the death of Jaster Mereel and the mess that is Galidraan. You’re still a movement, a faction, a meaningful political stance with some degree of popular support from moderates in your system. You’re not as strong as you were before the death of your Mand’alor, but Jango’s doing pretty well, and you have high hopes.
In walks this thirty-something Jedi-looking motherfucker, in robes with some small amount of armor, the second-most ridiculously Core accent you’ve ever heard outside a holo screen, and two kids who look ready to bite someone. The human one is twelve-ish and angry and wearing clothes that are too big for him, and has a lightsaber that he can’t really wrap his entire hand around. The Togruta looks about eight, and is chomping her way through a freshly killed, still bleeding lizard the size of her arm. She is clinging to the human kid’s tunics, and looking around like she’s got no fear whatsoever. You're almost impressed.
“Hello, there!” the probably-Jedi sumbitch says, completely ignoring the fact that he’s in cuffs, and being paraded in with great suspicion by a squad of six. He sounds more like he’s some politician asking for directions in a palace. “I’m afraid we appear to have had something of a misunderstanding. I don’t suppose there’s someone I could speak with to get this straightened out?”
What the fuck, you think, but this isn’t your problem. You’re just on guard duty. You send the punk who got assigned to work with you to get Fett, because this might be a very calm and polite Jedi, but it’s still a Jedi.
The Togruta finishes her snack, and half her face is covered in blood. The human kid huffs and, despite having cuffs on, manages to get most of the blood wiped off with his sleeve.
“Thanks, Skyguy!”
He rubs at her head between the montrals in the way most people ruffle a kid’s hair. It’s cute, for a Jedi kid. Their adult looks fond.
Jango shows up. The kids make faces. The adult quietly reprimands them without even looking. They make different, more generally upset faces that don’t indicate their severe and inexplicable dislike of Jango. You are fascinated.
The Jedi introduces himself as ‘Ben’ with a smile, and a wave that should be awkward from the cuffs, but isn’t. The name is the kind of simple thing one can find on any number of planets, including Mandalore. It’s probably fake. The kids look down and scuff their feet against the ground. They do not introduce themselves.
“And the kids?” the Mand’alor asks, arms crossed.
Ben smiles. “They’re with me.”
“Their names, Jetii.”
Ben tilts his head, the smile fading just a touch as he weighs something. “I know their names as my children.”
Both of the kids snap their heads around to stare at him, eyes wide. The elder looks torn between angry and desperate. The younger, elated.
You’re glad they’re not your problem, because whatever emotions the human kid is packing look like way too much to deal with.
“Seems like they don’t agree,” Jango notes.
“We used different words for it,” Ben says, smooth and unhesitating. “But I have had my hand in raising them, and there are none alive that would recognize them as their own. By the world I came from, I am their teacher, but by the standards of Mandalore… I am their father in every way that matters.”
Togruta brat is smiling. Human brat looks like he wants to cry but can’t let himself. He still looks angry. His hand is clutching at Ben’s robes.
Ben just reaches down and caresses the kid’s head without looking, pulling him into his side.
“You’re Jetii.”
“Yes, good eye,” Ben compliments. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. “I doubt that any at the Temple would recognize me, but that’s to be expected. I’m not exactly the age they last saw me.”
Fett, for all his youth, doesn’t rise to the bait. “What’s a Jetii doing on Concordia?”
“Is that where we are?” Ben muses. “I’d been wondering.”
The Togruta kid giggles, pressing her face into her brother’s shoulder.
“You didn’t know what planet you were on?” Jango drawls. He’s so cool. “You don’t exactly look like you came out of an unexpected crash.”
“Well, you see, investigating Sith artifacts is a finicky business,” Ben says, stroking his beard in a way that admittedly looks kind of stupid in the cuffs. You wonder if anyone’s going to tell him that. “Sudden transportation to planets on the other side of the galaxy is rare, but not unheard of.”
Jango doesn’t say anything, just waits.
Ben finally sighs. “We were checking out something we thought would be safe. It clearly wasn’t. I genuinely didn’t suspect we were even in the same sector as Mandalore until your verd’e found us. Quite frankly, I’m not even sure it’s the same month.”
You wonder if you can talk quietly enough to tell Mari-set that this guy is totally acting and trying to manipulate the entire lot of you. You’re pretty sure every single reaction is calculated. It would be impressive if it weren’t being done by a Jedi.
Jango tells him the date, and the Jedi hums. The kids make faces again.
“Well,” Ben says at length. “I do believe that we may have stumbled upon a more benevolent artifact than most of what the Sith leave behind.”
“Benevolent?” the human kid demands. You’re not surprised that he sounds as angry as he looks. His voice cracks, though, and you’re far from the only person to laugh. He looks gravely offended, even as his sister joins in on the laughing. “Snips, come on, you’re supposed to be on my side!”
She just giggles and shrugs. She looks away, twisting to swing her arms from side to side. They’ve got her in the absolute smallest cuffs. They definitely aren’t going to help with cutting her off from the Force, but maybe she’s too young to know how it works yet.
