Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

43 BBY - Mandalore

The constant hissing of blaster shots passing over their heads marked the beat to which the two youths ran through the underbrush, ducking as they went and crawling through the dirt and thicket when necessary. The long grass swayed with the gentle winds of the night as they hurried away, hearts beating at a frightening rate.

In a wish to keep hidden from their enemies and maintain the stealth of the mission as much as possible, it had been agreed that trying to fight against their pursuers would hinder them more than help. They were being hunted like animals and their hunters were numerous, a few counter attacks wouldn't amount to much in the grand scheme of things. So they ran, quiet like mice, fast as felines, hoping against hope to lose them in the greenery.

But their hunters were many, their hunters had equipment; it was only a matter of time before one of their random shots found its mark.

"Aah-!" The sharp scream of the girl was quickly silenced by her own hands as they pressed tightly against her mouth, her face was swiftly tear streaked and contorted in pain. The hurt was immediate and sharp.

"Satine!" Whispered the boy in desperate concern; someone would've definitely heard that. He rushed them away, taking her hand and skittering on bent legs and backs until they found a small outbreak of rocks that offered them sanctuary for a moment or two.

Taking the girl by her arms he pulled her low into the greenery with him as gently but swiftly as he could. She was choking on her cries as the redheaded boy shushed her with tender words. Carefully, he pealed the burnt fabric from her shoulder where the shot had gone through, she gasped in response, digging her nails into the soft of his arm.

"Oh dear," it looked bad. It was raw and burnt, it would get infected soon if someone didn't treat it.

Their heads shot up at the sound of approaching heavy-footed boots, beneath his hands, he felt her trembling. He held her by the waist in a half hug in terrified silence until the noise strayed away. He turned to her then.

"Satine, listen to me, do you remember precisely where Qui-gon said to meet him?" He asked hurriedly and she nodded just as fast, well aware of their predicament "Can you get there on your own?"

The girl started nodding but stopped cold.

"Obi-wan, no." she hissed fiercely despite the pain and the tears in her eyes.

"Yes, Satine, you need to get out of here and Qui-gon will help I promise, but if we stay together we're not going to escape them. I have to make them think we've gone another way-"

"No… no, no, no Obi, please, together remember? We can do anything together!" She pleaded with a desperate shaky smile.

"Of course, and we're doing it, this is us, working together." He tried smiling back.

"No, this is you wasting yourself in a stupid sacrifice, I won't let you." Satine held tightly onto his arms. There was silence between them.

"Please…. Please Satine, I need you to stay safe, you need to take care of your people and be a fair and just ruler when your time comes. And you need to be alive to do that." Obi-wan told her shakily, he was very frightened.

The murmur of movement and voices could be heard not too far away. Moving, searching for anything that shouldn't be there.

"But I need you! And- and you need me too, and… what about all the people in the galaxy that will need you to save them?" She attempted, already distraught by the resolve in his eyes.

"Yes, you need me and I need you, but your people need you more. And there's a whole Order out there of wonderful Jedi who can save the galaxy in my stead. Mandalore needs you." He said with finality.

Satine was quiet, she lowered her eyes and wiped a stray tear from her cheek, she understood.

They flinched, the voices through the tall grass were closer now. She turned to him.

"I'll… I'll see you at the rendezvous, right?" She tried smiling again, uncertain and wobbly.

"Of course," he willed himself to say, tasting the ash in his mouth at the lies they were whispering to one another "It'll be another story to tell around the campfire." He squeezed her hands "Be safe, Qui-gon will be there, he'll find you." He reassured her and started to stand but Satine hadn't let go.

"Obi!" She pulled him back down until his lips were pressed against hers, quick and chaste. "You be safe." She threw back, a spark of her usual fire returned.

The young Jedi half crouched there, looking at her worn out face and sharp brilliant eyes, maybe a second longer than he ought to considering the situation. Then Obi-wan leaned into her and kissed her sweetly, stepping back up he looked at Satine one last time before disappearing through the tall grass.

She waited anxiously in between the sounds of heavy boots and waving grass until a minute or two later, far away in the distance, the bright radiance of a Jedi's sword burst into life, shining through the dark.

"Over there! Move it!" Shouted a voice, uncomfortably close to her hiding spot. Several armored people hurried away, shooting at the blue firefly that moved further and further away from her as the seconds ticked by.

Soon, there was silence, after a while, the shots and shouts got so far away she could barely make them out anymore.

She shot up from the grass and ran towards the opposite direction, wiling her aching legs to go a little further tonight. She needed to find Qui-gon, he could fix this, he would save Obi from himself and she'd laugh at him for his stupid heroics in a few days. She just needed to find Qui-gon, he always made things right.

Chapter Text

41 BBY – Mandalore

The air was dry in the ship, his fingers tired and aching from the manual work, the tiny pieces of tubing and packaging for the illicit substances threatened to fall between his fingers as they shook. His body was constantly run by small tremors, thanks to the endless exposure to the spice; it peppered the rancid recycled air, and with every breath he unwillingly inhaled a little more into his system.

Shocking volts would course through his body at the slightest perceived wrongdoing from his captors. The only thing keeping him from collapsing was his will made of pure beskar. The owners whipped and threatened; the owned would lower their heads in submission.

But he could handle that. He could handle all of that: the rancid air, the incessant tremors, the torturous shocks and the ever-present fatigue. All of it, it fuelled him with ire and the dulcet dreams of bloody revenge.

But even thoughts of revenge couldn't change the fact that he was tired, always drop-dead tired, the kind of weariness that gnarled at the bones and settled there. He endured though, he's Mandalorian, his father Jaster Mereel was the Mand'alor, he had taught Jango all about endurance and his death at the hands of betreyal even more so. All of their deaths had taught him to endure. He knew how to handle the pain and the exhaustion that came afterward.

He slept on the cold floor amongst the assortment of bodies, poor enslaved souls barely alive anymore, barely anything left within them that resembled sentient beings. They were more like droids on the last dregs of life now, just going through the motions day in and day out. Until death came that is.

He swallowed and the collar around his throat prophesied strangulation.

But he could handle it, he's Mandalorian, he's strong, he knew about endurance.

As he closed his eyes a tear trailed a wet path down his cheek. The smell of spice filled Jango's nostrils a well known friend; it is with that flavor that weary sleep dragged him under into nothingness.

.~.~.~.

Jango doesn't wake up with a start, he's better than that. He's got years of training and experience dealing with all manner of precarious situations under his belt that have long since beaten the reflex out of him. His eyes open slowly as he takes in a deep inhale of stale air; it's been a while since he'd last docked and the filters, as good as they were, aren't magical. He places a hand over his breast and wills his racing heart to slow. There is no danger, he is alone, there's no one on the ship but him.

His vessel drifts through space with no set destination to guide it through the stars; quiet, infinitely silent, like the whole of the galaxy, lonesome and aimless. The Fury is a wretched thing but very functional, quite like its owner. It gets Jango safely where he needs to go, if there ever is such a place where he might head to, and it's not as small as one-man ships tend to be.

He sits up on his bed and takes in an even deeper breath, his heart is still racing, trying to get away from him in a mad dash. There won't be any more rest to be found tonight. Jango climbs out of bed. It's time to get to work.

.~.~.~.

The mere existence of Death Watch causes Jango to experience an instinctual level of disgust that's hard to suppress; setting foot upon the soil of their camp makes the deep set of his frown very noticeable - at least it would be if it weren't for his ever-present helmet. There's a vague part of him that wishes he could be anywhere else in the galaxy but here. Still, there are things to be done, and information to acquire. Besides he can't live in the dark forever, as much as that would please him.

The information he'd managed to shoot out of a guy about this place was minimal but useful. This particular small Kyr'tsad camp was laying low for a while because a couple of days ago they had been terrorizing villages and small towns some 50 klicks away. According to what he'd gathered from the drunkard at the bar, the leader of this camp had been working closely with one of Pre Vizsla's advisors not very long ago. Jango isn't in any position to infiltrate the more important or heavily armed bases across the Mandalore system, so he'll have to settle for the smaller fish and hope there is something of value to be found here.

The Fury is hidden some 10 klicks away, a distance Jango hopes is far enough to not attract any of the camp's attention, he's not here for a fight, he's not here to cause a scene, he needs information on Kry'tsad and their doings and that's it. It doesn't matter how much he burns on the inside at the thought of them, or how easy it would be to inflict some revenge on this group he's not even sure were instrumental to his downfall all those years ago. Death Watch, he has no pity for them, but he didn't come here to deliver justice of any kind.

The camp is half-hidden in a small indentation of the rocky plain, visible only if you know how to look for it, just another part of the terrain if you don't. As he creeps in closer Jango can hear the sounds of easy chatter and the crackling of fire; it sounds nice and comforting, like the nights he used to have with his own aliit, with Jaster. It makes him fume, to know that they can be content with themselves when they are responsible for Jango's slavery and barely human life, when he's the last of his family, when he's nothing but alone…

Jango sets his jaw and gets his head back where it belongs.

He slides down a rock into the concave earth and stills at the sound of steps coming his way, he ducks down low behind some sad bushes until the guards pass him by, they are none the wiser. Jango is as still as a corpse and nothing moves unless he wills it so.

He sighs quietly and moves towards the large tent that is to the utmost end of the camp, which serves as the command center for this specific group of Death Watch. A series of smaller tents are connected to this larger one and it's through one of these that Jango intends to sneak in. When he's absolutely sure there's no one inside and that the night watch won't catch sight of him he unlaces one of the folds of the tarp and passes through the fabric quickly and softly. Inside there are boxes, sacs, and all sorts of provisions, everything that the camp will need to live comfortably for a good long while. Jango smirks, he's sure Kyr'tsad wouldn't mind sharing a bit of the loot with an old friend, it'd be nice to have something new on The Fury now that rations bars are pretty much the only edible thing he has left, not that he tends to have much of anything else mind you. He allows himself half a second to inspect a small velvety bag atop one of the open metal boxes, he takes it in his hand and feels the numerous small contents inside moving around.

Jango stills. The sound of something brushing against dry grass is too close for comfort.

Not thinking at all, he pockets the bag in one of his many pouches and creeps forward. There's no more noise inside the tent and unless someone heard him, he doesn't think anyone would stand so silently. He activates the thermal vision in his helmet and scans the vicinity and holds his breath. There's a body half laid on the ground, slumped and limp, he suppresses the urge to huff in displeasure. A drunk if Jango has to take a guess, probably sneaked his way to the good stuff no doubt. He doesn't envy the poor sod when he's found out if what he knows of the leaders of the camp is anything to go by. He also doesn't really pity them, anyone belonging to this kriffed up group can choke on their consequences for all he cares.

Carefully, he moves forward and ventures a look at the body.

He stops.

Jango just… stops.

Cause right there, in a place no more suitable than for a farm animal, there's a young teen with a collar on his neck. A child for all he cares to admit.

That's a child.

Death Watch has a child tied up in their provision tent like cattle and treated even worse than if the marks on his body are anything to go by.

All thoughts of a quiet reconnaissance fly out of his head.

Jango is filled with rage.

It's a rage so hot it burns his insides from his belly outwards, spreading like wildfire in summer, it boils his blood and he cannot think. Because this boy, who looks barely out of his baby fat, whose half-starved and just like any other slave he's ever seen, like the ones who were with him on...

He… he doesn't know what to do. His mind is visited by visions of hollow faces, working fingers, the trembling of his own hands, and much less pleasant things.

No, he knows exactly what he should do, but for his own sake he shouldn't do it.

There's fire burning inside of him, uncontrollable and all-consuming. And Jango… Jango decides to deal with the issue.

.~.~.~.

The camp is quiet, but he's sure it won't be for much longer. Someone ought to have called for help before he could get to them. It's no matter, he can be gone from here before anyone was the wiser; but he has to be quick, a few moments of idleness will cost him his neck… and there's someone besides himself that he needs to get out of here as well.

He enters the big main tent from the front now, tall and proud like he is, striding amid still figures on the ground that are less than important, forever asleep on top of their cozy pools of blood. There are lounge-like spaces here and some desks, the operations department as he had suspected. To the right one of the connected sections leads to the dry grass and hay-covered ground of the storage tent for provisions and other oddities.

Jango shoves away the fabric at the entrance and stops at the sight before him. He lets out a heavy sigh at the now, very aware boy that is chained to his little animal pen of an abode. It's disgusting what people dare to do to children for some warped sense of enjoyment.

A pair of sharp blue-grey eyes, like an overcast day, look up at him from under long dirty brown locks of hair. For all intents and purposes, Jango does feel like he's staring at a wild animal, as repulsing as the thought may be; Kyr'tsad has made a number on the kid, there's no mistakeing that.

The teen is curled up as best as he can against the wood behind him, he hasn't got much strength on him by the looks of it and the Mandalorian isn't quite sure if he should waste his time on gentleness. Reinforcements will be here sooner or later and he'd like to put as much distance between himself and them as he can. He can tell there's no way this boy is going to follow him willingly in the very small amount of time he has to convince him that he's not a threat.

Jango sighs, Manda forgive him.

"Come on," he mumbles as he strides towards the boy, who flinches away from him as he kneels by his side. "Shh, it's okay, I won't hurt you."

He takes out a small detonator from one of his pockets and places it on the electrorope, it deactivates with a small flash and the cuff falls away from the teen's ankle. It's raw underneath, and what little skin is unblemished beneath is pale compared to the rest of the boy's complexion.

"Come." He orders once again, taking the teen by the arm and dragging him up.

It's at this moment when it dawns on the boy what's happening, the fear in his eyes grows as he tries to pull away from this new stranger who's taking him away to some unknown new suffering. From his mouth comes out pitiful sounds of protest and it breaks Jangos heart if just a little, but he hardens himself. Neither of them have time for gentleness, and he's not risking leaving the kid here to his fate of torture and death at the hands of Kyr'tsad; who'll definitely want to know what happened to the camp and how everyone ended up dead except him.

As he comes to the main part of the tent, dragging the kid behind him, he grabs a random datapad on a desk that he hopes contains a semblance of useful information. They walk out to the rocky exterior and the cold of the night, he guesses it's quite cold anyway. The teen is shivering in his grip, he's only wearing a thin raggedy shirt, as they stumble up the concave the camp hides in. Jango hears the scratch of nails on his armour as the boy continues to try and pry his arm from the man's grip. 'That's good,' he thinks 'there's still some fire left in him after all.'

More grunts of effort escape the kid's lips and that's when the sound of far away ships reaches him. Reinforcements.

"Kriff," Jango curses under his breath, they have to get out of here and fast, he closes his eyes for a second and gathers will. He tightens his grip on the teen's arm and turns around to face him, pulling him forward sharply.

"Listen kid, you want Kyr'tsad finding you after what I did there? Do you think your life will be any easier because you're not coming? Hm? What do you think will happen when they find all of their buddies dead and you're the only one alive? I can promise you, they'll be far less kind than me." he squeezes a little bit tighter for good measure.

The boy quiets with a soft frightened intake of air, he sees himself reflected in the visor of the Mandalorian helmet, the face of all of those who had wronged him, and swallows.

A moment pases, he lowers his eyes in submission, his hand falls from its efforts of dislodging Jango's grip from him and he goes as limb and placid as a droid with low batteries.

"Good choice." Mumbles Jango and pulls the kid behind him, this time without so much as a peep or a single tug of resistance. There's a little ache of guilt inside his chest but they must hurry, he pushes them as fast as he thinks the stumbling weak boy can take.

They run through the deserted rocky terrain for an hour and a half, by then the brunet teen is barely holding himself upright, but there on his arm is the constant anchor that holds him up; his new bond of captivity.

Chapter Text

When they reach The Fury, the only thing keeping the young teen on his feet is Jango's tight, sturdy grip on his thin bicep. With it, he drags the boy into the vessel and dumps him on one of the back seats of the cockpit where hopefully he won't get any funny ideas like opening the hatch and throwing himself out. Hopefully.

The Mando locks the boarding ramp, turns on the engines, and busts out of the atmosphere like there are demons on his tail. There are.

Once he's reached outer space and is a few good parsecs away, the man lets out a heavy sigh. Jango closes his eyes and lets his helmet fall against the back of his seat; 'Way to escalate things out of proportion', he silently chastises himself. It's not like he hadn't let a few thousand bad things happen to people over the years all because it was none of his business but… with his own captivity coming alive inside his mind and the kid… he's not even a kid really, he's probably more of a young man now, still.

Something had just come over him.

The man gathers himself and takes a deep breath, ready to face his new interloper. He rises from his chair and turns to the stranger. After several seconds of silent examination, he sees that this is indeed no kid as his first impression had led him to believe. But he does look incredibly boyish, stuck in that strange space between childhood and manhood. Jango wonders how old the kid really is.

The brunet is hunched up into himself, he is unmoving and still as a rock, a trapped little mouse, classic prey behavior. If I do not move the hunter might not find me here. But subtle, very subtle is the slight tremble that runs all over the kid's body, like little rippling waves of distress.

He takes a few steps, the sound of his own boots against the floor somewhat ominous even to himself, with the kid cowering like he is.

"Hey," Jango stands in front of the boy. He can see the tension in his limbs, taunt and locked now that the Mandalorian's attention is solely on him. Awkwardly he kneels on the floor so he does not loom over the scrawny human. "Hey, it's okay."

Jango's years of captivity and solitude have not done him any favors and it shows in the awkwardness of his every action. He sighs quietly and takes off his helmet in the hopes of making himself more approachable.

"I know I was very harsh back there, and that probably isn't helping my case right now, but I was only helping and trying to do what I judged to be best in the moment." The words feel hollow in his mouth, false, even though he really means them. The brunet still hasn't moved, his eyes fixed on his lap like his life depends on it.

Jango suppresses an even bigger sigh and the urge to grab at his own hair and pull. It's easier when he can just ignore people or make himself a threatening presence so no one feels the urge to talk or approach him.

"I'm sorry… about that." He attempts half-heartedly.

The kid. Does not. Move.

He sighs now, giving up on whatever it was that he's trying to do. He lowers his head and brings up a hand to his forehead trying to order his thoughts and figure out what the next thing to do is.

Jango risks a look at the boy, and yep, he's still stuck in the same way he's been sitting since the Mando dropped him on the seat. If Jango listens carefully enough he can hear the erratic intakes of breath the brunet is making a valiant effort to regulate in a quiet manner.

The Mandalorian takes him in, the teen is skinny and an unhealthy shade of pale that is covered up with dirt and grime. He focuses on the skin, ignoring for now the bulky slave collar on the kid's neck; that's a nest of fire-beetles that could explode on him at any given time and he's not touching it with a 10-foot pole right now. The skin is bruised and has odd scars here and there; right at the opening of the v on his shirt peaks an ugly, long, thin, red mark, it looks a few days old and in desperate need of bacta.

Now that is something he can do.

"Tell me where you're hurt," Jango asks for the sake of the teen, "That looks painful," he points at the showing skin, "I'm sure a little bacta would do won-".

As he reaches out with his hand to tug at the shirt in order to inspect the wound a little better, the kid bolts up from the chair and slams his back against the wall behind him. There's a loud bang as the brunet's head collides against the metal. Jango stands up as well, slowly, and raises his hands in a pacifying gesture. The kid looks dizzy from the hit but his eyes are trained on the Mandalorian like he's got an active grenade in his hand.

"Hey, hey, hey, easy kid, it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you," The teen is quiet but his rapid breathing is loud in the space between them. He's pressed as much as he can against the wall and his blue-grey eyes show just how terrified he is.

"It's okay," Jango says again, a little more softly, "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." He backs away a step, two, and lowers his hands. "I… know this is probably less than ideal, I get that. Just tell me where I can take you. Your parents? A guardian? Whatever place where you've got people that'll have your back, I'll get you there."

The kid says nothing, his eyes piercing into Jango's despite the fear that festers in them.

"I'll take you, you just need to tell me where to go," he offers again "Are you from Kalevala? Mandalore?"

Silence. Eyes. Breathing.

"Come on kid, you've gotta give me something here," Jango pushes but the teen just won't budge.

The man sighs in frustration, stops, and once again looks at the boy. He's in terrible shape, Jango knows that, from neglect of his captors and active harm done to him. But the brunet is also noticeably exhausted, he'd been that way since they ran their way to The Fury, only up and going thanks to the support Jango's grip had given him. He suspects that weakness has been there since before they were even fleeing. There are beads of sweat on his forehead and a tremble in his limbs he had thought was there because of fright, but there is no doubt that it's also the exhaustion.

The kid is still oh so frightened of him; Jango truly did pick up nothing more than a small, scared animal.

So he makes a decision.

He steps further away until his back touches the opposite wall and he settles there.

"You can go," he gestures to the entrance of the cockpit. The brunet takes a second to direct his eyes there and then back at Jango, for once another emotion touches his face, want, but he's wary, he doesn't trust this to be a genuine kindness "It's okay, I won't bother you for now, go." The man insists.

The teen shuffles his feet a little, inching slightly towards the door, back pressed to the metal behind him. The boy expects this to be a game he doesn't know the rules to, one which he can't hope to win, but the desire to run is there, festering in his veins.

Jango takes a leap of faith himself and closes his eyes, dropping his head back to the wall and leaving himself seemingly vulnerable to the other.

A minute passes and then he hears it, a tentative set of soft steps, and then the thundering of running feet as the boy takes off as fast as his legs will take him and away from the Mandalorian.

Jango opens his eyes to an empty cockpit and walks to the pilot seat, slumping down as he sits.

"What a mess," he whispers to himself, massaging the space between his brows a bit. He really doesn't have time for this… well he's not actually doing anything different from what he's been doing these past months… But still, he's not equipped to deal with another traumatized being that is not himself.

The Mandalorian busies himself with the console, checking that everything is in order with the navigation system so that The Fury won't collide with anything in her drifting. He leans on his side and feels an unfamiliar bulge in one of the pockets. Jango makes a soft huff of surprise and remembers the bag of whatever that he had grabbed back at the camp, he takes it out.

When he tugs at the cord that closes the fabric, and when he opens the bag a whiff of spiced air hits him, and not the kind of spice that he wishes he had shoved down the throat of the slavers who had held him captive, but the good kind of spice.

Seasoning.

He takes out of the little bag a small pellet like thing and breathes in. On further inspection, he finds a great number of other pellets in a range of different colors from orange to lilac and they all smell pleasantly different. He gives a testing lick to one of the red pellets and scrunches up his nose at the intense flavour.

"Hu," he hums to himself. What the hell is he supposed to do with seasoning of all things?

Jango closes the bag. He gets up for his sit with a stretch and puts the little bag away in one of the cupboards over the small, unused kitchenette. It's a pity that he hadn't grabbed something more interesting while he was there.

Following that train of thought, the man goes back to the cockpit to investigate the datapad he had grabbed, hoping that at least he'll find something of use there. But even before trying to hack into it, he sighs, frustrated, as he leans his forehead against the thin metal. He's not fooling himself, after the stunt he pulled, he is going to have to lay low for a good long while.

What a mess.

.~.~.~.

The kid stays hidden Manda only knows where for the rest of the day, and the one that follows. Jango stays mostly in the cockpit and his room in an effort to give the boy some space, but by mid-cycle the next day he's pretty worried the kid is unconscious somewhere in a crevice of The Fury from lack of food and water.

He begins his search.

He thinks it should be pretty easy to find a hurt, scrawny teen in an enclosed space, especially with his bounty hunting skills, but half an hour later without anything to show for it, Jango begins getting antsy. He's not in the ventilation system, which he scanned thoroughly, as it always seems to be option A for hiding purposes. After a while he has to admit to himself he's thoroughly at a loss.

Jango keeps looking out of sheer spite for himself until finally, after a while more, he finds the teen cramped in a narrow space between the metal crates he has in the cargo hold. It's a wonder how he even got there, but the brunet is sleeping like he's not in the most uncomfortable position in the galaxy. He hates to do this, the teen really looks like he needs a couple months of uninterrupted sleep, but Jango's pretty sure he needs food even more.

As quiet as a feather, the Mandalorian places two ration bars and a cylindrical water container in front of the kid's hiding space, then he steps back and crouches, knocking on the metal wall behind him. The brunet startles awake and gathers his limbs to himself as best as he can inside the small space, his eyes fixed on Jango with intensity.

"Hey, I brought you some food," and please take a shower, the man thinks but doesn't say it, the kid has a foul smell to him, something which Jango's not remotely surprised by. "You need to eat, I'm willing to bet Death Watch wasn't feeding you properly, and it's been two days already. You'll drop dead at this rate."

The teen eyes the offered food with equal amounts of desire and mistrust, but only for a moment, keeping an eye on the threat is much more important. Jango waits a few moments in which neither of them does anything. He sighs then and stands up, the boy flinching back at his movement.

"Eat," he commands again before he walks away, he does not leave though. He waits patiently behind the partially open sliding doors that lead away from the hold and keeps an ear out for any slight movements. There is silence for a couple of moments before he hears a slight rustle and then a clink. He waits for a beat or two before peering out, there is nothing in front of the crates anymore. Jango smirks when the sound of a tearing wrapping paper reaches his ears and walks back to the main deck, content.

.~.~.~.

For the next couple of days they end up playing this sort of game, at least that's what it feels like to Jango, were he'll deem enough time has passed and go look out for the kid and leave for him a ration bar or two and some water at a reasonable distance. The teen is never twice in a row in the same place where he had hidden before, he repeats places of course, but this way if Jango wants to catch him off guard it'll be harder. Smart kid that one.

Still, though, their rapport is tenuous at best, if ever Jango tries coming closer to him than strictly necessary, the brunet will bolt away to hide somewhere else, his face painted by a deeply rooted fear that's hard to overcome.

Jango is, in all honesty, quite worried about a couple of things. One, the multiple untreated wounds he suspects the kid has, besides the ones he's glimpsed at. Two, the almost nausea inducing rank that follows the boy everywhere he goes. He really needs to talk him into getting a sonic and incinerating the clothes he's wearing as soon as possible. And three, and most importantly, he needs to take the slave collar off of the kid.

He had taken a monumentally stupid risk when he took the teen away without figuring out what kind of collar it was, but there had been no time to figure it out. Jango had hoped it was mainly a shock collar and with the distance they pulled it wouldn't be able to activate anymore, which seeing as the kid was fine and unexploded, was probably the right call. But these instruments are unreliable in the worst ways possible, and definitely not the, 'I'll stop working all of a sudden,' kind of way. There was as much a possibility of the collar electrocuting the kid to death because a code hadn't been entered, as there was for it to malfunction one day and explode because of a random glitch.

That had been a lapse of judgment on his part, and he can't thank Manda enough that nothing had gone awry. He couldn't afford to make those kinds of mistakes.

So yeah, it is an understatement to say Jango has some things on his mind, there are plenty of those. His only comfort (and if he's completely honest with himself, curse), is that he is the only person he has to listen to on this ship, the kid barely breathes loud enough as it is.

And really, what can Jango even do here? He'd take the kid to his family but the brunet is not talking. He'd leave him in a random town or one of the cities of Mandalore, but he can tell the kid's not well in the head right now. He'd leave him and then what? He'd run away, skitter around stealing food and living on the streets? Starve to death? And Jango… it's not like he has anyone out there who he still trusts, not that he knows of. He'd leave the kid with someone but there's just… There's just him now.

He should just dump the teen in whatever planet he lands on next, Jango did just fine once he escaped from his own captivity after all. But… he can't do that to the kid, Jango looks at him and he sees terror everywhere, he sees himself of course, but that didn't stop him from leaving behind the rest of the slaves to their own fates once he escaped. Still, he can't… he can't do that to the boy, he… he doesn't deserve that. And some deep part of Jango that he can barely recognize or even tell that is there anymore wants to help. In whatever small way he can.

.~.~.~.

Next time Jango finds the kid he is to his astonishment inside one of the walls that covers machinery and wiring of the ship, and how he even thought or managed that would forever remain a mystery to the man. He only notices the hidey-hole because the metal plaque covering it looks just minusculely out of frame. He closes his eyes and takes in a breath to center himself.

He knocks softly on the wall to announce his presence, though he's sure the kid already knows he's there; after that first time he'd found the boy, Jango had only caught him two more times asleep, but it was rare, his instincts were sharp and attentive at all times.

Slowly, very slowly, he takes the panel off and sets it to the side, then backs away a few paces and sits down at a reasonable distance, the kid's grey eyes track his every move like a hawk.

He taps a couple of times on the floor a bundle of 3 bacta packets that he's brought with him, he's going to tackle all of his worries one by one, no matter how long that takes him. Baby steps though.

He adds to his worries electrocution via the ship, not to be confused with electrocution via the collar, because the kid's back is nested between the multitude of tangled wires and boards and connectors. Either the kid has no self preservation instincts or he's dull, which he doesn't think he is with the skills he's displayed aboard The Fury, but even Jango would hesitate to make a bed out of dangerous wiring.

The dark haired man takes in a deep, deep breath and lets it go to alleviate his sudden flare of nerves. He looks at the teen and then lifts the bundle up to eye level.

"I know you don't trust me, and that's fine, but you need to take care of your injuries. Either I do it or you do it." Jango looks pointedly at the other, "Tell me you understand." He adds when the kid unsurprisingly doesn't reply.

After a moment, there's a hesitant nod from the brunet, the Mandalorian almost smiles.

"You know how to use these?" The man asks for good measure. The boy gives him another nod, more quick and certain than the last.

Jango wants to risk one more thing, just to see how much the teen can be pushed right now. Instead of leaving the bundle on the floor he stretches out his arm and leaves the packets well within arms reach of the other, it hangs in the air between them in what must feel like a trap about to spring. They are both motionless.

After a moment, with a slight tremble to his limb, the brunet extends his own arm slowly from within the enclosed space, the tips of his fingers close at the edge of the offering, as far as he can keep them from Jango's. When he pulls the bacta away Jango lets him.

He hears the faint exhale of relief from the teen as he presses the packets to himself. Jango offers him a nod and stands up to leave. He doesn't return the metal plaque to its place in the hope the kid will find a new place to hide that is not within risk of high voltage. He swears if his job wasn't hunting down people he would never find the kid on this ship.

But Jango is pleased, that's one thing he can check off his concern list, he's got many, but progress is progress. He hopes the kid will at least do a decent job with the bacta because he's not going to let Jango help anytime soon.

.~.~.~.

The teen hides, this time around, inside the weapons storage, and possible detaining cell, that hides behind a wall of the cargo hold. It's dark and quiet in there but for the humming of the ship, it rumbles like an undisturbed sleeping beast. But the boy likes it, it's the only thing he likes about this damned floating cage.

He lifts up his right pant leg, his ankle looks nasty and he winces at the little movement. It is somewhat harder to ignore the pain now than it had been when he had been chained and rubbing it raw every day with his movements. He breaks one of the bacta packs and carefully applies the gooey substance to the whole area, though he does so sparingly he has… he has many things that would benefit from a little bacta and he can't be too generous with it.

The blue substance offers him a small measure of instant relief when its coolness touches his tender skin, but it's also unavoidably painful. He waits, waits until slowly the pain starts receding. He sighs out slightly, relieved.

The feeling hits him so hard, this minuscule sense of respite he hasn't felt in years, that he's robbed of breath. His face falls down, and he cries then, brought down by what should've been a pleasant thing. He bites his hand to muffle his sounds and cries, his body shaking against his will.

He chokes back his sobs and bottles up everything else, his skin is littered with angry red marks everywhere and he should be taking care of them while he can.

Alone and face streaked with tears, he ignores the relief the bacta gives him, scared he'll be struck again by the feeling of his heart clenching inside his chest.

.~.~.~.

Two days later, instead of Jango finding the water container in some random place, a thin wisp of a teen enters the common area when he's checking out possible jobs on his datapad, the boy's hair is shaggy and it almost hides the whole of his face but for a few openings where Jango catches sight of his gray blue eyes.

With his back always facing a wall, the boy walks silently forward and places the water cylinder on the table, his eyes cross Jango's dark ones for a moment, and then he slithers away back into the hidden depths of the ship.

The Mandalorian smirks to himself.

Chapter Text

They skitter around each other, Jango out of awkwardness, and the kid out of wariness. He's like a small wild animal; harmless, for the most part, but with nerves wound up so tight they could snap. And just like with any small animal, the Mandalorian partakes in the slow careful process that is the taming of the wild.

He leaves odd treats within reach of the teen: food and water for the most part, and a quilt too because Jango just knows how cold the ship gets; specially when one is mostly sleeping against the bare metal of the floors. Which he hopes the boy's doing because if he finds him again inside of the wiring panels, it's going to give Jango a heart problem.

The boy hides away most of the time, it's not very surprising, but sometimes, he orbits Jango like a far away planet. He lingers just at the edges, never close enough to touch but present. The Mandalorian begins leaving the ration bar and water on the large table in the common room where the boy can easily find them at whatever time he likes. Jango likes to think it's a step forward.

With the brunets' tentative presence, another of Jango's concerns becomes increasingly evident. The stink. It follows the kid wherever he goes, and Jango can't blame him for that, Manda knows he probably smelled just as bad when he was a slave, but the teen is not trapped anymore, and there's a perfectly usable sonic on the ship at his disposal. His only guess as to why the boy hasn't used it is because he doesn't want to be caught in a vulnerable position; after all it takes more time to clean up than go to the bathroom.

Then next time he takes out a ration bar for the boy, he makes sure to stay at the table until his little interloper appears. It takes a while of course, the brunet tries his absolute best to keep the most distance he can from the Mando; but with the man unwilling to move from the table the kid will have no choice but to make an appearance eventually.

Jango cleans his non lethal instruments while he waits, making sure there's not a weapon in sight. He's seen how the teen gets when they are anywhere within the man's reach. He relaxes, appearing absentminded to create a sense of security that'll give the kid enough incentive to approach.

No, I'm not waiting for you to turn up at all, no sir. I'm just doing everyday things as slowly as I can like I always do.

The brunet is quiet when he finally decides to show up, Jango doesn't pay attention to him, eyes on the cleaning rag and pressurized air that blows into the little mechanisms. When the boy puts his hand on the ration bar sitting innocently on the table, the dark eyes of the man lift. It freezes the teen in place for a moment.

He's wondered how best to put it, how to approach the subject as kindly as he can, but that is not what comes out of his mouth.

"Kid… you stink." Amazing Jango, wonderful wording.

The teen shrinks a little onto himself, he looks about ready to disappear again. He sees the accumulated grime on his face and the disgustingly greasy locks of hair hanging stiffly over his head, so he pushes forward.

"What I mean is, please use the sonic," nope, that's not better. "I, ah… please for both our sakes." Kriff.

The kid, underneath all the dirt turns red with shame, and that's not really what Jango was aiming for. He quickly decides there's nothing he can do about those hurt feelings.

"I left you some clothes in the bathroom that you can wear," he offers lamely.

The kid makes eye contact with him and he looks pained at the whole current situation.

"Of course, nothing can do a job like water for these kinds of things, but there's a small spray with water there, to help with the harder stuff." So he hadn't meant to make it sound like he just put it there for the boy, he uses it too when he needs to!

After an awkward stretch of silence, the teen begins to retreat, ration bar right where Jango had first put it. He rushes in, to try and salvage whatever is going on right now. He's surprised at how poorly the conversation's going. And maybe, just maybe, he's been pushing it a little too much with his self imposed isolation in space because he didn't use to be this bad at talking, he'd been kind of great in fact!

"I'm sorry, I'm not… that sounds very bad. I'm not trying to… Ah, kriff." He places a hand on his eyes as he pushes down his exasperation. When he looks back at the teen he finds a fairly odd thing happening to his face. He's not completely sure what it is, but it's the first time he's seen it present.

The brunet gives him a slight nod and after another pause he disappears from the room. It's quiet then, and Jango lets his forehead fall with a thump on the table. He sighs.

A couple of hours later, as he's organizing the shelves in the common room beside the kitchenette, he hears the clicking of the bathroom door close and then the humming that comes when the sonic is turned on. He stops, then closes his eyes and thanks every deity out there for this blessing.

It's a moment later when Jango identifies what was different about the kid's expression. There hadn't been any fear there, it had been a normal expression like any other person would have, if maybe a little wary. He doesn't know what to think of it, but it must be good.

One long sonic later the teen walks back into the room and Jango makes the astonishing discovery that his stray passenger is not actually brunet but ginger. The parlor of his skin too, increases exponentially for being uncovered from layers of accumulated dirt.

And the only thing Jango can think of the fact he'd thought the kid had a whole different head of hair is, 'that is disgusting.'

A second later he is also very grateful that he didn't say those words out loud, cause although the kid doesn't look happy per se, or even content, there's still a niceness to his face revealed once he comes out of the small bathroom. Perhaps it's like a small burden has been lifted up, or maybe it's just the general lack of fear and captured animal look he always has that makes him seem lighter. Or maybe being clean and feeling a little like a human again is enough. Jango would know, he'd been there himself.

Awkwardly, the teen stands there, holding himself stiffly as he carries in his arms the bundle of his clothes. He's got Jango's own set on, a brown shirt so washed out it looks beige and black pants that didn't fit the Mando all that well. The clothes fit the boy more like oversized sleep clothes than anything else, but nothing that a belt or a waist leather won't fix. He looks better now, human, like the sentient that he actually is instead of a caged animal in a pen.

The smell hits him again and he glares at the culprit in the teens arms. He declares:

"we're going to have to burn those."

.~.~.~.

Two days after the monumental awkwardness of the sonic situation, something incredible happens. A mop of reddish hair pokes into the common room, that in itself is not precisely unusual, but Jango is there and it's nowhere near time for a meal. The kid looks at Jango for a moment and very deliberately sits down on the chair opposite to his own.

The Mandalorian does his very best to pretend this is a normal occurrence and continues fixing one of the little gadgets in his amour. On the inside he's pretty excited, which makes him feel as ridiculous as it sounds, but sue him, he's been working on the kid for a week and a half now, he deserves to be excited about this small show of trust.

From his place at the table the kid has a view of the cockpit, he does nothing while he sits with Jango, but observe, occasionally whatever Jango's doing, but mostly out there.

Right now they are drifting through space, no hyper travel and no planets to dock to, just how Jango likes it. Just him and his ship floating through the vast loneliness of space where no one can bother them. Completely alone.

At least that's how it used to be, but now, they've a quiet third presence in their midst. It's hard to describe. The kid doesn't talk, he barely shows himself most days, but it's company. He's another breathing, living person, who inhabits the same space as Jango. It's nice, he thinks, not being completely alone.

The redhead stays like that for a long while, blue gray eyes fixed on the cockpit window, watching the illusion of distant lights in the dark spinning around them. But it's the ship, they're the ones drifting away in circles. Between them and the void only finely constructed, thin metal.

Jango looks at the kid and exhales.

"Hey." The kid turns away from the stars to look at him, there's still a little wariness in his eyes but it's dimmed, now the most the Mando sees there is a bone deep exhaustion and sadness. The teen's heavy with it, it's like it drags him down. "What's your name?" He asks softer than he's used to doing anything.

Gray blue eyes pierce him. The teen takes a small breath but it stays trapped inside of him. His orbs now shift away from Jango and then back to him a couple of times. The struggle ends with the kid looking at his lap and saying nothing. Jango knows he can talk, the sounds of distress he's heard from him are testament enough, so he wonders what's got the ginger as quiet as a grave.

It dawns on him that he hasn't… he hasn't even introduced himself, and here he is expecting the kid to give him an answer back.

"I'm Jango," he amends and offers across the table his hand, the boy looks up at him, brows furrowed like he's trying to figure something out.

Tentative, like most things the ginger does, he reaches out to take his hand; he almost thought the boy wouldn't. The kid's hand is cold and soft to the touch. It's almost birdlike in its thinness and has an odd set of calluses the Mandalorian can't tell the origin of; it's not any he's got in mind at any rate. He puts that information in the back of his mind for now and shakes the hand firmly. He smiles slightly, intoning in a humorous manner, hoping maybe he can draw out a slight quirk to the kid's lips.

"Jango Fett, pleasure to meet you." Once they let go, he realizes the redhead is frozen in place, his gaze stuck to the table where their hands had met. Though his shaggy hair falls around his face, now almost fluffy from being cleaned, Jango can glimpse through the strands that the panic has set right back into his gray eyes. The teen looks like he's trying his hardest to control his slightly accelerated breathing.

"Kid?" He asks concerned, not knowing what exactly went wrong here.

Jango startles back when the ginger's chair rakes harshly against the metal floor when he shoots up from his seat. His back is straight and as tense a rod as he stands there still. He strides out of the room then, with barely controlled hurry, his desire to escape present in every motion.

Jango wrecks his brain, and thinks of every little thing he could've done, anything at all that could serve as an explanation as to what went wrong here. But he doesn't know, he can't think of a single thing that would cause the kid to react that way. He was fine, quiet yes, but fine and almost relaxed as they had sat in silence. But… he knows trauma is like that, it seems almost without reason to those on the other side; Jango knows from experience.

Some things just tip you over.

He's certain of one thing though, going after the kid is not going to help matters right now. He has to wait him out, and the boy will appear whenever he has sorted himself out.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Jango returns his attention to the tools and pieces on the table.

One step forward and two steps back.

.~.~.~.

The kid spends the next couple of days hiding from Jango again, the ration bar and water container untouched on the table until the dark haired man decides enough is enough and goes to look for the kid again, worried he might find him passed out in some nock of the ship from lack of nourishment.

He finds him for once, and it almost surprises him, in one of the ventilation ducts close to Jango's room, he removes the metal slit and pears in. The boy's limp on his side, curled up with his legs to his chest, his face tear streaked. He looks at Jango emotionless and empty.

The man stops at the sight, it tugs painfully at his heart, this… this looks familiar. Like his worst days, alone, all alone in the world because there's no one left. This is him when he allows himself to break away because there's no one there to see him fall. Jaster is not there to catch him.

His eyes mist and he pushes the feeling away; he's got more important things to deal with right now. He kneels down and awkwardly places half of his body inside the shaft, his legs stretched behind him like some kind of lizard. He leans on his forearms once he's as comfortable as he'll be able to get.

"I'm not… I'm not going to ask if you're okay, I know you're not, I know…" He takes in a steadying breath, the kid's demeanor doesn't change, he's absent but full of pain, "I know how you feel." He forces the words out, the shine of the collar snuggly resting around the teen's neck grates at him. He has to ignore it because looking at it always makes him nauseous, it makes him feel like he's got one on himself, again. It makes his hands tremble with the memory of spice withdrawal and too little to drink, and uneasy swallowing.

"A couple years ago I was a… I managed to escape a slaver ship. I was there- I was-" he swallows down and forces the words out, "I was there for years." His voice breaks a little at the end, but he almost screams victory at what he sees.

His words bring the kid out from his absent state. Dull, gray blue eyes light up a little, his gaze almost focusing on Jango: he's listening. A shiver runs through the ginger's malnourished body, but he doesn't move.

"I don't know what those demagolka did to you or what you've faced. But it's not hard to imagine, and I have no doubt that it was hell. I understand though. I don't know what's going through your head right now, but if I… if I can help you… I need you to know I'm here. I know you're scared kid, that's okay. You may not believe me right now, but I mean it. I'm not going to hurt you."

Jango doesn't think he's talked this much since before Galadrin, it's unfamiliar, but he needs the kid to know. There's a burning need in him to make this sad teen, that's all but a stranger to him, who now shares and lives in the Fury with Jango, know that he can be safe again, even if it doesn't feel like that now.

A tear slides down the pale cheek. There's a heavy silence around them.

"Maybe you won't believe me right now, but I'm not in a hurry, we can work on that." He offers an uncertain smile he hopes is reassuring, he's not very good at smiling.

He sees it then, a bit of life returning to the teen's face, recognition, as he draws away from the void of nothingness. Jango sighs in relief. The ginger shivers again.

"Come on, let's get out of here, you need to eat."

The Mandalorian extends his hand to the other as best as he can from where he awkwardly lays half inside the ventilation shaft. If the kid wants he can easily reach it. Gray eyes look at the tan, calloused palm. Then, with a shuddering exhale, he places his own on top and lets Jango pull him out of the vent.

Once standing outside, the boy looking drained, he lets his hand linger on Jango's own just for a small moment. There's a suspended moment there, like a held in breath, as the boy wants to hold tighter, but nothing happens. He lets go with a restrained step back.

.~.~.~.

Now instead of playing hide and seek they waltz around one another, orbiting like errand stars this way and that. If Jango sits at the table in the common room, the redhead cuddles on the couch at the other side of the room; if he pilots, the teen sits at the table and looks at the stars. Always far away where the Mando won't reach him immediately if he gets any ideas. He can tell the kid wants the company and fears it at the same time, he's allowed Jango some contact but it's in no way the new norm.

"You know I have to call you something right? I can't just keep calling you kid forever. Unless you like that of course," The ginger scrunches up his nose in displeasure but pretends to ignore him, and Jango relishes in the reaction, "so, because you refuse to talk to me, I'm going to have to come up with a name for you."

The teen's head wips towards him from the couch.

"I was thinking Red is good, you're like a walking sign with that mop of hair after all." That is obviously a gross exaggeration, his hair is only faintly orange, and the kid looks like he's dying to rebuke him. Good, that's exactly what Jango is aiming for; if the ginger wants to get into a good screaming match with him all the better. If Red doesn't want his name he can very well tell Jango with his own words.

The teen halfheartedly glares at him, which is another new emotion from the boy and the Mando is entertained enough he's tempted to pat himself on the back.

"So, Red, ration bar or ration bar?" He says as he shows off two identically flavorless packets for the boy." The displeased and slightly nauseous look on the teen's face is enough of a different emotion as well.

Soon enough, Red turns into Red'ika.

There's a warmness growing inside Jango's chest, which has probably been there for longer than he cares to admit. Right now he's not too inclined to fight against it though.

.~.~.~.

Jango likes the kid, he… kriff he really does. Little by little, he begins seeing the small shines of a person flashing through the cracks of sadness and diminishing fear. For the first time the vows of adoption cross his mind but he… he can't do that, he's not well. Of course, compared to the kid he's in a wonderful state of mind, but that's just a façade and the boy doesn't deserve that. Red doesn't deserve a man who is barely holding himself together and who would rather rot away in the loneliness of space than try and get himself back into the world. He can't consider it.

But what if- what if the kid really is all alone in the world, just like him? Maybe that's why he hasn't asked Jango to take him anywhere -that or the fact that the kid can't say a word to save his life.

He pushes the gai bal manda out of his mind, but it's always there, at the edge of his thoughts when Red inches a step forward; when he looks for Jango for company. He wants to reach forward and ruffle the ginger locks on his head, though he knows he shouldn't and it wouldn't be welcomed.

"There's a second bunk in the sleep room you know. You could take it if you wanted. It'd be more comfortable than whatever place you choose to sleep for the night," he ventures to say one day.

The redhead doesn't answer but Jango can see consideration in his eyes.

One day, at the end of the wakening cycle, he finds the boy sitting beside the door to his room. He pushes back his hair away from his face, and looks uncertainly at Jango, it's clear he's been waiting for him.

"Come on in," says the Mandalorian as casually as he's been treating every development with the kid, as if it were a thing that happens every other day.

Once Jango settles into his bed, he can see the wild locks of reddish hair poking from under the covers of the other bed. It's closer than the kid usually allows when he seeks the man's company, and it's evident from the fact that the teen isn't really relaxed, nor will he be enough to sleep any time soon. He does look otherwise comfortable under the protection of the bed covers. Jango considers this another win and then drifts off into sleep.

He doesn't stop to consider the fact that he would have never let his guard down with a stranger like this, ever. He would've pretended to sleep, or outright stared the other party into submission. Maybe its reckless, maybe it's stupid, but his usual surveillance is not springing up in his mind to keep him alert, he just feels, if not safe, at least right enough to just let go.

He sleeps.

.~.~.~.

The gap between them shortens more, one bit at the time with every day that passes. They eat together, Red sits at the co-pilot seat with him when he goes to watch the stars, he rests his head on the table to observe when the Mandalorian does mindless things on his datapad or anything else as equally mundane.

Jango gets too comfortable with the kid one day. He makes a mistake.

"Red'ika, come here," he says absentmindedly as he searches for things inside his toolbox.

The teen obliges, because there's more trust between them now, and peers at whatever Jango's looking for in there, his head almost touching the man's shoulder.

"Let's take this off okay?" He says and reaches out for the slave collar as he finds the right tool to start.

The moment his fingers brush the cold metal, a fist cracks him on the jaw and throws him off balance. When he raises his eyes Red has thrown himself to the other side of the room and is breathing irregularly. There's a terrified expression clouding his face like it's never left.

The borderline hyperventilating breath fills the space around them in a heavy manner, even though the intakes of air are so very quiet. The teen is shaking against the wall, he raises a hand to his mouth and presses there, his eyes are glistening.

His first thought is, of course, of slight pride, because that was a wonderful right hook and that is Mandalorian to the bone. The kid's got it in him still for sure, and oh how Jango could nourish that into excellency. It's not a thought that lasts very long though, because the concern blooming in his chest is so much more encompassing. He… he wasn't thinking; he doesn't know why he thought touching the kid out of the blue would be a good idea.

There's a rasp now to the kids intakes of breath, like it's getting harder to draw in air.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey," Jango raises his hand up in a pacifying gesture, "calm down. I'm sorry. Come on, take a deep breath."

Red's eyes are on him, the threat, but he's also shaking and Jango doesn't think he'd be able to run away if he wanted to. The teen slides down the wall and thumps on the floor.

"Easy-y, easy," Jango lowers to the ground as well, "do it with me okay? In," he exaggerates in a breath, "out." Again and again until the choked breaths of the kid regain a semblance of consistency. Again and again, until the world around them quiets down.

"You okay kid?" The Mando asks but Red is not looking at him, he's covering his mouth with his fist and his eyes are scrunched shut. A tear slides down one of his checks and then another one follows it on the other side.

"I- I'm sorry I wasn't thinking," Jango says, looking at the kid's face for a sign that he's okay.

Red glares at him then, almost viciously, and he wraps an arm around his neck, the message loud and clear.

"I won't do that again, I promise, not unless you let me."

The teen glares even more towards Jango, but he doesn't regret his words. That thing has to come off, one way or another; but he can wait, he can wait for Red'ika to be ready.

.~.~.~.

Red dreams.

He is defiant and biting, like a flame.

The slave collar is snug against the skin of his throat, it makes swallowing uncomfortable. The lightning it discharges is stronger than his body, it leaves him tired and limp on the dirty ground.

"Get up. Get up Jedi scum."

He can't, he isn't sure he would if he could, just to spite his captors.

Fingers dig into the inside of the collar to pull and what little space there is for him to breathe vanishes as he is lifted and dragged out of the holding cell and through the ground.

He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe.

Everything is hazy and he flails his arms and legs trying to catch a leg or dislodge the fingers, but they only tighten more securely. The side of his hip and legs scrap against the grainy ground until he's lurched with a tug and he rolls a few times to a stop.

But he can breathe.

He gasps for air and chokes on it, it's painful and blessed and there are tears in his eyes from the lack of oxygen.

There's a sharp whistle and when the boy looks up he tenses; and  he is  nothing more than a boy, he's only fourteen and he's so scared. He yearns for salvation, for a last minute rescue, but it's been 3 weeks and nothing's changed. His captors are always on the move and they know how to hide.

He wants to be held and he wants to cry and he wants to rage, to fight. But he's only one kid and they are so many and all warriors and all stronger than him. And it's so cold inside the collar, the world is so cold and so small and he feels blind and deaf, the color of the world turned dull.

The boy looks around, he's been thrown to the middle of the small encampment, a few armored figures gather around, there's anticipation in the air.

He will scream he knows, he's not strong enough not to.

Red dreams, and dreams, and dreams the night away. But Red makes no sound.

.~.~.~.

Soon Jango brings up the topic again.

"Red," he says.

The teen doesn't look at him.

"Red'ika look at me." It's a fight for the teen, but he manages to forces his eyes up at the Mandalorian. Jango looks compassionately at him, "the collar. You know it has to come off, you know it does."

The boy says nothing. The Mandalorian has found an old datapad to curb his growing boredom; there, he fills up the screen with straight lines and curvy lines that go from here to there. He traces with his fingers line after line after line.

"Red?" Jango asks again, his voice sounds stern, but it's not really, that's just how he speaks.

The ginger stops and lowers his hand from the screen. He nods smally, without enthusiasm. He understands.

.~.~.~.

The next day Jango sits him down. Better now than later.

"Are you ready?" The teen doesn't look at him but he nods.

They settle in the common room; there's not many other places to be at. Jango pulls the stool he sits on closer to where Red is, tools in hand. The kid's eyes are shiny with unshed tears as he cranes back his neck to give easy access to the slave collar. The man lifts his hands up and places them gently over the metal. The boy flinches but doesn't move from his place.

"It's okay, it's okay." Jango soothes him, but soon, just as the Mando is carefully inspecting the design of the wretched piece of technology, on the back of his hand falls a drop of water. When he lifts his eyes to the teen, he's crying, silently. He looks so scared and through his limbs run small tremors. The boy stumbles on a breath as he does his best to keep steady, his eyes up to the ceiling like a prayer.

"Ssh, ssh," The man quiets him down and tells himself repeatedly, 'ignore it, ignore it, it's for the best. Ignore it, it's better to be done with it.'

He places the small vibroblade on a panel, ready to cut it open to look at the mechanisms inside.

Red chokes back a sob.

"Okay, I'm not doing this." Jango pulls back with an exasperated sigh and drops his tools back on the table.

The redhead drops his face down and hides it in his hands as he makes small shakes with his head; no, no, no, no, no, no. He sniffs again.

"Red. Red, look at me," Jango orders him gently.

After a moment, the sullen teen finally looks up at him, shoulders hunched and the beginnings of that empty look creeping up around the edges. And Jango thinks, 'not if I have anything to say about it.'

He offers up his palms in the small space between them, open and inviting, the boy hesitates a moment but places his palms against Jango's, who closes his fingers gently around the boy's cold fingers.

"Red'ika, listen to me." The kid's sad gray eyes are on him, like he has all the answers that the boy is missing, and that sits on Jango like a heavy burden, but it also honors him. "I don't want to do this to you, okay? I don't want to… to be a reminder of that evil, I'm not here to cause you more pain than you're already in, okay?"

The teen closes his eyes, but doesn't turn away, it gives the Mandalorian a clear view of his shame and deep, soul crushing despair.

"I don't… I don't have people I trust, so I know how hard that can be, but… Kid I'm never going to hurt you, come hell or high water. I swear, you'll never come to harm from me, do you understand?" He gives a squeeze to the ginger's hands, "and if this scares you to the point of tears then I don't want to put you through it."

Down the teen's cheek rolls one more tear and his eyes are pleading as he takes in the words like salvation to a drowning man.

"Okay?" Jango asks and the kid gives a small nod. "You are safe with me."

And then he sees it, the small lean forward of the Red's body, the slight tightening of the thin fingers around his palms.

Careful, so very careful, Jango lets go of a hand and lifts it up to the teens shoulders, slowly where the other will always be able to tell where it is, and he places it there, warmly. And gently, as one does with wild frightened animals, he pulls the redhead forward, slow enough that if the teen wants to pull away he can. The kid is stiff, but he gives inch by agonizing inch until he's resting against the man's chest. Jango takes his other hand to the lean back and holds him.

Slowly, Red lifts his hands from his lap and grabs at the Mando's sturdy shirt. Then like a powerless droid he drops his weight and lets Jango do all the work of carrying him. He starts crying. It's choked and quiet, like all things he does, but it's also guttural and from within so Jango allows himself to squeeze the narrow shoulders into himself.

"It's okay Red'ika, it's okay," he murmurs to his ear.

The teen presses his face to Jango's chest and sobs even harder.

"Let it out, it's okay."

Red pulls at his shirt with fury, making an agonizing sound but muffling it with the Mandalorian's shirt. Jango's own eyes beginning to mist up. He wants to do more, he wants to do everything in his power to ease this kid's pain, this ad's suffering, but there's nothing more to do than what he's already doing. He buries his face against the brittle reddish hair and does nothing more than hold him.

And for the first time he allows himself to dream he can be more for this tortured soul than a passing rock to lean on.

"I'm here, it's going to be okay." He brushes his fingers through the long strands of hair and Red's arms reach up behind him and hold him as well, strongly and desperately.

Jango knows now, he's in deep, this is his child now, and he'll do anything to protect him.

Chapter Text

It's been one day since, adrift in space inside a lonely ship, with nowhere to go really, a man comforted a tortured teen, and hoped that one day he'd be strong enough to offer himself to be the kids aliit. He's not strong enough yet, losing his family in Galidraan broke him in a way he doesn't think will ever heal, but maybe… maybe someday things will be different.

That day Jango's quiet interloper, his little field mouse, walks to the cockpit where the Mando diligently checks the levels and state of his ship. The boy stands up straight and there's something dignified to him Jango hasn't seen before. Red's always hunching and shrinking into himself, being as small as possible and out of his way. The teen looks him square in the eye and gestures with his fingers to the collar around his neck. He's ready.

"Alright," says Jango as he stands up and follows Red back to the table in the common room. He takes out his tool box from one of the shelves and they settle right back where they sat yesterday. Jango on the stool and Obi-wan on a chair.

The Mandalorian takes out the necessary instruments and sees the teen brace himself, he looks straight at Jango, brows set and ready. The man's a little proud he can admit, even though there's a slight tremor to the kid's hands, he looks ready.

"Ready?" He asks for good measure and the kid nods, craning back his neck to give Jango easy access.

Jango brings up the small vibroblade and presses the edge against the collar, slowly cutting away the access panel, the kid shudders a breath under his hands as he pries away a small square of metal. He works slow and deliberately, getting it wrong with one of these things could get the kid electrocuted from one second to the next. Worst case scenario, the collar explodes the head off Red. Which is not happening under any circumstances, not under the Mando's watch.

There's a small sniff and Jango stops. He shifts his eyes at the kids face, he's not crying, but his eyes are glassy. Jango hesitates, his hands hanging in midair as he fears the teen will retreat into the void inside himself where he'll be absent and unfeeling. Just like he found him on the vents.

Red's eyes meet his and, very deliberately, he takes Jango's hand and presses it back against the collar, the message loud and clear. The man sighs out softly and rolls his shoulders to get the tension out; he continues.

Some 40 minutes of delicate work later there's a soft click as the slave collar falls away from Red's neck to his shoulders, then it slides down to the floor. The boy takes in a shaky breath as he looks down at the slight set of half circles connecting on one end. His blue gray eyes turn to Jango, the ghost of a smile touching his lips; the Mando returns him a face splitting grin.

The air is light around them, free. The teen exhales harshly again, his face almost incredulous, like he hadn't been able to properly breathe for a long time.

A moment later though, Red's brows furrow painfully. He grabs onto the table to keep his suddenly unsteady balance.

"Red'ika, what's wrong?" Jango asks, anxious that he might've done something wrong while deactivating the collar. He places his hand on the skinny shoulder. The teen leans with his elbows on the table, pressing both hands to his head, very clearly in pain. "Red? You have to tell me what's wrong so I can help-"

The teen slides to the floor and before Jango can check on him the strangest thing happens. The man stumbles back a few paces along with every other object in the vicinity of the kid, like a rippling wave of some unseen force had pushed them away…

Jango stops for a second, standing with what feels like a large blank on his head while the kid is wriggling on the floor. He looks at the open, discarded collar, at a few random levitating objects around the common room, at the kid again, at the collar.

There's a feeling in his gut like the opening of a hole, but his mind is still blank.

Mandalorian Force sensitives don't have use for collars like that, they're not trained enough to need them and they never will be for someone to think they'd need to use them. Force suppressing collars are expensive. And why would Death Watch of all people keep a random kid to torture at that? It had always bugged him a little, yes, but he had chalked it off to Kry'tsad's generally despicable nature but… Why would they give a random Mandalorian kid a force suppressing collar? Even if they did want to make his suffering greater.

It made no sense.

…

It made so much sense.

When Jango looks back down again, somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks it's awfully funny that the first time he saw the teen he had seen the leftovers of childhood in him and had dubbed him a child; but now, panting on the ground, he remembers the oddly callused hands and perfectly landed punch to his jaw. He thinks of the hiding, of the quiet stealth. He thinks of the only thing Death Watch and True Mandalorians have in common.

And Jango no longer sees a vulnerable kid but a man who was well within their age and right to go out and fight in a place where he didn't belong to and die there.

He sees red.

"Kriffing Jetii." With a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through his body, Jango grabs the teen by the loose shirt and lifts him up from the ground as if he weighs nothing. The redhead makes a startled yelp before Jango thrusts him against the wall with enough force to make the little Jetii slam his head against the metal.

"I bet you think it's very funny, don't you?" The teen looks dazed as he tries to focus on the man in front of him "You take me for a fool, is that it?" He slams him again with vicious feeling.

The Jetii looks confused, uncomprehending, and it only makes Jango's blood boil even more.

He sees snow in the corner of his eye and luminous swords humming like the bearers of death. He brings up his other arm and closes his fingers around the tender flesh of the Jedi's neck, oddly colored against the rest of the teen's skin.

The confusion recedes from the ginger's eyes and they fill with animalistic fear; a little mouse in the hunters' hands. Jango relishes in it.

"You think I'm just another puppet to your orders 'honorable crusade'? Honor… you're not capable of it. All you Jetiise always parading around like you stand on some moral high ground. Saints with red stained hands." He laughs out loud at that.

Teen kicks his legs in the air, hoping he might strike the Mandalorian, but Jango had handled worse than the struggling of a malnourished teen, his efforts are useless. The Mando snarls and leans close, his dark eyes burning with rage as he holds the ginger's own gray. The Jetii's eyes tremble.

"You're just as filthy as Death Watch. Murderers the lot of you. At least Death Watch doesn't pretend to be something they're not." He presses harder against the ginger's airway and thinks, 'just one more Jetii neck broken under the hands of Jango Fett, as it should always be.'

The desperate gasps for breath fill the room as the Jedi claws weekly at the Mandalorian's hands, just as the teen had done what feels like a lifetime ago when Jango found him that night tied like an animal in a small pen. He whispers to the teen's ear.

"Get out of my sight before I change my mind you little vermin," he shoves him one last time against the wall and lets go.

The body hits the floor hard and the redhead coughs and coughs and gasps for air. For a while, he can't draw a single breath at all. He's not moving fast enough and Jango conceders kicking him in the gut to give him some incentive.

Finally, the Jedi scrambles on all fours until he can stand up and run away. Jango notices with little interest how the ginger's face is wet with tears and full of emotions he doesn't care to examine. The less he sees of the stowaway the better.

Jango walks to the corner that faces the small kitchenette where he has a small training space. He begins hitting at the dummy like an unleashed demon. In the corner of his eyes he sees gentle flakes of snow fall. He hears the hum of energy like a choir of death.

Hours pass and Jango is still furious.

He is burning up inside, every part of him boiling like the surface of a sun. He wants to go, to be out there bounty hunting, which he's been postponing because of the kriffing Jetii. It's only by sheer force of will that Jango doesn't destroy his own property in a fit of rage; his fists scream for blood and his baster for a target.

His soul wants violent retribution and he can't get it in this tin can unless he wants the stink of a dead body trapped with him for the foreseeable future. Right now he's, ironically enough, like a caged animal, and if he doesn't do something soon he's going to be a caged animal with the corpse of his prey between his paws.

He goes to sleep and dreams of a ginger head of hair matted and dripping with blood. Cold gray eyes staring blankly from a pale freckled face. Jango's hands wrapped snugly around the teen's throat like a trusty collar.

His rest is fitful, tense; he's on high alert though his door is bolted.

He dreams of going into Death Watch's camp, in and out like a shadow with the best data he can snatch up. As he goes out by the side of the main tent his eyes cross a set of blue gray orbs, he raises an eyebrow to the tied up stranger, nothing more than an animal, and continues on his merry way. He never once looks back.

The next morning he wakes up and does his daily routine uninterrupted. Not a single strand of reddish hair in sight to interrupt him, and he almost wants it, he wants to see the kraking Jetii dare to make an appearance, see how well he gets out of it this time.

He prowls the ship like a panther, oozing danger and violence everywhere he goes though he's perfectly contained. The slamming kicks and punches he delivers the training dummy resonate all through the vessel from their powerfully cultivated strength.

At mid meal his jaw hurts from how tensely he holds himself.

He was such a fool. How had he not seen what was in front of him?

Hadn't he trained himself for this? Wasn't Jango the perfect killer for Mandalore's enemy number one? Had he not honed his skills to never let Galidraan repeat itself? To know on sight, if one of those hut'uun was hiding?

Poor stupid Jango, let himself be charmed by a hurt face. That'll teach him to look closer next time. He should've left the Jetii chained there to his fate to be found by Kry'tsad, let the redhead rot his life away under the cruel thumb of the enemy. Best case scenario the Jetiise went looking for their runt and the groups killed each other and rid the world of their presence.

Wishful thinking that. Everyone knows the monks don't care about their members, they have bodies to spare after all, they can just take another baby any time they wanted to.

Jango stewed in his ire for the rest of the day.

He prowls the ship, he starts to think of planets where he can dump the Jetii on, maybe somewhere pirate infested or a barren wasteland. He also muses if he wants to do anything to the interloper himself. His body prickling with rage again as his footsteps echo against the metal walls.

He should probably find the little vermin and put the force suppressing collar back on, he doesn't want any funny ideas going through the Jetii's head. Jango should really be more careful, he knows better, and this whole experience was reminder enough.

Somehow though, he can't bring himself to look all around the ship for a face he rather not set eyes on again.

That night he dreams he leaves Death Watch's camp again, only with what he came there for. He won't remember in the morning that as he leaves the perimeters of the camp he can hear desperate screams of pain and anguished cries, the voice is raw and young. He…

Jango dreams of ginger hair dripping with bright red blood. There's snow beneath his shins this time; it's tainted. He's surprised to find his hands are not around the boy's neck but tangled through the locks. Dull, blue gray eyes stare up at him, frozen tears on freckled cheeks.

"Red?" He asks. He can't tell the tone of his own voice.

He wakes up and goes through his daily routine. He works out, he showers, he has breakfast, he checks on the ships navigation. As he rests in the pilot's seat for a while, he wonders at the feeling all over him, surrounding him. He looks out at the black, spotted with tiny dots of light, and then turns at the unoccupied chair beside his own.

He closes his eyes.

Some hours later he goes for a ration bar and peels off the wrapper, he looks at the piles of rations as he munches on the dense and flavorless mass. They're running a bit low but there's still enough for days to go.

He really doesn't care about what he puts in his body so long as it's giving him enough nutrients, things like flavor and texture lost their importance to him after all that time aboard the slave ship eating like a rat. But he could tell the teen did. He never complained of course, but he did get a sullen look on his face, sometimes even a little nauseous from what Jango could tell. The Mandalorian had been thinking, they were due for a pit stop soon, maybe he could get something easy to cook? Something with flavor-

Jango slams close the cabinet and pushes away the ridiculous thoughts.

He gets to work, sitting down at the table and turning on his datapad, there are a few good bounties he'd had his eye on, he's been itching for a fight and what better way to get it than by earning money. Not that most bounties tend to be good fights, mind you. But at this point any chance to crack noses was better than none.

He turns to his left, words about incompetent idiots at the tip of his tongue but… there's no one on the other chair, or the couch. No glimpses of messy ginger hair.

Jango feels off kilter for a second, he sighs shakily.

He'd been feeling like that these past two days, thinking his imbalance was because of Red, because of the unexpected betrayal he wasn't even aware could happen. Now he thinks… no, he knows there's more to it than that, even if he doesn't want to think about it or admit it. It's not just the righteous fury and the disgust that has been making his skin crawl, Jango...

Jango is alone.

He's alone again in The Fury.

The place is oddly empty and bigger than it needs to be, and that's… that's weird. 'Cause he's used to that, he likes that. He… he does, he really does. But it's like the kid has banished from the ship, like he was never really there at all. There's no quiet presence hovering at the edge of his consciousness, not a dent on the couch where a ginger head naps from time to time, no footsteps going somewhere where Jango isn't.

It's just him.

Jango and The Fury, alone. Like it always was. Like it was supposed to be forever.

He thinks of Galidraan again, of snow, and bright beacons of light and brown robes and blood on the white. He wills himself to anger, he can feel it slipping away through his fingers, losing potency. Anger is the only thing that little Hutt spawn deserves from him.

But he can't muster it, the rage that builds up into action, and fury. It touches him for a moment but falls away with his next breath.

He hides his head under his arms and rests it against the cold table; what is he doing? What is he thinking? What's wrong with him? He pulls at his curls in an effort to clean his head and he…

He thinks of the Jetiise. It makes his blood boil with rage and deep rooted resentment and a vengeance that can never be quenched until they're all gone. He thinks of Red and the ire falls away leaving him almost breathless.

The memory of terrified eyes floods his mind. Of a blue gray look filled with incomprehension and betrayal. Of brittle fingernails scratching at his hand and arm with animal desperation.

He sees a man old enough to go die out there where he doesn't belong. He sees a kid out of his depth in a place he never should've been in. He sees a shiny band of metal surrounding a young neck and glimpses a map of scars too frightening in amount.

He sees a kid.

He sees his hands around a kid's throat.

He sees relief in a face drawn by hunger and pain and sadness, it blooms in the teen's face as soon as the collar falls away.

Red…

Jango's eyes burn. He lowers his arms beneath his face and he screams into them.

He screams again. And again. And again.

.~.~.~.

Red's a Jetii and he's going to have to learn to deal with that if he ever wants to… to what? Live with him? Care for him? Jango isn't sure at all what he even intends, but he'd rather not think about it.

Before figuring himself out though, Jango needs to fix his mistakes, his bantha herd sized mistakes. He needs to apologize. He needs to make things better. He has no idea how he's ever going to manage that after what he did.

It's been two days. Red hasn't eaten in two days and it's his fault.

It's been ages since Jango's had a panic attack, but it's never too late to get back on track. For the first time in a week and a half, Jango goes looking for the teen in The Fury. It takes him a while, which gives him enough time to calm down and try to clear his head, but kriff it, is it hard to find Red. He doesn't blame him though, from his point of view it's hide or die, and even with the limited options he has, the boy has done a wonderful job at making himself invisible.

'What if he's dead?' Jango's heart sinks. He's not well. He doesn't know how long Death Watch had him for but it left a mark on the teen's body, and while two days without food won't kill you, in the state the teen's in, he's not completely certain.

At long last the Mandalorian finds the right place. He follows a hunch more than anything, a feeling, but the rest of his skills tell him he's on the mark. The kid's inside one of the metal crates on the cargo hold.

He takes a breath and stills his emotions.

Jango takes off the lid of the crate and light falls onto a curled up body. Inside the metal box there are a few leftover bits of soft padding. He got extra ship pieces in this thing but he hadn't gotten around getting rid of the crate or given it a new use. But he's there indeed.

It's Red.

He grabs at his head like it hurts, shoulders hunched in as best as he can, but body slumped against the metal walls. A pale hand dislodges slightly from place and it reveals the face underneath. His freckled cheeks are red and wet with tears, his blue gray eyes look angry but glassy and a little unfocused for some reason.

Lack of food is Jango's best guess.

"Hey," he says lamely and the kid glares. "I… I know I understand your anger. I- I'm sorry kid, I'm so, so sorry. You don't deserve what I did to you. You don't deserve to be hurt. I know it's unforgivable, and I have no excuses I can give to you, nor should there ever be an excuse for what I did." Jango looks pained at his own confession.

Is he even truly a Mandalorian? To hurt a child with his own hands, to wish him harm?

Half of him says no, he did the unthinkable, but the other half of him says it was right, the Jetiise don't deserve mercy. He is nauseated by his own thoughts, but still, there's a part of him that has to agree. All of them, they all deserve to go to whatever hell they believe in.

But he knows Red, and he's just a scared, hurt kid, he doesn't deserve to suffer like that, not by Jango's hands or anyone else's hands.

"Red. You just…" The words get stuck in his throat, he wants to say 'you just have to tell me where to drop you off and I will.' But he doesn't, he doesn't for so many reasons. There's a pit in his stomach when he thinks of The fury, empty. He hears the disembodied hum of terrible swords of light ringing in his ears. He can't bring himself to say those words.

"There's nothing I can do to take back what I did, the only thing I can offer you is an apology. I won't… I won't promise not to hurt you; I know you won't believe me, not again. I regret that I betrayed your trust like that and that I'll probably never regain it. You'd be in the right never trusting me again… I'm sorry Red."

Red eyes don't meet his own, they're just slightly directed somewhere over his head, but he seems accepting enough of Jango's words.

"Okay," he sighs after a long stretch of silence and asks, "can you stand up?" Because the kid really doesn't look all that well.

The teen nods a few times but shuts his eyes in discomfort, his arms wrapping tight around his head as a wave of pain hits him. A tear rolls down his already stained cheek.

"Here, let me help you," Jango offers but doesn't touch the other, he lets his hand hover in the space over the teen. When the boy does nothing, he asks unsurely, feeling like his heart might break inside his chest "Red?"

It brings the faint memory of a far off dream, snow beneath his shins, long locks of hair matted with blood.

The teen opens his eyes and glares, mistrusting, at his tan fingers, but after a moment he lowers one of his hands from his head and places it in Jango's. Red's hand shakes in his, he can see the fear just barely hiding behind the angry wariness. The Mando pulls him up slowly. The boy is cramped from being so long inside the small space; he stands up on unsteady legs and breathes shakily. He stumbles in place, forehead scrunched in pain.

"Does your head hurt?" Jango asks, holding Red steady with his hands.

A tiny nod answers him and the teen stands in place, trying to let the wave of pain pass through him.

"Is it…" the Mando hesitates, "the force?"

Red freezes, forcing his eyes open, he looks intensely into Jango's brown orbs. The man feels like he's standing trial and being judged, found wanting by the jury. He supposes it's quite an accurate idea.

The boy nods again as the man helps him step out of the crate. Once out, the teen backs away from him, putting a good bit of distance between them. It makes the Mandalorian's heart clench but he deserves it.

It is not square one, but it feels like that. There's a chasm between the Jetii and the Mandalorian. So there always has been, and so it will ever be.

.~.~.~.

There's a coldness between them now, where before there was a warmness born out of loneliness, it had felt companionable. Now when they exist in the same spaces it feels like something to be bared, endured. They keep each other company because what else is one to do? There was a time when Red had felt like he wanted to inch closer to Jango in a way, once the man demonstrated he meant no harm. There's none of that now. Instead of the teen's company curing the emptiness of the ship, it makes it heavy, too full.

Jango thought he'd have to tame the boy again, to continue making an effort to prove himself to the other. But… he dare not do it, he doesn't deserve trying to regain the teen's trust when he already broke it in such a terrible way.

So they just… exist in the same space.

They eat together and inhabit The Fury. And the metal rooms are filled with a stilled quiet that says nothing, nor looks to say anything at all.

Red sleeps in the common room now, far away from Jango and his hands that perhaps did not squeeze as tightly as they could but had still laid around him like a deadly collar.

.~.~.~.

Red sits on the couch in the common room, feet at the edge of the seat without touching the cushion with his low boots, he hugs his knees and rests his head on top of them. There's a little burning flame inside his chest born out of betrayal. His trust, so carefully given like a glass cup, easily shattered by a fisted hand. He feels so foolish, like he didn't learn anything from his time of captivity. He knew better than to trust a Mandalorian who seemed kind and unlike the others. He knew-

But his little angry flame can't contest against his fear. Red is afraid. He's afraid of this place and he's afraid of the man in charge.

Jango Fett.  The  Mandalorian.

How could he have been so stupid? Even if the Mando wasn't a nightmare come to life -from the mouths of young knights looking to frighten younglings to the cautioning adults reciting history lessons- he saw what the man can do. Dead, all of them, the Death Watch members, all dead by the hands of one man. A boogie man in the flesh.

Red thought… he thought Jango would be different, once the teen had got to know him better. Something akin to a Jedi Shadow, tainted hands but… kind. Jango had seemed kind. But it seems Red is still a stupid little child. He feels like one anyway. His fear doesn't make it very hard to feel like such either. How could he have been so naïve…

There are no restful moments for the boy now. If he moves too fast, if he breathes wrong, will the Mandalorian snap again? He trembles at the thought and wishes so badly he could comfort himself with the sound of a spoken mantra, a comforting song learned from beloved masters. But his voice went away a long time ago.

He can feel it sometimes though, like something stuck inside his throat.

Red glimpses from the corner of his eye, over at the large table, the Mandalorian helmet. It rests quietly and unobtrusive in a corner, polished and well cared for. It looks at him with void, dark eyes. He shivers. The sound of Jango's steps reaches him from the cargo hold.

He closes his eyes and breathes.

He's afraid.

Chapter Text

The Fury drifts. It's the night cycle and it's quiet inside its cold metal shell. On the couch of the common room sleeps a thin boy, his long reddish locks disheveled around him. He breathes irregularly, there's a slight stutter to it.

Red dreams.

He's pleading, begging for them to stop, over and over and over and over and over again.

But they never do. Even when they say 'beg on your knees,' and he does, praying for mercy, they do not listen and they laugh. His words are meaningless to them, his cries and screams for help are void of any intelligible emotion. Nothing that would get through the Mandalorians at least.

He's so tired of screaming himself hoarse and feeling like no one understands his words. But it's not that they don't understand,  they just don't care . He howls into the void but it's empty, so his voice reaches noone. He's alone.

Eventually his words begin drying out, little by little, saying fewer things every day, pleading less, word by word ghosting away until there's nothing left of his voice. In the end it's like it's not there anymore.

The Mandalorians don't like this, they liked his mewling they say. But there's nothing more he can say, or scream or shout; his words just are gone. They beat him about it first, more and more until they manage to get him to scream. Once they realize he still cries and tears his throat in agony, well, then the loss of his begging doesn't seem so bad after all. And anyway, good riddance, it was getting annoying.

.~.~.~.

Jango doesn't think he's ever felt like this, not even when he was a slave and any show of resistance could spring a beating on you. He feels like his body is too big, his presence too large. Every time he steps into a room and Red is there he wishes he could shrink into himself, just like the kid does. He's never felt that before. He hates it.

But the kid is afraid and he doesn't know what to do about it. It's even worse than when the kid was hiding all the time, because Jango can see it in him, it's a resigned sort of fear, like whatever happens next will be inevitable.

So he tries to make himself small, 'don't be afraid.' He wants to say, 'it's okay, Red.' But he dares not say such things. It would be insulting to the kid's intelligence. He had promised before, but his word is not to be trusted.

Jango resigns himself, like Red, to live like this. And because he already has committed himself to a bounty he does research. Back to work it is.

.~.~.~.

They eat quietly, while Jango works, the sound of Red's tearing wrapper barely audible. For the first time in a long time Jango wishes he had some music on, if only quietly, so he wouldn't feel so suffocated by the silence.

His contact is a less than savory Kel Dor, stationed on a small planet even less savory called Parato at the borders of the Mid Rim. Still, it's a good enough place to stock on rations, fuel and everything they've been running short of…

Jango stops his musings when he catches Red out of the corner of his eye. He lifts up his head slightly and finds the teen is looking sadly at the finished bar. The boy is weird about food, sometimes he can't finish half a ration, then he bounces back and Jango swears the boy could stuff three of them in one sitting, and the ration bars are dense. Then some other days the boy doesn't seem like eating at all.

"You can grab another if you want," he says without thinking, suddenly forgetting they're not precisely on speaking terms. The air grows a little more tense around them, unsurprisingly. Jango soldiers on, "you can grab another from the cabinet if you're still hungry."

The ginger looks at the columns of cabinets beside the small unused kitchenette, his face contorts in an unhappy frown, just slightly on the side of nauseated. The Mandalorian wants to chuckle but he doesn't, he knows the kid is not overly fond of the rations. The boy looks down at the table then, quiet, subdued. Like a good little captive.

Jango closes his eyes, pained, reminded every second of his mistakes. Just there right where the boy sits, just there to the side where he slammed the boy against the wall with rage worthy of his enemies. But this isn't about Jango or his guilt or his mistakes, it's about Red, and aren't most things about the boy these days?

"It's okay if you don't want another but… if you're hungry I think you should eat," Jango says and leaves it at that. Going back to his data pad.

A few minutes later he listens to the ginger stand up and open the rations cabinet. The Mando doesn't smile though, he doesn't deserve to.

.~.~.~.

Jango wakes up one night cycle, there's a noise he doesn't recognize and that doesn't belong in the ship. He grabs his blaster, instantly alert. It's only Red and himself on the ship, but something could have happened while he slept.

His door opens with a smooth swish, blaster at the ready. The noise comes from the right towards the common room and the cockpit. 'Red,' he thinks and hurries to his aid. But when the sliding doors to the room open, there is no threat, only the quiet whirl of engines and systems smoothly running through the night.

His eyes fall on the couch and the form slumped there, the sounds he'd heard are the teen's desperate intakes of breath. He sets down his blaster on the table and rushes towards Red.

"Kid?" He asks as he kneels beside the other, keeping a bit of space as to not violate the silent accord of distance he and the boy have.

But Red sleeps.

"Wake up," Jango commands strongly in the hopes of rousing the ginger, "Red wake up."

But the kid's rapid intakes of breath continue to go on, short and interrupted. He squirms in distress and his eyes scrunch tightly. Every second that passes the action of breathing seems to become more difficult. The Mandalorian succumbs.

He shakes the kid with a firm grip, but he stands at the ready to take his hand away at the first sign the boy gives him that the touch is unwelcomed.

"Red!"

The teen blots up into wakefulness and Jango is pushed back by an unseen force. It's not a terribly hard push but he ends up laying on the floor. His mind blanks, his instincts kicking in.

Decommission the Jedi as quickly as you can. Where is his gun? Why isn't he wearing his armor? It doesn't matter, his hands are more than enough if he's sufficiently fast.

Jango sits up, crouches, his hands at the ready, he's done it before and he can do it again. But through his laser focused mind come through the sounds of distressed breathing, a wheezing for air. The fog clears from his mind and he sees Red, he's almost scared of how quick his response time was, of what he could've done because of it, but he pushes that thought out of his mind. The boy needs him.

"Kid, kid." He crawls forward until he's by the teens side. Red claws at his chest, at his neck, trying to find the reason for his lack of air but there's nothing there. "Look at me, you have to breathe." But the boy's out of his mind with panic, words do not reach him.

Jango grabs one of the scratching hands -there are angry red lines already running through the discolored skin of his neck and down to the v of the opening of his shirt- and forces it to himself. Red flinches back, a pitiful sob escaping his lips, trying to feebly dislodge his wrist from the grip, but most of his mind is trapped around the thought of air, and that he's not getting it.

"Breathe with me, okay?" The Mando places the shaking hand flat over his chest and takes in a deep inhale "Breathe, Red. Please."

The teen keeps trying to take his hand back and gasping in barely any air. But Jango keeps breathing, and talking softly, on and on until the kid finally tries to copy his rhythm. He chokes on his first intake, and the next, and cries as he exhales what little breath there is in him.

"It's going to be okay, just breathe," The man soothes. Red chokes and coughs out painfully until his breathing returns to a semblance of normality. "There you go, breathe, it's okay. It's okay Red'ika."

They breathe together, in and out and in and out.

When he's sure the kid will be fine he lets go of his skinny wrist, shuffling slightly backwards to give the teen some space, but a quick desperate hand clamps down onto his hand. Jango looks up at a quietly terrified face. He sighs, tired, and lets Red squeeze his hand with ferocity.

He sits down close to the couch, relaxing his shoulders, ready to wait the teen's panic out. He wishes the kid would talk to him, maybe it would be easier, if Red could just unburden himself from whatever demons haunt his head.

He probably wouldn't tell them to Jango though.

"It's okay, it's okay," Jango repeats again and again, drawing gentle circles on the ginger's hand with his calloused thumb. A few objects rattle from time to time around the common room. The Force, he thinks with instinctive disgust, but pushes the thought away and thinks of how that means the ginger is still out of sorts, of how the boy needs his help.

After a long while, Red takes in a deep, steading breath and slumps over his legs, his grip of Jango's hand goes slack. He seems exhausted.

"All good?" He asks, the teens face hidden now behind his hands, almost like he's ashamed. "Okay, so… I guess I should-" He gets ready to stand up but once again the kid's hand stops him.

Red looks at him with big wide eyes, and Jango thinks just like he did back at Kyr'tsad's camp, that they look like an overcast sky. But the Mando is not sure what the boy wants exactly. Red starts breathing a little funny again, taking in a breath but then letting go immediately, he repeats this several times until the man starts worrying again. Before Jango can say or do anything he hears it.

"Thank you."

Jango is speechless. It's softly said, like a whisper, and the voice rasps with disuse and possibly all the hash breathing he just did for the last 20 minutes. The teen shudders in a breath.

"Thank you," he repeats with emphasis though just as quietly.

Jango squeezes the teens hand, looks at the boy's earnest face framed by his long, messy ginger hair.

"You're welcome Red," There's nothing much he can say to that.

.~.~.~.

Truce, Jango thinks. There's a truce between the boy and him now. The space around them has lost its suffocating quality and though the boy is much subdued there is softness in his eyes again when he looks at the man.

The Mando's not sure he deserves that, he helped the kid, yes, he isn't heartless, but he doesn't deserve this kindness Red is giving him, however small it might be. Not after what he did to the teen. But Jango will not rebuke him, he can't bring himself to. He just wishes the boy wouldn't, that kind of heart will get him killed one day.