“Yes, Padawan, benevolent,” Ben sighs. “Or at least not as outright malicious as most. We’re not dead or turned inside out, nor have we been poisoned to the dark side or transformed into shuffling undead puppets for the use of a Sith shade. In fact, all negatives aside, we’ve found ourselves in a position to do quite a lot of good. Perhaps the Sith elements faded with time, or the structure of the artifact was based around one’s own goals with the assumption that the user would be the Sith crafting it.”
You’re reluctantly fascinated. Nobody in camp has ever heard this much about Jedi stuff before. You wonder if the ‘shuffling undead puppets’ thing is a real concern. Ben’s tone is so wry that you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. You wonder if having this Jedi around means hearing more stories about weird, inexplicable magics like that.
“And exactly what good would you be doing here?” Jango asks, still refusing to accept any nonsense.
(He is. So. Cool, you think, with only half a thought spared for how your sister would gag if you told her your opinion about him again.)
“Not here,” Ben corrects. “Galidraan. The incident is only a few months away, I’d wager.”
“What incident?” the Togruta girl whispers.
“No idea,” the human boy whispers back.
Ben smiles, lacing his fingers together as if he’d like to tuck his hands into his sleeves. “Jango Fett, I do believe I’ve been sent here and now to help you prevent the slaughter of your people.”
Oh shit, you think. You’re probably not the only one.
“That a threat?”
“Oh, goodness no,” Ben dismisses. “But I’m rather well-informed, you see. Death Watch survives, and it seems they’re rather keen on tricking you into a situation that leads to all your deaths, along with a number of Jedi. They’re going to use the Governor and some false information to pit you against each other, my dear.”
“And how, exactly, are you so well-informed?”
“I have as much information as the Force sees fit to give me,” Ben says. He dips his head with that same smile, which you may have earlier considered charming for a gentleman of his age, but now realize is perhaps a little more bastardly than anyone had realized. “All is as the Force wills it.”
The human kid snorts, and when Jango shoots a glare at him, the kid just sticks his tongue out and makes a rude noise.
“Padawan, behave,” Ben reprimands. He sighs. It’s definitely as calculated as the rest. “At any rate, I do feel as though helping you would be the right thing. I’ve a rather vested interest in seeing the end of Kyr’tsad, myself.”
“See, all our info shows they were wiped out years ago.”
“Yes, well, your information is wrong. That’s why the trick would have worked, darling.”
“Master, stop flirting,” the little Togruta says, as imperious as any queen. “It’s gross.”
“I’m not flirting.”
“It’s gross.”
“He’s a little young for me,” Ben chides. He closes his eyes and sighs deeply. He opens his eyes again. You marvel at how pretty he is. “At any rate… Mand’alor, would you like my help avoiding the massacre of your people and loss of your throne?”
Fett stares at him for a few long moments. “Do you approach everyone like this?”
“Like what?”
Fett gestures vaguely at the man’s entire form. “The entire… personality.”
“He does,” the human child cuts in before Ben can.
Ben huffs. “My personality is what it is, Padawan, and might I remind you of your own inappropriate flirtations with a certain queen—”
“Master!”
Fett coughs, and when attention is back on him—except for the giggling Togruta youngling—he asks, “if you always act like this, it’s a wonder you haven’t been shot yet.”
“Oh, I’ve been shot plenty,” Ben assures them, suddenly cheery. “But I’m afraid nothing’s taken quite yet. I have pride in being a rather difficult target. You understand.”
The human child mutters something unintelligible, and the smile disappears as quickly as it came on. Ben pulls him awkwardly to his side, hand passing over his hair in a comforting motion known to parents all over.
You think that, even if the man apparently hadn’t said it in as many words before, he really was their father. The motion is too practiced and familiar for him to be anything else. You wonder if there was ever a spouse in the picture. You’ve heard that Jedi aren’t allowed to have families, so probably not.
Being a single father does seem to suit this one, though.
(You maybe drift off a bit in the moment, biting your lip behind the safety of your helmet. He’s very attractive for a man of his age, after all, smooth-speaking and with a respect for armor that you don’t imagine most Jedi have. Your sister is going to hit you with a pillow when you gush to her later, but that’s fine.)
“Alright, Jetii,” Fett says, and you jerk back to attention. “You’ve got my interest. Someone get those cuffs off so we can talk. And who let the baby Jedi keep a saber?”
“Ah, the keys won’t be necessary,” Ben says, with that damnable smile. He looks down to his daughter. “Sweetheart, if you would?”
She squeezes her eyes shut, focuses, and… ah. They fall off. Ben and his son just rub at their wrists as the little girl proudly grins up at them.
Putting the child in Force-suppressing cuffs would have been reasonable precaution, then.
“Much obliged, my dear,” Ben tells the little girl, and then picks her up and slings her onto his back as soon as she comes within reaching distance. “Well, Mand’alor? Shall we?”
“Kriffing jetii osik,” Jango mutters, shaking his head. “Fine, whatever. Come on.”
As it turns out later, this is not the weirdest day you’ll ever have due to Ben Kenobi.
It’s not even going to be in the top ten.