Despite this Jango… well he's relieved, happy almost. The tight knot in his chest loosened, he can breathe once more. He might not deserve this but he's damned glad he has it.

There's wariness there, of course, but one day Red sits, for the first time again, beside him in the copilots' seat. Jango is unexpectedly filled with dread instead of gladness that the boy is approaching him again. He feels wrong when the teen offers him a small quirk of the lips in greeting, a pair of questioning eyes that say, 'may I?'

He can't stand it.

The ginger hasn't even settled down completely before the words are trying to get out of Jango.

"Red what…" he stills, taking in a deep breath. The kid beside him is attentive. "What I did to you when I took off the collar… that was a terrible thing that I did to you."

They are quiet, the boy holds himself stiffly, shoulders tense with anticipation. Suddenly it comes to Jango's mind, the moment when he shared his name with the boy.

'Jango Fett, pleasure to meet you.'

Panic at the mere mention of his name. Red knows exactly who he is and what that means when the teen is a Jetii himself. This is not a child unaware of history. The Mando closes his eyes for a moment, there is too much weight between their people, too much hurt. Why, why did it have to be this kid he bumped into, of them all?

"Whatever grievances I might have with the Jetiise, whatever history might be between me and…" 'your people' he doesn't say. "All of that. It doesn't-" oh but it does matter, he can't say that either. Jango shuts his eyes and lets his forehead fall against his fists.

"What I did to you was wrong Red, you did not deserve that," he forces out of his mouth. "What I'm trying to say with all this, is…" he looks back up to the ginger, whose eyes are so wild and unsure "you don't owe me any kindness, or forgiveness. Okay? I know if I promised not to hurt you it would feel hollow but… You don't have to," he gestured vaguely at the teen, "whatever you might be doing. You don't have to do it, to be safe on this ship."

Because Jango knows what people will do for survival and that is never what he wants to be. He never wants to be a jailer, a slaver, a master. Never. Not to Red.

The ginger looks deeply into him and there's… there's compassion in his eyes there. It turns Jango's stomach, 'standing in a moral high ground indeed,' he thinks rueful.

Red's eyes tremble, struggling to hold in some emotion Jango can't tell. He looks down as a tear falls down his cheek. The teen lifts up his hand and places it over Jango's brown one, the man stutters in a breath. He doesn't understand the boy, he doesn't understand what this means or what Red wants to communicate, but he knows, he knows it all goes back to his kindness.

He doesn't know if he's forgiven, he doesn't think he is, much less if he deserves to be -he doesn't. But Red… what a wonder he is.

He doesn't deserve the boy but here they are.

He covers the pale hand with his own and gives it a gentle squeeze. They let go. Red curls up in the copilot seat and finally watches the stars again. Jango sighs out a light breath. It's nice… to have company again.

In the days to come they orbit each other once more, just like they had before, or at least something close. Two lonely stars lost in the black, aimless but together.

.~.~.~.

Red dreams.

He dreams that he sits in the cockpit of the ship and looks at the stars forever. Sometimes Jango is there, they talk for hours, the conversations going on and on, but he's not sure what they talk about. Sometimes it's not Jango at all, but a taller man, broad shouldered and long haired, his eyes are kind and soft as he looks at Red, they don't talk but his presence comforts him greatly nonetheless.

When he wakes up there are tears in his eyes.

.~.~.~.

"We're docking on Parato today," Jango informs his companion as he prepares the coordinates on The Fury. "We need fuel and supplies; and I need to check on a job as well while we're there." Jango turns to him and Red munches dispassionately on a ration bar at the table. His eyes are attentive though. Jango takes in a measured breath.

"I will just say… that if you're planning or running away I would rather it not be this planet you choose to do that on. No, this is not a threat and I don't want to hold you against your will, you can very well disappear on me whenever you like. But on this planet the way you look you'll be screaming for slave traffickers to snatch you. That clear?"

The teen nods, interested, but not the kind of interest that says, 'I will do exactly what you've asked me not to do.' Which Jango is very grateful for.

"All that said," the man turns to the console again, tentatively, "you can come with me for the supplies if you want." The ship is quiet behind him and he has to remind himself that the boy's not going to answer him with words. He turns his head, "you coming?"

There's a quick shake of his head, he looks like he might be sick just at the thought of going out from The Fury which is… strange, but Jango can deal with that, it's one less thing to worry about.

"All right, don't let anyone that's not me in here, okay? I don't trust people in general, but I trust the people on that planet even less."

They jump hyperspace, and the world blurs around the cockpit window.

.~.~.~.

If Jango was the kind of man inclined to be happy, or even content, at the prospect of finding good work, he'd probably be feeling that right about now. But he's not that kind of man, and most people that contract his services are sorry excuses of sentients at best. So yes, he's got work, and yes it'll pay well, but he's not really pleased about having spent the last 2 hours talking with a sleazy Kel Dor.

The Fury should be all fueled by now, and the water tanks filled up, he only has to purchase the rations and he'll be done. He might stock up on some ammo though he's pretty well covered on that front, it does no harm to be prepared.

After he's finished paying for the flavorless rations -and a small box of a mix of flavored ones, he's not heartless, he's seen how the kid looks when he forces down the bars- he turns to look at a shop of canned goods and other edibles you must actually mix and cook to eat. Jango hesitates.

There really is no need for those, ration bars have all they need nutrient wise and are less wasteful and time consuming. It's the most reasonable thing to do aboard a ship that barely docks as it is.

He keeps looking at the shop.

.~.~.~.

"Hey Red, I'm back," he calls into the ship as the ramp to the cargo hold opens. The kid peaks from the entrance of the room at him; his hair looks fluffy and sort of orderly, he probably took a sonic while Jango was away. But there's a frazzled look to him, jittery and nervous, he also seems quite tired and his brow is slightly furrowed. The man wonders what that's about.

A hover cart is coming in behind him, he walks to the ginger.

"Show me your palms." The order seems to throw off the teen as he raises them instinctively to obey but also hovers them close to his chest in a protective manner, palms opened up, because what could Jango possibly want with his extended hands?

Jango hides his arm behind his back and brings his fist forward. The boy flinches a little at the motion but Jango places something gently in the kid's hands. Blue gray eyes widen and beneath the tired expression there's something like a faint turning of the lips on the boy's face, almost but not quite a smile. There is a bright blue fruit in his palms, round but misshapen in the way you can tell it was grown without its DNA being altered.

Red looks at him in question, eagerness filling his thin face.

"Enjoy," Jango says, he can admit, a little cheekily. The ginger doesn't need to be told twice as he stuffs himself with the fruit. The Mando chuckles under his breath and smiles.

When they leave atmo at the end of the day, Red sits by his side in the copilots chair, he looks like he really isn't enjoying the natural turbulence that comes with take off, but once they come out from the night of the port and into the light of the system's star, the teen settles. As the stray rays brush into the cabin, Red closes his eyes and seems to take in the poor heat coming through the protective layers of the ship.

Maybe Jango could find a rustic planet, one with few people where they could walk outside and not be too careful. Someplace Red wouldn't have to be afraid or worried about whatever it is that stopped him from going out today. Yeah… maybe.

.~.~.~.

Deep into the night cycle, Jango settles into the repetitive motion of putting away all the new things he bought for the ship. Red, almost timidly, stands beside him in the common room cabinets, looking like he wants something.

"What is it, Red?" He never really expects an answer, but it seems so natural a thing to do, just talking to him, even when the ginger never replies back.

The quiet 'Thank you,' the boy had given him a few nights ago still has him reeling with some emotion he can't even name. It honors him greatly to say the least.

Red takes in a steading breath and gestures to the open crate with the ration bars Jango is ordering in the cabinets. The man is pleasantly surprised by the offer.

"Sure, knock yourself out." And he steps aside to make some space for the teen, while he moves to the rest of the food that goes on the next cabinet. And the booze, can't forget the booze cabinet he's thankfully getting restocked.

They settle to work quietly and rhythmically, it's almost meditative as they go down to the crate, up to the cabinet, put the food in place, and back to the crate, on and on again. Red probably enjoys it, that's the sort of things Jetii do right? Meditation? He's… not completely sure to be honest, it's not really an area of knowledge he's very interested in from his enemies, he only needs to know how to fight and how to defeat them. He only needs to know of their sins.

An uncomfortable thought begins blooming in his mind. He remembers now that the Jetiise stole Red away from his true family and brainwashed him to become one of them. He pushes that thought aside for a later time, taking in a calming breath.

"Don't worry about filling up the shelves Red, we can put what's left in the cargo hold," he tells the teen once he sees the cabinet's almost full.

"It's Obi-" Jango stops in place, a can of food in his hand, and turns to the kid.

Red isn't looking at him, brows set and eyes inside the cabinet, he seems to brace himself, taking in short breaths that he has to quickly let go off. Just like he'd done that night after his nightmare. It's very hard to speak, Jango can tell.

"Obi-wan." The man is at a loss, he's not sure what the kid is saying to him. The teen clears his throat slightly, his words still raspy and so quiet they break a little. "My name's Obi-wan." He looks at Jango from the corner of his eye. Through the soft spoken tone the boy uses he can tell Red- Obi-wan, has a slightly core accented voice. Not very surprising considering where he probably comes from.

"Obi-wan," he repeats as he looks at the ginger and nods. He smiles lightly then; this moment feels sacred. It's not the first thing the kid has said to him but it almost feels like it. Jango is so very touched by this, whatever this is. A show of trust or Red regaining a bit of himself. And what a wonder that… to trust him. That after what he did the teen could still trust him.

Jango takes this moment tightly in his hands and locks it away in a special part of himself where there is also Jaster beside a campfire flame and a caring hand on his shoulder. He treasures this, but then he makes himself shatter the moment, afraid to let the silence stretch for too long and scare the kid away from talking more some other time.

"I guess I should stop calling you Red now, huh?" He jokes, a deep chuckle settling in.

They continue working for a bit until Obi-wan looks at him again.

"Red is okay." And Jango thinks he loves this quiet voice the kid has, unprettied by Manda knows how long of disuse, slightly fancy as core accents tend to be. It feels like the teen is sharing something secret with him.

He could get used to this quiet voice and this quiet presence, this silent working together and coexisting in The Fury. Jango could get used to having company again, to not be alone and being content with that.

His heart stutters in his chest at the idea.

Chapter Text

Obi-wan fits smoothly in the well oiled machine that is Jango's life aboard The Fury. Missteps aside, they coexist in tandem like they have done so for years: it's a very pleasing thought to the Mandalorian.

Sitting in the common room, Jango prepares for his bounty; it seems an easy enough job. He takes a moment to wonder again if he should be teaching the teen about any of the important things in life like shooting a blaster and the quickest way to kill a man; he's quite sure the Jetiise teachings are sorely lacking in some very essential areas with their so professed pacifism –however much of a facade it may be.

While he writes down on his datapad, he spares a look at the kitchenette with a little apprehension, because he had bought food to cook and while he was never bad at preparing a meal, it has been a while. He sighs and gets up, no use in postponing it he supposes.

He remembers then, the little bag of seasoning of all things.

.~.~.~.

Obi-wan is napping. He does that too often these days; his body is constantly tired and mind foggy with exhaustion. He breaths in, rubbing his face against the pillow as his senses awaken him from a sluggish rest. He blinks slowly in confusion, something's different.

There's a… smell… and a sound in the ship that seems unusual, like metal being moved and just… things happening. That's definitely not the sound of Jango training or fixing things in the ship though. It's enough of an odd occurrence that he gets up from under the warm covers of his bed to investigate. He shivers, the floor is cold beneath his bare feet.

The ginger walks into the common room to find something that is not a common thing at all. Jango stands at the small, unused kitchenette. He's cooking. Jango Fett is cooking. The smell rising up from the pan invades The Fury with the richness of spice like an intruder, a very welcome intruder at that. Obi-wan inhales deeply by muscle memory, and blinks bewildered a couple of times. It smells divine.

The Mandalorian turns to look at him and raises an unperturbed eyebrow, like this is an everyday occurrence.

Obi-wan would weep from happiness if he was the kind of person inclined to that sort of thing.

.~.~.~.

Jango is quite proud of himself when he sets down the meaty dish. It has a beautiful orange color, courtesy of one of the seasoning pellets, and it smells good enough to enjoy; he can give himself that at least. He didn't think he still had it in him, but once a skill is learned it's hard to forget.

He wouldn't say Red is excited, the boy is too emotionally subdued for that, but it's a near thing. His eyes have not moved away from Jango's cooking, from the second he came into the room to the moment the dish is set down in front of him. Despite all that though, the teen hasn't touched the food.

"Dig in," Jango prompts him, and the kid's about to but he stops, looking up to him and down the man's own plate, expecting.

For a moment Jango's confused, but then he presses his lips together. He… he really hopes Red doesn't think him capable of poisoning him, he thought they were better now, after Jango's horrible actions, but... He feels a small pang in his heart, he gets it, it's understandable that the kid does not fully trust him yet. So without making a fuss about it or even commenting on it he takes a bite into his own dish first, ready to take one off the kid's plate after, but the moment he starts chewing Obi-wan follows his example with abandon.

Satisfied the kid doesn't think he'll murder him in such a dishonorable way like that anymore, he enjoys his first self made food in ages. He should have a talk with Red though, that's no good way of checking if someone has poisoned your food. Jango stops that train of thought though when he sees the teen angle his face away from the man for some reason. The redhead has discreetly placed a hand beside his temple to cover it and is subtly breathing very carefully from what the Mando can hear.

Jango listens to an ever so soft sniff then.

"Red?" He asks concerned, did he dislike the food that bad? Is there something in the dish he hates? Or even worse yet, that he can't eat? Jango stands up from his seat immediately and walks to the other side of Obi-wan to check on him.

"Red'ika, what's wrong?" The man kneels in front of him but stops because… because the teen is crying, he's crying.

The kid shakes his head a couple of times and then gathers breath.

"I'm okay," he says softly, his voice a little wet "it's just… it's good." Obi-wan's eyes are directed away from Jango, there's shame on his face from his out of proportion reaction.

"You don't have to eat it if you don't want to," the Mandalorian says out of his depth, remembering Jaster telling him to sit down and finish his food.

Jango had never cried because he didn't want to eat something though.

"No!" Blue gray eyes snap back to him, hands going down to his plate to hold it. "It's really good Jango I just…" the boy scoffs and cleans his face with the edge of his palm, "I just… It's been a while since I've had something so nice to eat." He looks pointedly at the man's dark eyes, he speaks the truth and he wants the other to know and leave it be "That's all."

Jango barks a laugh, startled by this, and relieved too. And, wow, Obi-wan just held a full conversation with him, the man is going all soft inside.

"I'm glad you liked it then," he pats the teens leg which makes the teen jump a little, but Obi-wan chuckles with him. "Cause it's going to be home made midday meals from now on."

He hadn't thought that far ahead, he'd just decided it right that moment on the spot. He doesn't want the kid crying because of something as basic as getting decent food, he should have it whenever he wants. Being a slave had taken the joy out of food for Jango, but seeing Obi-wan get so much out of one single, okay-ish meal? Jango is going to cook every single day for the teen if that's what it takes to see the ginger a tad happier.

They eat in companionable silence after that; the food is good, the company better. Red's words swirl around Jango's head on repeat like little twirling birds. He turns them up and down and tries memorizing the lilt of his accent and the softness with which the boy speaks. Jango tries pushing down the smile that keeps trying to creep up his face. He's not very successful though.

.~.~.~.

Finding and apprehending his bounty is so easy Jango has to hold in the urge to slam his head against a sufficiently hard surface, at least then the concussion he might get from that would give him more of a challenge than this. The human man is a sad excuse of someone who believes they're more than they're kriffing worth. Walking big and talking even bigger as if they were some big shot for the Hutt clans. It'd be infuriating if it weren't so dull.

He drags the man yapping and wriggling like a spoiled pet to The Fury. A mop of long reddish locks peak from behind the way to the quarters and freshener, looking warily at his new captive and wincing at the ruckus. The Mando would punch the bounty in the gut to quiet him down but he won't do it in front of Red, that would frighten his poor field mouse something mighty. So he waits once he's inside the weapons storage in which he has fashioned a small holding cell. People might think it stupid to keep his bounties and weapons so closely, but he likes to think the amount of krak he has in there scares the balls off of them more than anything else.

Once he's in with the door tightly closed behind him, he punches the human with powerful effortlessness. It shuts him right up. The little weasel is wheezing behind the glass on the floor.

Despite how laughably easy the job had been, Jango feels good. He likes his job, even when it's this kind of annoying. It's good to be back. In a few hours he'll have his credits and he'll be rid of the pest.

.~.~.~.

Obi-wan's head is pounding. Jango had just dropped off his bounty and The Fury is once again blessedly void of a strange presence.

Having another person on board had not been pretty. He knows the only reason his head is not in a constant state of agony is because he only has to share space with one person. He doesn't want to think about what living in the temple with his force connection so unbalanced and his shields as flaky as actual flimsy would do to him. But he can imagine it. He dreads it.

The stop on Parato had left him shaking in the sonic. With Obi-wan hiding, pathetically curled up beneath the blast waves and trying not to cry. He'd shuddered with the effort, trying his very best to create a bubble around himself so that the thousands of souls at the port wouldn't crush his mind with their own. Hoping Jango wouldn't find him like that.

It frustrates him that he can't handle the presence of others now, even two people seem to be two too much for to handle -the bounty had been an unpleasant addition that thankfully hadn't lasted very long. But Sith hells, sometimes he can't help getting dizzy from the company of one. It's just the two of them alone again, which is good, but his head is still pounding so he sits and commits himself to breathe. It's… hard to meditate these days, it had never been so before his capture, most of the times it had been almost always as easy as breathing. He can barely concentrate enough on a good day now, the threads of peace slipping from his fingers ever so often. And even harder still meditating while keeping out of sight from Jango… He doesn't… Obi-wan's heart shakes a little when he thinks of the Mando watching him do anything Jedi like.

But, the teen's decided to get better in spite of his apprehension about Jango and all the other things that deter him from achieving peace and connection to the Force. He must try again and again until some semblance of balance returns to his mind, until he can build up his mental defenses more solidly than a cloud.

Perseverance, he remembers, just like old and beloved lessons at the temple. He concentrates, pushing the thought away.

Obi-wan sits on one of the metal crates in the cargo hold, legs crossed and eyes closed. He wills himself to drift away just like The Fury does. Now that's an idea.

He breathes in.

He is The Fury, nothing tethers him to the ground.

He breathes out.

There are no currents that pull him.

In.

Just chance that leads him softly away through space.

Ou-

Concentration slips away from him. Jango has entered the room and is looking at him.

Obi-wan hadn't heard him come in, but he can feel it now; Jango's presence in the force is ever slightly more intense than usual when the man directs his attention to anything at all.

The teen doesn't open his eyes but his hands are shaking slightly, perhaps only Obi-wan himself can tell that they do for it's such a small motion. And Jango… he won't do anything to the ginger, not again surely…

That's, such a stupid thought. It was the kind that had gotten him into trouble the first time around but… the Mando had apologized. Obi-wan's insides churn with anxiety, he doesn't know what he should feel or think.

The boy stiffens furthermore. He feels it now, if he gets any more agitated, soon there'll be things shaking around the room and he absolutely can't have that. Jango is there, what would he do? What would-

He takes in a deep steadying breath. Then another.

'Perseverance,' he remembers like a distant dream, 'we try and try and try again until we get it right.' His crèche master used to say, patience and love in her voice. Obi-wan steadies himself and speaks through his anxiety.

"It's just meditation Jango," he says softly, even a little meekly. He doesn't need to have his eyes open to know the man is frowning.

Obi-wan knows how the Mando feels about anything Jedi related. Jango's emotions swirl in the space around them, strong and pure like always, and they sting. The ginger scrunches his eyes, forcing himself not to see. He shouldn't trust this but there's something within him telling him that Jango is not going to do anything to him. Obi-wan wants to trust this feeling but he's been wrong before, he-

The Mandalorian says nothing and continues on to whatever thing he was on his way to do. The sting eases a little, but doesn't go away, it never really does with how intense of a man Jango is and how off kilter Obi-wan has been since the collar was taken away.

The teen breathes out in soft relief, his body almost light.

He thinks of The Fury again, the vessel cold and pathless in the black. His mind is assaulted by a brief flash of greenery and pools of water everywhere. He does his very best to push it away, just like the memory of his crèche master, even though the remembrance of that place would help him center himself like nothing else ever could. He can't allow himself to think of the Temple again, of the order, it would… It would break his heart. These days he isn't sure he could get up from any more heartbreak. So he breathes.

In.

Out.

The humming of the ship lulls him, as does Jango walking around and rummaging in one of the other crates.

In.

Out…

.~.~.~.

For some inexplicable reason, every time Jango is cooking Obi-wan frowns at him, and he's not sure why. The kid evidently likes his food, they've proven that. He also doesn't think the boy feels in danger of being poisoned anymore, but he does always wait for Jango to take the first bite.

It's weird, Red's just weird sometimes.

The man ignores it, it's possibly just one of the hundred little quirks the teen has got, either because of trauma, upbringing or some odd personality choice.

He heads to the kitchenette; he's feeling like vegetables today so he grabs a packet of air tight ones; they can last up to five months without refrigeration if kept in the right place.

The next step he takes towards the burner he halts abruptly because Obi-wan is standing right in front of him obstructing his way; his little pre-meal frown set very deeply on his brow.

"Can I help you with something Red'ika?" He asks impassively.

Obi-wan's bird-like fingers grab hold of the vegetable packet in his hands, tight. And, excuse you, Jango is going to cook that. The man pulls back but the teens arms come as well until the boy is pulling the packet towards himself.

"Wha- what are you doing you little-?" They struggle for a bit, tugging at the accused vegetables one way and the other until the ginger finally yanks it from Jango's hands. "Fine." He throws his arms up in the air in exasperated surrender and gives an ugly look at the ginger.

He almost snarls, 'if the little Alor doesn't like my cooking, he can very well do it himself,' but doesn't, always a little bit wary he'll scare off the kid if he's too antagonistic.

Red holds the vegetables to his chest, he looks like he's trying to say something, it always takes him just a bit to get the words out, but Jango is done with him right now, so he walks away leaving him to his struggles. The farthest he can go without seeming like a butt hurt child is the cockpit; he can brood over there while he pretends to be busy with the navigation system.

Turns out, a few minutes later, Obi-wan does begin preparing something.

Jango turns his head back to the other, discreetly. The redhead is cutting up the vegetables with a sure and stable hand, if a little slow; he has also taken out a few other ingredients from the small selection they have. The man sighs and relaxes his shoulders, soothing a bit at his natural anger; if cooking makes the kid happy then fine, he'll let him be. The Mando's not happy about it though, he should be making the food here, it's his job. If the teen is unhappy with something or wanted a different thing to eat he could've just told Jango about it; he's told this to Red several times.

He leaves the kid to his own devices and concentrates on his business.

Sometime later Jango raises up his head in surprise. Obi-wan's humming.

He looks again at the teen, Obi-wan is immersed in the task, he's relaxed and fluid in his actions. There's a softly scented aroma in the air, a combination of flavors Jango isn't used to. It's nice.

"Jango?" Red calls softly once he's done.

The man goes to their large multi use table and sits at his usual place at the end where he has a perfect view of the cockpit. The teen sets the plates down almost reverently and sits at the man's left, just like always, because he likes being able to look at the stars. Jango is about to dip his spoon into the soupy dish but a soft hold at his wrist stops him. He looks at Obi-wan. The boy seems to take a moment, as if he's preparing himself. Red takes in a deep breath and straightens the little hunch he always curls himself in.

"At the temple, when eating in our quarters, it is the job of the apprentice to cook for the master a meal a day," Obi-wan begins, voice steady and soft, like he's about to tell a story.

The teen has never spoken with this amount of certainty before, but Jango is disgusted at the word master, that it would ever be applied to him in whatever messed up manner the Jetiise thought to use it.

"Listen kid, I'm not a master, least of all yours," Jango bites out in defense of himself and of Red too. He's not a slave master nor is he a Jetii master. The man is ready to list out why he's better than either of those but the teen doesn't let him go on.

"Yes, you are not," Obi-wan says, raising a hand in a pacifying gesture, "but you are a caretaker of a sort… to me."

They are quiet for a moment, as they look at one another. Swirling inside his bad mood, Jango feels as if his heart has missed a beat for some reason. But he can't think more about it before the ginger continues.

"You house me in The Fury, you share your provisions with me, you make sure I have a place to sleep and that I have clothes to wear. Whatever you may think, you are playing the appointed role and are deserving of that same respect any master would."

Jango is seething inside, he's in so much anger that he's shaking with the effort to contain it. But Red, who unbeknownst to the man, is trying to keep calm under the Mando's spiking anger, just looks so earnest as he tells him these things.

"I don't… mean to assume what I am to you," Obi-wan says a little hesitantly, "But as an apprentice, a ward of a sort to you, maybe," he chuckles a little at himself, "it's my duty to show you my gratitude, and I am grateful."

The redhead takes in a stuttering breath and tucks his hair away from his face. The earnestness of his expression now even more visible than before.

"Jango Fett, I am so very grateful to you, for everything that you've-"

"No," The Mandalorian protests, slamming down his spoon on the table. The boy jumps back a little, startled "No, it's not your Ka'ra damned job to be grateful for anything, or to feed me or show me respect or whatever krak the Jetiise think younglings owe them."

"No, Jango, that's not what I… I- what I wanted to-" The boy blunders a bit as the thanks he has carefully prepared are cut short. The intelligent and eloquent teen steadily disappears under insecurity. "This is not a bad thing," he stresses, anxiety rising in his expression.

'You say that because you've been brainwashed since you were a baby.' The Mandalorian thinks viciously.

"Okay, let- let me start again and I'll… I'll try to explain it better," Red asks and Jango keeps quiet cause the ginger's voice is getting quieter and shakier. He knows the boy can barely hold conversations with him; this happening is nothing short of a miracle. And he can recognize, in between all the bantha osik that Red is spouting, that there is something of importance that the teen is trying to tell him. He can't imagine how hard it must've been to say the things Obi-wan's trying to tell Jango, but all of his words are tainted to the Mando's ears. He can't stand what Red is saying, it makes him sick and it repulses him so much he aches to put a blaster bolt in between somebody's eyes.

"It's a balance you see? When we are chosen by a Master they do become our caretakers, but it's a partnership. A give and take from both sides. So, with the food?" The boy points at their plates. "It's a small way in which we can show gratitude for the care a master provides us. From a young age there are certain expectations we have as apprentices, and cooking a good meal is one of them."

Jango feels like he's going to burst a blood vessel with the amount of tension his body is under at this kriffing explanation of a Jetii life.

"That is barbaric Red," the Mando snarls. "How do the Jetiise expect children to cook and do it well if-"

"You're misinterpreting this! And you're putting words in my mouth." Red stops abruptly and casts his whole head down, eyes closed and scrunched in distress. He's breathing a little hard, like he's trying to get his emotions under control. There's something that looks like grief in his face.

It brings Jango's swirling thoughts to a stop. A pang of guilt assaults him. He sighs, feeling like he might've killed something special here, a lightness to the kid, something he hadn't shown much of before and… The Mando put it down like a sickly thing. Obi-wan's quiet now, the strong emotions left from his face. Dejected.

Jango brings up a hand to his face, he never… he never meant to do that. He's starting to sense a pattern here. It's like every time the kid reaches out to him one way or another, the man does his best to beat that trust to the ground. He takes a slow breath in and sighs deeply.

"I… I'm sorry Obi'ika." The boy looks up slightly, "I'm listening now, I promise. Tell me about the food." The man looks quietly at the teen, anger wiped clean from his face, attentive.

"It… it doesn't matter," Obi-wan says quietly, shaking his head, eyes aborted towards his untouched meal "I just… wanted to say thank you, that's all."

"Red-" Jango tries, stricken.

"No, it's okay," Obi-wan says quickly, whipping any of the heavier emotions from his face. "It's not like it's even important to the point, right?" The teen tries a crooked smile, and that feels so wrong. Red can't bring himself to do that on a normal day and now Jango's twisted it all up.

And it is important, the thanks and the food and serving him, is important, Jango can tell, even if he doesn't understand it fully.

"Obi-wan," Jango says a little forcefully, leaning his elbow on the table to look better at the teen. His face is open though, trying to show his sincerity plain for the boy to see, "I… I want you to explain this to me. I really am sorry. I know we may not…" he huffs annoyed, "precisely see eye to eye on some… things. But this is important to you… I'm listening now."

The Fury hums in the quiet that follows. The slow, small smile Obi-wan gifts him lightens the Mando up. That smile might be worth enough bearing the pain of the Jetiise ideals on how to deal with their young.

"We're… we're not expected to make perfect food Jango," Red's voice is quiet but there's an underlining of what sounds like amusement at Jango's expense, "Of course it's not. Our masters guide us by example first, guide us through the steps until eventually we are left to our devices. Once we begin cooking it is also part of the lesson. Did we pay attention? Did we know how to listen? How we cook food can tell us that. A lot of a…" He looks a little hesitant at the other, but there isn't any fear there, "of a Jedi's life relies on the passage of knowledge, and that it's done so correctly. It's important"

Jango feels himself untensing bit by bit, letting Obi-wan's voice carry him through the lesson. He allows himself to feel blessed once again, by what's happening here. This boy who can hardly speak on a good day is waxing poetic about the life he's lived, all because he wants the Mando to understand something. Because, he can begrudgingly admit, it's important to Red.

"At the table, the Master eats first and the apprentice waits for judgment of their work to pass. Now, before you say anything about how unfair that is, the food doesn't actually have to be that good when we are young. If it's not wholly burnt and has an approximation of the taste it should, then it's good enough." The teen's eyes cringle a little, like he wants to laugh. Jango smiles at that, heart softening at the sight of the boy.

So that's why he always waits for Jango to eat first, it's a force of habit even if Red hadn't prepared the food himself.

They begin eating, as Obi-wan continues telling him all the little intricacies of the topic. The food has gone lukewarm but it's not a real problem, Jango could hear the kid talk on and on about whatever he liked. Listening to the ginger speak is a blessing in itself.

.~.~.~.

Obi-wan likes humming when he cooks, it becomes obvious to Jango pretty quickly after the first few times. But today, today he sings. It's almost louder than anything he says on a daily basis; the tune is sort of hopping, going up and down with the melody. The boy sounds quite happy as well as he bounces from one place to the other preparing their midday meal. It has become their new normal, and despite Jango's reservations about Obi-wan being the one who cooks for them, he can't complain too much given how good a mood it puts the ginger in.

"Chioah foh, get, ahin, vehlkon ahran," Red sings.

Jango smiles to himself, he's cleaning up his training corner while he waits for the food to be done. He wants to ask the kid things, but he doesn't want to break the moment.

"Ova, dera, jilkon, jai'eni," The Mandalorian enjoys the song of words he doesn't understand and allows himself to be happy to hear the kid singing so freely, if perhaps a little softly. "Havelan foh Rah'eni Geton, getonget, getonahin."

When they sit down to eat a while later, Obi-wan hand's resting on his lap as he patiently waits for Jango's approval of the dish, the Mando asks.

"That sounded nice," he comments casually, the teen's cheeks coloring a little anyway. Obi-wan nods and chuckles slightly.

"It's a... nursery song," he admits.

"From your planet?" Obi-wan nods as he begins eating. "Where are you from?" Jango wonders to which he receives a confused look in return.

"Coruscant?" Red replies, as if this should already be obvious.

"No, I mean… where are you from?" The Mando clarifies amused. It's this moment he realizes he has somehow misstepped here, but doesn't know exactly how.

"I was born in Stewjon," Obi-wan answers with a nod of his head, not looking up from his plate.

"Ah, is the song in Stewjoni then?" Everyone knows Coruscant doesn't have a native language, that monster of a metropolis can only house Basic with so many comings and goings from thousands of different planets.

Red lowers his fork, his face like he can't believe the Mandalorian's words.

"It's Dai Bendu," he says incredulously.

"Ah…" Jango has no idea where that language is from, "is that a dialect or-"

"It's the language of the Jedi," Obi-wan finally retorts, face drawn tight with displeasure.

'Jettise have a language?' He thinks incredulously to himself.

"Of course we have!" The ginger exclaims outraged.

Opps, so he said that out loud. And wow, that was actually a conversational volume of voice.

"We-we- we're not some random conglomerate of people who meet weekly to do things. We're not just some organization. We're a people, we have a culture, we-" the teen shuts up, his face red with fury. He looks right about ready to leave the table.

"I didn't know…" he says lamely. A silence extending in between them.

"You know, for someone who professes to hate the Jedi so much, you sure seem to know nothing about them."

"I don't need to know anything about them-" Jango cuts himself off immediately before he can say something barbaric. 'Kriff,' he thinks, the boy dons an emotionless mask after a flash of hurt crosses his face.

"No," Obi-wan says after a while, "I guess you wouldn't need to. You just need to know how to kill them, right?" Blue gray eyes lift up to meet his in a scary show of insight. Because… because that's exactly what Jango had been about to say.

There's nothing he can say to defend himself, he doesn't want to, he doesn't think there's anything wrong with that train of thought. The Jetiise are the scum of the universe and they killed his people. But he never wanted to hurt the kid.

Jango says nothing, eyebrows drawn in contained anger.

"Kill us. Us," Obi-wan spits, "excuse me," the ginger says quietly, rising up from his seat and disappearing from the common room, somewhere to the back.

The Mandalorian sighs to himself, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. He wishes for a moment it would've been anyone other than Obi-wan that he had found on that thrice damned Kry'tsad camp, anyone else would've been better than the little Jetii.

The moment passes, and the Mando wants to punch himself in the face for ever thinking that.

·~·~·~

Obi-wan dreams of the temple.

The halls overflowing with white light, young children running through the legs of bemused Masters. Everything is almost soft around the edges. The Force feels peaceful here, everyone connected through the invisible strands of their bonds.

It's beautiful.

"Hey Obi," He turns to look at Quinlan, he's smiling easily, like he always does.

"You look older," the ginger comments.

"So do you, but uglier than you ought to," he says as he checks him out. "You need to fatten up Obi," he pats his friend's cheek softly.

Obi-wan can't muster up any annoyance, so he grins good naturedly, he's just  so happy  to see Quinlan, he's not sure why.

"I miss you," the dark teen says.

"What do you mean?" Obi-wan laughs, brows drawn a little in confusion.

"When are you coming home?" The Kriffar's eyes are sad now, so very sad, like melancholy has been weighing on him for months."

"Miss me? I… I'm here Quin, I don't understand-" the ginger stops, realizing at once how very quiet everything has turned all of a sudden.

Obi-wan looks around in search of what made everyone so silent, but there's no one. The halls are quiet and abandoned, the light is dull and gray. It's like no one's been there in ages. When he looks back to the other, his friend's no longer there.

"Quinlan?" He asks, and he's heartbroken. "I'm here!" He turns round again, looking everywhere for the other teen but… "I'm here, Quinlan! I'm here!"

But he's not really. He hasn't been home in  such a long time …

.~.~.~.

Obi-wan is quiet that day, the 'I'm not going to make a single sound' kind of quiet that he used to be back when they first met.

It's a little unnerving, but Jango is unsure what would be the right thing to do; he also doesn't think he'd be great at cheering the teen up, especially not after yesterday's blunder. He hopes the boy's mood is not because of him, though there's no fooling himself into thinking that it isn't at least partly his fault.

He walks to the cockpit where Obi-wan sits at the copilot's chair and looks out to the black. Making sure the ginger knows he's there first before touching him, Jango places his hand on the teen's shoulder.

"Hey Red'ika?" The boy looks up at him, his eyes sad and body lax with little energy. "Let me cook today, okay?" Jango asks him, hoping the boy won't fight him on this. He's seen the shadows of stubbornness in him and while he feels proud of them, he doesn't need that stubbornness to show up today.

And it's… it's in his blood; what do you do when the people you care for are down? You cook for them. He doesn't know what the Jetiise do but…

The boy nods quietly.

Jango… he doesn't remove his hand for a bit, unsure of what to do but wishing he did. He takes a step closer until his leg is pressed against the chair. A little hesitantly, Obi-wan lets his head fall to his hip. The man shifts his hand to the other arm. They stay like that for a moment, just breathing, the Mando's thumb tracing circles over the thin shoulder.

The food is warm when they sit down to eat. Then Obi-wan speaks for the first time in the day.

"We- we don't wait for the Masters to eat when we have communal meals." Blue gray eyes lift up timidly, shadowed a little by coppery strands of hair.

Jango stops a moment, fork halfway to his mouth, but directs his attention to Obi-wan and gives the boy a nod and a smile. Swearing to himself to be the most attentive audience he can will himself to be. If this is an olive branch he will not squander the opportunity.

Last night when he'd gone to sleep and the teen's back had been towards him the whole time, he'd thought of what he had said and what Obi-wan had tried to say.

And every time Obi-wan had tried to open up, what Jango had more or less replied with was, 'I don't care what you have to say.' He can't help how he feels about the Jetiise, it'll probably never change, but he doesn't think Red deserves the osik he's been giving him about it.

"How do those work? The communal meals," he asks and proceeds to eat like this is nothing out of the ordinary. 'Olive branch,' he reminds himself

"We… we have these big enormous mess halls in the temple where everyone can go eat. We all take turns making the food, from the most revered masters to the senior padawans. There are big round tables, hollowed on the inside, so you have people sitting in and out of the circle. We all sit there together and get the opportunity to share a meal with people we wouldn't normally have them with." His smile is very faint as he tells this to Jango, but it's there and it's soft. The man had the distinct impression that Obi-wan does not resent him or his actions. That… he could never be like that.

"It's one of the things I enjoy most about living in the temple, the sheer… warmth of having communal meals, in the force…" He lowers his eyes for a moment, a bit uncomfortable to be sharing this with Jango of all people, despite having already tried before. He feels the Jedi should not be a topic they touch upon, something taboo. But the teen aches for home in a way he can't express, so before the man can prompt him to talk again he adds, "and everyone can take from anyone's plate if they want, so long as you're respectful about it."

"Sounds messy," The Mandalorian quips, and it widens a little at the boy's smile.

"It can be. Especially when there are a lot of younglings around, who haven't quite mastered how to take food from others properly." Obi-wan looks at the floor beside them and gestures there, "we sit at ground level, and you're always bumping elbows with the people around you. At least, my friends do." He grins a little.

"Sometimes the first thing Knights do after reporting to the council, when they come back from difficult missions, is going to a communal meal. It's so bright there, that your weariness is lessened away by the mere presence of others. There's a saying in the Temple, 'To the aching soul healers not, but food in abundance.' Or if someone's not feeling particularly eloquent, just 'Kriff the healers, I want food.'"

Jango barks out a laugh at this, a genuine one, he is surprised to note. It's a little strange, he never thought he'd be so light hearted to listen to the everyday lives of the Jetiise of all people. Enemy number one. He is trying of course, for Obi-wan, but there's always a level of truth to actually trying.

It seems to give Red the boost he needs, because after Jango's laugh, he goes on, and on, and on about the simple beauty of sharing a meal, of existing around others who are more than just bodies, of happiness shared and soothed through connection, through the force.

And Jango eats, and listens.

Chapter Text

Jango wakes up one day with the ringing sounds of Galidraan assaulting his senses, which of course, puts him in a foul mood for the rest of the rotation. He's always careful not to direct his anger at Obi-wan, but rage does inhabit his skin not too unusually. It's what drives him forward every day, what moves him; it's as much a part of him as his hair or his hands are. A very Mandalorian thing to be indeed. And though he never says so, Red doesn't like it very much, which is in turn, a very Jedi thing to feel.

But today he is steaming. He loathes the Jetiise so much that he can barely think straight. It unbalances him at times, to love this little Jetii so much but hate what he is at the same time. And he is so very clearly a Jetii, he might not look like one or carry a magic sword, but he is. It's in the way he bears himself, in the way he goes about things, it's in what he believes.

So Jango tries not to think about that dichotomy and contents himself with stewing in his hot red ire.

The day goes on, It's getting close to the midday meal and he hasn't seen Obi-wan in a while, 'Where could the kid be?' He wonders. By this time, the teen's usually getting things ready to start cooking.

"Red?" He asks out loud in case he's close, but there's no answer. There's a feeling in his gut then, but he's not quite sure what it is about. He'd know if there was danger around, so it's not that, but just to be on the safe side, he goes looking for the teen.

The Fury hums comfortingly under his feet as he makes his way though the ship, the sights of metal familiar in a way that would usually make him content if he wasn't in such a terrible mood today.

He finds the boy and his blood runs cold all of a sudden. Jango almost screeches at the sigth of Red kneeling in the cargo hold with the slave collar around his neck.

"What the krak do you think you're doing!?" He shouts like a commanding officer.

Obi-wan startles, falling to his butt, making the collar fall away from his neck. 'He was only holding it there,' Jango thinks as a wave or relief floods almost violently through his body. But his bright furious anger, born out of concern, still burns steady within him. He marches to the boy on the floor, Red's face scrunched up in pain. 'Must be that damned thing,' he fumes.

"Answer me, what do you think you were kriffing doing?" He crouches beside the ginger grabbing the slave collar and shaking it in front of the boy's face. He then slams it down on the floor to release some of his pent up ire, but Obi-wan flinches back sharply at the action, curling into himself. Immediately, a little of Jango's anger clears away from his eyes; he needs to calm down now.

"Obi-wan, what were you doing?" A hint of despair colors his voice.

The boy takes his own time to calm his racing heart as well. He struggles a moment to give the Mando an answer, doing that thing he does when speaking becomes hard, taking in a breath to talk but immediately letting go, again and again until he finally gets it.

"You're-" the words slur out of him. What's wrong with the kid? It's the collar, it must have messed him up again, somehow. "You're- You're too loud." The teen forces the words out.

And it's now Jango begins paying attention to how the ginger's face is contorting; like the lights are bothering him, the sounds. But he short circuits a bit, because he's what?

"What?"

"You're so angry, all the time," Obi-wan almost sobs.

Jango looks at the collar and then back at the kid, blinking a little as he tries to process what's happening. It clicks a moment later though. He closes his eyes and sighs.

"Is this a Force thing?" He asks with resignation.

The redhead scrunches his eyes close and nods a couple of times. The Mando sighs louder but sits down and tries to push his anger away. He's been stewing in it all day, he can lay it off a bit for the kid's sake. He can try at least. He doesn't understand osik about what's actually happening, but he can make an effort before trying to pull an explanation out of Red. Jango tries pushing down the fury, ignoring it, whatever will work to make himself less ireful.

Gradually, Obi-wan starts breathing in a little easier. He rests his head on top of his bent knees, shuddering.

"I'm sorry… I'm… I haven't- I haven't had much control of the… of the Force, since you took it off. Everything is so… intense. You're very intense. In the Force. I thought… maybe if I put it back on- not closed or anything, just around my neck, maybe… maybe I wouldn't feel it so much… The Force," he mumbles dejected, his eyes wet with unshed tears. "It was working a little until you came in," he adds timidly.

"Red, you-" Jango sighs exasperated, "you need to tell me these things, not go out of your way to do stupid osik like this," he gestures disgusted at the half metal circles.

"I'm sorry," the redhead pleads again.

"And isn't this like… painful or something?" He grabs the slave collar, before thinking better of it and placing it as far away from them as he can instead of hurling it across the room like he wants, "for people like you I mean."

The teen shudders, he breathes with intent, an active effort to calm himself and control his poor shielding. He leans back against a crate and rests there, Jango quiet at his side, but so very loud in the Force.

"It's not… painful, per say, not in the traditional sense at least. It's more like… like being empty. Like losing a sense." The ginger swallows, "it's painful but not in a way that can be felt."

"A sense?" The Mandalorian asks.

Obi-wan nods.

"Like being blind or deaf all of a sudden. Like… being trapped in a small dark space underground where you can't feel… anything. But now suddenly, everything. I feel everything. It's too much for me."

Jango sighs heavily and rubs at his face with his hands.

"Please, tell me how to help you," he begs. "You- you do this all the time, something is wrong and you just… don't say anything. How can I help you?"

"Meditate your anger away?" Obi-wan chuckles, trying to joke the tension away, but Jango looks at him dead serious. "Hm. You want to meditate? You, Jango Fett?"

"Want is a stretch of the word; don't rub it in. What I want to do is help you, you idiot. I ca-" the word gets stuck so suddenly in his throat Jango almost chokes. But he forces it out, god damn it, he needs the kid to feel safe and be okay, "I care about you."

Blue gray eyes raise up to meet his, they're glassy with tears.

"Oh… Thank you," the teen says a little lost but genuine.

Jango rubs at his face in tired exasperation, but his lips quirk to a smile.

"Be honest, is it really so hard to tell me stuff? To ask me when you need something?" The man throws in the air but he's not expecting the heavily charged look Obi-wan sends him. Oh, so the answer is definitely yes.

"Right," he doesn't ask for clarification. "Come on, let me help you," he stands and pulls the kid up with his hand. "We're going to meditate, and we're going to deal with your migraine or whatever it is the Force is doing to you," he sounds resigned and like he would rather be doing anything at all but this. But his hand holds Red's shoulder warmly and the look of wondrous surprise he gets from the teen it's enough to get him going.

.~.~.~.

They have dragged a cushion each to the floor in the middle of the common room. They look awkwardly at each other, as if waiting for the other to start first. Jango, despite being the one to suggest this, is already thoroughly regretting his decisions. He feels completely ridiculous and monumentally awkward. He doesn't want to do this. It almost makes him feel dirty in a way. But the kid looks tired, the furrowing to his eyebrows still slightly pained; Jango has to hold in a long suffering sigh.

"So, how do we do this?" He finally offers. The ginger seems just as uncomfortable as he feels, and massively uncertain.

Obi-wan looks down, there's a shaky smile on his lips, but it's uglily painted by something close to fear. He huffs out a small laugh.

"Well, now you have to tell me what's so funny," Jango says, wary at the wave of different emotions going over the kid's face.

"This is just very weird," the boy comments, not looking at the other.

"Is this something forbidden? Can't you tell people outside your order about meditation?" He jabs trying to lighten the mood but his natural disdain for the Jetii slips through.

"Oh, no, not that. It's mediation Jango, every planet has their own form of mediation," the ginger looks like he wants to roll his eyes at the Mando. "No, it's just… you," he smiles.

"Me?" The man asks unimpressed.

"Yes, it's just, sort of funny in a weird way, to try to teach you of all people something about managing the… the Force. Is this considered heretic?" The boy adds to himself a little quietly, "ah, anyway, I… don't imagine that you know any of this but… You're quite the boogieman at the temple."

Jango frowns a little.

"You are like a… cautionary tale. If not a scary story to the younglings," the ginger explains, looking down for a moment, "there's this thing you hear a lot at the temple… 'Just because you possess more abilities than what most sentients have, that does not mean someone won't get the upper hand on you.'

Jango Fett, the man who killed with his bare hands so many Jedi Knights and Masters." Jango can hear the undertones of a story told time and time again in the teens intonation.

"It was only five to be fair," the Mando wishes he could punch himself in the face and tries to mend it, this isn't what they should be talking about, "only five that I killed with my hands that time I mean…" Oh Ka'ar, that was not helpful at all.

Red offers him a crooked unsure smile.

Jango is trying to breathe through his resentment, this conversation is causing the exact opposite of what they're aiming for. He's not as ireful as he was a while ago, but he can feel the fire bristling at his core, just waiting to spike.

"I… I'm sorry," Obi-wan stops, taking in an uneven breath, "I shouldn't have brought that up, I'm sorry."

"It…" It's not okay, it never will be. "You're forgiven kid," Jango says instead, tiredly.

"If it makes you feel any better," Red says after a moment, "it's something we're taught about. About the dangers of complacency and thinking you know enough about a situation when you don't."

It doesn't make him feel better, but at least there's not some revisionist krak going on there, as far as he's aware anyhow.

"Ah, boogeyman, eh?" He tries lightening the mood.

"Yeah," Obi-wan chuckles. "It is the teachers that warn us, but it's the older kids who make you terrifying. Most of the cretchelings I know fear that the scary Mandalorian Jango Fett will come for them at night and get them in their sleep. I know I was for a while when I was younger. That should please you, no?" The boy asks, a little more lightly and humorous now, "you are a terrifying living legend to the Jedi."

It should please him indeed, but it doesn't. The idea of being children's nightmare fuel, Jetii or not, turns his stomach a bit.

"Let's get this over with," Jango says sourly.

"Yes! Yes, sorry." Obi-wan clears his throat and settles down into his meditative position, "you can sit however you like, so long as you're comfortable, relaxed."

No matter how comfortable Jango sits, that's not going to help him feel any relaxed at the situation, to be doing something so Jetii and from a Jetii, even if it's Red who's showing it to him. It makes his skin crawl.

"First, you have to clear your mind…"

They try for a while there, but Jango is very evidently not managing anything resembling a peaceful state and it's only getting worse for Obi-wan's mind as they keep trying.

"This isn't going to work," Jango finally gives up, happy to be done with the poor attempt and very bad idea.

The boy nods, subdued, his brow painfully furrowed though he tries to hide it.

"Get some rest, maybe you'll feel better," Jango tries, but his voice is flat of emotion, the whole experience draining. It's been a terribly long day. "Ration bar?" he offers, not really in the mood for the whole mess that is cooking, even if he's not doing it himself.

The boy nods once more.

After eating a quiet meal of barley flavored dense mush, Obi-wan lays down on the couch, it doesn't matter where in the ship he is, he knows he'll feel Jango's presence in the Force like a fire licking at his skin. With his face pressed against the cushions, he tries to escape the pressure and noise inside his mind, hoping for some measure of respite.

.~.~.~.

A couple of days later, things mellowed down slowly on both ends. Obi-wan doesn't look like there's a drill trying to pierce its way out from his skull and Jango doesn't look like he'll go into a killing spree without a second's notice.

Jango takes a sonic while the redhead cooks; the comfort of their routine back in place is a welcome and soothing thing. When he comes out from the bathroom there's a familiar smell in the air, something that tugs at his heartstrings like a talented musician. There are two plates already set down on the table. The man sits and stares at his food.

"This is a Mandalorian dish," Jango says bluntly, like he does most things, but there's also a pleasant, if somewhat mystified, surprise in his face.

"Well, I did spend a lot of time on Mandalorian planets," Obi-wan replies quietly.

It's almost startling to look at the fond look that color's the teen's face. Startling and upsetting because the fact that he'd spent a lot of time in the system was more of a traumatic event than anything to draw good memories from.

"You spent a lot of time there… as a prisoner," Jango points incredulously at the other. "A prisoner," he emphasizes.

"I'm well aware, I was there," The boy talks back with a hint of the snark that Jango can sometimes see shining through the kid's subdued nature. "I meant… Even before I was captured I had spent a lot of time there."

And… yeah, that makes a lot of sense. There has to be a before Kyr'tsad and an after life at the Temple. Some connective tissue that Jango hasn't asked about, though he has wondered about it briefly. Never enough to try and get answers from the teen though.

"What were you doing there anyway?" He asks after a moment and feels the weight of something he maybe should've asked earlier and at the same time something he doesn't want to ask. The boy looks down at his meal, suddenly tremendously interested by the dark grains and little bits of vegetables in there.

"Jedi business," he answers almost a whisper.

Ah, of course. It was never the best idea to bring the topic of the Jetii with Jango, he doesn't blame the boy for his hesitation. Odds tend to lean towards the conversation not ending in a great place. But Jango doesn't want that, he wants Obi-wan to trust him, and he wants to be worthy of that trust, that means letting the boy speak and sometimes swallowing back his opinions –even if he's mostly unsuccessful on that front.

He thinks about it for a while, about what question would be less confrontational for him to ask, but finds that all of his questions will lead him to an unpleasant road eventually, so he takes the direct approach.

"What was a little Jetii like yourself doing on Mandalore?"

"We were requested by the Senate," the teen answers after a pause, "Jedi help, that is. My master and I," Obi-wan shifts his eyes up briefly to the Bounty Hunter.

"Jetiise requested by Mandalorians? Really, Red?" Jango chuckles good naturedly at the absurd notion. He thinks the most likely scenario here was the Senate interfering in business not their own to get a foot in Mandalorian politics, not that it would do them any good at any rate. The Senate setting their Jetii dogs on whatever mess the current civil war had going on and making things worse is what it looked like.

"The New Mandalorians," Obi-wan clarifies as if reading his thoughts; which Jango knows is a much more violent act and definitely not what's happening here. "We were not there to interfere with the war, just act as the Duchesses guards."

The Mando has opinions on the Jetii, 'not interfering in the war,' but he keeps them to himself.

"Ah, the pacifists," Jango says with a disdainful smirk, "that makes more sense. Look where that got the Kryzes. Armours put away to gather dust and no way of protecting themselves. Dead."

The teen had his little disagreeing frown on his brow but said nothing about it.

"Death Watch was trying to kill her, end the line after they murdered her father," Red says quietly, looking down in a different kind of sadness than the one he usually bears.

The Mando stops, his fork half way up to his mouth as his mind begins pulling at the different threads. He frowns slightly, wondering.

"That's how you got captured?" He asks, knowing the fruitfulness of such a question for he already knows the answer.

"We were on the run from them." The boy nods.

"The civil war ended about a year ago," Jango comments, looking directly at Red who does not meet his eyes. "How… How long did those demagolkise have you?" He hopes the dread that he feels does not show in the timber of his voice, that his own memories of captivity do not peek through his eyes. He has never asked how long Obi-wan had been a prisoner for.

When Red asks him what year it is his stomach sinks further down.

Almost two years. Almost two years.

The anniversary of the kid's capture is just around the corner.

With the slow exhale of a breath Jango takes the boy's hand that rests limp on the table, his meal forgotten, and gives it what he hopes comes across as a reassuring squeeze.

.~.~.~.

They dock at the planet Jango has been contracted in, there's a conman on the loose and he's being paid handsomely to find him and bring him to a lofty lord he wronged.

As is the norm, Obi-wan is pretty reluctant to leave the ship and does his best to pretend that staying inside is what he wants, despite the planet being beautiful and rich with natural scenery. Jango doesn't push though, he knows the kid is iffy about crowds, he thinks both the Force and an aversion to people are the main culprits of this. It's an issue, and one which the Mando would like to address. This is not a life he wants for the kid, afraid and trapped inside a metal shell, just barely gazing at life through the cracks. The Mandalorian misses completely how that same statement paints a nice picture of his own life as well, for the most of his thoughts are on his companion. Red should flourish into the best version of himself, like a flower under careful shade and tender sun.

Yes, he wants more and better for the boy, his fear is a problem, but they can deal with the issue another time. For now, Jango's got work to do.

.~.~.~.

Obi-wan is alone on the ship. There's an annoying buzzing in his head from being docked near a big city. Through the hours it's been building up an aching pressure behind his temple. The boy sits, and meditates, going round and round in circles in his head in the hopes of pushing away the noise of the people who live here and think and feel. The threads escape his grasp though, more so than they do when he tries concentrating in the deepness of space aboard The Fury, but he keeps trying anyway. Always trying.

They are seekers- He has a hard time remembering what comes next. He pulls at his hair and almost doesn't notice it except a few strands come loose easier than they should. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a place he can't see clearly, he thinks that's a bad thing. It ha to do with poor health?

The thought escapes him and he sits down. When did he stand up? He tries concentrating. Pulls at his hair until it stings though not enough to hurt.

The ringing is in his ears, in his mind.

Going, going, going.

Constant like a siren. Far away but so present. Right beside him.

It screams not of danger. But only buzzes.

Obi-wan scrunches up his eyes in pain, trying to place new layers upon his fragile shields. Building them up slowly and trying not to lose heart when a place in his mind crumbles down which he had thought steady.

He waits the hours, forcing himself to be patient and wait for Jango's return. He just has to be patient. He'll be back soon. Obi-wan just has to wait and breathe. In and out. Trust the process. In and out.

With his eyes closed, the world keeps ringing in his head.

.~.~.~.

It's the day after their arrival on the planet. The conman was surprisingly slippery, but once Jango got his hands on the kriffer, an easy job all in all.

He bears the fruits of his labors and considers bringing a couple of fruits or something sweet for Obi-wan and himself to celebrate onboard. Something to sooth them from all the heavy conversations they've been having as of late. He should probably take a nap before venturing to the market place though. The planet's not going anywhere and Jango stinks.

"Hey, Red!" He shouts as he lowers the ramp and walks into the ship, "I'm back!"

The kid doesn't answer him, but he's not worried, he could be asleep or taking a shower. He opens the door to the hall of the sleeping quarters and bathroom, and then the next set that leads to the common room. As the doors swish apart Jango throws his stuff to the floor and rushes to Obi-wan's side.

The kid is limp on the floor, sprawled like he just fell there; lifeless to the world.

"Obi'ika?" Jango picks up the upper half of the teen's body and cradles him on his lap. "Hey kid, answer me," he checks his pulse, which is slightly rapid, and his forehead, which is sweaty but not hot with fever. "Come on Red," he pats him a few times on the cheek to rouse him, the boy makes a noise of discomfort.

Jango sighs harshly with relief.

"Thank the Ka'ar," he breathes out. "Kid, I'm here, wake up, you need to tell me what's wrong?"

The teen's forehead scrunches up in pain and the boy tries to hide his face towards Jango's middle. He gives a low moan of pain.

"Tell me what's wrong," Jango orders him and after a couple of seconds of the boy's troubled breathing, he mumbles.

"I… there's… There's so much noise." He manages to crook out. "It's so loud. I- I can't… I'm sorry… It hurts." A stifled sob gets stuck in the kid's throat.

"Damn it Red, why didn't you call me?" The man asks in despair.

"I didn't … I didn't want to bother you," his whispered voice wobbles. The man hugs him to his chest, where he can only hope the boy will feel better if the way he's trying to hide himself against Jango's stomach is anything to go by.

"You can't keep doing this to me kid, you really can't. One of these days you'll be bleeding to death when I'm not here and I'll be back to find a cold corpse. If you need help, I need you to ask me for it, okay?"

The boy says nothing, but he is stiff and uncomfortable; Jango doesn't know if it's the pain or if he's avoiding the issue, he just holds him tighter. He pats him softly on the back.

"Don't worry, we'll be out of here soon," the dark haired man tells him gently.

He sets the redhead carefully on the ground and then sprints to the cockpits, all previous thoughts of showers and shopping vanished from his mind as if they never were. There's only one goal in his mind's eye.

Once they hit atmo, Jango helps the boy to the couch, the teens pain still lingering despite them being well away from the city and its people. He sits with Obi-wan as he swallows soft sounds of pain, Jango shushing him gently, brushing calloused fingers through his long strands of coppery hair. He helps the teen sip small amounts of water when he can.

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothes softly and hopes that the boy's agony goes away soon. He's always worrying about this stupid kid he thinks, 'this must be what being a parent feels like-'

He cuts the thought down like it's poisonous and every fiber of his being stops.

"Jango?" Mumbles the sleepy Jetii on his side, the man's fingers are still between one stroke and the next.

"Ssh, try to sleep Obi'ika." The teen mumbles something unintelligible as Jango continues his petting.

He sighs, taking a moment to examine the thought he just had and take the fear away from it. He's a mandalorian, he will not be controlled by something as beneath him as fear.

Yes, he thinks – Jango looks down at the pained brow, the little mole that nests there, the faint freckles and the russet hair– this is what being a parent must feel like. The worry, the love, the infinite fondness.

A thought reaches him then. Certain and clear as he's ever had one before. He's never giving Red back to the Jetiise; they lost him so they don't deserve to keep him. Jango curls his fingers around a tuft of hair in a small burst of possessiveness. In sleep the boy looks troubled at the change so he loosens his grip and goes back to gentle strokes. Obi-wan's face looks better now, less pained.

Yes, the kid is his now. He just has to ask him… Not now though, but one day.

Chapter Text

When they land on Caveerpel, Red's eyes are underlined by dark shadows. Despite how much the boy sleeps it never seems to be restful enough. He's tried, he needs rest, and it's not one he can get while Jango and him are in such close proximity or while they dock on random planets for supplies and jobs.

The little rural planet is sparsely populated, with an atmosphere almost perfect for most humanoids but with a component in the air that makes everyone but the natives lightheaded from extended exposure. Reason why, despite its lush green plains and generally amiable weather, the planet has remained mostly unbothered by big corporations. It's the perfect place for one to spend a couple of days in without any repercussions, and say, perhaps do some interesting activities to alleviate the mind, like meditating?

That is, if he can convince Red out of the ship.

The entry ramp lowers down and in comes the fresh humid air from outside. According to the ship's barometer, the day will get hot later on, but perhaps not unbearably so. Obi-wan stands beside him, body taut with tension. Jango looks down at him and nudges him gently.

"There's no one around for miles," The Mando says, but Red only nods quietly, looking outside at the grassy plains and odd trees here and there like the scenery will bite him. "What's wrong kid? I thought it was the crowds you didn't like."

"I don't know, I thought so too," the ginger says quietly. "It's… like my body itches at the idea of going out… It's not like I don't want to. I've been cooped up in here for ages. I am sick of it."

Jango purses his lips and nods in understanding.

"I thought you could get away from me for a while," he gestures out with his head. "Get some peace of mind, maybe you could try to… meditate here." The man says after a beat.

Obi-wan turns to him with slight surprise and then a shy grateful look. He crouches after a moment close to the edge of the ramp, the cool breeze brushing at them. The teen puts his hand out of the ramp and touches the blades of grass with the gentleness one would give sentient creatures. His eyes are closed as he breathes in; a shudder runs through the boy's frame and when he opens his eyes again they are slightly glossy. He smiles.

"It's so alive here," he says almost reverently.

The Mando can tell the kid knows this. Can probably feel it through his weird connection to the Force. He knows by looking at the redhead's open expression that he's made the right call coming here.

"Go on then," Jango insists, "it's all yours for a couple of days."

The teen stands, taking a deep streeading breath, and finally walks down the ramp. When his feet make contact with the grass though, his back tenses and his fists ball at his sides. Jango suppresses the sigh that's building up inside him, being with the kid has been a true exercise in patience and it'll continue to be so. He's about to reassure Red yet again, or say whatever he needs to to get the kid more comfortable with the idea of going out, but the teen speaks first.

"You wont… you wont leave without me though, right?" Obi-wan asks quietly, not turning to look at the other.

Jango feels a surge of righteous anger shock through him and he marches down to the grass until he's standing right in front of the teen. The ginger looks mortified at his own words and at the Mando so ready to confront him on them.

"Red," he places his hands roughly on the teens shoulders, making sure the boy is looking at him and not acknowledging the instinctual little flinch. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm going to be on this ship, and it's not going to move. You can come find me anytime you want. Is that clear?"

Obi-wan nods several times, his face hot with embarrassment.

"Good," he pats him on the back and watches as the kid walks hesitantly onto the plains.

·~·~·~·

Just as he promised, Jango stays on the ship going through his daily routine but with the added bonus of fresh air running through the vessel. He takes advantage of being docked and opens up the outer panels of The Fury to do a couple of checkups. Later he could take a walk around and stretch his legs, maybe run a couple of laps- which are impossible to do aboard ship in any satisfactory manner.

Once he's rummaging through the innards of The Fury he can see the kid in the distance; cross legged or on his knees, he can't tell this far away witht the grass. The boy stays perfectly still. He hopes the distance between him and Jango's intense precenes, as Obi-wan has put it, is enough to give the kid the respite he needs.

As the Mandalorian takes a peek at the hyperdrive he catches the figure of the boy flopping down from the corner of his eye. Jango turns to stare directly at the spot where Red had been swallowed by the grass. He sighs at himself after a while and throws his wrench into the tool box. He knows Obi-wan is not his responsibility, at least not in this way, this is Jetii stuff, kriffing osik for all he cares, but gods if he can't help but go to him and try to help. As he walks towards the teen he hopes his presence wont make things worse.

He reaches the kid, Jango's frame towering over him, Red has his arms over his face while he pulls a little at his hair. The man sits down beside him. Carefully he pries the fingers open and away from the teen's locks. He doesn't actually know what to say or how to help, or if his help is even needed (or wanted) at that. They've barely been two hours on the planet as it is.

"What's the problem, Red?" Jango asks at last. For a beat, he remembers Jaster, talking to him, being sturdy and soothing when Jango had been young and ansty. This though, he imagines, is not a regular woe for every teen.

The kid takes a moment for himself, working to steady his breathing.

"I just… I can't concentrate," Obi-wan lowers his arms to cover his eyes with the palms of his hands. The teen's so frustrated he feels like crying. "I can't meditate."

"You do it all the time Obi'ka." Jango says, trying to be encouraging.

"I try. I try. it doesn't mean I actually do."

"It looks like meditation to me," the man chuckles lightly. "What is it that you can't do?"

Obi-wan takes his hands from his face and looks at the Mando, then he breathes out a startled laugh, humorless.

"Anything. Everything. I can't find peace, I can't center myself, my mind is all…" He gestures to the air hopelessly, "scattered. In here and here," he touches his head and the center of his chest.

"I don't get it." Jango confesses after a while. And he really doesn't, everything the boy just told him is abstract and hard to grasp, it sounds like nonsense and it seems like nonsense to the Mandalorian. But he knows there must be truth somewhere there. He's seen it in other Jedi, in the kid when he took away the slave collar. He's seen the Force in action and it's not abstract at all, it's real.

The boy sits up and gazes at Jango. He looks forlorn.

"It shouldn't be so hard… keeping out your emotions. Centering my own. I- When you have the Force, you have to- there are these walls in our mind that protect us. They keep us from feeling too much from others, and I… These walls don't exist in my mind anymore. And… and it hurts sometimes." He confesses, baling up the fabric from his pant legs into his fists. "I've been trying to meditate, ever since you took off the collar. I've been trying to get a grasp back of what I was taught, but I can't. I… I can't, no matter how hard I try." Obi-wan's disheartened expresion pieces right through Jango. "I never thought it would be hard, I was… I was always so good at it when I was younger. Back at the temple, you know? It… it wasn't anything all that special really, everyone could do it. I never thought a few years could… could just take that all away.

"You were right though, this place," he says after a while, looking around. He smiles sadly "It is perfect, it should help. Like the Temple… But I still can't do it. Theres… There's something wrong with me-" The boy chokes a little on his own words.

"No. No, don't say that," Jango scoots to the teens side and pulls him in with an arm. Obi-wan flinches at the motion but settles after a moment. Slowly the ginger slumps against Jango's shoulder and sighs tiredly.

"I've been trying so hard but… nothing I do works, no matter how much I try, my concentration breaks and I… I can't connect with the Force right… It really shouldn't be this hard, it must be me-" Jango sees the teen swallow back the rest of his words.

"Hey, hey," he rubs at the teen's shoulder. "We just arrived here Obi'ka. Maybe it's been hard on the ship because of me but… you shouldn't give up on this place. You say it's perfect, right?"

"It is," Red takes in the brilliant green planes that go on and on. "The Force is in all living things… this place is brimming with it." The boy caresses the blades at his side.

They are quiet for a moment, enjoying the breath of this world, but a pang trobs inside Jango's heart so he squeezes Obi-wans shoulder.

"You'll get it right, you'll see. But I want you to listen to me, and listen well. There is nothing wrong with you, okay? Nothing. You just need to get back up on your feet and…" the man sighs. "It takes time, Red. Coming back from the things you've- that we've been through. It takes time, and a lot of it." Manda knows he's not really back from it himself- sometimes he wonders if he'll ever be- but Red doesn't need to know about that.

The teen nods despondent but understanding. He'll keep trying.

·~·~·~·

Obi-wan comes back by midday when the sun starts getting bothersome. He looks a little sullen still but he does not linger on the feeling when he realizes Jango has already started and finished preparing a meal for them. The man smirks at him, self satisfied, but the teen doesn't complain further than giving the Mando an annoyed look.

They opt to eat on the ramp of The Fury; In the partial shade the heat is manageable and a slight breeze cools the teen down. Obi-wan gives a short bow to Jango in thanks for the meal and digs in after the Mandalorian.

"You should learn how to shoot," the man comments after a while of comfortable silence. The ginger gives him a small questioning frown. "I could teach you. Seeing as you don't have a shiny sword, you need to know how to hit a mark in case anything happens. And things always happen."

"It's called a lightsaber," Obi-wan corrects and frowns a little deeper. "And I can shoot."

"Yeah, sure you can," Jango scoffs with an indulgent smile and thinks, 'kids.'

"I can!" the boy exclaims indignantly.

"That I'll believe when I see it," the Mando points at him with the slim piece of bread he holds.

The teen glares at him a little, but there's a glimmer of challenge in his eyes.

A few hours later, once the sun is kinder with its heat, Jango tells the kid to keep an eye on The Fury and goes to explore around, leaving Obi-wan on his own to try and meditate once again.

·~·~·~·

Obi-wan's mind and presence in the Force are nebulous things. But Caveerpel, this small, gentle planet, is like a balm on his soul. His emotions are turbulent but the living Force here is strong, it cradles him, almost like a babe, the few moments he manages to settle enough to connect with it.

He breathes in with the wind and exhales to the cries of the little bugs hiding within the grass. He stretches his mind and soul, painfully so for being tightly bound behind the collar for so long and then strained. A tear rolls down his cheek as he tries reaching out a little further inch by agonizing inch. He doesn't know if he's doing this right, if he's hurting himself in a way he shouldn't or if that's just the way it is. He doesn't know if the Master healers would tell him different and better ways for doing this. He only has himself and an incomplete education that when he thinks about it, it threatens to make him cry even more.

It hurts, but after a while, once he pulls back a little, it's a hurt that transmutes into a comforting warmth, like the burn of sore muscles after exerting past one's limits.

Obi-wan's lips quirk at this small victory but the Force slips through from his grip and he snaps back into himself. When he opens his eyes he's laying on the grass, face down and hands holding tightly at his throbbing head. He takes in a couple of steading breaths.

"Seekers." he says to himself, pressing his forehead into the ground, smelling the earth. "Seekers," and remembers Jango's words, 'It takes time.'

He sits again, back straight and shoulders relaxed. He takes Jango's words to heart, he takes the faces of his teachers- which make his heart hurt just as much as stretching himself in the Force- and their words of wisdom, and gathers them into himself. He uses all these things to find a center within his tumultuous soul.

He breathes deeply and starts again.

·~·~·~·

Jango trots back to their landing site once he's run enough. It is not yet sundown but the star in the sky has lowered substantially. A freshness is beginning to pick up again in the air. He can see a tuft of coppery locks and loose fitting clothes a few ways away from The Fury and decides to head towards the teen. His muscles burn nicely from the exertion, he's been needing that sort of workout for a while.

Obi-wan ignores him or is too concentrated on his meditating to notice the Mandalorian approaching. The ginger is breathing deeply and the closer Jango gets the easier it is to see the lines of effort on the teens face; a little condensation gathers around his temples, his expression thighly wond. Obi-wan has his hands cupped and in them rests a small rock.

It's floating though, just barely an inch above the boy's palms, but it does.

Jango narrows his eyes and as soon as he does the teen winces and opens his eyes. The stone falls from the air, and rolls down from his hands, where it is then lost amongst the blades of grass. The teen has lost his concentration, but more than that, suddenly, Obi-wan seems terribly frightened of what he's been caught doing.

He breathes hard, eyes stuck to Jango like a cornered animal. The ginger tightens his fingers into the fabric of his clothes, just waiting for the explosive reaction he knows it's sure to follow.

The Mandalorian's face betrays nothing but inside his heart breaks. Though he knows he's not solely to blame for this reaction, that honor and horror goes to Kry'tsad, he will not fool himself into thinking he hasn't played a role in it. Won't fool himself into thinking he hadn't just done that.

With every day that pases it becomes increasingly apparent that Obi-Wan is foremost of all an empath. Jango doesn't have the luxury of thinking too unkindly about the Jetiise within the context of Red, less he accidentally direct his hatred at the teen and risk his emotions affecting Obi-Wan.

He lowers himself slowly to the ground so he won't startle the boy further, but Obi-wan huries to save himself.

"I can explain-" He says in the desperation of someone who's been found in a compromising position too many times. An excuse as poor, as it might be, could be the difference between a beating that leaves you bruised and a beating that leaves you unable to walk. There is no salvation, Jango would know, after all, he'd been caught 'doing something he shouldn't have' a fair amount of times when he'd been a slave.

But Obi-wan is not thinking clearly and nothing he could've said would have been enough to excuse himself if he had been doing something wrong. What could he explain anyway? If Jango were mad at this perceived evil- which he thinks if the circumstances were different he might've been- he'd have seen the boy in the act and nothing could've explained that away. His little field mouse still tries though.

"I- I- I-" he stutters and Jango has to stop this right now before his heart's fluttering turns into a medical condition or the kid descends into a full blown panic attack.

"Red, Red'ika, it's okay," he says as softly as he can, slowly placing a hand over one of Obi-wan's; it trembles beneath his hold.

"Sorry," the boy tries again and Jango is hit by the knowledge that despite how much they've grown closer or how many conversation's they've had about Obi-wan's people, the man has not done enough to heal the deep rooted fear of the boy about this. He has not reassured Obi-wan enough that his anger will never strike him again, no matter how Jetii he acts like. That, something that this boy can do since birth- which the longer Jango spends with the kid, he imagines must be as natural as breathing- will not earn him the Mando's scorn.

"It's okay Obi'ka, you've done nothing wrong," Jango says, taking both of the teens' hands in his own. The boy's breath flutters and his limbs still tremble as he looks wide eyed at Jango. "You've done nothing wrong. Okay? Nothing," he affirms again.

A few breaths later, Obi-wan nods jerkily.

"Okay," he responds breathlessly.

Jango never again wants to see the intelligent and clever spoken person that is Obi-wan disappear underneath that all consuming fear. But he knows, he knows it'll happen again, as surely as he knows planets never stop turning.

The man nods somberly at the boy and squeezes the bird like hands in what he hopes may be a comforting manner to Red.

·~·~·~·

The next morning Obi-wan lowers the ramp of the ship and the cool early wind rushes into the vessel pleasantly. Jango has already been out, and as the slab of metal touches down on the ground, he walks up until he's at the kid's side. He shows the ginger a blue colored stone, holds it up in the space between them like an offering.

"I thought maybe you could use it to practice your, ah… lifting things up." He says with uncertain words but a sure demeanor.

"Levitating," Obi-wan corrects quietly. He takes the stone and looks down at it, it fits nicely in the palm of his hand. "Thank you." he says with a soft look.

Jango sighs and pats the Jetii's shoulder.

·~·~·~·

Obi-wan finds a string that day inside one of the cupboards before he starts the midday meal. It's a little nasty looking, but sturdy enough once he cleans it up. He wonders if maybe he could tie up his hair with it.

He thinks he likes his hair long, it gives him some privacy when he's feeling overwhelmed and doesn't want to look at people. Well, now it's only Jango, but the purpose remains the same. When he'd been a prisoner of Death Watch it had been perhaps the only thing that had remained his. Yes, the warriors did pull him by the hair and used it to drag him around, but that had not changed the fact that it was his and it proved to be a curtain against his harsh world.

It falls by the sides of his eyes and reaches just a little lower than his shoulders. He enjoys the feeling of it swishing against his neck when he moves. Obi-wan really wishes he didn't have to cut it off once he goes back to the Temple-

The teen stops that train of thought immediately, he doesn't want to think about the temple or the people within. His heart aches from yearning for them.

Combining his fingers a couple of times through the strands of his hair until it's acceptably untangled, he gathers it up and attempts to tie it with the string. His hair slips from his fingers and the string from his hair, over and over until he starts making little frustrated noises about it.

"Need some help back there?"

Obi-wan turns to the open doors of the commun room, Jango stands there, arms crossed and an amused look on his face.

"No," the teen says as he lowers his arms, his hair promptly spilling around his face. He glances at the offending strands crossing his vision "Well maybe."

The man chuckles and comes to a stand behind the teen, taking the string from his fingers.

"We could cut your hair short, you know? Make it more manageable," Jango suggests once he starts gathering up the coppery hair.

"No," snaps the boy, though his quiet voice doesn't make it sound harsh at all. "I like it like this," he says more tempered.

"That's okay," the Mando concedes without judgment.

Obi-wan is tense at first at the handling of his hair, but loosens up after a bit, taking a moment to enjoy the unviolent treatment of his locks.

He should definitely use the string for cooking, he doesn't want to repeat the embarrassment that was Jango having to pull a hair out of his mouth that one time. The teens mortification had been strong enough to make him stop talking for a while there. The Mandalorian, of course, had found the event terribly amusing and had laughed at the teens shame for a good while.

·~·~·~·

Another day goes by of quiet company and half successes to connect with the Force and center himself. His failures have been greater in number, but he's persevering, and that is the best he can do. The bluish rock Jango had found for him still takes a great effort to levitate, but levitate it does. 'Small victories,' Garen would've said with a goofy grin at a half assed attempt he'd made on an assignment.

"Small victories," Obi-wan tells himself, despite his best efforts to keep thoughts of his family out of his mind.

·~·~·~·

The next morning after his routine, Jango joins the boy on his meditation. He doesn't join him in the act of course, but lays down on the grass and enjoys the sun before it becomes too warm later in the day. He's forgone his armor almost reluctantly, the planet is tame and there's noone out here. Even though the Beskar is his second skin he makes an effort to relax further out of its weight. So he rests.

He thinks like this, half asleep and almost thoughtless, he doesn't bother Obi-wan's meditation as much. Maybe that's what Red had meant when he said he should clear his mind. The teen wasn't telling him to give him space at any rate. Not that he would of course, Obi-wan's not-asking-for-anything-at-all problem hadn't disappeared into the ether, but the teen's expression is peaceful and not as tightly wound as Jango had seen it on the ship. So the Mando stays there, nuzzled into the tall blades of grass, close to the redhead; both of them just breathing.

Sometimes he wishes it could be like this always. Peaceful. But he knows sooner or later the itch of the hunt will crawl beneath his skin and he'll have to chase after it. For now though, he can be content. Maybe this could be a good place to ask Obi-wan to be part of his clan- But no. It's too soon still. Jango is ready, but he's not sure Red is, he must give the boy time, let him come to the Mando on his own. It's not time yet. He almost huffs out loud. What a clan they would be, only the two of them, and if he was feeling charitable enough, two and a half if he was counting The Fury as well. A very sad, little clan.

Later, after coming in and out of sleep a couple of times, Jango sits and observes the ginger as the boy concentrates his hardest to lift the rock in his palm.

"You know," Obi-wan says after a while, feeling the man's attention on him, "children in the cretché can do this easily enough." His light brown eyebrows are furrowed into something that borders on annoyance. Jango doesn't ask 'What's a cretché?' or say, 'You're still a kid,' like he wants to, because he knows what the boy means. Still, he feels the need to say something that will make Red's trails better.

"Well, I can't lift things with my mind at all, so I guess you're leagues ahead of me there," he says instead, perfectly serious as his comment breaks the teen's concentration to look incredulously at him. Obi-wan rolls his eyes but one corner of his lips is turned upwards.

"Well, good gods, I'm better at Force lifting things than a Force null! I feel better by the minute. Thanks, Jango." There's a krak eating grin on the boy's lips. The Mandaloran slaps him on the back with gusto and Obi-wan coughs out a laugh in breathless surprise.

"Any time Red. Now get back to your thing. You'll be lifting The Fury up in no time."

"Ha! I don't think that'll ever be in my ability to do, but I appreciate the sentiment." The boy tells him with a small smile as he picks up the fallen stone from the grass.

Jango frowns at him questioningly.

"My midichlorians, ah… It's a strength thing," Obi-wan explains in simple terms and shrugs. "I'm not that strong in the Force."

The man doesn't know many things about the Force, as the teen has seen fit to show him time and time again, but he feels like he should argue the point anyway.

"Isn't it… like a muscle? Don't you have to train it to get it stronger?" Jango asks slowly, trying out for a knowledge he's not sure applies here.

"Well… yes, but-"

"Then I don't see the issue," The Mando interrupts him. "One day you'll be lifting up whole ships, you'll see."

Obi-wan doesn't refute him, but the smile he gives Jango is rueful.

The teen returns to his exercise in patience and concentration, painstakingly going over and over again the levitation of the small blue rock, slightly up and slightly down, maintaining its position. He's not sure the boy can do much more than that.

Out of the blue, Red springs to a stand, making Jango instinctively reach for his blaster. Why did he ever think going out without his armor was a good ide- The Mando huffs out a laugh though as soon as he sees the reason for the small commotion. In the distance, he can see a group of young children watching them from afar.

Red takes a couple of steps back until he is standing close to Jango, it's both a little touching and a little sad to see the teen reach for him like this. On one hand it tells him that Obi-wan trusts him enough to seek him for protection, be it consciously or not, but on the other hand Red is so scared he's actively shying away from a mere group of children.

"It's okay, Obi'ka, I don't think they bite." Jango grinns up at the ginger from where he's sitting.

The boy glares at him and turns to his back with clear intentions to go hide inside The Fury.

"No, no, no, don't be like that, we're having a nice time, right?" Jango stops him, grabbing him by the pant leg. Red stumbles a little to catch his balance. He's quiet for a while, eyes stuck to the ground and ignoring the curious younglings doing a poor job hiding behind some tall blades of grass. The man nudges him a bit, trying to gain a verbal answer out of him.

"Yes," Obi-wan says quietly at last. A clear change from the attitude he was giving Jango a while ago.

"So sit down, it's okay."

Quite reluctant, the Jetii obliges, though he does not lift his eyes and sits as close to the Mando as he can without being invasive.

"I think they're just curious," Jango says gentle and low to him. Being with Red has definitely softened him in very odd ways. He's sure he would've given the kids the cold shoulder or a nasty glare before Obi-wan had become a permanent part of his ship, in the hopes that they would scam and leave him alone.

Slowly, blue gray eyes lift up, looking from under light lashes at the giggling kids. They are mostly humanoid but their skin is slightly green and the shades of their hair are all very dark.

"Keep practicing, I'm sure if we ignore them they might approach us." That doesn't seem to settle Red at all, but he takes his advice in what appears to be an effort to calm himself. His concentration has been broken though and it takes a while for the teen to make the small rock float again with any measure of success.

As predicted, the children come nearer, more boldly with every step, and their big eyes curiously inspecting whatever the ginger is doing. With the approaching of the kids, Obi-wan gets tenser by the second.

"It's okay," Jango repeats quietly. "Concentrate on your rock, nothing's going to happen. They're just kids," he hears the teen take a deep breath.

The children are still scootering around the grass as if their heads are not completely visible to them. A sudden feeling of fondness fills the Mando's chest and he remembers years ago the camps with his clan and the few ade there. The words leave him almost without his consent.

"Hey, did you hear that?" he asks obnoxiously loud as he looks at Red. "I thought I heard something. But that can't be, we're the only ones around for miles."

Predictively so, and like music, follow the high pitch giggling of kids trying and failing to muffle themselves.

"Hm, very weird, don't you think?" Jango's not expecting an answer, but the teen nods, making a slight effort to play along.

It takes a while but finally, one of the kids is close enough to them to jump from the grass with a cute 'Boo!'

"Oh! Where did you come from? I didn't see you there," The man is not very good at faking his surprise but the kids don't seem to care, easily pleased. The other two also pop from the greenery to try and give them a scare as well. There are two boys and a girl in the small group.

"Are you a witch?" Asks one of the boys as he flops down in front of them, making himself at home with the strangers. Obi-wan's concentration breaks, stone falling. He does not answer the kid.

"Of course he is," Says the girl rolling her eyes. "Can't you see he's got magic?"

"Are you really a witch though?" Asks the littlest of them, which ignites a full blown discussion amongst the three.

Jango is only too entertained, but he needs to take some of the attention away from Red.

"My name's Jango," he introduced himself, offering his hand to them as little grown ups which pleases them greatly. They talk over each other as they introduce themselves, the girl's name is Deena, and the boys are called Mabu and Goy. From the corner of his eye he can see the Obi-wan relaxing and inspecting the children with some curiosity of his own.

The locals make themselves right at home in their little circle, talking round and round about the most important things, like who's the fastest and who can eat the most belubies, whatever those are.

He can see the kids looking over and over at his quiet companion, it's inevitable when they direct their attention to Obi-wan again.

"What- what's wrong with your hair?" Asks little Goy to Red.

"Goy, that's rude! You can't ask that!" Exclaims Deena with a frown.

"My hair?" Obi-wan's voice is quiet, but at last he speaks.

"It's like- it's like- It's kind of orange," the little boy says, mystified by the absurdity of the color.

"No, is yello!" Mabu shouts enthusiastically.

The teen smiles smally, mostly looking down at the grass and fiddling with the stone between his fingers. He clears his throat.

"There's nothing wrong with it, that's just the color it is." He answers quietly.

"No, no that's not true," Mabu giggles.

"It is," Red looks up a little with a smile.

"You're lying!"

"I'm really not," a grin breaks free on Obi-wan's face.

"You can't have orange hair, that's not a real thing!" Deena says with the kind of authority only scholars and children possess. Forgetting that a moment ago she had scolded her friend on the rundes of the comment.

"We're not from around here," Jango explains for the kids.

"But your hair is normal," Goy says with a shy yet mischievous smile.

"Out there in the galaxy there are a thousand diffrent colors of hair," the man gestures at the sky.

"A thousand?" The little boy's eyes bulge in disbelief.

Mabu lifts up his fingers and reaches for the ginger locks, face full of curiosity. Jango hurries to stop him, Red is so very particular about his hair, he doesn't know how this will be received. Sometimes he seems to enjoy the petting of it, but more often than not he flinches when the Mando happens to brush it. Jango stills though when the kid stops himself before actually touching.

"It's okay," Obi-wan whispers, "you can touch it if you want." He doesn't seem absolutely certain of his own words but he keeps an encouraging smile on as he leans down a little.

The kid scoots closer now and pats his copper head gracelessly, the boy grins, soon the other two are surrounding Red and inspecting his hair as well. Up and very close like little scientists.

"It's weird!" Mabu exclaims.

"Well I think it's pretty." Deena says as the kids mess around with the Jetiis hair, shoving it from one side to another, giggling to themselves.

When it looks like it's turning out to be too much for Obi-wan, Jango calls them off.

A while later, the Jedi and the Mando are dragged away with the children because, 'It's lunch time and they're starving.' Which is no reason at all for why they should be pulled from their peaceful stop, but Jango agrees it's better to accompany the children back home in case anything happens. By the freedom the kids seem to have, he's not quite sure anything of note happens around these parts.

The way is far for they walk a long while, the children chatter at them intensely, yet their stay on Caveerpel has not lost its peacefulness, Jango thinks. This is just a different kind of tranquility, the chaotic one of little towns and innocence.

The kids have taken a shine to Jango's field mouse and have not parted from him. But little Goy is small and the reach of his legs is not as sufficient as those of his friends, he keeps falling behind them.

In a motion that seems almost second nature, Obi-wan turns and leans down with his arms open. And as kids are wont to do, the young boy doesn't even think twice before launching himself into the invitation. The teen huffs but lifts himself and the kid up.

To say Jango is surprised would be an understatement. In retrospect, he hasn't known Obi-wan all that long, but this seems a bit out of character for the teen's constant reluctance of contact and strangers. The man keeps himself close to Red in case it turns out to be too much for the ginger; Obi-wan has little energy most days and today has been particularly long already.

The other two children keep doing rounds and rounds around Red like he is their own private little sun. They ask him questions, shout them up into the air, and quietly so he answers them: whatever they wonder and whatever nonsense they comment on. Deena reaches up to take Obi-wan's hand and the teen takes it without question, despite already halving a whole kid in his arms, no matter how slight said child was. He's gentle with them and patient. Jango doesn't think he's ever seen Red more at ease than this moment here, he moves naturally around the kids, like he's done so a thousand times before.

They walk a long while before they reach a small town. The locals stare at them openly but not distrustfully, this is a place that hasn't seen too much evil knocking at their doors. A rare thing to find indeed. Obi-wan slows his pace so he can stand beside Jango, his face once again down at the unwanted attention.

"Oh dear," the voice of a woman exclaims up ahead. The Mando and the Jedi look up the dirt street to find a woman with an apron on. She looks as if she's just left whatever working she dedicates her life to.

"I'm so sorry, are they giving you trouble?" She asks with great concern, her voice heavily accented. She seems immediately aware of their otherness as foreigners to this planet. She then glares down at the kids. "Are you giving the strangers trouble?"

"No!" Exclaim the three at once as triplets would, though they are most definitely not.

"They were no trouble," Obi-wan is quick to reassure, though more quietly than he'd been with Jango in a long time. The man supposes the fact that he's talking to strangers at all is reason enough to thank the Ka'ar.

"Mama! Did you see his weird hair?!" Shouts Mabu.

"Mabu!" The dark tones of her slightly green skin darken even more in shame. "I am so sorry sirs, they're meant to know better manners."

"Sorry," the little boy wiences. She approaches them quickly, ready to take the burden off of the teen's arm but Goy clings harder to the redhead's neck.

"And he's a witch!" Deena shouts proud, like she had made a grand discovery. The poor woman looks mortified that these three children have banded together in their poor behavior.

"Children," Jango says with a smirk, hoping to absolve the woman of her shame.

"Children," the mother crooks, a note of fondes shining through as she nods in agreement. "Please, allow me to cook you a meal.

The Mandalorian is ready to refuse, unwilling to take hospitality from a bunch of strangers who might not have food to spare. But Obi-wan, raised a Jedi and knowing not to refuse a kindly offered meal, bows to the woman in a formal manner.

"We would be honored," he accepts to Jango's bafflement. The Jedi know well that refusing in situations like these might be considered terribly rude, and it was rude more often than not.

The woman smiles at his acceptance, doing an odd gesture with her hand across her shoulders.

Jango can see the arms of the teen trembling under the weight of the little boy so he decides it's time to intercede.

"You should go to your families," he tells the kids. "The day's been quite long and your parents must be missing you all."

The children groan in disappointment but Mabu grins as he sticks to his mother's skirts, knowing well he gets the best end of the deal.

"The man is quite right, your papa was asking about you not so long ago Goy. Off you go henlings." The children grumble but they obey. Both give sloppy wet kisses to the Jetii and hugs to the Mando before dashing away.

"Please," the woman says, showing them the way to her house. "My name's Aleen, I thank you for looking after our young."

The sun has already set when they return to the Fury. They both are so stuffed and full from the woman and her wifes hospitality that it's a wonder how they ever got back at all. They crash into sleep as soon as they touch their bunks.

·~·~·~·

Jango is cleaning up his blasters and making sure the calibration is just right by firing them into a tree not too far away. Red has been doing sets of slow going movements for a while now, he seems quite tired already though he hasn't been going at it long. The Mandalorian starts thinking in the back of his mind of ways he could start rebuilding the boy's body mass back up as he shoots another bolt towards the tree.

"Jango, can you lend me your blaster?" The man's first reaction is happiness because this can only mean that the teen is accepting his offer about learning how to use a blaster.

"Sure kid," he says pleasantly as he gives him one of the recently calibrated ones. The expression on Red's face is void of feeling like a carved statue as he takes the weapon in his hand and points at the same tree Jango's been shooting at.

He shoots 3 times, two of those hit the bullseye created by Jango's previous target practice and the other one graces the trunk. It's a thin enough tree so the grazing of the shot is still impressive.

Obi-wan looks at him unimpressed, an eyebrow raised in challenge, in his right hand Jango's blaster smokes a little.

"Huh, well I guess you do know how to shoot," the man compliments. The teen's not a sharp shooter by any means, but it's very accurate for someone Jango thought would be incompetent at best. "Where'd you learn that?"

"Mandalore, if you can believe that," he says as he gives the blaster back. "We couldn't use our lightsabers too often, they were too noticeable and attracted more trouble than we could handle for the mission. So we had to settle for something… less civilized." Despite the softn way Obi-wan speaks, his voice is colored with quite a lot of cheekiness.

It's Jango's turn to frown at the boy.

"Osik!" he barks at Red.

"You're free to believe whatever you like," Obi-wan smirks a little. "It was my Master, by the way, he's the one who taught me how to shoot." He looks at the tree in the distance. "The Force helps quite a lot with the aim though. If you're not pointing quite right, you'll be able to feel it somewhat. It's like your body isn't calibrated just right."

"That's handy." Jango says a little impressed.

"Quite. Though you have to learn to read and respond to these signs." He adds, it's not enough just knowing something's wrong."

Jango nods understanding.

"You still missed that one shot," The man says after a spot of silence and grins to himself at the boy's slight glare. He might not get to teach Red how to shoot, but he'll get to hoan, at least a little, the talents already there.

·~·~·~·

The next day Jango finds a freshwater river which has 0% toxicity to near-humans. It's perfect. He returns to the ship and informs Obi-wan they'll be going on a little excursion and that he's meditated quite enough for the rest of the month. The boy's expression is stuck between smiling and frowning. When Red asks him where they're going Jango only smiles self satisfied.

The sight is lovely when they reach it. The water gleams beneath the kind sun and a couple of trees rothing by the banks sway lazily with the breeze.

"How do you feel about taking a shower with actual water for a change?" he asks the Jetii with a smirk . When he turns to Obi-wan, his smile falls from his face. The boy has gone pale as the dead, his expression completely shut off.

"Red?" Jango asks worriedly, "Red what is it?"

"Nothing. It's very nice," Obi-wan says in his quiet voice, but it's halted, like he's finding it hard to speak.

"I don't think the water is all that deep," Jango takes a wild stab in the dark. "If you don't know how to swim, it won't be a problem. And hey maybe I can teach you if-"

"I don't want to learn how to swim," The boy snaps a little. "I mean- I already know how to swim, I don't need you to teach me."

"Alright," The Mando says slowly, unsure how to proceed. "Well, come on, it's going to be nice, I promise," he says, trying to make whatever mood has struck the boy go away. He'll keep an eye on him nevertheless.

Obi-wan crosses his arms to his chest, almost in a protective manner.

Jango, will make this better. He just needs a moment to think about it. While he does he starts undressing, taking off his boots and shirt; leading by example seems like the right place to begin at. Obi-wan remains quiet behind him, so he smiles.

"Are you going to make me go in all on my own?"

"I- I- I- I don't want to- I don't want to get in the water." Jango turns to him, Red is tightly bound and he can see the boy sinking his nails into his arms. "I- I don't-"

Whatever is going on here, Jango will take care of it, like he always does when the little Jetii is distressed. Whatever this is, he'll make it better. The teen's eyes are glassy as he stares at a random point between the river and the Mando. The man softens.

"Obi'ka, it's okay-" He begins, placing a gentle hand on the redhead's shoulder.

The boy drops to the floor and Jango's heart accelerates at the panicked look on Obi-wan's face. The teen stcrables to up to a stand.

"I don't want to get into the water!" He says loudly as the man quickly closes the space between them because the kid looks like he's about to fall down again with how unsteady his walking.

"Red-" the boy stumbles back and Jango catches him by the arm.

"No! No!" Obi-wan back hands him with his struggles to free himself "Don't touch me!"

Jango lets go, eyes wide, and the boy hits the ground. His legs are shaking so much his efforts to get away from the Mandalorian are pathetic at best.

Obi-wan can't catch his breath, he takes in desperate gulps of air but they won't pass his throat, the man is frozen to the spot, he doesn't know what to do. He- he needs to- He needs to help Obi-wan, he needs to calm him down, he-

A choked cry finally breaks free from the teen. He starts crying. Like a child who can't take in enough air. He starts and he doesn't stop for a long while. Brought down and paralized like an animal of prey.

And Jango… he sees it now, he can't make this better. There's nothing he can do to help. So with shaking hands himself, he puts his shirt back on, sits far away in front of Obi-wan where he'll be visible to the Jetii, and waits. Jango just waits.

After a long while, Red's harrowing breathing calms down to stuttering intakes of wet air. His senese come back to him somewhat when his eyes catch sight of Jango sitting at a distance. The boy raises his arms to cover his face and hide from the world.

"Do you want to go back?" Jango asks after a few minutes, equally drained.

Slowly, the boy nods.

·~·~·~·

When they reach The Fury again, Obi-wan stands by the open ramp, looking at the great green expans before him. His face is contorted in anger and heartbreak and so much more.

Obi-wan screams.

"Aaaaaaaaaaah!" And he screams and he screams, angry and hurt out into the wild. No one hears him, there's no one around. The Jetii screams himself hoarse until he's crying again. He screams until he doesn't have energy to spare.

But Jango is there. And Jango bears witness to Red's pain. And he remains unable to do anything to fix this. Whatever it is.

That night the Mandalorian is lulled to sleep to the background sounds of Obi-wan's nightmares. He does not dream though.

·~·~·~·

It's their last day on Caveerpel if they don't want to push it before the effects of the planet's atmosphere start hitting them.

Obi-wan is not anywhere on the ship once Jango wakes up. It should worry him that he did not wake when the boy left, but it doesn't, and that should worry him too. He does not think he's losing his edge, but the teen has skills of his own and he's… safe. There's no reason he should ever be wary of Red. And maybe that feeling should worry him too but all it does is make him content.

He goes out, the sun barely peeking through the far off trees. The wind blows cold, and there, almost hidden between the tall blades of grass, sits his little field mouse. The man smiles slightly at the thought, for it's never been quite more accurate than now.

He goes to the boy and sits beside him. The quiet is nice but somewhat grave.

"I'm… sorry about yesterday." Obi-wan apologizes, eyes puffy from crying through the night and dark shadows prominent under them from poor sleep.

"You never have to apologize to me Obi-wan," Jango says solemnly, wishing he could draw the boy to his side, but know it would not go well. "Not about this," whatever this had been about. It doesn't matter, Red had demons to spare from which he can pick.

"I don't want to be like this," he says a while later, exhausted not only from his bad bay and night.

In this, Jango cannot comfort him. In his experience, it doesn't get much better. One just learns to handle the horrors better and not let them take you. The Mando says nothing as the wind rushes through again.

·~·~·~·

Obi-wan has once again made a meal that fills Jango's tastebuds with the memory of a home long gone. He's absolutely content for a moment, embraced by the warmth of things that were.

"How did you learn?" Jango asks, gesturing at the plate before him.

"Satine- The Duchess, she taught me how to cook some things while we were on the run," a faint dusting of blush colors the teen's cheeks as he says this. "There was also this old woman who sheltered us for a few days, she taught us some things too."

Ah yes, the young Kryze girl, protected by the Jetiise after the murder of her family, leaving her ruler of a whole system at a most tender age.

"You like her," Jango comments idly as he savors the thick, flavorful substance with small chunks of meat in it. "Satine I mean."

"Yeah, she's nice. Bossy, but nice." It's a very offhanded comment, but the Mando's not stupid and he has eyes. There's a certain way in how the boy says Satine's name, something about his face that morphs just slightly into tenderness.

"Mh-hm, I'm sure she is," Jango says.

Obi-wan glares at him from under his scrunched eyebrows but does nothing to confirm or deny the man's insinuating timber. Jango smirks at the teen as he takes another spoonful of the dish, which only makes the ginger glare at him harder.

"It's good," Jango adds after a beat, "she taught you well." Obi-wan is honoring his namesake with the color his face is quick to take. The man might not care for the Kryzes all that much, or for the ruling of Mandalore and its politics really, he left all that behind with the corpses of his clan, but he can sure as hell take pleasure in prodding at the kid. "Did you guys kiss?"

"Jango!" The boy shouts scandalized.

"What? It's not like I asked if you had sex." And he really hadn't, the boy was exaggerating.

"Jango!"

Quick as a loth cat, a screw on the table lifts on its own accord and hits the man straight to the temple. It bounces innocently and softly from his head to the table. They stop, both looking at the little piece of metal with surprise. The boy has tensed all up and his heart has skipped several beats, but Jango only breathes out a laugh.

"That's good right?" He asks, Obi-wan giving an airy laugh of his own, shoulders dropping.

"Yeah- Yes, it is." He laughs, covering his mouth with his hand. He whispers, "It is very good." Then Obi-wan looks at Jango and quips, giddy with achievement and relief, "If I had known the only thing I needed to do to finally make some progress was get annoyed with you I would've started ages ago."

Jango doesn't stop laughing.

·~·~·~·

The sun is going down on Caveerpel, they are all but ready to part.

Obi-wan sits on the ramp enjoying the last rays of sun and the cool evening wind for the last time in who knows how long. Jango stands beside him, leaning against the hydraulic pistons, and thinks maybe, next time they dock the teen might actually get down at whatever port or planet that might be at.

He closes his eyes, taking a leaf out from the boy's book to just enjoy this moment.

"So, did it help?" He asks, pulling Red out from his musings. "The planet. Does it still hurt?" Obi-wan shakes his head, there's a peaceful expression on his face.

"It was amazing," the boy says. "I just wish I could've… I don't know. Done more?"

"Don't put yourself down a kid, you accomplished a lot." Jango tries.

"I can now lift a rock for a while and my head is no longer killing me. You have to stretch that one quite a bit to call it a lot," the ginger chuckles good naturedly. "Still, thank you. Thank you for doing this for me. I'm too grateful. This place…" the wind rushes by, a tender cares, "it's truly wonderful."

"Don't thank me kid," Jango says fondly though he longs to say more.

He looks up at the sun, his heart full at that moment. The man wants to teach Obi-wan everything, how to bounty hunt, how to train in every weapon he wants to, teach him Mando'a and speak to him as one of his own. He already is one of Jango's own in so many ways. 'The boy's not ready', he thinks again and wonders if he's trying to convince himself of that too.

He can start with this at least, dropping little words here and there in the hopes Obi-wan might want the same as Jango.

"It's a beautiful ge'tuur." The Mando says at the sun, and means it. "Tion gar nu'mirdi?"

"Elek," Red says unexpectedly. "Bic mesh'la." the teen adds in a heavily accented, and broken, Mando'a.

"You speak Mando'a?" Jango's staring at him incredulously.

"A little," he nods.

"Satine?" The man asks in resigned exasperation.

"Satine," Red confirms with a slight smirk to his lips.

The Mando ruffles the Jetii's hair and smiles when it startles a laugh out of the teen. He supposes he should be grateful that the little Duchess was already halfway there in turning Obi-wan into a Mandalorian.

Chapter Text

Obi-wan follows Jango around. Not in a glaringly obvious way, but in a subtle way. It's how, more often than not, if the Mando is in a room, the odds of the boy being there as well are quite high. Red never feels too far behind his steps and their only times apart are when Jango goes out either on a bounty or to buy provisions. And of course, when the teen needs some space because Jango's emotions are getting, 'too intense.

So he thinks Obi-wan follows him around, he's like a little birdling that way. That's how Jango sees it, and he thinks, if it weren't for the boy's aversion to going outside where other people are, he'd be following him there as well.

The kid had been getting better on that front though. The last time they docked down to restock, Red had stuck to Jango's side all the way to the food market. He was as tightly strung as a string instrument about to snap, and he was so jittery that Jango had to go back before finishing his business to leave him in the safety of The Fury. The boy, of course, hadn't told him how uncomfortable he'd been, watching him had been enough to tell. Obi-wan had actually come down by choice though. That was a clear victory if Jango ever saw one.

·~·~·~·

Jango feels right where he should be as he talks bounty business with the dainty Togruta woman. He's been aching for a sense of normalcy for a while and it seems he's finally getting back to his old speed. It feels good. Right.

As he ends the call with his newest client, Jango takes off his helmet- always a good thing to have on for his reputation. He leans back content.

"Don't take the job," Obi-wan says in his soft voice. The teen stands by the entrance to the cockpit, body language unsure but eyes determined.

"And why, pray tell, would I ever do that?" Jango asks, a little amused.

They've had ideological headbutts before, but the man would've thought Red would not have qualms about this specific job. If the boy has been standing within hearing distance enough to advise him against it, Jango would think putting a stop to this kind of lowlife would've been an endeavor even his Jetiise fellows would approve of.

Murderer, kidnapper, traffics beings for profit.

"It doesn't… it just doesn't feel right." He says vaguely and Jango has to chuckle.

"I don't think that's enough of an excuse, Red." He grabs his datapad and stands, ready to start making preparations for his new bounty.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Jango," Obi-wan's voice is quiet but his eyes make up for that by following the man with intensely.

Jango stops on his way out of the common room and turns to Obi-wan. He goes back to the boy and smiles comfortingly. His little field mouse is worried for him. It's… He won't lie, it's endearing.

"Relax, Obi'ika. I've done this a thousand times. I am the best bounty hunter in this galaxy," he says with cocky confidence. The redhead's worry though is still plain on his freckled face to see, so Jango squeezes the teen's arm for reassurance. "I can promise you, this woman is not going to get the best out of this Fett. It'll just be another job in the bag before you know it."

Obi-wan doesn't look reassured at all, but he says nothing more on the matter.

·~·~·~·

A crime lord is the best way to describe the Twi'lek that he is after. One of the ruthless, village-terrorizing kind no less. The city mayor had warned him against her cunning and intelligence. Although Jango will not underestimate her- he hasn't gotten this far by being stupid like that- he is confident he can get the job done in a short amount of time. He is after all the best in the field, as he'd told the kid; that had not been only to calm his nerves down. Is it really cockiness if it's true?

He leaves Obi-wan on the ship like he always does, though this time he's done so with a heavy heart. The teen has been so anxious about Jango's job that the man had almost been tempted to postpone the bounty. A ridiculous thought really; the boy is probably just going through one of his moods. He'll deal with it once he's back, like he always does. Well… like he always tries at least.

He realized not too long ago that he's beginning to think about these things with a note of pride. That, up until very recently, Jango has managed to get through to Obi-Wan when the teen was at his worst. After Caveerpel though, he's had to reframe his self appointed immunity to failure and confront the fact that it does give him pride. It gives him pride that Obi-wan responds to him and that he sometimes needs Jango to fight his demons. The fact that Jango is able to come through with whatever the teen needs in the moment makes him glad. He's not sure that it should though.

He's glad that Obi-wan needs him, he's happy that he's effective, but Obi-wan shouldn't even need him like this in the first place. The boy has too many hurts inside him. It's not really something to be proud of. Uncomfortable with the train thought, he stops thinking about it.

For now, he has a Twi'lek to find.

·~·~·~·

Obi-wan paces outside The Fury, anxious for Jango's return. It has only been a few hours, perhaps 5 or 6 since the man left but the teen cannot help himself.

Despite the fact that he's been training every day to get his connection to the force back to some semblance of order, his control is still not great. Their stay at Caveerpel had helped him with the pain and some minimal shielding, but it had hardly been even a ripple in the grand scale of things. It doesn't… it doesn't feel like he's making any real progress, and that scares him a little. It's been so hard to grasp these small victories. It makes his insides churn with anxiety. Shouldn't he be seeing a difference by now? Some sign that his connection to the force hasn't been screwed with forever? He shudders at the thought, putting his arms around his middle, he keeps pacing. He'd rather not think what a Jedi who can't connect with the Force was. 'Not a Jedi at all,' whispers his treacherous mind.

With his instincts hard to rely on, but very, very present, Obi-wan frets. The feeling of wrongness and tension in the Force is prickling over his skin like fire ants, like an itch he can't scratch or do anything about.

He knows it will be long before Jango returns. It could be by the end of the day, or it could be several days. He doesn't know however and pacing for his return won't help. The Force buzzes around him insistently, for a moment he considers looking for the collar again-

No. He needs to do something with himself right now besides worrying uselessly. He walks back into the ship, frustrated and restless. He should… he should meditate. Or sleep. Or exercise the energy away. He scoffs at himself. Not that he would last very much at any type of exercise. Jango had tried to goad him into a spar some days ago but 2 minutes in had Obi-wan already losing his balance and getting blurry vision.

He grabs a pastel pink fruit from the small cooler box they have in the kitchenette, it's so small it could almost be mistaken for a toolbox. He eats anxiously until he can't take it anymore and goes to throw himself over the couch to rest away his nerves.

Through the prickling and aching of his skin, and the buzzing in his head, Obi-wan falls into a restless sleep. His dreams are disjointed and he's grateful for it. Too many times do memories assault his resting hours, or his mind constructs things that make his heart ache just the same. The next day goes by much the same as the one before. Obi-wan tries to keep himself busy but by the time the sun starts going down he has to force himself to take another nap or just go to sleep until tomorrow. He tries and fails again to push away a discomfort he can't keep at bay. He slumbers for a while, tired from being so high straight all day.

His senses ring then, strong like a bell.

He props himself up on the couch, groggy like he slept too much or too little. The Force sings and he listens; someone is approaching The Fury. He takes in a sharp breath.

It is not Jango.

Danger, the Force screams.

The ginger shakes off the leftovers of sleep, his eyes wide and alert. He jumps from the couch but the sound of the ship's ramp opening makes his heart miss a beat. Whomever it is, they've gotten in. 'Force I hope it's not Jango's bounty.' He thinks as he looks around the common room for something to defend himself with.

'Jango's weapon stash!' His mind supplies, remembering the hidden nook in the sleeping quarters that the Mandalorian opens on occasion. He rushes out of the common room, the double doors parting for him, and quickly reaches the bedroom's opening panel, desperately tapping in the entry code. At that exact moment, the next set of doors to the cargo bay open. Three armed strangers stare at him, he stares back, all of them trapped in an awkward moment of silence.

The moment breaks as Obi-wan slams enter and one of the intruders shouts. "Get him!"

The boy flies into the room the second the door slides open, but he feels the world tilt off its axis as he's yanked back by the shirt.

"Who the kriff are you?" One of them barks, an Iktotchi who's pointing a blaster at him.

"Boss didn't tell us the Mando had a runt with him." A Weequay frowns.

Obi-wan wants to say something, defend himself, anything at all, but his words are trapped away in his throat again. Fear hides them like someone's got their fingers around his neck.

"Maybe he bought himself a whore boy," snickers the human man.

Obi-wan's voice clamps up even more; he wants to be sick at the thought. The Weequay drags him across the ground and throws him onto the cargo hold floor. Some instinct buried deep inside him and unused for long commands his body to act.

With the motion of the throw, even though his back slams painfully against the ground, he rolls into a stand and turns. The ginger springs straight into the Iktotchi- the most threatening looking sentient of the group- and doesn't give any of them a second to react. Even though Obi-wan's slight, the immediate surprise is enough for the boy to slam the male down and use the confusion to wrench the blaster away from him.

He's not thinking, he's only action and instinct and action and instinct.

He cracks the butt of the heavy duty blaster against the Iktotchi's temple and unstradles the sentient just in time to dodge an electro-staff being swung at his head by the human man. He prepares to shoot, but his heart stutters at the idea of using it, like it always does when he holds a blaster. The hesitation is a mistake. He feels the roots of his hair being pulled out as a tuft of his locks is grabbed and he's yanked backwards. Obi-wan screams in pain.

The Mandalorian is lifting him up by the hair.

"Stop, please!" Obi-wan begs as he sobs.

The redhead pulls himself out of the memory, the second of distraction has the two remaining intruders pointing their weapons at him while the Iktotchi sits up, dizzy from the blow.

The Weequay lifts him by the neck and slams him against the wall. He lets a punch fall against the teen's face and the world blurs around the edges of Obi-wan's vision.

"The little Mandalorian wants to play games with the big boys, huh? Is that it?" He squeezes his fingers tighter, making it hard for Obi-wan to breathe.

It doesn't matter anyway, the teen couldn't say anything even if he wanted to. He can feel it, if he were to try, nothing would come out from his lips. The mercenary holding him up scoffs in distaste, perhaps at the lack of answer, or at the unexpected change of events. They obviously hadn't thought they would find anyone on the supposedly empty ship.

"Should we tell the boss?" Asks the human.

Obi-wan's winded from the small confrontation, his limbs trembling from exertion. His kicking is weak at best and the most his hands can do on the arm holding him up is give him better support. Barely. This feels too familiar, he hates it, he wishes he could be Zygerrian so he could scratch bloody the hand into letting him go.

"What for?" Asks the Iktotchi in displeasure, standing up and massaging his head "Let's just kill him and take the ship, s'not like the pest was part of the plan."

"We should probably call her anyway, don't want to get into trouble if he's important or something. Maybe the boss'll want us to take him back." Suggests the human.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

He cannot be taken again, he can't, he can't.

Obi-wan trembles; it's not from tiredness, though. He can feel the panic setting into him like cold water, gripping him like he's being held hostage. He cannot bear to become nothing again, to lose himself in the blur of tortured days of hunger, and pain, and exhaustion, and a sadness so intense he could feel himself drowning in it. He can't wait again for something that will never happen while he is tied down like an animal. To be nothing more than a chip for some sick excuse of a game for whomever his next captor will be. Even the thought of being captured again is unbearable.

He would… he would rather die than be submitted to that again.

The Weequay glares at him; a pesky inconvenience under his boot, disgusting if nothing else.

The Force in him vibrates to the tune of his unbalanced emotions.

"Let's tie him up then, better not bother the boss while she's busy with the Mandalorian." Weequay decides as the de-facto leader.

"Sounded like she was having her fun in there," chuckles the human. "Strung up the bastard like an animal for the slaughter she did."

No.

Obi-wan's eyes widened. The Force peaks inside him along his fear and anxiety. He takes advantage of this, scrunches up his face and aims outwards as from within him explodes a wave of invisible energy, pushing all the intruders back. The Weequay holding him is thrown so hard into the opposite wall that he immediately crumbles unconscious to the floor.

"Jedi!" Snarls the Iktotchi, who swiftly recovers before the rest, lifting his blaster in a flash and shooting at the teen. Obi-wan rolls away behind the human coming up at him, his electro-staff is raised to strike, making one of the Iktotchi's blasts get him in the hip.

"Ah!" The man hollers in pain. "Watch it, you karking bastard!" The human wastes no time to turn though and swings at the ginger while clutching at his side.

The teen dodges, bending backward. When he balances back, he extends his arm to call forth the weapon in the man's hand. Obi-wan's control of the Force wavers, making his tenuous mental grip on the electro-staff slip from his fingers.

The boy gasps in pain as a blaster bolt hits his shoulder from behind, his knees hit the ground.

"Get him!" Shouts the Iktotchi.

The next thing the ginger knows is that he's screaming in agony. The blunt end of the human's staff is pressing down onto the back of his neck as currents of excruciating electricity run through his body.

Obi-wan flops on the ground and accepts surrender as the end of Qui-gon's wooden staff is placed on his chest. He's winded but the sparring session had been exhilarating.

"Solah," he says breathlessly.

"Why?" Questions his master curiously.

The ginger rises his head a little, looking at the older man in confusion.

"Cause… I lost?" It's not really a question, he knows he did.

"Did you now?" The long-haired man asks without mockery. "People always think they've won when they have their weapon on you."

"I always think people win when their weapons are on me," Obi-wan retorts incredulously, gesturing at the staff still keeping him down.

"People might think the fight is over, and you as well," Qui-gon taps the wood gently on the underside of the kid's chin. "But something people fail to recognize is that they've given you an advantage."

The boy looks up confusedly. Qui-gon kneels beside him and takes his hand.

"Be it blasters or a hand or a staff, or anything so long as it's not a saber," Qui-gon chuckles, "the people attacking you have given you something they only think they had." He looks intently at Obi-wan and places the boy's hand on the wooden staff. "Leverage of their weapon."

The redhead pulls at the last dregs of energy inside him and in one move twists his body and gets a hold of the weapon, it burns his hands but the human is caught off guard as he gets pulled down with the turn of Obi-wan's body.

The teen dodges the next set of blasts from the Iktotchi and cracks the human's head with his own staff. Without thinking he jumps at the other intruder, careful of the hot blaster bolts, and places himself close to the Iktotchi, grabbing at his weapon. The male doesn't let go this time though, and punches the Jedi in the gut, unable to shoot with the teen manhandling his blaster.

Obi-wan loses all breath but he doesn't stop and does what the human should've done when he had the redhead at his mercy but was too distracted instead by the prospect of causing him pain. With his other hand he activates the electro-staff directly against the temple of the Iktotchi.

The goon flops weightless to the floor as Obi-wan gasps for air, curling up with his forehead on the ground. The Force rings around him in a warning; he moves away but he's not fast enough. The human kicks him in the stomach, rage twisting and contorting his features like he's a Sith spawn.

Obi-wan sobs, he can't do anything more, he's spent and weak and the Force-

Another kick is delivered to the same spot. The teen cries out in pain.

"You're a real pain in the shebs filth," mumbles his attacker.

"I can't Master. I can't anymore." There's a tear sliding down his round cheek as he heaves for breath. They have been practicing katas for half of the day, Qui-gon has barely let him rest. He's spent. "Please let me stop. I can't-"

The Master attacks him again, his face emotionless. Obi-wan raises his training saber to block weekly. Another parry, and another, and another. The young boy lunges a stab forward and the man dodges and grabs the boy's hand, immobilizing him.

"Seems to me that you can just fine." Obi-wan looks up, Qui-gon is smiling gently at him. It warms his chest in a different way than the heat of exertion does. The boy smiles back shakily.

"Just a while more my young apprentice, then you can rest." The boy's face falls disheartened.

"I can't do it," Obi-wan whispers.

"I believe that you can do anything you set your mind to," Qui-gon brushes back the sweaty reddish hair with love, and steps back. "Just a little bit longer, Obi-wan."

With the next kick that comes his way, Obi-wan tightens his grip on the electro-staff and latches onto the booted foot connecting with his stomach. It takes what little breath he didn't know he still had away. Still, he raises his arm holding the weapon as far as it goes and jams it at the underside of the man's face. He perseveres with a grimace until the human drops to the ground, but he doesn't leave the man time to recover. Obi-wan crawls like a wounded animal next to the human and jams the staff in his forehead.

The mercenary is unconscious, his body twitching with leftover electricity. The redhead chokes meager breaths in and out hard, his face is tear streaked and pained. He… he can't rest; he needs to tie them up he… The teen sobs in exhausted frustration. He wants to give up, he wants to let go, he just wants whatever darkness awaits him to engulf his mind once and for all.

He curses into his palms as they cover his face.

Slowly, painfully slow, he picks himself up, his body shaking with exertion. He needs to look for something to tie them up with.

·~·~·~·

Jango is bloody. He's tired, and pissed, and hungry. He needs like 3 sonics and he needs to nap. Kriff the fucking Twi'lek woman. The Mandalorian grumbles curses under his breath, he's walking slowly with a prominent limp and the painful reminder of the past days.

Jango almost… he almost didn't make it. There was a moment back there at the woman's hideout where he'd been filled with regret, because surely, he was not going to make it back to Obi-wan. He was going to leave the kid all on his own. He sighs, trying to massage some of the pain from his left forearm away.

He'll have to tell Red about the whole thing, how the boy was right about his feeling, how bad the job had gotten. Oh, Ka'ar, Obi-wan had been so right.

If Jango stops to think about it too much he won't end up anywhere nice. It's… frightening. To think about what Obi-wan can do. What the Force lets him do. See the future. Because that's what this was, Obi-wan, in one way or another, had known that the job would not go well, enough that he had warned Jango against it.

It still takes him by surprise sometimes. He gets too comfortable with the idea of having a Jetii on his ship, he forgets what it actually means. It's then the fear returns to him.

Jetiise. The motionless and mystical conglomerate of races. Beings of unknown magic and power. Witches that get inside your head and play at being puppeteers. Oracles and harbingers of the future. It reminds him of lessons hard earned. You may tame a wild beast or think it cute in its youthfulness, but a beast will always be a beast. In time, all beasts turn on you with their claws out.

Jango is suddenly stilled by his own thoughts. After a short moment, the disgust that rises within him is so intense he feels like he's going to be sick. Is this really what he thinks about Red? He's cute now, but he won't always be? Not if Jango can help it. If he can keep Obi-wan far away from the Jetiise it shall never be so. But even then, even if he keeps the teen away from those monsters, Obi-wan's words reverberate inside his skull like an echoing drum. A conversation that almost seems a very distant memory, even though it's not.

"I don't need to know anything about them-" Jango had said, cutting himself off before he could say something stupid.

"No," Obi-wan answered, knowing where his thoughts lay. "I guess you wouldn't need to. You just need to know how to kill them, right?" His blue gray eyes stared intelligently at Jango. The words were true, that's what he thinks.

"Kill us.  Us. " Obi-wan left, the reminder of who he really was, like salt over Jango's wounds.

These, these are all thoughts he would rather not linger on, so the Mandalorian pushes them away from his mind, though the discomfort remains.

After a while more of walking, he gets angry. So what if Obi-wan's a witch? So what if he's one of them and weird at times and othernatural? So what? Jango cares for him so much. In spite of his Jetiiseness, hell, maybe even with the whole mess that having the Force and being a Jetii entails.

He finds a measure of peace then, very small, for his dark thoughts about Obi-wan and his people have not left him completely. Just tonight he barely escaped a gruesome end, and just as he was pulling himself up from the ground, he'd thought, 'I've faced worse odds than this. And I've got a kid to get back to now. I can't be getting myself captured and killed when there are more important things waiting for me.'

Jango chuckles at himself and sighs again, calming down and pulling away from unwanted thoughts. He's very tempted to just get into his bed without showering; he smells disgusting though, and he probably looks just as bad.

It was very satisfying putting a blast blot into the woman's temple. He'll downplay his pleasure when he tells the kid though, that is something Red definitely won't like. He smiles fondly at the thought, despite his restless thinking on his way back, he's eager to get back home and to Obi-wan.

When he reaches The Fury, the ship is wide open. It's the middle of the night. Jango's heart sinks.

He runs in, raising his stolen blaster because most of his weapons had been lost when captured. Jango expects to find a mess, the bloody body of the kid, dead and discarded somewhere, but The Fury is barely damaged. There are a few blaster blots on the walls and ceiling, but nothing else.

"Red?" His voice trembles.

The teen is curled on the floor on his side, he looks paler than he's ever seen him before. His face is bruised and his hair mattered. But his chest is moving. Jango sighs in relief and moves his concentration towards the threat.

They don't look like much, all tied up securely from what he can see, and roughed up a bit too. Two of them are unconscious, but the third, a male Weequay, looks at him glaringly; there's an undercurrent of fear hiding in his eyes. Jango kneels in front of the mercenary and grabs his jaw in a painful grip.

"You see him?" He turns the other's face to the unconscious boy. "He's family."

Under his hand Jango feels a tremor run through the man. Good.

"You're going to regret ever laying hands on him," he whispers menacingly in his ear.

Jango's eyes catch on some threads on the floor…

They're… they're not threads. It's hair. Soft, golden orange hair, not anywhere near where it should be.

He puts pressure on the jaw he's holding without looking at the Weequay, who begins gasping in contained pain. Something gives a little under his fingers and the man screams.

Obi-wan startles awake and Jango lets go of the scum to go to the kid.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay now, I'm here," he shushes the gasping teen, placing a warm hand on his shoulder with care. Obi-wan seems to be fighting to get out of the heaviness of unconsciousness quite hard, so Jango reassures him. "It's okay now. Don't worry, you can rest."

"Qui-gon?" The kid asks weakly, there's reverence there, and hope and love. "You came for me."

Jango doesn't have one single idea who this Qui-gon is, but he feels no jealousy in his heart, it is unimportant as of now. He can take an educated guess as to who the teen thinks he is though.

"Yeah, I came," he answers softly. "Go back to sleep, I'll take care of everything."

Obi-wan lets go of his efforts, trusting that all will be well. There's the faint imprint of a smile in the corner of his lips before he succumbs again to exhaustion.

Jango looks back at the tied intruders, the Weequay looking like he's holding in moans of pain. The Mandalorian glares.

He takes them all out to the dry landscape outside and drops them, first two and then a third one. The one with the cracked jaw gives a pained yowl. The kid must've really done a number on them for those unconscious do not rouse. He closes the ramp of The Fury, Obi-wan shouldn't have to listen to these poor excuses of sentient beings being executed.

He takes out his blaster and prepares to shoot. Jango hesitates…

Obi-wan went through the trouble of tying the kriffers up; it's obvious the kid did not intend for their end to be death. They both long understood that they are very different people from one another. People with very different beliefs. And he… These karking scumbags deserve death and probably more, but that kid would not want that. Once Red came to his senses he would ask what happened and Jango knew with an overpowering certainty that Obi-wan would not complain about his actions. He knew what the teen would do though, Obi-wan would hide in that place inside himself when he resigned himself to the fact that he was powerless and there was nothing he could ever do to change things. The Mandalorian hated that look on the teen's eyes, it was always there when they first came to be together. It had slowly been chipping away though. So what can Jango do?

His brain battles between his gut instinct to end the mercenaries and his softening heart which wants to save Obi-wan a little grief.

"Hey man, you don't have to do this," the Weequay says, mistaking his hesitance for something it is not.

Jango shoves the front of the blaster into his mouth to shut him up. The filth's eyes are glued to the weapon as he shakes, and chokes in his terror.

After a few seconds of silence battling with his own thoughts, Jango decides. He'll let them live. It makes him instantly angry, but there's nothing more to do. He takes the blaster out harshly, the material rapping against the other's teeth. The man gasps, desperate for air that does not reek of his death.

Just about to pull the ramp down and leave the kriffers to their luck, Jango stops once more, thoughtful. Just because he's not going to kill them doesn't mean he can't cause them a great deal of pain, it's only fair after all. He turns slowly to face the group.

Jango smiles.

The Weequay shivers.

"I hope messing the kid up was worth it." He says and lifts his blaster up, shooting both knees off the mercenary. Hollers of pain rise up in the air, agonized and torturous.

Jango shoots the others knees as well, which of course finally wakes them up. A symphony of screams, moans, and cries join the arid, natural landscape.

'Yes,' the Mandalorian thinks. 'This was a good decision.' Without further ado, he gets back into the ship, quick to close the ramp so Obi-wan won't be woken by the screaming.

·~·~·~·

The ginger is shivering a little on the ground when Jango gets back to him, he brushes a few locks of his hair away and the boy flinches, even in sleep. The Mandalorian lowers his hand to the shoulder as the kid rouses slightly.

"What's… what's happening?" He asks, disoriented. "There's so- so much pain in the Force."

Ah, kriff. Jango should've thought of that.

"Don't worry kid, it'll go away soon. Come on, let me help you up and we'll be out of this hellhole." He helps the kid stand and they walk to the common room, Jango shouldering all of the ginger's weight. He sets him down gently on the couch. "I'll be right back," he tells Obi-wan quietly and goes to the cockpit to get the hell out of there. The faster they are out of this dust ball the better.

Chapter Text

The Fury floats in mid-space, weightless and pathless, as she should always be- well, according to Jango. They left the planet of his last bounty about an hour ago, so far the ship had remained quiet. Obi-wan still sleeps on the couch of the common room as peacefully as one could after getting the osik kicked out of you.

The Mandalorian breaths out tiredly, rubbing at his face to take some of the stiffness away. He stands slowly from the cockpit and limps as he goes to fetch the medkit.

"Kid? Obi'ika," he calls softly to the other when he comes back to the teen. When he doesn't answer, Jango risks shaking him a little by the elbow.

When Obi-wan wakes he doesn't jump, but only because he's sluggish and weak with exhaustion. It's in the heavy look of his eyelids as he blinks and in how he tries to push himself up into a sitting position but can't. Fire burns inside Jango's chest and he almost regrets not finishing off the mercenaries when he had the chance. He thinks of the kid's reddish locks torn from his head and the blaster bolt on his shoulder, and who knows what else. He struggles to keep himself contained and makes a conscious effort to breathe through his ire. Right now, more important than his righteous anger is Obi-wan, and his ire is not going to help the young Jetii one bit.

"Are you with me?" He asks and receives a faint nod from the teen whose face rests against the cushion of the seat with a somewhat sleepy look.

The ginger looks at Jango's busted-up face as the man drags close to the couch the short stool, his eyebrows sloping down in concern. He looks like he wants to say something but doesn't.

"You did a number on those guys," the Mandalorian begins with a proud smile. "I'm quite impressed," there's a crinkle in the corner of Jango's eyes to mark the phantom of a smile but nothing more.

"I bet with some training you could become a phenomenal bounty hunter," he can't resist adding but does so with nonchalance. There's no need to dump on the boy his dreams of the future, not now at any rate.

The teen rearranges himself a bit. His hands, which rested protectively against his chest and under his chin, move up to brush his hair away from his face and rub away at the tiredness that clings to his eyes. Jango catches the imprints of fingers around his pale and oddly discolored neck, it's been like that since they've met, hidden from the world for almost two years and rubbed raw. It's always looked wrong and unhealthy, but now with the traces of violent pressure, even more so.

The Mandalorian breaths in carefully, unconsciously mimicking Obi-wan's slow meditation intakes of air.

"Come on up Red, we need to treat your wounds," Jango says as he reaches for the boy's shoulders and helps him sit. "Where else are you hurt?" He grabs the med kit from the floor where he left it, opens it and looks at its insides for what he might need. "Red'ika, where else are you hurt?" He repeats when the boy doesn't answer immediately as he puts some things on the low table in front of the couch.

He looks up when he realizes the silence has stretched too long. Abnormally long even. Obi-wan is looking down at his intertwined hands resting on his lap, his face is nervous and his breathing is slightly quicker than normal.

He leaves the medical kit aside and shifts closer to the redhead, their legs touching.

"Kid, what is it? Tell me," Jango asks softly, placing a hand over the teen's own. Red is shivering a little. The man sees it then, the slight, repeat of his mouth opening and closing; he wants to say something but he can't. It's been so long since the kid displayed this tell it almost catches the Mando off guard when he recognizes it. Obi-wan's breathing speeds up a little more, his eyes are on the verge of tears.

"Oh. Oh, kid, it's okay, you don't need to talk to me if it's hard, okay?" The teen keeps looking at his hands, ashamed. "Hey. Look at me. It's okay," Jango squeezes Obi-wan's nervous fingers gently. After a moment the kid's head lifts and blue grey eyes meet dark brown ones.

"It's okay if you can't talk right now. It's not a problem, it's nothing that you should be ashamed of. You didn't need words when you first joined me, you don't need words now. Okay?" Obi-wan's eyes are glassy and wet with unshed tears. Jango squeezes his fingers again with a slight shake. "Okay?" The teen sniffs a little but nods. He takes a deep, steadying, breath and straightens slightly, dabbing at the water in his eyes so it won't fall now that he's composed himself.

"Good," Jango pats his hands before straightening back up. "Now, point to me all the places that you hurt. And please don't leave anything out. We don't want to have problems later on," the man tells him pointedly.

The ginger looks a little shaken still but nods again. Obi-wan points to his shoulder and Jango rolls his eyes, because of course he's hurt there, there's a blaster bolt, hole-shaped space, that marks it quite clearly. He catches a small smile on the kid.

'Smartass,' he thinks fondly.

·~·~·~·

That night cycle, just as Jango is finished taking care of the worst of the injuries and wishing well for what can only heal with time, Obi-wan takes no more than half a breath to fall asleep once he lays down on his bed.

Obi-wan dreams.

He dreams of tall Mandalorians staring down at him. He cannot see their faces under the helmets but he can feel their menacing presence all around him. Stretched and taller than they have any right to be they move towards him with evil intent. The young man, who feels as if time just stopped and he got stuck being a kid- his body growing but his mind shrinking down in fright- takes a terrified step back.

He feels a sickness creeping from inside his body, a wave of goose bumps roll all over his limbs, and he's… The teen shudders. There's something wiggling its way from within him. From the boy's stomach, making steady way up through his esophagus, pushing from side to side, little needles puncturing the walls for perchance. Obi-wan drops to his knees and dry heaves, the harsh undulating motions from his stomach rocking him all the way up to his throat.  Something is pushing its way up .

The redhead whimpers a muffled sob for the thing blocks the back of his mouth, stuck there. Obi-wan is choking. He can't breathe. He tries to scream in terror but the sound is muffled. The Mandalorians surround him as his mouth is filled with a soft round object pushing its way out to unstuck itself. It scratches the walls of his mouth and his tongue, he can taste the blood, forcing its way through until it finally pries the teen's mouth open from the inside with its volume. It ricochets out into the night sky.

The boy flops down to the ground exhausted, gasping for air and trembling from the effort. He can finally see the thing that was invading his insides as it made its way up inside him. It's a  bird . He can see it flying up, going away and away; far away from him.

"No!" He shouts in despair, but no sound comes out of his mouth. He grabs at his throat, horrified, clawing at it. He wishes desperately that he could call his voice back to him, but it was frightened by the Mandalorians and went away.

The armored bodies come closer and closer. Suffocating him with their presence, large and looming over him like wraiths. He cries. He will never get his voice back. This he knows.

When Obi-wan wakes up he's shaking. Silent tears are going down his cheeks. He feels as if he hadn't been able to breathe. He gasps as quietly for air as he can underneath his heavy blanket. The boy covers his face with his hands and wills himself to forget all about the bird and the Mandalorians and his scared-away voice.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

It doesn't feel like just a dream though, not really, not to Obi-wan. His dreams always hold an edge of truth to them, even if there never was such a thing as ridiculous as a bird. As he drifts into sleep again, tears rolling down the side of his face, he holds his neck with trembling fingers, scared of the feeling of something stuck in there not letting him breathe, scared of that same thing going away and leaving him voiceless. Scared of another layer of connection to the world being stripped from him.

Uneasily, Obi-wan falls back into sleep.

·~·~·~·

In the coming days Obi-wan is tired and unenthusiastic. He follows Jango around as per usual but he is quiet as a grave. The Mando can see he's trying to remedy this perceived wrong and push himself towards a nebulous "better". Jango says nothing, afraid of putting his foot in his mouth and discourage the ginger somehow. Obi-wan seems as alright as can be. From the corner of his eye the man has seen him as the teen mouths words to himself, preparing them before trying to push them out.

Red does find a nice middle ground one evening when he's got enough energy to stand up for a while and ushers Jango away from the kitchenette so he can cook again for the both of them. As Obi-wan pours in water for a soup, adds a seasoning pellet, and stirs the slowly brewing concoction, he starts to quietly hum to himself in the middle of his cooking. Something slow and Melancholy, it sounds somewhat familiar to Jang.

When the man passes by he squeezes the teen's shoulder in support and Obi-wan smiles faintly at him. He continues humming softly and the faint sounds are like magic inside The Fury, they give it life back again.

"That song-" he says once they have finished eating. Obi-wan having opt to sit on the bench against the wall of the long table is right in front of him, his eyes drooping slightly as his constant tiredness starts rearing its head up again. His blue gray eyes turn to him lazily, attentive. "Satine?" Jango asks.

"Satine," Obi-wan whispers with a smile as his eyes close, head leaning back against the wall.

Jango smiles, there it is again, his little field mouse coming out from his hole in the ground.

"She's half made you a Mandalorian already," he says after a while, secure in the knowledge that Red is fast asleep- as uncomfortable as his position seems- and he will not hear his comment.

Though Jango knows that's not quite it, not just the girl teaching him to be like them. It's love. More than puppy love thought? Of that, he can't say. But he can fool himself for a while into thinking this is Obi-wan soaking in Mandalorian culture, that this is destiny somehow, that the boy is meant to be one of them.

Maybe it doesn't have to be a dream, maybe it can be despite it all, despite being Jedi. It worked for that one Mando ages ago, he became a Jedi. Why not the other way around?

Jango shakes Obi-wan up, and leads him half asleep to the sleeping quarters.

He'll ask the boy soon, once he's better and back on his feet, Jango will ask him to be part of his aliit. The thought makes warmth spread inside his chest.

·~·~·~·

Obi-wan is concentrated on the datapad, avidly reading like he needs air. The Jedi had found a small, sad library, in its databanks yesterday and Manda only knew what he'd found there, but his nose had been stuck to the screen for a while. So despite the fact that he's been talking a bit more as of late, he is currently too preoccupied with other things for such trivial things as chatting.

'Figures the kid would be a bookworm,' Jango thinks fondly.

On his way to the storage shelves beside the kitchenette, the man absentmindedly raises his hand and brushes gently at the teen's long hair. Obi-wan springs up from his chair like he's been electrocuted. His fist swings at Jango's head as he turns to face the threat. The man ducks quickly and raises his hands in surrender.

"Hey, hey, hey, easy now. It's alright Red. it's just me. I'm not going to hurt you Obi'ika," Jango says soothingly, his face apologetic.

"I- I- I-" the boy struggles to get himself under control, chest heaving with harsh breathing. "I'm fine. Sorry. You- you just startled me a little, that's all." He looks apologetic himself.

The hair thing, kriff, right. Jango tends to be mindful of his actions around Obi-wan when he wants to be affectionate, but he… he forgot now. He forgot. As if Obi-wan was just some random teen without baggage, but he isn't. Worse still for how recently the three mercenaries had come on board and subjected him again to the demons of his captivity.

Obi-wan's fingers are shaking, he's not okay, and he wasn't just startled, but Jango doesn't know what the hell this dragged up. They could pick from his years with Kyr'tsad from an array of reasons for this reaction to have been so strong.

Sometimes the boy will tell him little things that happened to him then. Why Death Watch had dragged him around from place to place, passing him around between different camps like a lucky chip. What he did to pass his time when unbothered by the warriors. What he observed around him. But those moments of insight are far and few between.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jango offers, not reaching out to give any sort of comfort, it isn't what the kid needs right now.

Obi-wan laughs incredulously, almost in a glittering manner. Almost bordering on hysterical.

"Okay," Jango nods, accepting, "but if you do want to talk about it, you know where to find me."

The teen nods, mellowing down at the man's own calm manner. Red looks exhausted again.

"I… I feel the words here," he gestures a finger up and down his throat, "but… sometimes I don't feel like they'll ever come out, you know?"

Jango nods, he does know very well. It's been a surprise to him in all honesty, just how much Obi-wan is willing to share with him about what happened to him. it's like the boy needs to get the things that happened to him out from within himself to be free of the horrors. Most people who go through krak like that seldom will themselves to bring those things to the surface. These are things to keep inside and close to one's heart, these are hurts to nurse and stew upon. Jango would know, that is the way he's done it for as long as he's had hurts to hide. But not Obi-wan. It's like the boy needs to get it out, to give it shape so he can… what? Let go? The Mando almost scoffs at the thought. One doesn't just "let go" of these sorts of experiences, it's like a stain that you can never clean away from your heart and soul.

And then, as if to prove him right, the redhead, whose stare sticks to the ground in heavy thought, begins speaking in a quiet voice.

"There was… someone… He used to…" he goes silent for a moment, but he gathers himself, eyes still on the floor. "He used to touch my hair a lot. Gently, like that." Obi-wan's body is held tightly in place like it's been welded to the metal floor.

"I'm going to lay down a bit," the teen announces without looking up at Jango, leaving the room promptly.

Jango swallows, alone in the common room. His mind pulls unwillingly at other instances, other moments of terror he's witnessed on Obi-Wan. He's not drawing conclusions. He's not.

·~·~·~·

Obi-wan's sunny side starts returning eventually, in small bursts and moments in between his blue moods. It's a wonderful surprise when one night cycle Jango finds himself animatedly discussing with Obi-wan upon the most forbidden of topics.

"That is such nonsense! Jedi and Mandalorians are essentially the same!" Red almost shouts at him. Shouts in his quiet way that's not really a shout.

"We are not!" Jango points angrily at ginger's face, taking real offense to that statement. Obi-wan, not at all disturbed by the gesture, swats away the finger with an unimpressed expression.

"We have more things in common than the usual planetary cultures do!" Obi-wan pushes the issue like a little scholar.

"That is osik! You've been shooting spice, Red. What are you even talking about?" Jango is outraged but also mystified by this seemingly insane piece of statement. That is a sentence that shouldn't even make sense to be spoken, nor should it be allowed to be spoken.

"Listen to me. Listen. I've thought about it a lot," the teen says animately.

"You are not right in the head, kid." The Mando chuckles despite himself.

"Listen," Obi-wan insists. "We're both from pseudo-warrior societies where the hailing of the young is one of the most important pillars. More than born into it we grow into these lifes! Anyone can be a Jedi just as well as anyone can be a Mandalorian, within our specific parameters of course," he says as if it's the simplest thing on earth.

"I wouldn't call what you guys do taking care of the young," Jango chortles into his cup as he takes a sip and muses on the things Obi-wan had listed.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" There's an angry frown on the boy's brow. Jango knows he's dug himself into a hole but he's not backtracking, it's true.

"Nothing," well maybe he is backtracking a little.

"No. Say it. What do you think we are? Oh, you great pillar of morality," he says with false reverence.

"…Baby stealers." It is only by sheer force of will that Jango does not mumble these words.

"And what would you call what Mandalorians do?" Obi-wan asks peeved, but there's also a mischievous note in his voice, as if he's got the Mandalorian cornered.

"Adoption, you nerf herder!" The man shouts, almost in disbelief at how insulted one can get in one single conversation.

"You take kids from their families and indoctrinate them in your ways, raising them by a new creed. The only difference between us is that we don't kill the families we take the children from! And we let our people keep their culture and return to it if they want to."

Jango shouts a sound of protest but Obi-wan doesn't let him get a word in.

"And besides, it's not like we take babies by force. All the children that end up in the temple are given consensually," the ginger says self-satisfied. "Force! A third of our younglings are not even wanted by their families."

"What do you mean?" Jango's healthy amount of animosity at the current discussion gets swept away by that statement. He is confused as these words have not quite gathered sense in his mind.

"People… they don't like having force-sensitive children Jango," Obi-wan says calmly, reading the mans face. "They find what these younglings can do… unnatural. Just like most of the galaxy does the Jedi. It's," the teen looks for what words would be right to say in a moment like this, "I suppose it's hard to love something that is so different."

"The babies you take are… unwanted?" Jango asks almost frazzled by the fact, uncomprehending. He's so taken aback by what Obi-wan is saying that he hasn't even seen himself in that statement yet, 'it's hard to love something so different.'

"Not all, of course, but a lot of them, yes," the boy nods as he tucks into the last bits of his meal.

The Mandalorian lets the natural lull of the conversation be, hesitating a second before putting his buzzing thoughts into words.

"Where you..?" The question hangs in the air. Jango is unable to finish it.

"Ah," Obi-wan exclaims with a put-on easiness. Underneath it though, lurks a measure of discomfort. "Stewjoni don't like force sensitives a lot. The ones that do grow up on the planet become heavily ostracized from their communities. Sometimes Stewjoni think the best thing they can do is kill their force sensitives before they can reach any sort of maturity."

"That is disgusting!" Jango barks revolted.

Obi-wan offers him a little sad smile that makes the Mandalorian's stomach sink.

"Did your family-?" He doesn't know why he needs to know, why he can't keep these questions to himself, for they can only be a painful thing for Red to recall.

"Yeah," Obi-wan answers quietly, "but it's okay, I've made peace with it," he says sincerely with a small pull up from his lips. "And… I do think my mother was doing it from a place of love, however misjudged it might've been."

"You call yourself Stewjoni?" Jango asks a little nauseated.

"I am Jedi before I am anything else, but… I am also Stewjoni. We do not renounce the places that birthed us," Red tells him softly, almost as if it was he who wanted to comfort Jango.

"But you don't have to be," Jango blurts in. Other, more dangerous words just burning at the base of his throat. "You don't have to be Stewjoni." 'You could be… something else,' he doesn't say.

"Thank you Jango," the teen smiles kindly, "but I really don't mind. It's just a part of my history and I don't begrudge it."

Jango knows that would never be on Mandalore. If the kid wanted it, he could leave behind his disgusting heritage and proclaim himself Mandalorian, no more Stewjoni. A perfectly clean slate. But Jango keeps the burning words in his mouth, the boy's own words resonating inside his mind, Jetii first and foremost.

"But have you seen it Jango? Stewjon?" The redhead's blue gray eyes are alight with wonder.

"No, I haven't," Jango sighs quietly, comforted by the teen's eagerness to share.

"It's so beautiful and green. The seas are very cold though."

"Been much back there?" And he doesn't say home now, like he would've before. Stewjon is not Obi-wan's home, it does not deserve him.

"Just twice. As Jedi we are offered the choice to return to our cultures, see if it is something we might want to carry with us and make a part of ourselves."

"And did you?" Jango asks, trying not to sound too intense about it.

"No." Red shakes his head, a fond smile on his lips, as if he can read all of the Mando's intentions like an invisible book. "It's beautiful but… but it's not for me."

His words give Jango a small bit of relief and he smiles back at the ginger, comforted by the mere simplicity of existing in the same space as his little Jetii. Two lonely stars orbiting one another in the dark of the galaxy. Just like The Fury. Just as it should be.

·~·~·~·

"What do you know about lightsabers Jango?" Obi-wan asks one day out of the blue.

The dark haired man looks up from the blaster he's been fiddling with, caught off guard by the question. He always tries to listen attentively to whatever the kid wants to share about his life, he learned quickly he has to treasure those moments after the cooking mess between them happened. It was back when the boy was only just opening up and slowly getting words out like shy flowers at the cusp of spring. There's always been a silent agreement between them though; Jango never asks for more. No details, no explanations of things. No nothing. They both know the questions would feel too heavily charged, Obi-wan knows who Jango is to his people, what he could do with delicate information like that of lightsabers. Who knows what such things could be used for?

So it catches him off guard because lightsabers seem like quite the topic that would fall into the 'don't ask' category. He braces himself, elbows on the metal of the table, he threads carefully.

"They can… cut through almost anything and ah… I imagine they're made of some sort of light source as per the name," Jango answers casually. "Plasma beam maybe?"

Obi-wan hums a small sound of agreement. From where the teen sits on the other side of the table he can see the cockpit and its view, his eyes are somewhere in a nothing point out in the blackness of space.

"Do you know how they're made?" Jango narrows his eyes, this feels like he's being set up, but he can't imagine what or why the ginger would set him up for, it's not like him. So he treads carefully, but answers truthful.

"Only that there's so kind of crystal inside… Kyber right?" He knows the answer to that, but he doesn't want to seem too confident about it.

"Yes, Kyber," Obi-wan says with an undercurrent of reverence. 'Beskar' Jango thinks instinctually. "They are really precious to the Jedi, you know? They are… they're not alive per se, they can't really think. Of course not, that would be silly. But… they are alive, in a way… Sentient," he whispers the last part to himself but the man hears it all the same.

Jango doesn't understand it, and it sounds like spiritual garbage to him, like a lot of things Obi-wan has to say about the Jetiise or the Force. It does not make them garbage though, if he's learned anything from his time with the boy. There's truth there.

But sentience thought? Sentient rocks. Fairytales more like.

"When…" Obi-wan swallows. "When we are young we have to find a crystal for our swords. We go to a sacred place, a desolate maze, and there, on our own, we have to wait to be called."

"Called?" Jango frowns and Red nods.

"There are billions of crystals on a planet like Ilium Jango, but only one will call to us. Kyber calls to the Jedi, it's like a song." He finally looks at the man, eyes full of something more than what the Mando can discern. "We are connected. There's a thread- something, connecting the Jedi with their crystals."

It sounds demented and fantastical, but again, most of what the Force lets the Jetiise do seems that way too, but that doesn't mean it's untrue. When Obi-wan tells him something Jango must believe. So he pushes back his instinctual disbelief and listens as openly as he can.

"What is it like?" The words escape Jango without him meaning to. The truth is, he does want to know. It's… fascinating. Even he can admit that to himself. And it's no wonder really, fairytales are meant to be that way after all. "Being called by the crystals," the Mando specifies.

"It's like…" the ginger looks down at his hands in thought. "Like I didn't know I had misplaced a bit of my soul somewhere, but when I found it I felt… right, complete."

Jango beings to feel a measure of apprehension. Obi-wan doesn't have a lightsaber, this is not a good story that he's telling.

"A Kyber is the heart of the blade, it gives it life. Without the crystal a lightsaber is nothing. Like a crystal is to a blade, so are the lightsabers to the Jedi."

'Beskar,' Jango can't help both think again as a silence extends between them. He gives the teen time and does not press for more of this tale. After a while Obi-wan takes in a deceptively calm breath.

"When…" Red's voice is quiet and soft. "When I was with Death Watch, they… they took away my lightsaber and…" The teen holds his own hands tightly over the table in a self-soothing gesture. "And then took a Beskar knife to the hilt until they managed to pry it open." The redhead takes in a deep breath and slumps his shoulders as he lets it go.

"They- they- They took out the crystal." Water pools in the teen's eyes and it falls down one of his cheeks. "You- you're- No one's supposed to touch it without permission. It's- it's sacred." He takes in a shaky breath.

"Do- do- do you know just how hard is to break a Kyber crystal, Jango?" The Mandalorian says nothing, pinned down by the intensity of the youth's eyes when he turns to him. He shakes his head no, and Obi-wan whispers harshly, venomously, "very."

They are quiet for a while again. Jango doesn't know if the kid will keep talking, but he doesn't want to start doing anything else in case his apparent disinterest stops the little Jetii from saying more. He keeps still, waiting, patient.

"They dismantled my lightsaber, hacking at the hilt until it was just twisted pieces of metal and they… They took my Kyber and they…" More tears fall down his cheeks. "They broke it." The ginger takes in a wet breath.

"I felt…" Obi-wan grabs at the fabric over his chest. "It cried for me when they broke it and I couldn't do anything. I was… I wasn't in the same room when it happened, but it didn't matter. I felt when it died." The teen sobs in a contained manner, like he's holding all of his emotions in a tight grip within himself.

Jango scoots closer to the edge of the bench and offers his hand over the metal table where the boy can reach it if he wants to. The Mandalorian smiles grimly when the teen takes it, blue gray eyes diverted.

"It felt as if my heart had broken, even… even with the collar on, I still felt it." He sighs shakily and brushes away the tears with the back of his hand.

"Anyway," he swallows, "I think it took them more effort than it was worth," the boy comments surprisingly controlled, inspecting the fingernails of his free hand. "They must've been at it for weeks I imagine. The moment it happened they came to me, one of them… one of them had taken off his helmet, he looked so pleased."

Obi-wan extends his open palm to Jango as if offering something.

"'We thought you might like to have it back,' they said. And let it fall to the ground," the teen tips his hand absentminded and watches something fall from it that is not there. "I wasn't very coherent at the time though, everything felt… hazy."

Jango can't stand the dead look on the kid's face, the misery and sadness that oozes from him. He squeezes his hand harder and Obi-wan's grey eyes lift up to him. The man pulls at the ginger's hand to himself, making the kid get up so he can be tugged to sit on the wall bench beside Jango. It's very evident what the Mandalorian intends, so it would be easy for the teen to stop the action if he wanted to. But Obi-wan lets himself be pulled to the other seat and then to the man's chest where he is held in the comfort of strong and sturdy arms.

"Oh, no. I don't- I don't want to cry anymore," the teen mumbles with a wavering wet laugh.

"It's okay if you do though," Jango says, tracing circles with his palm on the boy's back and shoulder. When did he get so good at this? When did he remember how to be human and what others need to be comforted? The Mandalorian could only guess Obi-wan just brought out the best in him. Made him alive again

"I think I still feel it sometimes… The- the moment it happened I mean. Like phantom pain on my chest," Obi-wan sighs. "A couple of days later they tried to take away the shards but I wouldn't give them up. They broke two of my fingers to pry them away."

The ginger extends his left hand in the air between them to show Jango that it has two slightly crooked fingers. The Mandalorian feels the second the anger flares up in him like a furnace and the boy flinches away; he's prepared to let go but Obi-wan settles again slowly against him.

Jango takes a deep breath and tries mimicking the kid's slow meditative breathing until his anger is only simmering and not threatening to spread like wildfire.

"I guess they wanted some sort of… trophy," Obi-wan comments, trying to sound nonchalant but Jango can't fathom why when it's pretty clear this conversation is anything to the kid but unimportant.

"I… This is going to sound weird," Obi-wan says after a moment of silence, his voice so different a mood from what it was before the man almost gets whiplash from it. "But it's strange… getting hugs after so long… It's weird."

Well, that solves one thing Jango had been wondering about. The Jetiise, didn't in fact, neglect their children's need for physical affection.

"Bad weird?" He asks, but the teen shrugs, not making an effort to pull away, which Jango takes for an 'okay' on the current situation. "Well, if you ever don't want a hug or are uncomfortable with something, you only need to tell me okay?

The boy nods against his chest and after a bit they untangle, Red cleaning his face from tears again.

"You're-" the teen chuckles. "Thank you Jango, you're too good to me," he says abashedly.

The Mandalorian gets an uncomfortable lump in his throat, for the story, for that last comment, he doesn't know. 'Too good?' He doesn't think he's doing anything extraordinary but he also doesn't know how to tell that to the kid. 'He's been too long at the hands of people who hate him,' he think pained.

"My pleasure," it's the only thing he can make himself say, forcing his smile to be relaxed, and not very sure of his success.

The teen gets his legs up to the bench and leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He's tired, again. He sighs.

"I think that's why I'm scared of returning to the temple," Obi-wan mumbles and it freezes Jango on the spot.

They've… they've never talked about this. Jango doesn't want them to talk about this. He doesn't want to think of Obi-wan leaving, of The Fury alone, of the boy returning to the Jetiise. He-

He's ready to say, 'you don't have to go back if it scares you. You'll never have to see them again if you don't want to,' but the ginger manages to speak first.

"I'm afraid to talk of what happened there. I'm afraid to… realize how much I missed or how much everyone's moved forward without me. How far back I've fallen. My friends…" He sighs, it's the last thing he says on the matter, and Jango as well, keeps himself quiet but inside his mind is screaming, 'stay, stay, stay, stay.'

He can't bring himself to say it though.

Chapter Text

The topic of returning to the Jedi temple doesn't get mentioned again, which Jango is grateful for. He's content to remain an oblivious bastard despite the constant itch at the back of his head, 'returning to the temple,' the words reverberated around his skull like a bad migraine. But from these things he turns away.

For his part Obi-wan looks good, lighter, despite the light sadness that permeates all things the boy says and does. One could even pretend that sadness is not even there if they tried a little. Slowly but steadily the heaviness on the Jetii's shoulders from his encounter with the mercenaries recedes.

Life is good. For both of them.

Lately Obi-wan has even begun to venture out of The Fury into the markets they visit. On his own and without being stuck to Jango like a tick too! The first time the teen had gone on his own Jango had threatened to tape a small gun to his hand if the kid didn't willingly carry a blaster with him when he went on his own. 'You take a blaster or you take a blaster,' the Mando had said, not budging an inch. Obi-wan had glared at Jango through the whole discussion with a burning intensity but the man hadn't cared. When he returned to the ship he'd had a hyper-alert look in his eyes until a few hours after what should've been a quiet walk. All in all though, Red seemed fine, if not a little jittery from the amount of people.

Now, they are once more in need of fuel and supplies, mostly more raw ingredients for cooking, they've got plenty of ration bars on board. The kid might also be getting cabin fever so they definitely need a break from The Fury, even if Red doesn't say so. Jango is so tempted to shake the little cretin something mighty because he could've easily told him how uncomfortable the enclosed space was making him before the man had to realize it on his own when Obi-wan wouldn't stop pacing and began climbing over the cargo hold crates. 'No Jango, I wasn't making acrobatics,' my shebs.

They land on a nice port, it's a bit more on the rural side than the more industrial places they're used to. The day is sunny and the air that comes in when they lower the ramp is fresh with the purity that comes from being so close to nature, despite the many landed vessels.

Jango pays the port master and they head to the market where the rich smell of spices and the musk of crowds assaults them. The place is full life with merchants and movement wherever the eye can see.

They go their separate ways for a while, according to meet back at The Fury. Obi-wan promises to com if anything's wrong but Jango frowns at the back of the teen's head as the ginger walks away, unsure if he should believe such promises. Probably not knowing the little Jetii. Still, it's nice getting their own space after breathing each other's air for weeks on end, no matter if they've docked before.

Jango takes his time, unhurried as he chooses foods he's familiar with and a couple of fruits and vegetables he's not. Red likes trying out new things and the Mando is happy to oblige when he remembers.

He hums to himself thoughtfully when he realizes he's enjoying himself in his tranquility. He'd not been that way for a long time. His years of slavery had drained him of too many niceties. He just… Jango hadn't been happy, per se, he hadn't been much of anything before Obi-wan came along. It was just the life of Bounty Hunting and revenge when the opportunity presented itself. It's a sad realization, it makes him wonder if maybe there is something he ought to be doing for himself, something to be more than he is. What joy is to be found by merely existing?

He moves away from the food stuff to stalls with weapons and trinkets, he eyes the knickknacks for a bit but doesn't look for anything specific. It's just nice, to see things because he's curious. He chuckles under his breath. Look at him, enjoying himself unprompted and without ulterior motives, no mission, no bounty, just walking around by himself because he enjoys it.

Jango looks at a couple more things before he's ready to move to the next stall when a brief shine of light in one of the basins catches his eye. It's a small blue crystal between an array of colorful rocks and synthetic plastics. He grabs it between his digits and lifts it up. It's kind of small and sad looking despite the initial twinkle that had drawn him to it, the color seems dull somehow, even though it's the brightest amongst the things in the bowl.

"You like it?" Asks the middle-aged woman behind the stall, a wrinkly smile on her face.

Jango makes an uninterested hum because it's not really his thing, he does not put it back though.

"It's kyber," the woman comments, looking intently at him.

His dark eyes flash at her somewhat wary.

"Really?" He says with heavy amusement, not really believing her.

"'Tis true, I know it." She rests her head upon her dark brown hand, lifting her eyebrows in acknowledgment at a passing merchant who waves to her. Jango wonders at the validity of her words when she doesn't insist again.

He lifts an eyebrow of his own at her and returns his eyes to the crystal. He turns it this way and that, the thing is soft blue, though it gains a purplish tint when he looks at it at a certain angle. It's like a flower he remembers from Mandalore but he can't recall which name it bore.

The crystal does have its own sort of internal glow, Jango notices when he cups his hands and hides it from the sun. Kyber do that… right? Glow?

A measure of dread pools inside his stomach mixed with exasperation at himself when he feels the next question bubbling up his throat.

"How much is it?"

He had thought in passing that he could maybe go to one of the kyber planets to get one for Obi-wan but he'd immediately rejected the idea as soon as it popped into his head. This seems too good a luck to be true, which means it probably is and this isn't a Jetii crystal at all.

"Seven hundred credits." A price to which Jango immediately frowns at.

"Now that's robbery," he says.

"It's not robbery, kyber are precious," the woman replies with an almost mischievous smile, but not enough for Jango to know if it's intentional or not.

"How about-"

"I'm not bargaining Mandalorian." She gives him a pointed, cool look, before returning to her business on her datapad.

He groans, massaging his forehead.

"How do I even know if this is really Kyber?" He challenges, waving the little crystal in front of her. Jango could be getting scammed for all he knows.

"Guess you'll just have to take my word for it," she replies in a bored tone.

Oh, he's definitely getting scammed.

He closes his eyes and lifts his head to the sky almost pleadingly. He takes a breath and curses the woman under his breath.

"If you want me to raise the price I'd be happy to oblige," she snips and Jango clicks his teeth together. He takes in another frustrated breath. He lifts the crystal to eye level.

It really is a sad looking thing. He can't quite put it into words but it's almost like it's old. Jango twirls it around a bit to let it catch the sun. One of the little reflections catches his eye and he has to hold in the urge to rub at it in front of the woman, lest she get any more ideas to laugh at him.

The image of Obi-wan, smiling, comes to his mind as he blinks away the light in his eye. It's one of his rare, large and genuine smiles, like there's a whole part of him just waiting to jump out of his body and exist. He shuts his eyes tight and squeezes in his hand around the crystal until the edges dig painfully into his skin through his glove.

This really could be just some other random kind of glowing rock for all he knows. Kriff.

"Ugh, fine," he groans.

The woman drops her datapad on the stand and stands up with a self pleased smile.

"Excellent, that'll be seven-hundred credits young man."

If the intensity of his glare were any stronger he's sure she'd be crispy, smoking toast. He says nothing though. He's being scammed, he knows it. Despite this certainty, he's still going through with it. Jango is pissed at the merchant, but he's more pissed at himself, he should know better by now.

The Mandalorian glares the whole way through the transaction as he watches his credits disappear before his eyes. Likewise, the woman smiles.

·~·~·~·

The vendor had not even had the decency of giving him a paper bag for the damned rock. Jango stews on this little fact and the very idea of him getting scammed as he walks back to The Fury. He's seen enough for today, and Obi-wan might get a migraine from the crowds soon. Red's been doing better on that front actually; Jango's just hoping he has one so they can leave this insufferable place faster.

He lowers the ramp to his ship and decides to wait for the boy there. He sits down on the slant and enjoys the gentle heat of this planet's small sun. He lets his irritation cool down as he observes his environment. There really aren't all that many people docked so there's a modicum of imaginary privacy as well.

Almost forty minutes later Obi-wan returns with flustered cheeks by the sun and a relaxed demeanor. Jango's glad, despite his earlier wishes, so very adaptable when given the chance, his little field mouse.

"Hey Red, how were the crowds?" he asks the teen.

"Good enough," Obi-wan says simply, but he looks pleased with himself if a little tired. He carries a little bag with some kind of fruit Jango's sure he's never seen and he places it gently beside himself when he sits by the man's side.

The Mandalorian is tempted to ruffle the boy's hair but refrains, instead, he fingers out from one of his pouches the small crystal.

"I bought you something," he doesn't say he's not sure if it's actually kyber, nor that he just hopes that it is and that Obi-wan will know if it is. Jango just hopes for the best as he extends his hand, "here."

Obi-wan opens his palm and tan fingers deposit the crystal there. The teen gives a very slight jump at the contact, but his eyes stare wide at the object.

"I know your crystal was special, and there's probably no replacing something like that, but I thought… Ah, well, I don't know what I thought," Jango says lamely, like it was nothing, like it hadn't just cost him a small fortune.

The kid's long reddish hair frames his face but doesn't hide it, in the sun it makes his locks look a little golden. Jango sees and hears the exact second he takes in a shaky breath.

"Red'ika?" He asks at once, concerned. Maybe this was a big violation or some sort of blasphemy he just committed, oh krak. "I hope I didn't overstep or-"

"No, no," Obi-wan answers quickly, whipping away at a tear rolling down his face. "No, it's okay. Don't worry. It's…" he sighs waveringly. "It's perfect," he offers Jango a small, sad smile, but so genuine.

They stare at it for a bit, Obi-wan inspecting every facet of it like he can discern its history if he looks carefully enough.

"It's so sad," the ginger comments.

"What is?" The man asks a little confused.

"The crystal," the casual answer it's almost insulting to Jango on a level of principle. He knew it was very sad looking of course, but the kid didn't need to say it like that.

Obi-wan lift's his eyes up at him and chuckles lightly, telling at his mood either by his face or the Force.

"Well, not like that! Inside I mean," he brushes one of his birdlike fingers over the translucent surface. "It feels sad."

The man settles and makes a curious noise at the pathetic thing. Okay, he can also admit it's pretty sad looking, that wasn't even in question.

"Is that a bad thing?" He wonders.

"Hm, not really. It just means it has suffered. The person it was connected to before probably died," the ginger tells him simply.

"It knows that?" Jango asks, slightly bewildered.

"I told you, they are sentient to a certain extent. A bond goes both ways after all."

Jango observes the kid then, who gets so enthralled by the kyber that he seems to have spaced out for a moment. Obi-wan closes his eyes and the man has the distinct impression that something he's not aware of is happening right now. The words escape him almost without proper thought.

"How does it feel Obi'ika?" He whispers, unwilling to break the teen's concentration.

The boy hums a bit, thinking, eyes still closed.

"Quiet… subdued, but there." Red takes a moment more then opens his blue gray eyes to look wondrously at his palm. "It's sad… like me," he says it like he can't quite believe it, like it's a revelation. Another tear rolls down his cheek but he doesn't bother about it.

The teen closes his palm and presses it against his chest. He turns to Jango and smiles endearingly.

"Thank you," he says quietly, but full of emotion, "I love it."

"It was nothing," is what he answers, not even surprised by the fact that he means it wholeheartedly.

There's something a little mischievous about Obi-wan's eyes, like he knows it isn't true, but the boy just nods.

"Quite lucky that I looked to where I did actually. It's so small I could've easily passed by," Jango comments casually.

"Hm, there's no such thing as luck," Red says enigmatically, though the man is sure it's not a purposeful thing. His eyes get a little wet with tears again and it makes Jango sigh tiredly.

'Kriffing Jetiise, and their krak magic,' he thinks and loops his arm around the kid's shoulders. Obi-wan leans slightly towards him without hesitation or flinch. 'Worth it though.'

·~·~·~·

It takes him a long while to get it, definitely longer than it should've. He's a smart man, he can connect the dots easier than some, but he's quite certain that his hatred and general disdain for the Jetii played a large role in how long he took to figure it out. A purposefully oblivious bastard indeed.

It just… irks him so much. Hearing about order this, temple that, master this. Jango's brain just refused to wire correctly. When the kid says order he can only picture a government body, when he says temple it sounds only like a cult- he's not yet convinced that the Jetiise aren't a cult, but that's beside the point,- when the boy says master so lovingly and reverently Jango can only hear slaver.

And he'd seen that before, slaves so lacking of anything else in their lives that they looked for whatever scraps of affection they could find from their masters. Shells of what they used to be.

It is disgusting and it makes him physically ill to think about it.

So yeah, it takes him a long time, more so because he'd been so adamantly refusing to listen to what Red was saying. But… Jango's a smart man, and it is only so long before he can, metaphorically speaking, keep covering his ears and obnoxiously shouting over the teen.

Temple is what clues him in, it is said so tenderly and longingly. It's in how Red describes its beauty; long towering walls of white marvel and gardens with plants from every planet imaginable. Temple is where his friends are and his teachers and his caretakers. Temple is where he dreams himself to be at night.

The Jetii temple is home.

The realization comes softly to him, like a gentle wind.

Jango doesn't think he's ever in his life tried so hard not to resent something. Especially something he didn't really like. Still, he tries.

·~·~·~·

"Will you be able to use it eventually? For a sword I mean." Jango asks as he watches the kid painstakingly carefully tie a cord around the kyber crystal securely enough so it won't slip. "I remember you said the crystals have to choose their Jetii."

"They do but…" Obi-wan reddens a little on the cheeks. "You know how I said it was sad?"

"Mhm," Jango nods, taking a sip from his cup of caf.

"And that I was also sad?" The ginger seems to be avoiding his eyes a little.

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, that's what… what's what made the kyber connect with me. I think so, anyway. I think… it felt the sadness in me, recognized it as something it also had within itself and… Well, it is mine now. We're bonded." He smiles down at the sad little thing in his hand.

"No such thing as luck, hm?" Jango repeats the Jetii's words and Obi-wan smiles at him somewhat mischievously, knowing.

"Only the Force," the teen says very quietly. Perhaps hoping the Mandalorian doesn't hear.

Falling on the kid's chest tied with sturdy string, the crystal already looks slightly brighter than when Jango had bought it a few days ago. Which is… interesting. But possibly more Jedi osik as per usual. It makes him think of fairy tales and for once, at least in such context, the thought of the Jetiise and their magic doesn't fill him with dread.

Despite the redhead's own words about his own persistent sadness, Obi-wan smiles at him like a sun. There's so much in his eyes that Jango can't hope to pull apart, so much hidden from him but so clear to see. It's bright and anticipating, but he's not sure what for.

Hope maybe.

The anticipation of hope.

But most of all the young Jetii looks at him like Jango himself placed the stars upon the sky. Where before he'd felt pride at being held in such regard, now he feels a nervous edge. For it seems to him perhaps something misguided for the teen to place such amount of trust in him. Oh, yes. That was it too, what shone in the boy's blue gray eyes.

Obi-wan trusted him.

Gladness and the feeling of being undeserving filled him. He smiled back at the ginger.

·~·~·~·

Jango is having a nightmare.

There's no particular way to discern this, after all, the man is perfectly still as he sleeps; his breathing even and uninterrupted. No one would ever think there was something wrong.

Obi-wan isn't a normal person though, he knows. He can feel his friend's distress permeating the air around them through the Force, it fills him with such hopelessness and terrible anguish his body almost buzzes with it. Oh, Obi-wan is already so very familiar with all of these feelings, they are known to him in an intimate way, known in a way that feels wrong but settles so nicely inside of him. Familiar.

The ginger lies in his own bed, woken from slumber by the man's distress and unable to go back to sleep. His eyes are wide awake and he stares at the uninteresting metal ceiling over him, thinking about maybe approaching Jango to offer him some sort of comfort or to wake him up. This is not the first night this has happened, but he's never been very inclined to move himself to action. Fear of seeming like an intrusion to the other stopping the teen in his tracks. But… things between the Jedi and the Mandalorian change every day, most of them for good and towards better things. On this, Obi-wan thinks.

It is pain now that flares up in Jango, it resonates deeply within Obi-wan as it breezes through his light shielding. A tear slides down the corner of his eye, understanding down to his bones the emotions that haunt Jango and he can't… he can't stand doing nothing anymore.

He sighs harshly and gets up from bed as quietly as he can. He crouches beside the man's bed, unwilling to bother him too much. Jango's eyes move beneath his lids, it's the only thing that betrays his troubled dreaming; his face is set in a hard but restful expression.

Obi-wan closes his eyes and remembers long ago taught lessons about offering your peace to others, about connection with your crechemates, and compassion for all those who suffer without solace. It's been so long since he's done this, and his own pain, one that never strays far from him, flares up like a light. He pushes gently away at the memories in him like one does errant children looking for attention, he needs to concentrate now.

Obi-wan extends the part of himself that is more than his body, that which is the universe connecting everything and everyone together, all interwoven like the finest of fabrics. He lets that part of himself reach Jango's mind and he thinks and feels and hopes it'll be enough for the man.

'Be at peace.'

'You're safe.'

'Everything will be okay.'

The teen doesn't think he's managed to be this calm and focused during meditation in ages, but he is, and the fact alone almost wills him into a smile; because can there be anything more beautiful than his soul quieting down to help another in need? He doesn't think so.

This is one of the things he loves most about being a Jedi. Having the power to help others.

With this action Obi-wan lets himself go as he projects. Peace, safety, security.

·~·~·~·

Jango dreams.

He dreams familiar sights of heartbreak and torture. The last of his aliit, lost all at once in the span of a breath. The salver cracking the whip against his back like lightning. Jaster's empty helmet in his hands.

His grief is so overpowering that it consumes him from the inside until it turns into anger and he can't tell where his pain ends and he starts. He reminds himself the difference doesn't really matter these days.

He despairs and despairs and despairs as he is lost to the wills of his grief and then his anger, over and over like a wheel that never stops its turning.

He feels something… off. He's not certain what it is. But it's not an unfamiliar feeling. It's like… a tendril of water, so subtle it is almost without feeling, but  there  nonetheless.

Something uncoils inside him and his dreams begin to change, they become softer around the edges, less harsh than he expected them to be. His anger is mellowing, like a fire cooling down. He stands in the snow but it's beautiful and unmarred, there is no red staining it nor bodies anywhere. Jaster's helmet's in his hands but he's smiling, his father has been looking for it for an hour now so sure of where he last left it.

He feels at peace, this thing invading his senses is so calm. He… knows this, he does. He's just not sure where he knows it from.

He almost feels his muscles wanting to relax; it's hard having such peaceful dreams like these, he's not quite used to them. He's so sure he knows this odd feeling, it's-

Jango's eyes snap open and he pounces in less than it takes for his mind to adapt to his surroundings at the presence before him. He hears the head of his assailant bang against the floor and he raises his fist to rain a righteous fury over whomever dared to attack him while he slept.

"Jango!" He barely manages to diverge his fist as it flies down. His knuckles grace Red's forehead but it's child's play compared to what could've happened. He would've destroyed the kid's face.

"What do you think you're doing?!" He shouts infuriated, his heart pounding in his chest so fast he almost can't breathe from adrenalin and anger, which is not really anger at all, it's fear. "What do you think you were doing inside my head Obi-wan?!" He shakes him a little by the collar, but not violently, even though he feels that very violence running through his veins like fire.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just wanted to help, I'm so sorry," the boy, just like him, is so frightened he's trembling under Jango, he says 'I'm sorry,' like a prayer to a vengeful god and repeats it over and over until the words begin blurring together.

Clarity slowly starts returning to Jango. His breathing slows down, his brain adjusting to waking up and the darkness of the room, and the situation currently at hand. He stops pressing down on the kid's chest like he's a treat and jumps away as if Obi-wan is burning him.

Now that he can, the teen curls up in a tight ball, repeating his apology like if he says it enough he won't be hurt for his actions.

"Why-" The Mandalorian takes in a breath. "Why would you even try to do that?" He asks mortified of what he could've done to the boy, his anger at the teen's actions is still there, but it's so overshadowed by emotions of worry for his change that it almost seems unimportant for a moment. "Red, I could've hurt you. What if I hadn't realized it was you? What then? Why would you ever think whatever you were doing was a good idea? And I don't even what to get started with whatever you were doing in my head," he hisses the last part viciously. Jango can't help it, he remembers the touch of a Jetii inside his head clearly, it's something so present in his mind he wonders why he took so long to notice what was going on. His fists and stomach are burning, he feels like beating up someone to a pulp like a basic need.

"I am sorry, I didn't think you'd wake up," the redhead whispers after he's gathered himself a bit.

Anger flares up in Jango like wildfire and Obi-wan curls tighter, his body betraying the expectation of a kick or a punch.

"I- I- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please. I swear I was just trying to help, I didn't think you were going to wake up. I don- I- " The boy is losing the tenuous thread of his words to his fear.

Jango takes in a shaky breath. He looks at the boy trembling with uncontrolled terror. The man's emotions drain away from his mind and body, leaving behind only lax limbs and a painful ache in his chest at the sight of the ginger.

"Red, I'm not going to hurt you," his voice begs, exhausted.

Obi-wan is still locked within his fear. And despite Jangos anger, despite his fury at whatever the boy was doing, he can't help himself when he grabs the teen under the armpits and drags his upper body to his lap.

"Come here," he says with a grunt.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sosorrysorry," the kid babbles, flinching at the man's touch and the feel of two arms circling around him. "I won't do it again, I promise, please."

"Sssh, ssh," Jango murmurs as he rubs slow circles behind the kid's back.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Obi-wan begins to realize there is no real danger as his own senses begin returning to him, clarity shining a light over his fear addled brain. Once the thought of danger has left the realm of possibilities, the kid slumps like a puppet without strings, breathing raggedly but finally taking in full gulps of air.

"I'm sorry," he says clearly, one more time.

"Shut up," Jango says not nicely at all, yet he is not unkind. "Are you okay, Red?"

The ginger takes one more shaky intake of air and nods against the man's chest.

"You're mad," Obi-wan states and the Mandalorian can't help but scoff at that. "You're very mad at me." A shiver runs through the ginger's thin body.

"I… won't say I'm not, but… Red I'm not going to hurt you okay? I need you to tell me you understand that. I am mad. I'm really mad, but I care more that you're okay. You are my priority Obi'ika, okay?" The boy nods smally. "Now tell me you understand."

"Yes. I understand," Obi-wan repeats quietly, leaving Jango unsure of how true the kid's statement is. It'll have to be enough for now.

"Before I let my anger get the better of me, I need you to explain to me what were you doing." A moment ago he had already decided he wasn't going to discuss this with the boy right now, but kriff it, he is still rattled by the whole thing and it seems his mouth doesn't want to wait.

"I-"

"In terms that I can understand," Jango cuts him off, not in a mood to hear about Jetii gibberish.

"You were having a bad dream, you… were in pain and afraid... I felt it." Obi-wan says quietly.

"That's not an explanation of what you were doing," there's a bit of an edge to his words, he's having a very hard time trying to keep his temper in check. But when the boy's shoulders tense in his arms he soothes him again. "It's okay," he whispers quietly.

"There's this thing we can do," the ginger doesn't have to specify what it is or how they are, it's perfectly clear to both of them. "We can share our emotions with others, help them reach a particular state. Wh-what I did was- you were in distress so I projected peace to you. An-and you began to feel that peace."

"You were manipulating me," he asks, but not really.

Two of the Jetii are pressing into him with their invisible force, they say 'sleep', 'sleep', and he's so dizzy he stumbles from exhaustion and it scares him because there's still so many Jetiise he has to deal with and he can't afford to lose now. The fear of losing control is terrifying all on its own. Another neck snaps beneath his fingers.

"Nononono," the boy says in a rush, feeling the spike of anger in the Force. "See, if I had a cookie and I shoved it into your face that would be forcing you to eat it, but if I offer it to you and you take it and eat it, that's sharing."

"What are you talking about?" Jango asks with an incredulous frown.

"I'm trying to explain what I did!" Obi-wan shouts quietly, nerves frizzled still. "I shared my emotions with you."

"Well, I didn't want them, and you just said that was forcing," he growls right back, but without much real spite.

They sit in the quiet dark for a while, Jango leaning against the bed in the wall and Obi-wan still tiredly laying half on the floor and half on his lap.

"I thought… Well, you have helped me before… with bad dreams I mean." He sneaks a quick look at Jango's face but diverts his eyes quickly when he sees the man looking at him. "And I… I just wanted to return the favor. That's all… I'm really sorry Jango, I… I suppose I just wasn't thinking."

The Mando sighs, just as tired as the teen.

"Come on," he pulls Obi-wan up, there are small residues of his nervous trembling, but they're almost gone now. "I'm sorry too," Jango says quietly, sheltering the teen under his arm, rubbing the boy's bicep a little. "For shouting and the hit." He gestures at the small blooming bruise on the boy's temple. "Come on, a hot drink will do us both some good."

Obi-wan nods quietly against him. Jango can feel him relax under his half embrace. Well what a pare of poor excuses for sentient beings they make.

An hour later, both exhausted even after drinking some scalding caf to warm up, Jango looks at the Jetii's blue gray eyes more seriously than he's ever looked at him before.

"Don't ever do that again, okay?" He says.

"I won't, I promise," Obi-wan lowers his eyes.

Jango can care about many things for Red's sake, but this is not one of them. Whatever significance it might have, he does not care to know or understand. But whatever fear might want to rear its ugly hair within him on the subject Jango will not stand for it. Whatever Obi-wan is he does not mean bad and he does not deserve his fear.

And it is true. In this, the man is content to know he is a master of himself, for he remains unafraid of the boy he cares so much about. Eventually, they sleep again.

Chapter Text

Jango is in pursuit of a new bounty. He creeps through the overgrown forests of the planet; the thick greenery is good cover as well as a pesky hindrance for the sheer abundance of plants that there are. He is patient though, and good at his job, so he carefully combs through the forest floor as his helmet scans for oddities in the terrain or large heat signatures close around. A branch slaps him on the visor and he does his best not to growl. He likes this place less and less with every passing moment.

He's been tailing his bounty's trail for a couple of days now before arriving at this green menace, a Nautolan described to him by his contractor as positively unhinged, whatever that is supposed to mean. His contractor wasn't a wholesome pot by any measures himself.

And…

There.

The Mandalorian takes a breath, preparing for the hunt. He can see his bounty walking steadily through the scope of his long-range blaster, he zooms in on the target. The Nautolan turns Jango's way, dark eyes widening with realization, the Mando pulls the trigger.

"Kriff," he mumbles and hurries after his fleeing prey. The chase is on.

The Nautolan man is faster and more agile than him, but Jango has the advantage of being well prepared. And having a jetpack is quite the nifty advantage in his opinion.

The forest becomes even more unbearable throughout the persecution, Jango's bounty jumping and running up and down and through thigh squeezes and branches in spite of his large build. The Mando looks at the terrain through his holo map and notes with some pleasure that the ruins he looked at before landing are close by. With a plan in mind, Jango begins guiding the Nautolan with carefully direct blaster bolts that will herd his prey to his desired location, once they reach the ruins he'll have his bounty cornered.

After some more running, the Mandalorian evades yet another small bomb and wonders if that's this guy's only move. They finally reach the ruins. It is old work made of stone and overwhelmed by the creeping nature around it. Jango shoots to the Nautolan's left, forcing him to go up the stairs of the ruin and up toward the main level. Jango runs into the roofed platform, it probably made a lovely terrace back in its prime but now it decays. Every crumbled stone corner and rusted metal and rotting wood.

Now on even ground Jango shoots again, barely missing one of the Nautolan's tendrils as his bounty turns to look at him and ducks down. The bolt blasts against the pillar behind the humanoid, making stone explode from the column. Jango has to duck himself when his enemy retaliates by shooting at his head. Better safe than sorry even if he's wearing his helmet.

The Mandalorian prepares to counter-attack and his concentration on the hunt keeps him from paying much attention to the heavy groaning of the ancient structure. He fires his blaster and tilts to the side when the Nautolan chucks an explosive at him. A boom goes off. Above him there is a groaning whine like old metal giving under strain. Jango has his eyes on his prey, it's a perfect shot.

Something breaks loose in the ceiling.

·~·~·~·

The planet is beautiful. It's lush with overgrown bushes with wildflowers, and trees crowned with oversized leaves. Birds sing strange songs and loudly pepper around the area The Fury has been parked and hidden in.

While Jango is out tracking his bounty, Obi-wan explores. He spends a couple of hours peeking around strange colored leaves and following the will of the Force towards strong trees and hidden creatures in the underbrush. After being forced to suffer Mandalor's barely alive grounds since before he was captured, the young Jedi has a newfound appreciation for such natural sceneries as this one. Green, green, green is everywhere he sees. Green and life, brimming from every crevice of the planet. It's terribly lovely, especially when one is connected to the things outside one's own body, when one is more than only crude matter. Obi-wan knows his master would love it.

His step falters imperceptibly at the thought. An aching pang goes through his chest and the natural scenery around loses some of its alluring appeal. He sighs but takes in a deep breath. Obi-wan lets the melancholy wash over him and flood him and fill him until his eyes prickle. Then he breathes out and attempts to let the feeling go away as best as he can. It's not much, but it is something.

The young Jedi peers at small flowers and picks up a couple. He thinks of his friends as he braids the delicate stems together, friends he cannot see nor gift anything that he makes. A while later he finds a nice spot, half shaded by a tree but streaming with rays of light. There he lies down and breathes for a while until he's almost asleep. Upon his chest he holds the flowery bracelet with his hand as he feels the heat of this system's sun warm him. For a while the ginger tethers at the edge between wakefulness and slumber.

Blue gray eyes shoot open. A bell-like feeling rings inside Obi-wan. Danger, it says.

He bolts up looking around. The threat is not here though, danger lies elsewhere beyond the glade he finds himself in. Fear wells up inside of him, consuming him. Obi-wan lets this corrosive feeling pass through him and then he sighs out steadily. After a moment he stands up and grabs the small blaster Jango had gifted him- and had jokingly threatened violence if he did not carry with him when he went out of the ship- he has nothing else.

Obi-wan does not give himself time to think lest his fear come back to him stronger than before. He rushes through the greenery and towards the feeling. He doesn't know what's wrong, all he knows is that Jango is in trouble and he must help him.

·~·~·~·

When the dust settles down and Jango begins to recover from the hit to his head he realizes his shooting hand is empty and he can't find his blaster when he reaches around. His view of the world is also worryingly unobstructed. Where in the world is his helmet?

He half remembers what seems like seconds ago- or minutes, he's not really sure- the startled laugh of the Nautolan and being confused as to what could possibly be so funny. He knows now.

His bounty walks over the pieces of rubble littering about, slightly feline in his movements. The Nautolan smiles at Jango and it's dangerous and mocking. He has the Mando trapped on the floor and they're both very aware of the fact.

"What do you think they'll give me for your head, hm? I know there are a lot of people out there who would reeeelly like a piece of your dead corpse. Maybe I could make some profit out of chopping you up?" He grins wider, like the situation is completely hilarious. "I'll distribute you throughout the galaxy, maybe settle somewhere nice and give up crime." He laughs again, it'd be a charming sound if Jango were not currently in the situation he was in.

"Oh! Maybe- maybe I can set up a shop and have paid sessions so each person could extract a bit of revenge on you, now that'd be business. After all that is done we could get to the bit of chopping you up and selling you in bits," he waves a hand in the air absentmindedly. "Or perhaps my clients could take souvenirs off of you, I'd charge extra for that of course, how does that sound?"

Jango presses his lips in displeasure instead of deigning that with an answer. He feels desperation creeping up on him, that fight or flight response that has kept him alive all these years. And to him it's never a choice, there is only fight. But he's trapped under a huge metal beam, he can see where the Nautolan took and dumped his helmet, weapons, and equipment far away from his reach. The kriffer cut up his belt, the kraking son of a bantha.

But worst of all is how truly, absolutely trapped he is right now. Half of his body is pinned into motionlessness, pain shooting up his body in waves and the blasted Nautolan dangles a blaster so close to his face and yet Jango cannot hope to take it for himself. Any moment now his instinct to fight might turn into true desperation and then fear. He can't allow that.

"First though, I want to have my own fun with you," the Nautolan's cheer transmutes into something dangerous as he crouches before the Mandalorian. "I think that's the least you owe me for chasing me around like a farm animal," his black eyes are dangerous as he stares down at Jango like he's dung under his boot.

"I don't know about you, but I really am into the whole exploding of things," he grins again charmingly as he holds up one of his small bombs. Jango glares, defiant even while trapped, but he gulps. Oh Ka'ar, he's in so much trouble right now.

"Say… I think it'd be pretty fun if I make you swallow one of these," he turns between his fingers the small round. "It won't kill you, at least, not immediately. You'll be coughing up blood for hours," he smiles all teeth and presses the small bomb against Jango's lips while the Mando tries pushing away his bounty's arm. The humanoid laughs.

A bolt shoots through the air right into the Nautolan's shoulder, he howls in pain and turns ireful eyes at the shooter.

'Oh no,' Jango thinks as dread creeps up on him. He turns his head as far as he can and lightning shoots through half of his body, pooling like molten heat in the area of his ribs. His assumption though is horrifyingly correct. It's Red, it's Red.

"Aim for his head!" He shouts, he needs the kid to survive and there's only one way for that to happen because Jango can't help him right now. But Obi-wan doesn't shoot, of course he doesn't, kraking Jetii.

The Nautolan springs to his feet and rushes towards the ginger. Obi-wan stumbles back a couple of steps, still aiming but not pulling the trigger.

"Shoot him Red!" He orders, letting the anger seep into his voice in the hopes he can fright the Jetii into action.

His bounty jumps from the platform and pouches on the teen. They tumble out of Jango's sight and his only inkling as to what is happening is the 'oomph' he hears pulled from Obi-wan upon impact. The Mando listens to the array of sounds that paint a picture for him to decipher. A fist upon flesh. The grunts of struggling. Leaves and branches rustling and breaking in the wake of their frenzied brawl, all wild limbs and desperate punches.

One of the Nautolan's bombs goes off and Red howls a sharp scream. The sounds of struggle continue. A blaster bolt. A hard hit.

Then nothing.

There are no more sounds. Jango strains himself to listen but he can't hear anything more. Just the loud whining of the insects and birds of the planet.

"Ob- Obi-wan?" He asks short of breath as his heart runs at a mad speed inside his chest. There's no answer. "Obi-wan! Kid, answer me!"

He waits a moment. Nothing.

Jango can't breathe. He can't breathe and he can't move to do something or go check so he can just know. He-

A rustle of leaves intrudes upon his spiraling thoughts. Then heavy panting. Jango turns his head as far as it goes, ignoring the excruciating pain stabbing at his insides. He needs to see.

A hand slaps down on the rock platform, then another. Both pale and slim. Birdlike hands. A mop of tousled ginger hair peaks from the edge of the rock as a teen begins to pull himself up.

"Oh, thank the Ka'ar," Jango sighs out with religious relief. This is of course a terrible mistake as his chest burns with every other movement he makes, let alone ones like this one He grunts, but he's not yet deterred. "Obi'ika, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I am okay," the teen says shakily. He's breathing harshly, but he seems all right enough. The teen is bruised and scraped- his clothes slightly scorched on his lower left side from the explosive- but nothing that some bacta and rest can't heal.

"You're okay," Jango breathes out, still thanking this solitary fact like the miracle it is.

Obi-wan stands up on shaky legs and rushes to the Mando's side.

"You're- you're not okay," the teen says in a strained voice at the sight of Jango pinned under the heavy beam.

"Don't worry, I think it's just my ribs. The rest is… I think it's just the rubble that's not letting me move, nothing major," the man says honestly though he's trying hard to comfort the troubled-looking boy, breathing is getting harder by the minute though.

"Don- don't worry? Don't worry?" Obi-wan is looking incredulously at him while his Coruscanty accent comes barreling through stronger than it was a moment before. "Jango I don't know if you've noticed, but you're stuck under a very large, very heavy, piece of metal. It's just your ribs? Ah, then surely you must be made of something stronger than the rest of us poor mortal beings. That really is nothing to worry about. Good job!"

'Snarky little bastard,' Jango chuckles mentally.

"You can lift it off of me, it's fine," he breathes out.

"No I can't!" Obi-wan's eyes widen, suddenly looking very cornered by these believed misplaced expectations.

"You can do it," the man says with calm certainty. "You can do anything you set your mind to Obi-wan."

The teen suddenly stills. He looks at Jango as if he's never seen him before or maybe like he's seeing someone else. Whatever the reason, this spoken trust in his abilities quiets his erratic behavior. His brow furrows in poorly hidden distress but at last he looks at the object on top of the Mandalorian in actual, if doubtful, consideration.

"It's… it's very heavy Jango," Obi-wan says quietly. Scared. "My control is nowhere near this good. I… I'm not even sure I could lift it in the best of circumstances." And silently the boy considers how it's only by the Force's grace that the beam hadn't crushed Jango under its weight when it came down.

"What do you need?" The Mandalorian asks calmly.

"You can't help me," the teen shakes his head with solemn sincerity, even if he is taking the situation more seriously now.

"What do you need?" Jango insists, a steady presence in the face of the young Jetii's uncertainty. The boy is quiet for a moment, his eyes downcast. Blue-greys look up at Jango, serious and considering.

"I need to meditate," he says at last. It is a simple statement but it carries much.

"That's easy, you do it all the time," Jango tells him encouragingly.

"You see me trying all the time, that doesn't mean I'm actually successful Jango. I- I can barely focus anymore," he reveals in a shameful whisper, "it's so hard. Every time I try it- it slips from me. And even when I do manage, it is not enough. I can't center myself. I'm- I'm scared all the time, I-"

"Let me help," Jango interrupts, his free hand reaching towards Obi-wan's tightly held ones and holding onto his shaking fingers. "You can do this," Jango's brown eyes bare into his, "let me help."

There is a pregnant pause between them.

"Okay," Obi-wan pauses. "Okay, okay. I can do this," he whispers to himself.

"Tell me what you need me to do," the Mandalorian says.

"I… I can't find peace on my own, not if we want to get you out of here before you die," an edge of nervousness creeps into the teen's voice. "But if you lent it to me, if you let me anchor myself to your own peace maybe… maybe I can do it." He looks steadily into Jango's eyes despite his uncertainty. What he means needs not to be said, they are both well aware of what implications come from Obi-wan's words. It is as much of a statement as it is a query for permission.

Jango nods, not even thinking about it, and readies himself mentally for what some nights ago he made the boy swear he would never do again.

"Tell me what I need to do, with as much detail as you can," the man grunts, trying to keep controlled how much of his pain and discomfort is displayed on his face.

Obi-wan looks at Jango worriedly, not fooled by his efforts. The teen changes his position to a sitting kneel, he closes his eyes then and takes in a slow deep breath. He is quiet for a moment, considering.

"I need you to think of the most peaceful moment in your life. Perhaps… whatever has always brought you comfort. I need you to concentrate hard on it, let it be the only thing that you can think of. And I know it might be hard right now but try and see if you can even out your breathing."

The Mandalorian doesn't question him and does as the ginger asks. It's hard, he can feel his ribs shifting in place with every breath he takes, but this is not the first time he's had to work under immense discomfort.

"Once you've got it I'm going to reach out to you, in here," Obi-wan taps his own head as he looks Jango straight in the eye, being as clear as he can be. The man doesn't allow any of his doubt to show though he's sure the kid can feel it. "Do you remember what I said? That night you were having a nightmare and I tried to help? I was trying to give you of my own serenity. Now, you're not trained, so you're not doing that, but when you feel me… When you feel me inside your head you have to do your best not to resist, okay?" He says this very softly and gently, like Jango is a child and not the other way around.

The Mando nods, already tense.

"If you resist me I won't be able to touch whatever peace you may reach," the ginger further explains.

"And then?" Jango asks.

"Then…" Obi-wan takes in a deep breath. "Then I'm going to ask you to under no circumstances try and talk to me or get my attention. If… If I manage to lift the beam," and he says it very finally, like that if is a huge neon sign painted red. "You have to get away from under there as fast as you can, okay? If I manage to do this I can't help you while I try to keep the beam up. It's all on you."

"I'll do my part Red, don't worry about that, just concentrate on what you need to do." And with this the Mandalorian can feel himself again pushing away at his tension and preconceived ideas. This is Obi-wan, he trusts him so much. This is Obi-wan trusting him right back.

"Now breathe slowly," the teen says. "Immerse yourself in whatever moment you've chosen, you're there, you're not here. What do you see?" Obi-wan places his hand on Jango's arm when the man tries to speak. "Don't tell me, it's for you. Breath Jango."

And almost unconsciously the Mandalorian begins mimicking his charge's steady breathing patterns. In… Out… In- A sharp stab of pain rushes up through his body. Out… He gathers himself again, pushing past the aches and into whatever tranquility he might be able to pull from within himself.

And to think this was the one thing he was set on he would never try to understand for Obi-wan's sake. The one thing. Jango breathes and lets Obi-wan's quiet, soothing voice lead him elsewhere.

In… Out… In…. Out….

His mind's eye conjures up the mirage of Jaster in his full armor. It glimmers in the heat of midday and the sun that shines over the deserted backdrop. Jango is not surprised yet the image of Jaster always hurts as much as it comforts. He stands tall and mighty as Jango observes him from afar, eyes full of reverence and love. Jaster Mereel is an untouchable figure of legend, forever preserved in pristine glory inside his memory.

And then this hero from myth turns towards Jango and walks to where he sits on a dead, toppled tree. His father sits beside him and takes off his helmet, he smiles crookedly and calls him 'son'. If always truth, it was not something that was always spoken out loud. But int needn't be, Jango knew, Jaster made sure Jango always knew who he was to him.

Jango has no memory of the conversation but his father's voice warms his insides like a campfire, stronger than the heat of the sun above them. Jango breaths. He is at peace.

"I'm going to reach out now," Obi-wan announces for the bounty hunter's benefit.

Jango recognizes the feeling of his mind being touched, his calm instantly loses potency and his muscles tense up slightly.

"It's just me, Jango. It's just me," the boy says quietly.

The Mandalorian makes a conscious effort to lower his guard. It's only Obi-wan. Only Obi-wan. His little field mouse. Red. A sarcastic menace hidden behind pain and suffering. A shining sun all of his own when the clouds part.

Jango lets him in.

For a moment he thinks he sees Obi-wan there with him, with Jaster.

"This is my father," he tells the boy with a smile, or at least he thinks he does.

And what was an unpleasant feeling that makes him recoil to remember, is something so completely different. Obi-wan's touch is light upon Jango's mind, he feels illuminated for a moment as his walls are lowered and he allows the teen to touch upon his peace, his tranquility. And he thinks, in the daze of true tranquility, Obi-wan being here brings him peace too. He hasn't been at peace for so long, but then Obi-wan came into his life, or well, one could say just the opposite. It doesn't matter though. The young Jetii really is like a little sun as he connects with Jango, the Mando's peace suddenly increases tenfold as Obi-wan settles in the touch upon his mind.

For his part, Obi-wan breathes and lets the borrowed feeling flood him. The tension and pain of his own body leave him as the Force takes them for a while, giving him respite. 'Let me do this,' he pleads to it knowing it will not answer him, but just like the Kyber, he knows deep in his soul there is something sentient about the Force.

Obi-wan lifts.

Jango gasps painfully, suddenly able to draw in actual intakes of full breath. It's excruciating. He does his best to keep quiet and keep at the mental exercise of the memory while he tries to wiggle around his limbs. It's not enough to get out yet, but the half of his body that had been buried had mobility again. He's struck with sharp relief but quickly concentrates again on the mental task, not knowing if his wandering mind might affect Obi-wan's own concentration.

The Mandalorian marvels though, as slowly, bit by bit, the incredibly heavy metal goes up and up and up. Millimeter by millimeter. He chances a look at the teen, he's breathing harshly too, his arms extended before him as if he's gripping the rubble with his very hands. Obi-wan trembles, truly exerted. A tear rolls down his cheek, the shaking of his arms getting worse by the second. Huffing and puffing for breath. The beam lifts about two inches above Jango.

Now. He can do it now.

Jango wriggles out from underneath the structure, biting his lip bloody to muffle the scream that wants to burst from within him. He shuffles his body out, but his right foot is still stuck beneath a piece of rubble unconnected to the beam, therefore Obi-wan does not have his concentration on lifting it up. Oh, Manda.

The man spares a quick look to the struggling boy, who's holding incredibly well under the circumstances, but Jango doesn't know how much longer the Jetii will last. He braces himself, anchoring his body to a heavy chunk of roof close by, hugging himself to it. Then he yanks out his stuck foot and he screams, sure he's torn something.

When his blurry sight settles, the waves of agony lessening their intensity, he realizes Obi-wan is still lifting the beam up, unaware that the threat has passed. Jango looks at the teen, pale and scrawny and still weak from being chained and mistreated for so long. The Mandalorian is in awe of him.

"Obi-wan," he calls to the ginger, "Obi'ika you did you. You can stop now, you did it." Jango smiles, exhilarated by the rush of danger and the adrenaline of pain and sweet victory. He places a hand on the teen's shoulder when his calling goes unnoticed. The beam collapses down with a thunderous crash and Obi-wan comes back in a fright, eyes wild and looking at where Jango's body was meant to be.

"You did it," Jango says again with a smile. Obi-wan whips the whole of his body to look at him, he sighs out harshly and grins, half crazy with relief. Breathing like he's just run a marathon.

"You're okay," the teen says and Jango laughs, he's really not okay but he gets it.

It is an excellent moment, he decides, to promptly pass out.

·~·~·~·

The way back to The Fury is agonizing to everyone involved. While Jango is passed out Obi-wan tries carrying him back, it works as well as expected so he then tries dragging him, which works better but it's still a hassle and not ideal. He thanks the Force the Mando is passed out, sure that if he weren't he'd be screaming his head off, even though Obi-wan's trying to be as gentle as he possibly can be. The ginger tries lifting Jango with the Force afterward, emboldened by his miraculous use of it an hour ago. He is, unsurprisingly, exhausted, and moving Jango in any delicate manner is more exertion than it's worth.

Obi-wan agonizes about leaving the man alone, but in the end, he comes to the conclusion that he really has no better choice. He hides Jango in the thicket, he does this so well in fact that if he were not Force sensitive he'd be scared he wouldn't be able to find the man again. Luckily for everyone involved, the Force is with him.

He returns with the hoverlift they have for crates an hour and some later. The journey back to The Fury through the forest is still a hassle, Obi-wan has to carefully maneuver the hoverlift up and down the greenery, sometimes even forcing his way through, but they make it in the end.

When Jango wakes up he doesn't feel like the pain is trying to pull him towards an early grave anymore and Obi-wan hovers over him like a fussy mama loth-cat, taking care of visible scrapes and bruises. The man chuckles at this, which is a mistake. Painkillers or not, laughing is not on the menu right now. Once he gets his bearings back, Obi-wan is looking at him with a serious set of gray eyes.

"You have to go to a med center," the ginger says like a proclaimed doom.

Jango sighs carefully.

"Kriff," he says softly. He knows they have to go. He doesn't have to like it though. Jango closes his eyes for a moment, trying to get whatever sort of rest he can from the action. "Wait," he tries to spring to a sit but an electric shock of pain sends him right back down.

"What? What? What is it?" Obi-wan asks, panicked.

"Where is the bounty?" Jango asks, already berating himself for half assing the job and leaving Obi-wan in danger, the Nautolan could've attacked the teen at any moment. But a blank look suddenly sets on the ginger's face, which shuts the Mandalorian up immediately.

"He's in the cargohold," Obi-wan admits, "I went back for him and tied him up but I couldn't get him into the containment cell. I don't know the code numbers." He says this almost as if it's a personal failing.

Jango looks at the teen for a long while. He laughs then, it hurts like a gundark stampede, but he can't help it.

·~·~·~·

Obi-wan has to fly them to the med center. It's a slightly rattling experience for Jango no matter how many times the teen insists he actually knows how to fly. He's not a bad flier by any stretch, but it's the fact that he's never seen Obi-wan fly his ship before or just seen him fly anything at all. It's the principle of the matter. It's all made slightly worse because the Mando has to remain laying on his back in his room while his ship takes off without his supervision. If this were any other 14, 15, 16, 17 year old he'd be crawling through the floors in an effort to stop the takeoff.

In the midst of his slight, not panic mind you, it's concern, thank you very much, Jango stops for a moment to think about that. How old even is Obi-wan? He looks quite young sometimes and others not so, despite the fact that he calls him kid, he never acts the part. He'll ask Obi-wan once he's not delirious with pain and also not worrying about his ship.

They get there all right, even if the landing is a little sloppy. Jango gets a good long soak in a bacta tank and proper treatment for all the damage the beam and ruble made.

There's a very kind twi'lek orderly, if a little intrusive, that keeps trying to check on Obi-wan's past injuries after he gets an accidental glimpse of his extensive scarring. The ginger escapes and refutes him at every turn but his no-nonsense attitude sprinkled with soft kindness reminds him terribly much of healer Che, so much so he's almost inclined to succumb. He doesn't.

The ginger looks after Jango while he's unconscious in the tank at his request. This, Obi-wan perfectly understands. He would not want to be in a stranger's hands while he's unconscious either.

On their last night there, not as high as he'd been the precious days with pain meds, Jango remembers.

"Hey, how old are you Red?" He asks, a little sleepy, quite tired, and sore for days to come.

The teen blinks a couple of times as if processing the question, then subtly tries looking around for something near them but gives up.

"How- Do you know what date it is?" Obi-wan asks hesitantly. The Mando sighs but gives him the date and the year as well for good measure. He's not really surprised. Time it seems, is just another thing that has been stolen from the boy.

"I should be… sixteen?" He says doubtfully. "Yeah, sixteen, my birthday was two months ago.

"Kiff," Jango mumbles, "we missed your birthday kid."

"Yeah, I guess we did," Obi-wan says quietly with an odd look on his face.

They leave as soon as they're able, Jango will not suffer being at the mercy of others for longer than he has to.

·~·~·~·

Obi-wan joins Jango when the Mando goes out of The Fury to drop off his bounty. The Nautolan glares at the ginger the whole walk to the town and it almost makes the teen regret leaving the ship in the first place. But Jango had decided that gaging his bounty was perfectly reasonable when the humanoid would not stop hissing ugly things at his charge, both metaphorically and literally.

They reach a seedy part of town where Jango throws his offering to the ground like a sack of tubers and an equally seedy-looking Quarren thanks the Mando for his 'Perfectly done job, like nothing else he's seen, truly masterful, yes, yes.' Obi-wan does not care for the flowery things the contractor is spewing so he decides to look around for something, anything at all that is not petty little men going after other petty little people. He notes how grim that thought is and has a moment of regret for himself. He would not have been so callous before, not so quick to turn away even from 'petty little sentients'.

So Obi-wan looks around to distract himself. Despite the poor aspect of the place, life goes on even in this shadowy part of town. He can see working people and busy mothers buying what's needed for lunch. A couple of friends smiling at the end of the street. Small lights shining in the darkness. It comforts him.

His eyes catch on a small twi'lek not very far away, she can't be older than 13 or 14 years of age. She dresses modestly in a long sleeved top and a skirt that goes down past her knees, but her belly button is displayed as is the fashion of many of her people.

A human man is leaning over her, not overtly so, but his presence impedes any sort of gracious retreat the girl could make. He talks to her with a charming, easy smile and Obi-wan can see how uncomfortable the twi'lek is.

The ginger's face sets in quiet displeasure. There's also something very angry, and very unlike him, lurking beneath his skin.

"Excuse me," the teen says so quietly Jango does not notice him leaving as he continues talking business with his contractor.

"Hello," Obi-wan says shortly as he steps rudely between the man and the girl. "Can I help you?"

The man is so baffled by this random, lanky teen, stepping before him that his first reaction is amusement.

"Can I help you?" He returns with a grin. "Out of the way twig, we were talking."

"And now you're done," the ginger's cool eyes don't leave the strangers. Amusement turns into displeasure. A small hand fists in the small of his back, the twi'lek is well aware of the position she'd just been in.

"Boy, didn't your mama tell you not to mess with bigger fish than you? If you want to keep that pretty face you have I suggest you turn back around and walk away," the man says in what is probably meant to be a menacing tone.

"Well, apparently nobody ever taught you when to stop talking to people who clearly don't want you around, so I guess we can't all be winners," Obi-wan glares at him, not moving an inch. His high Coruscanti accent seems to only irritate the man more. The stranger takes a step forward in the already inexistent space between them and grabs the ginger by his loose shirt. This would be a perfect moment for the young twi'lek to run away now that the man is distracted but for some reason she remains pressed against Obi-wan's back and the wall behind her.

"Is there a problem here?" The sound of Jango's voice is like music to Obi-wan's ears.

The already frustrated look on the man's face falls further into anger as he turns to face the new inconvenience. At the sight of the helmeted Mandalorian with a hand resting passively on his blaster he bleaches. The stranger retreats without further word, waking away briskly from a much bigger, much more dangerous fish.

Jango nods at Obi-wan and the girl and sensing something transpiring between them he decides to give them some space.

"I'll wait for you at the diner we saw a couple streets back," he tells the ginger simply. The teen nods at him gratefully and the Mando leaves.

The ginger steps away and small fingers let go of his shirt. A warry looking girl is revealed though there is curiosity there too and a peaking openness.

"Sorry about that," Obi-wan tells the girl after a moment. "I probably made this worse than it probably was," he looks down, a little ashamed of his rash decision. He isn't anyone in this town to be playing knight in shining armor, he doesn't even know if that man is someone she knows or if she could be in danger again once they leave. He's so stupid.

"I-" The girl cuts herself, her face slightly unsure but then her eyes turn steady. "Don't be sorry," she says at last, softly. The Jedi looks up. "People don't really step in when things like this happen, or when anything happens… It's just the way it is I suppose," she shrugs, a little bitter at her own words.

"Yeah," Obi-wan agrees sorrowfully. They both lean back against the wall, quietly thoughtful. "At the risk of digging myself in even more, do you… Do you know what to do if he tries to grab you?" He asks, not daring to look at her.

"Crotch kick?" She giggles.

"Sure," he smiles at her, "a most effective tactic. But not everyone who wishes you wrong is a man or might be susceptible to a… crotch kick, as you say. Most might even expect it."

"Then, what do I do?" A note of honest concern creeps into her tone, her big green eyes looking somewhat pleadingly at Obi-wan who sighs like a weary old man.

"Poke or scratch their eyes out, your nails are long enough I think," he nods down to her hands. "And a good punch to the throat will get anyone out of commission for long enough if you manage to do it right. You don't even have to be that strong."

"But I don't know how to throw a punch," the twi'lek whispers.

Obi-wan smiles at her, even though the whole conversation has left him queasy.

"Well, maybe it's a good thing that I do," he says encouragingly.

·~·~·~·

When the Jetii walks into the diner the palms of his hands are slightly reddened from what he can see and Obi-wan looks a little pleased. Jango does not comment on any of these things. He does, though, invite the boy to have as large a meal as he can stomach. Today is one of Obi-wan's good days, so the meal is rather big.

·~·~·~·

Once they get The Fury up in the air and to outer space. The quiet life aboard the ship resumes. It should feel comforting, this silence, but there's something a little charged about it, a little weighted. It is nothing worrisome however, so Jango does not put too much importance into it, he figures the short encounter with the twi'lek had left Obi-wan thoughtful. The feeling remains until deep into the night cycle.

The day has been long and Jango's ribs are aching, he's healing well but it's not all well again, he must give it time. He sits on the couch of the common room and wonders if he ought to try and read something before going to sleep. Red has rubbed off a little on him with how much he's been reading since he found the small library in the old datapad. His train of thought is stopped however when Obi-wan comes and sits beside him, he looks like he wants, or perhaps more accurately, needs, to say something.

For a while they're quiet and Jango knows to leave this silence alone. He waits patiently, it's always a waiting game with the boy and he does not mind that it is. Jango always gets the best results this way.

After a moment the redhead takes off his boots and draws his knees up and under his chin. He hugs them loosely.

"Do you remember back on Caveerpel when we went to the river?" The redhead asks slowly.

Does he remember? Manda, does he remember. It had felt like a punch back into reality, Jango cannot know how to fix everything that ails Obi-wan. It'd been a humbling and frightening experience.

"Yeah," he answers, not knowing whether he should look at the teen or direct his attention elsewhere so Obi-wan won't feel pressured.

"I think… that I would like to explain what happened and… some other things," Obi-wan looks at his hands and Jango has to swallow. His instinct is to say 'you don't need to say anything,' but quickly realizes that would be more for his own comfort than the Jetii's.

"I'm listening," he says simply.

Silence expands between them as the boy gathers himself. Obi-wan does not begin his story with an explanation. Jango has never wanted to assume, and has wished in fact that wherever his mind might go, whatever his mind might conjure, that it is not true. But they both know by this point. This story does not need setting or context.

"He was nice to me… kind of," Obi-wan begins. "He'd bring me food sometimes when they hadn't fed me enough and would just… He was nice. I think between all the things happening, and everyone else just… being awful and beating me for fun," he says the last thing quietly like he doesn't want to say it. "I guess I just took anything that wasn't that as a sign of kindness. So I liked him because he was nice."

The Fury hums beneath them, a third comforting companion.

"He'd pet my hair sometimes when he passed by me. And it was never harsh." Obi-wan breathes in. "One day we were camped near a river. I'm not sure why they let him take me away from the camp but… He told me it was okay if I wanted to clean myself up and- Of course I wanted to do that, I- I barely hesitated, it'd been months since I had an opportunity to clean up."

Jango breaths as well, keeping his own emotions under control, but his muscles are already tense with anticipation.

"He… he watched me," Obi-wan stiffly. "It was uncomfortable but it made sense, he couldn't have me running away after all, not for a little modesty. When I finished I went to grab my clothes but he- he didn't let me he… He told me to get out of the water and I- I still thought it was to check that I hadn't grabbed a sharp rock or- or something." Obi-wan visibly shudders and Jango squeezes painfully at the side of his thigh out of the teen's view, he does not reach to comfort him.

"It… happened then," the boy sniffs and then sucks in a harsh, wet breath. "Anyway, it only happened a couple of times after," he says as if that wasn't the most horrifying statement Jango has ever heard. "But as I told you, Death Watch liked to pass me between camps to lose the tail of anyone who might be looking for me. So eventually I changed camps again and… well, I didn't see him again after that.

"That's it," Obi-wan says after a moment of silence and turns to look at Jango, his voice unsteady and his eyes to the brim with tears. "That's it," he says a little more angrily, the useless feeling trying to reach for an out. The teen digs his fingernails into his arms, those will bruise later on.

It's then that Obi-wan notices that Jango too has tears in his eyes, even if his face is held in quiet stoicism.

"Are you going to say something?" The ginger asks shakily.

"I don't know what to say, Red," the man replies and the quietness of his own voice reveals his own uncertainty. "I don't think there's anything I can say."

Obi-wan hides his face into his knees and sobs, his thin frame wreaking with the motions.

"Is there something you want to hear?" Jango asks slightly desperate to find a way to comfort Obi-wan, this is something he does not know how to deal with.

"I don't know," the teen wails.

They are both, thoroughly, heartbreakingly lost.

"Is a hug a good idea right now?" Jango inquires, unhopeful, but Obi-wan nods rapidly, just as desperate to receive comfort as Jango is to give it. The Mando quickly loops his arms around the boy and the ginger sobs into his shoulder. He muffles himself with his hands but he's still loud.

A while later, everything is quiet again. Obi-wan pulls away, tears are dry on his red cheeks and he looks drained. Jango holds the kid's hands, he squeezes them with tender sentiment, his heart continues to break for Obi-wan.

"Obi'ika, if it were within my power I would bring back to life all of those demagolka and I would make them suffer tenfold what they did to you. All of them. Their deaths were too merciful. And I would find all the others who ever dared to do you harm. I would not give them mercy," Jango says like an oath. He says that instead of saying, 'I'll look for every last one of them and put them on the ground like they deserve to. I'll make them suffer first. I'll make it last so long they won't remember their names when I'm done with them.' He does not say what he wishes to say, he does not say what he'd tell any other True Mandalorian, he knows it's nothing Obi-wan would want to hear.

The teen chuckles flustered, head bent and eyes a little misty.

"I would never want that," Obi-wan stresses, proving Jango right immediately, though there's a faint smile on his face.

"Well…" Jango makes a pointed look at him. "If it were in my power to bring them back, which it's not, I might consider not dismembering them piece by piece," he says in mock seriousness, they both need it so badly. He then adds with a shrug, "maybe."

"But you don't regret killing them in the first place?" The redhead asks knowingly with a raised eyebrow.

"Ah, well, they deserved it. And anyway, we cannot all be pure shining Jetii like you," Jango squeezes his hands again.

The teen laughs suddenly, placing a hand over his mouth almost chastised at himself. A lone tear escapes his eye as well, the mixture of emotions within him messy by their very nature.

"I shouldn't be laughing, that's terrible."

"It's a little funny." Jango smirks, edging the kid to give in to the feeling.

"It's not, it's just plain terrible," Obi-wan chuckles and wheezes a little despite himself. He places his forehead on Jango's shoulder and huffs. "You are a terrible man, I shouldn't have laughed."

"I'm a Mandalorian," he corrects proudly.

"You- you're a-" Obi-wan chokes on a stifled laugh. "Sorry, my mistake. You are completely right."

"Don't worry Red, happens to the best of us," Jango pulls the boy into a side hug and the ginger's shoulders relax against him.

"I need some sleep," the teen mumbles.

"Yeah, me too." Jango closes his eyes and leans his head back against the couch. They stay like that for a while.

Jango is sure of it now. He's not been this sure about it before, and he's been pretty damn sure for a long while but… After Obi-wan had mentioned the temple he'd frozen, he'd doubted himself. Maybe asking the teen to become part of a clan with him wasn't the right choice. Him, Jango Fett, had chickened. But now, again, he's certain, he's so certain it's the right choice. He's ready to formally ask Obi-wan to become his aliit. And… he's pretty sure Obi-wan's ready for it too.

Red's already family but the thought of making it official fills him with such gladness. He's alive again, like he was before the death of his people. He's alive again and it's all thanks to Obi-wan. And he thinks… he's pretty sure Obi-wan's alive again because of him too. What a perfectly balanced duo they make. A good clan.

Chapter Text

Obi-wan is content. Through the cloud of sorrow that hangs around him and the persistent nightmares and terrors of the last two years, Obi-wan finds that he is happy. It's such a wonderful thing to be aware of. Of course, the fact that he notices his own awareness of the feeling already begins to mellow it down. It's like tasting something sour in your food when you know there shouldn't be such a taste.

Still, his stretches of contentment and tranquility aboard The Fury make him relaxed and more easygoing. He sees himself, of who he used to be at least, in small glimpses here and there the more comfortable he gets.

Obi-wan sits atop of the rudimentary, boxy table, in front of the couch of the common room. On the other side of the room, Jango is preparing a warm drink on the kitchenette, it makes the teen smile.

Then he does it instinctually.

Obi-wan expands his self in the Force. He lets out of his body that which tethers him to everything and everyone else and makes him shine. He projects out his happiness like a beacon and then he waits.

"What's gotten into you?" Jango asks after a while with a bemused smile. And the redhead raises his eyebrows because surely it must be quite clear. "You're smiling a lot," the man points out as if clarifying what he'd meant and-

Oh.

Obi-wan's smile slips from his face, suddenly very aware of what he'd been doing and what he'd been waiting for and expecting. He'd thought-

"Nothing," he says to pacify any worry that may arise in Jango, panting on his lips a ghost of the smile he had a moment ago.

Once the Mandalorian lets it go, so does the teen the upward hold of his mouth. He feels foolish now, expecting something from Jango that the man neither knew, nor understood, nor, Obi-wan suspected, something he would appreciate.

He'd expected… At the projection of his feelings he'd expected acknowledgment. And he did get it, but not in the way he had hoped for. For some incomprehensible reason, Obi-wan thought someone would answer in the Force. Maybe he'd get the gentle squeeze of another or a brush of fondness through the Force. Maybe someone would rise to the occasion and bask in his happiness. But… Obi-wan is not in the Temple and he's not surrounded by other Jedi. It's not been as such for many, many years.

Something like a hole opens up inside the Jedi's chest, something so vast and dark it makes him feel suddenly empty. Vastly so.

In the next moment his blue gray eyes burn with the sting tears as if clouds pooling with water and ready to break down upon the earth.

Obi-wan exhales harshly and cleans his eyes with his back discreetly turned to Jango. At once, angry at himself, he shoves away the feelings inside him, half trying to release them into the Force but not doing it well enough to be even minimally successful.

The ginger boy does his best to forget about his silly little moment and go on with his life. The chasm inside his chest though remains wide open like a hungry black hole.

·~·~·~·

It happens gradually, so gradually at first that Jango almost doesn't notice it happening. But with the days advancing, so does the sinking feeling that something's wrong, even though he can't quite put his finger on what it is at first.

It begins with the slow quieting down of Obi-wan. He keeps Jango company, cooks midday meals, and does light katas every morning while the man works out. But he initiates conversations less and his responses, when they do happen, become simpler and shorter. It doesn't seem like anything all too wrong is happening, Obi-wan gets quiet some days, it's normal, so Jango lets it be and gives Red time.

It finally sinks in one day, at the end of the cycle when Jango lays down to sleep and realizes, just as consciousness begins escaping his grasp, that Obi-wan hadn't said a word all day.

The next morning he tries a little harder to engage with the teen, he starts conversations actively or asks the redhead for his help in whatever excuse he can crop up.

"Hey Red, would you like to spar?" The man asks as he's getting ready to begin his workout.

The teen lowers his arms from the kata, he looks unsure, but in a way that looks like he's not really interested but doesn't know how to turn the offer down.

"Okay," he accepts after a bit and Jango grins at him. They spar slowly and deliberately, Obi-wan's physicality is still pretty poor and it's not a lot of a workout for Jango, but it gets the kid engaged, and they both enjoy it.

"All good Obi'ika?" He asks the heavily breathing teen laying flat on the floor.

The boy chuckles, rolling his eyes but gives the other a thumbs up.

"Oh, perfectly," he says with his thick, fancy Coruscanti accent, offering Jango an almost invisible smile, but there, lighting up his face if only slightly.

"Come up, little Jetii," Jango pulls the ginger up by the arm and lands a heavy pat on his back in a playful manner as he pushes the youth to the sonic, the boy huffing out a puff of air. "You stink."

The boy stands still, caught off guard by that throwback of one of their first 'conversations', it's so unexpected that the boy laughs.

"Kriff you," the ginger says with emphasis, and oh Manda, that's the first time he's ever heard the kid curse.

"What is this disrespect I'm hearing?" Jango asks in fake offense and then scoffs. "And I thought you Jetiise were all about respecting your elders ."

The teen looks ready to rebuke him but he stutters, not saying anything in the end. He walks towards the sonic. Jango is satisfied enough that he believes the boy just didn't have a good enough comeback and retreat was the best option. For surely, he must've imagined it when he thought he saw Obi-wan's face fall for a moment there.

The next day moves on as per usual and Jango thinks, 'the kid was just a little down.' Obi-wan is a little quiet but he's talking again, it lifts Jango's spirits for it seems they're back to normality.

But the day that follows it is like Obi-wan got right on track wherever he had originally been heading. He's mellow, subdued, and if Jango hadn't spent so much time around the teen talking about Force krak, he would've thought he'd imagined it when he looks at the Kyber hanging over the kid's chest and notices the glow seems somewhat diminished.

The Mandalorian has to accept it, something is not right at all, and there are a lot of things cluing him in on this for him to ignore.

Jango bides his time and takes in a breath once he's got Red where he wants him. They sit in the cockpit of The Fury, quietly contemplating the stars as they roll away.

"Kid, what's wrong?" He wastes no time beating around the bush. He can tell Obi-wan is listening by the subtle tension of his muscles, but the boy doesn't acknowledge him. "Red, I know something's been bothering you, please tell me. You can trust me with these things, remember?"

The ginger continues to ignore him, but Jango offers up his palm for the other to take. It suspends there, in the space between them for a while.

And Obi-wan doesn't… he doesn't take his hand.

This has never happened before, not even when they barely had known each other and the teen had just begun to trust him.

After a very long and uncomfortable time passes, Jango takes back his hand awkwardly, feeling off balance and unsure. The Mando is preparing to get himself out of this situation but Obi-wan beats him to it, standing up and walking away like a quiet ghost.

"If you change your mind I'll be here," he throws back without turning. He says and does nothing more on the matter, trusting that his patience will be rewarded like it always is when he gives the teen his space.

Obi-wan, despite being a deeply troubled individual, is actually quite sweet-natured and easy to connect to. When Jango offered, the boy usually accepted. Despite his many, many problems, the teen had never thrown a well-earned tantrum or anything of the like. That Obi-wan is ignoring him like this makes Jango remember that he is actually very lacking in his social skills and just because getting Obi-wan out of his shell has been relatively easy, it didn't mean it had been the normal response of someone who had gone through what Red had.

The Mandalorian sighs in trepidation.

Things get worse on the days that follow.

·~·~·~·

The Fury is unnaturally silent. Jango is not used to it anymore, and he hates it. He hates this quiet place so much, this dark, still place, which lacks life and warmth and so much more. He hates it so much that the feeling of it almost oozes from his skin. Red is a thin, quiet ghost that just so happens to share a living space with the Jango.

And Obi-wan… Obi-wan says nothing. He stops doing katas or following Jango around or doing much of anything at all. And the Mandalorian tries, he tries really hard to get the kid to talk to him, to get him out of his dark shell, but more often than not all the ginger will do is turn his head away from Jango, almost as if he can not bear to face him.

Jango begins feeling the stretch of days as if trapped in a very long and very distorted deja vu. Obi-wan… the boy has stopped eating. Like with everything else, it happens in little increments until it is glaringly obvious that the teen is barely touching his food. He begins looking gaunt, the underside of his eyes bruised from lack of sleep. He doesn't fight Jango on the cooking matter once the man takes over. He doesn't do much of anything at all really.

The Mandalorian doesn't know what to do, his anxiety so strong he sometimes imagines he can feel it gnawing at his skin. He's a man of action, he must do something, he must do anything, but nothing has worked and things are not getting better.

Jango wakes up one morning and is struck by a thought. 'I'm alone.' it's not true of course, Obi-wan is on the ship with him. But this is how he always used to feel before the kid came into his life. It never used to bother him, being alone, it was just a part of life and he was content to be that way. At least he thought that's how he felt before he had a taste of actual life again. Now loneliness seems like an unbearable poison. But it's nothing compared to the pit of despair that being unable to help Red gives him.

·~·~·~·

Jango finds Obi-wan in bed one day, laying on his side and quietly sobbing to himself, the sounds are soul wrenching despite how privately they are kept and made. His heart breaks at the sight, he doesn't know what to do. He wishes Jaster was with him, guiding him, being a shoulder he can lean on, but there's no one left. Only the two of them. Jedi and Mandalorian.

"Oh, Red," Jango kneels in front of the teen's bed. The boy does not respond to him, he can see Obi-wan holding very tightly to the Kyber on the string, clutching it to his chest.

Jango stands decidedly. The teen's breath hitches when the Mando wraps one arm over his trembling shoulders, circling the other around his head and lifting him up a little. He sits on the bed and arranges Obi-wan until the boy's upper half is cradled to his chest. The redhead doesn't reject him, instead, he buries his face to the crook of his neck, sobbing even harder than before, and holds onto the fabric of his clothes for dear life.

There's nothing Jango can say, he doesn't know what's wrong, he can't fix this, there is nothing to fix. So he leans against the corner of the bunk and holds Obi-wan as best as he can. From the distant past inside his mind, farther than his slaving years, farther than Jaster and the True Mandalorians, farther even than the death of his first family. From this place Jango pulls at a blurry almost gone memory, his mother, cradling him like a precious treasure, he pulls at the tenderness of this fading memory and tries to replicate his mother in this moment. Jango rocks Obi-wan, and buries his face in his reddish locks. There's nothing more he can do.

They stay like that, in the darkness of the room, The Fury humming beneath them. The poor, pathetic, Kryber glowing like an old firefly between them.

"Jango," croaks the boy in a wet voice.

"Yes, Obi'ika?" he's got tears in his own eyes, he can't help it.

"Ah- I-" he stutters in a breath and chokes on his own tears. And Obi-wan whines like a child does in a kind of pain he can not comprehend. He chokes again and breathes in painfully. Then he says very clearly, albeit wetly, "I want to go home."

Jango's world stills. It's like a punch in the gut and the man has to exhale a heavy breath accordingly.

"Ah… I-" Obi-wan inhales sharply, trying again, "I wa-" He's struggling so much to get the words out again, like they're physically demanding. "I miss the- the temple. And ah- the Order and- my master. I- I miss- I miss my home," his voice breaks into tears with the brutal effort that is putting what he feels into words.

Jango knows what these mean. All these wretched words he's heard over and over again. He's learned well by now. He knows what they mean.

Temple for home.

Order for family.

Master for father.

Oh Manda, he understands oh so perfectly well, he wishes he didn't, but there's no feigning obliviousness to himself anymore.

Jango squeezes the boy hard against his chest, afraid to lose him, so very much afraid to lose the last person in his life. And he has so much love for this kid, so much fondness for his cleverness, and smartassery; his long ginger hair and freckled face like a night sky.

This is his kid, they belong to one another. The two of them together, drifting in The Fury like two lonely stars in space, circling each other round and round, drifting into nothingness but together.

And Obi-wan… he's family. This lanky and thin boy is his kid. He's family now, he's been for a long time, Jango can't bear to see him go. He can't bear to let go.

The words ring and flurry around his head like pestering demons, 'Stay!', 'Don't go!' He wants to beg it out loud and plead with Red. They're good together, they make a great team. A great clan. Jango can take care of him, he can be a good fa- He can be a good father, he is so sure of it.

He loves the kid so, so much. As much as he still hates the Jetii, despite knowing them now more than he ever hoped to, even so despite. He hates them despite knowing them and their gentleness and compassion all shining through Obi-wan even with all the awful krak that's happened to him.

The truth is though…

The truth is that he loves Obi-wan more than he hates the Jetii.

And Jango's not willing to make an orphan of the boy when he's got a father waiting for him back at his temple, when he's got a home that misses him. But more importantly, he's not willing to break Obi-wan's heart so his own can be a little less broken.

He knows, he knows this must've taken everything for the teen to say, he's so bad at asking for things, he hasn't learned yet. He hasn't regained this precious skill. The ginger couldn't ask for anything for himself if his life depended on it. So Jango understands perfectly well how overpowering these feelings have to be inside Red for him to force them out and lay them bare like that to Jango.

This is the bravest thing Jango has ever seen Obi-wan do.

So he untightens his hold of the boy and exhales. He grabs Red's teary, blotched face between his hands and looks him straight into his gray blue eyes.

"I'm taking you home."

Obi-wan sighs in utter relief and hope like the man hasn't seen in ages.

Jango feels his heart break, but with an expression like that, how could it ever matter?

Chapter Text

Jango didn't think himself to be a very emotional man -no really, he wasn't- but Obi-wan just sparked something in him that made it seem like he enjoyed having heart-to-hearts and crying every other day. The Mando likes to tell himself that the kid needs it and it has nothing to do with him. And he'll keep telling himself that. No matter how much better he feels afterwards.

Right now though, he really wishes there was more room inside The Fury, which is already pretty decently sized in his opinion; so he can find a corner secluded enough to let out some of his own emotions privately. Shouldering the kid's emotional distress on top of his own mess is taking a bit of a toll on Jango; maybe the Jetiise were onto something when Obi-wan said that thing about the community raising all the younglings.

·~·~·~·

Obi-wan is napping on the copilot chair by Jango's side. He'd been dozing for a while before the man finally scoffed at him and threw his jacket on the teen. A slit of blue gray gazed at him under tired lids and the boy had offered a sleepy smirk in return. He dozed off again not long after.

Since then Jango has been staring at the console for a long time, weighing what options he has. Should he just take a spacelane to Coruscant or actually comm the temple to let them know he's coming? He sighs, frustrated with himself, feeling his postponing of the inevitable in everything he doesn't do.

He glances at the kid, calm and restful for the first time in so long. He needs to man up and do what's good for Obi-wan now, he'll still… he'll still have a few days more with the teen…

Jango closes his eyes, feeling a wave of emotion rise up in him. He wipes at the corner of his eye and prepares to set the coordinates of Coruscant into the ship.

"No." Before he can make the jump into hyperspace a birdlike hand stops him, fingers on his wrist. The Mandalorian looks up at the beady, waking eyes of the ginger.

"What is it, Red?" He asks, confused, thinking the boy is still half asleep.

"Don't do it, not yet. I don't think… it's not the right time," his eyes are a little glassy and unfocused, they gaze toward the white dotted black past the cockpit window.

"Not the right time?" Jango looks at him weirdly. Obi-wan had been destroying himself from the inside from the want of going back home for weeks now, and he says this?

"I just have a…" Obi-wan cuts himself off, his eyes refocusing; he takes his hand away from Jango's wrist and looks down a little before looking back up. "It's just a feeling," he says quietly.

The man's eyes soften. The last time the teen had a feeling Jango had not listened.

"Well, then I guess that means it's not the right time." And as simple as that, the man turns off the navigation system.

Obi-wan looks at him bright eyed, a smile gracing his lips.

"Not planning to repeat the same mistake twice," he says as he leans back, a calm smile settling on Jango. "Out of curiosity," he says after a stretch of companionable silence,'' do you know why? When you get these feelings I mean. I just wonder about it because you looked so eager to go back home." He swallows at the word and hopes the teen doesn't notice.

"I don't always know what the feelings are about, generally I can tell if it's something bad or wrong, it's pretty evident. It's like something inside of me is screaming danger but I don't necessarily know about what. If the danger is very close maybe I'll have a sense of direction, like if someone were to point a blaster at me. But- when you went after the bounty for that Twi'lek the only thing I could tell was that something wasn't going to be okay. And sometimes that's hard, even when there are other Jedi around you. Knowing something bad will happen is not very helpful because being a Jedi leads you into trouble often enough. It can be annoyingly unspecific.

"But sometimes it's just the feeling, like… Like right now the Force was telling me it isn't the right time to return; it will come soon, but it isn't now." He looks at Jango to seek for confirmation that anything that he said made sense at all. The man looks pensively at his own hands.

"What is it like? The Force," Jango's eyes bare into his with honest curiosity and their usual, quiet intensity. The question should surprise Obi-wan, but it doesn't, and that also is no surprise.

It's the Jetiis turn to be silent as he thinks about the question. It is strange indeed, trying to describe something so integral to his life and how he experiences the world. But Obi-wan is unfortunately very well equipped to answer this query, knowing intimately what it feels to go without.

"It… it's everything. The Force is everything. It's you and me and the space between us, and it's connection, we are all connected through the Force. You and me, even The Fury in some ways. It is the thread that keeps us together, and through it, we are all one and the same… It feels like being more, like being with others at the same time. Being as in… existing," Obi-wan laughs softly. "That must all sound like some convoluted madness to you," he says in good cheer.

That is precisely what it sounds like to Jango, but he believes the teen, so he smiles.

"The real illusion is to think we are separate," the ginger says quietly to himself, an old teaching or saying of his people Jango thinks.

The thought comforts him, knowing in some weird way, even once he's far away from Obi-wan, to the Jetii in some strange way they'll remain as one through the Force.

·~·~·~·

Jango works on cleaning his blasters with meticulous precision while the boy stands upside down on his hands. He feels like he shouldn't be surprised anymore but it still baffles him what these sentients can do, these incredible feats of the Jetiise. Obi-wan's been calmly "standing" in place for 20 minutes now, he looks a little winded and with good reason. Jango would probably not last 3 minutes, even if he tried really, really hard.

The Mando had once tried to make Red explain how he could get winded from a spar but not from standing on his head like a lunatic. The Jetii had obnoxiously answered 'when I'm upside down my mind is not being distracted by other things, I can channel the Force better.' Or perhaps he'd not been obnoxious at all and that was just Jango trying to make himself feel better.

"Jagno," the redhead says, blue gray eyes snapping open. He tilts himself backwards and with a graceful move rights himself up. There's an odd look on his face, but the man recognizes it, the teen's listening to the Force. "It's time now," he says, a light smile on his lips.

And Jango knows, he can feel it in the air what this is about, but he still has to ask, for his own sake if nothing else.

"Time for what?" The Mandalorian could almost make himself believe his words are genuine in their lack of knowledge.

"For going home," the gingers' eyes focus on him, happy, "to the temple."

The Mandalorian exhales quietly as he does his best to not make it sound like the heavy sigh it wants to be. 'It's time,' he echoes Obi-wan sourly in the privacy of his mind. He takes a small moment to push away his dark thoughts and content himself to witness the teen's shining happiness. It will have to be enough for him.

·~·~·~·

Red is sleeping.

Jango braces himself, he thought doing this might be better while Obi-wan slept as he feared it could get… ugly, all things considered. He doesn't want to subject the kid to that.

The comm of the Order is pretty public, so it takes him no time at all to find it and contact the line. He doesn't have to wait very long.

"You're comming Jedi order, this is Padawan Naila speaking, how can I help you? I'm here to serve." The voice is cheery and earnest, and Jango scrunches up his nose in distaste at her words 'I am here to serve,' but shakes his head back into the situation at hand.

"This is…" he cuts himself off immediately, he probably shouldn't introduce himself. "I need to be patched through with a member of the council," he says instead.

"Oh, sure thing, which council would that be? Oh! The green council was expecting a call from the Zeltros' ecological expert, is that you sir?"

"No, I em… The High Jedi Council, Padawan Naila." Silence greets his request.

"Who is this? I'm sorry sir, but only people with the proper clearance or codes may have a direct line with the council," her voice is a little wary now, but her pleasantness remains the same. "But if there's anything else I may-"

'Enough,' Jango fumes to himself.

"I have information on the whereabouts of Obi-wan…" He stops abruptly and thinks, 'shit, what's the kid's last name?'

There's a heavy pause on the line.

"Padawan Kenobi? Obi-wan Kenobi?" She asks, sounding breathless.

"That is correct," he says having no idea if that's correct at all but he sincerely doubts the Order has two Obi-wan's missing at the same time.

"I… I'll do my best to patch you through as quick as I can, please sir, don't leave the comm line." Jango sighs in relief and waits for the Padawan to the sound of... chimes? Ethereal glass sounds? He has no idea, but it's annoying and he's 98% sure the Jedi must use whatever this osik is for their meditations. He takes a steadying breath and places his no krak face on.

A few minutes go by when the blue light of a holo projection illuminates his face, setting his frown even deeper. Well, the Jetii are sorely lacking in the manners department if they don't even warn him before turning the voice call into a holo one. He says nothing in recognition of the Jetii before him, Mace Windu.

"Jango Fett," says the black Korun with an impassive frown of his own.

"That's right," the Mandalorian answers coolly, not knowing why he's starting this conversation already being difficult. Well, he does know, but that's not the point.

"This is… a surprise to be sure, I was not expecting you when I was informed someone had commed with information on the missing Padawan Kenobi."

Jango says nothing and the Jetii narrows his eyes.

"I would urge you to tread this conversation lightly. Our young are precious to us and whatever this is," he emphasizes with gravitas, "it's better be-"

"I have the boy with me on my ship." Jango knows, he knows he's being purposely antagonistic but he can't seem to stop himself. He knows how his words sound, they sound like a threat. He doesn't need to do this right now, it's not going to help at all.

"Fett," says the Jetii like his name is a curse. "There are a lot of people out there who care very deeply for that boy. I should warn you that if anything befalls young Kenobi your life will soon become outrageously difficult. It would be beneficial for everyone if we could take our charge from you unharmed."

The threat is thinly veiled, barely so, but Jango is glad now. Maybe this is why he didn't stop, he needed to know Obi-wan was truly cared for by the Jetii. It would've killed him to just leave the teen there, not knowing. It doesn't matter how much the boy defends the Order if his views of it were skewed from the beginning.

"There's no need for that, Master Jetii, I'll be taking the boy myself back to Coruscant. Our ETA is approximately one week," he says civilly enough. The Korun has a face like carved stone, but Jango can almost tell he's caught him off guard. As if they hadn't just been preparing for war on both ends.

"That is… most kind of you," Windu answers, his eyes still searching for what sort of trap this could be. An uncomfortable silence grows between them and it makes Jango's skin prickle with the thought that he's being studied by a Jetii.

"However, it would put me at great ease if I could see Padawan Kenobi for myself. It's been more than two years of relentless searching since he was last seen by the Order and we are most anxious about his well-being. I hope you understand our hesitance."

"That is fair," Jango concedes with a nod, "I will comm you tomorrow though, Obi-wan is sleeping and I'd hate to wake him up he…." He stops himself for the words feel too personal to say out loud. After a breath though, he finishes the thought. "He has a hard time sleeping some days."

After a moment the Jetii nods in return.

"Very well. If you wouldn't mind my asking, where did you find Padawan Kenobi? Our search has been extensive and his location has somehow eluded us in spite of our best efforts."

"I…" 'To be honest, I found him on accident,' he wants to say but cleans his throat a bit, "found him in a Death Watch camp. Tied to a pen like an animal." Jango doesn't know if he says that to dig in the metaphorical knife of blame or because of genuine heartache. Either way, Mace Windu looks pained at the information but after a moment he composes himself.

"I see." Restraint, the trademark of the Jetii, but there's always more to that restraint, he'd learned that from observing Obi-wan often enough. "Please, call this comm line as soon as Kenobi is up and able." Jango gets a ping from a text message with a code line. "We are very eager for his return."

"Noted. Jango out." He hangs up without waiting for the other, eager to be away from that face and conversation.

Krak, kriffing oisking krak, he's going to the Jetii Temple. Kriff.

Jango covers his face with a hand, he needs to go to sleep, but he's not sure sleep will come to him. Obi-wan will be gone. His quiet, smart ass, field mouse, will be gone, and he's going to do the going himself.

He's going to the house of the Jetiise.

·~·~·~·

When Jango tells Obi-wan he talked with the Korun Master at breakfast his face lights up.

"Master Windu?" He asks with good cheer and the man nods.

"They've… they've been looking for you Red," he feels the need to say, even if his face remains neutral and unchanged.

"Oh," the boy exhales a breath and his eyes get a little misty, an array of emotions crosses his face. "Oh Force, my Master must be so worried." And it's like something dawns on him, like the thought is finally setting in. "it's… it's been two years… I've been gone for more than two years. They must've been so worried," he exhales shakily.

Jango nods to him, he has to agree. For all accounts and purposes, this will seem like a miracle to the Jetiise. After two years a child returned as if from the dead.

"Are you excited?" The Mando wills himself to smile for Obi-wan's sake.

"So, so very much," his Coruscanti accent gets thick with emotion. Jango sets his hand on the teen's shoulder and squeezes bitter-sweetly, happy for Obi-wan.

"You're going home," he says in soft comfort.

"I'm going home," Red smiles, eyes glassy with unshed tears but luminous.

·~·~·~·

They call the Temple after breakfast, the answer is almost immediate. The blue holo of Jedi Master Mace Windu materializes.

"Master Windu!" Obi-wan exclaims enthusiastically and gives a low, respectful bow to the man, who returns it in a shallower form.

"Obi-wan," there's a fondness there that Jango hadn't heard before. The Korums eyes are soft as he looks upon the redhead. "I cannot express to you what a great joy it is to see you well. Are you well?" He ads immediately.

"Yes, Master," he nods with a flustered smile "I… I wasn't… for a while." He steps slightly to the side, a motion that invites the Mandalorian to step forward, he does, though a little reluctantly. "But then Jango found me and well…" he chuckles, "he rescued me."

Jango looks fondly at the kid, he wants to clap him in the back but won't do so in front of the Jetii.

"Jango Fett, Master, rescuing a Jedi, can you believe it?" The happy incredulousness colors his voice beautifully. The ginger is looking at the Mando as he says this, his face like he's holding in a laugh, there's wonder in there too.

There's an odd moment between the three of them. A disbelieving yet incredibly relieved look paints Windu's face as well. Jango chuckles softly, just as Obi-wan laughs. A crinkle appears at the corners of the Master Jedi's eyes, it betrays his humor.

"Who wouldn't rescue you with a face like that, you look like a tooka kit," the words slip from Jango without his permission and Obi-wan straightens up in indignation but he just laughs more.

"It truly is a wondrous galaxy that we live in, Padawan Kenobi," Mace Windu says fondly. " The Temple awaits your return eagerly, young one."

"I can't wait to return to it, Master."

The teen's happiness is almost blinding.

·~·~·~·

Jango fiddles with the navigation system of The Fury, they're two days away from Coruscant. They are so close, so close, so very close. Obi-wan's heart beats inside his chest in a constant state of elation. If he thinks about it too long, he might start crying again. He curls up a little tighter on the copilot seat, legs up and body slightly turned towards the left.

The ginger looks at Jango, contemplating him as the man remains absorbed in his task. A different feeling pools in his chest as he commits the Mando's features to memory. There's a slight curl to his dark hair and a softness to his feature that is hard to see past the strong masculinity and dangerous air that he carries. His softness is betrayed by his distraction in the task. Obi-wan finds this somewhat comforting.

The feeling in his chest persists until there's a small slant of sadness in the teen's eyes. He takes in a breath and holds it in, a lump in his throat made up of words. And then… then he lets go of the air and rests his cheek against the fabric of the seat. He says nothing.

Obi-wan smiles to himself, bittersweet, and closes his eyes to the odd happening of pleasant dreams.

·~·~·~·

Coruscant: giant, metal, alive. They glide slowly down as The Fury enters the planet's atmosphere. The teen's eyes are as big as plates at the sight before them, his lips pull up at the edges.

"It's ugly," Jango states, he's never liked the sight of cities packed full of edifices all piled over one another, much less this metal-covered nightmare that pretends to be a planet.

"It's not for everyone," Red smiles with a knowing look beside him.

Jango breathes in casually; tension rises up in him the closer they get to the temple. He doesn't want to be here for so very many reasons; Jetii being the age-old enemies of Mandalorians and his experiences with them at this point are the least of those reasons. At his side Obi-wan releases a shaky sigh when white towers and a pyramid come into view, glittering gold against the lowering sun.

The Temple of the Jetii.

"Sunsets are always best in Coruscant," Red breaths out, enthralled by the sight. "It's beautiful."

The teen takes a moment away from the possibly religious experience he's having to look at Jango. He tilts his head slightly to the side, curiously; the man can almost feel his eyes peering at his insides in the uncomfortable way he's grown accustomed to. Knowing. It's not… as uncomfortable anymore.

"Would you let me help you?"

For a moment Jango's not really sure what the boy means, but then the ginger offers his palm up to him. He's never seen the kid so steady, back straight and sure. It gladdens him as much as it makes him grieve, goodbye is so close now. He knows what Obi-wan means.

The man sighs in defeat but smiles at the other.

"Sure, why not?" Jango slaps his brown hand onto the teen's pale one.

After a moment of stillness, he feels a wave of calm pass through him. It soothes his anxieties and tension and every little thing that has him on edge right now. Not all at once though, slowly and quietly, like breathing in and out, in and out. And he's breathing in and out at the rhythm of the kid, his kid, almost unknowingly.

In his mind for a spec of time, he can see gently lapping waves at the edge of a sea, they are not his, he knows he's never seen this beach before.

Jango breathes out.

"That's a neat trick you've got there," the Mandalorian says after a while. He feels… calm. Steady. His worries have not gone anywhere, which is a surprise to him, he thought… He always thought the Jetii made their emotions disappear up into the air. But his worries are there, they're just not overwhelming his senses anymore; his mind is clear.

"It wouldn't work you know, with any other random person," Obi-wan tells him.

The Temple is now towering over them.

Jango thinks it looms like a threat.

Obi-wan thinks it's like the cover of a well-worn cloak over him.

"Well, at least not with the limited experience I have. I'm sure more experienced masters can do these kinds of things with ease. But you trust me, you let me in, that's why it works so well."

"You've done this a lot," Jango states and gives a light squeeze to the kid's hand before letting go.

"Well…" he looks down for a second, thoughtful, "it's nice to know your friends can soothe your night fears away," he answers for a clear yes.

Through the windshield they can see there's a party waiting for them at the docking bay. Jango takes in a steadying breath and pushes to the back of his mind what's about to happen here. He takes a last look at Obi-wan's happy face and faintly freckled cheeks and commits it to memory.

·~·~·~·

There's a man running through the temple as if there are Sith of legend pursuing him like hungry demons.

'Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,' he thinks deprecatingly. How had he been so stupid as to park in the wrong landing bay?

His long brown hair flies behind him, he's so distracted or rather, too focused on the thought of the person inside his mind that he keeps shouldering against fellow Jedi.

Oh, but it's not like he knew where they would land now, is it? It's not like he knew. And he's arrived just in time. Barely so. And Mace had just commed him about the unrecognized ship approaching the temple, it was too late to take off again by then. He just wished he'd known.

The tall man runs. He's so close now. He's so close.

·~·~·~·

The Fury has not even touched the landing platform before Obi-wan is unbuckling himself and bolting from his seat like a shooting star.

"Wait! Kriff!" Jango shouts. He can already tell what the boy will do before Obi-wan even knows it himself. He goes down hard to prevent Red from jumping out of a moving ship and the metal of The Fury croaks and grunts. The Mandalorian hurries to shut off all the systems before he runs to catch up with the teen.

The ginger stands in wait, the ramp moving too slowly for him apparently because he dashes off before it opens completely just as Jango hurries to the cargo hold. He catches a glimpse of long coppery hair disappearing from view. He swallows and breathes in again, slowly.

"Here goes nothing," he mumbles, marching on.

·~·~·~·

Waiting for him are an assortment of people headed by Masters Yoda, Windu, Tahl and Koon. But his eyes search among his family and friends, where… Where is Qui-gon? Where is his master? His heart hurts for a moment, he can't believe he still has to wait more time to see- But then he feels it. A tug in the force. He raises his eyes towards the door to the temple. And he's there. Rushing to Obi-wan.

It's Qui-gon.

The teen exhales a shaky breath and runs towards the man. He wants to say something, shout anything, but there are no words in his mouth. Tears glide from the corner of his eyes as he feels the overwhelming sense of home all around him. They meet halfway, Obi-wan barreling into Qui-gon's chest but it doesn't matter. In the Force, their exhilarating emotions paint everything with light. Obi-wan feels the remnants of a dream peek in his memory, halls so bright things blur around the edges.

"Master," the ginger sobs into the man's shoulder, his feet dangle in the air, he's not touching the floor, and he can't believe how tall his master still is and that he's doing this in front of so many council members. He laughs at the absurdity and it's wet and ugly and Qui-gon's cloak is snotty and disgusting. But it doesn't matter.

"Oh, my boy, my boy, my dear heart, my wonderful boy," Master Qui-gon says, struggling to draw breath. "I can't believe you're here, Obi-wan," his Master hugs him even tighter. The ginger notes his own shoulder is similarly wet with tears.

"Me neither," the teen laughs and cries and chokes on the clashing sentiments.

There is an unceremonious babble of words exchanged between the two with barely much meaning being discerned from them. And it doesn't really matter at all. They are both here, home, together.

"Enough old man, it's my turn," Quinlan's head pops into Obi-wan's blurry view. His friend's eyes are red but he's got a hard stare on his face; he only does that when he's trying not to cry, Obi-wan knows. Further away from him are even more of his friends being restrained by their masters so they won't overwhelm him. Obi-wan is pretty kriffing overwhelmed already, but he doesn't care either way. They're here, and real, and he himself is here.

"Go away brat, my turn is not done until the end of the next decade," Qui-gon sobs with a laugh and scoops Obi-wan even higher into his arms and away from the floor and the Kriffar.

The ginger laughs delighted though he's red with embarrassment.

"The decade's over, let go!" Shouts Bant who unexpectedly tugs Obi-wan out and away from his master's embrace with a forceful pull.

"Oomph!" They lose their breath as they crash to the ground, Obi-wan splatting over his friend- who he has a small moment to realize has more body muscle than he currently does, which had never happened before.

Before they know it, Obi-wan and Bant are being dogpiled. First by an over-eager Quinlan, then Reeft and Garen. Even proper, quiet, Luminara throws herself to the floor beside them, her gentle face streaked with tears and smiling. She brushes his hair back tenderly and he can't help but cry even harder. He can feel them, he can touch them, but more importantly, he can feel them in his mind too. Where emptiness had consumed him for so, so long, even after the collar had been removed, there is now light and connection and love. He'd been alone in the Force for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like. He'd forgotten what it felt like not being alone. Knowing everything was connected in the Force yet having no one reach out to him.

His happiness is too much, so much that the weight of his reality turns it into sadness and his sobs turn dark. He feels too much.

"Stop," he wishes quietly. "Please stop."

Time blurs a bit for him until he's more out of his body than in it. When he recovers his sense of awareness and self, he's not particularly sure how long he's been like this. Obi-wan blinks a couple of times and finds that he's no longer surrounded by his friends, they now stand at a respectful distance with guilty looks on their faces for the unintended discomfort they caused him. Before him his master kneels and whispers in his ear.

"It's okay dear heart, take a breath, tell me what's wrong."

"It's too much," Obi-wan repeats. His hands are shaking. When he looks up at Qui-Gon he can see understanding in his Master's eyes. Jedi, especially when they share close bonds, don't always need words to say things. Sometimes understanding just comes from out of their subtle connections. A knot untightens inside the ginger's chest because he does not have to find the words to explain what's going on, not when it's so hard to even draw breath in the first palace.

Weathered dark blue eyes close as Qui-gon places a hand on the ginger's brow. It's the first time Obi-wan notices the clothes his Master is wearing; they're travel clothes, and they look worn and dirty. He looks fresh out of a ship from a long mission.

An invisible blanket sets upon Obi-wan in the Force and the buzzing inside his mind and the prickling of his skin quiet down with Qui-gon's presence surrounding him completely. Obi-wan can breathe again. And think. He can think clearly again now. He squeezes his master's hand in thanks and conveys with his eyes what he needs to say. Qui-gon understands and nods, such has always been their way, distance and time have not changed that.

The ginger dashes up from the floor and away.

The intensity of Jango's stare becomes more apparent the closer Obi-wan comes to him. He's as tense as a bow about to snap, keeping a careful eye on his surroundings as he speaks in quiet and short answers with the present council members. When Obi-wan reaches him, Jango's brown eyes soften and he smiles, some amount of tension leaving him when he sees the ginger is no longer in distress. The Mandalorian seems happy enough for the teen all things considered.

"Masters," Obi-wan bows respectfully but Yoda quickly intercedes.

"A hug to you Grandmaster, you shall give. Worried for you, we have all been."

Obi-wan kneels with practiced ease, he's so much taller than the last time he saw Master Yoda. Before he knows it his Grandmaster is giving him as fierce a hug as his small body allows him. The feeling of the small master through the Force renews the tears in the boy's eyes, it is comfort beyond measure, care and a steadfast presence like no other he's ever felt.

"Glad I am, to have you here, safe," Yoda lets go and caresses a careful, clawed hand on his freckled cheek. There is a subtle sheen of moisture in his green eyes.

"I'm glad to be here master," Obi-wan smiles like a sun through his tears.

The ginger stands up and looks at Jango, eager to say and do so many things. But whatever words are in his mouth dry up in an instant with the Mandalorian's next statement.

"I'll be going now."

"W- what?" Obi-wan stumbles, dumbfounded.

What?

"I'm going now," Jango repeats. As if the teen hadn't heard him the first time. He says it so flippantly and normally. As if leaving Obi-wan here was just a business transaction.

"You can't go," the boy protests against the absurd notion before he can figure out what's coming out of his mouth. His face is having a hard time deciding whether anger or distress is the appropriate response.

Jango side-eyes the members of the council and shifts in his place. Then sighs.

"You're home now, Red," the man shrugs. As if that relates in any way to the current situation. More to the point, who even is this man? This stoic man without emotion in his eyes.

He feels the gentle brush of a steady Force presence and distantly registers the Council members giving them space.

"I- so soon?" Obi-wan fumbles for something to say, neither his anger nor distress doing anything helpful for him at the moment.

"That's right," Jango nods and takes a small step back.

"Wait," Obi-wan takes a larger step toward the man. "You-" But there's nothing he can think to say. There's nothing in his mind he can grip for and Jango's eyes are so very blank. He shudders out the breath with which he hoped to say something meaningful towards the Mandalorian, anything at all to stop whatever was happening right now.

"Jango-" he croaks in lieu of anything else.

The Mandalorian sighs, and there it is! There in the softening of his eyes is Jango.

For a very strange, though small moment, Obi-wan had felt as if perhaps, all this time he had imagined a different Jango than the one who actually was. For one terrifying moment, he'd thought he'd fooled himself into seeing kindness, again, where there was none at all. And then Obi-wan sees more as the slight haze of desperation clears from his eyes.

Jango, just like him, doesn't know what to say or do either.

The Mandalorian extends his hand at the boy.

"Ret'urcye mhi," Jango says sincerely.

·~·~·~·

"Ret'urcye mhi." For the second time in too short a time, Obi-wan does not reach for his hand. He looks at Jango distrustfully, at his hand with some measure of disgust or betrayal. Instead, this time it is he that takes a step back from the man. It hurts for a moment, but resolve comes into the Mandalorians' brown eyes as he looks intently at the ginger.

"Oh, come here you stubborn bastard," Jango says as he grabs Obi-wan by the shirt and pulls him into a fierce hug.

"Stubborn bastard? Stubborn bastard?" The ginger asks with wet incredulity, tears threatening to fall again. "What about you then?! What does that make you?" And there is fury there in his voice. Good. Jango needs to know that the quiet fire of Obi-wan will still be there once he's gone.

"Obi-wan," and at this the teen stills. There is strength in the man's voice, but the way he says the Jetii's name is soft. Jango rests the side of his face against the soft hair of the boy and squeezes him a bit more.

The teen's breath stutters in and then the Mandalorian, this source of light when he had none at all, leans down and places his lips close to the ginger's ear.

"I'm going to tell you something," Jango says with a quiet breath. Obi-wan makes a conscious effort to let go of his turbulent feelings and clear his mind. He can tell… this is very important to Jango. "You might not know its significance now, at least I think you won't, but… I want to give this to you, for when you do know. So you may keep this with you."

Obi-wan holds tightly to the back of the Mandalorian's clothes, waiting, attentive. And in that brief moment the ginger notices the oddity of this. Jango's not wearing his helmet or most of his armour. He's got some pieces on, his blaster and his gear belt sure, but that's all. Obi-wan's so used to seeing him like this, unarmored, vulnerable, that he never stopped to think of it as strange. Jango Fett, Mandalorian and bounty hunter, without his armour at the door of the Jedi Temple. Without protection amongst Jedi.

The man breathes in.

"Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad," Jango says to his ear, his words are quiet enough to be private but strong enough to sound like a promise. "ner ad." He lets go of the embrace and steps back. Jango can see the puzzlement on the teen's face; the Jetii seems to understand the words but he does not truly know the weight of them. But Jango can see in his pale freckled face that some of the meaning comes through. The boy knows this is important.

As if pulled from his chest, Obi-wan is compelled to say something as well. His blue gray eyes don't let go of his.

"The real illusion… is to think we are separate," the Jetii says.

Jango closes his eyes and nods solemnly, pain panging in his heart like there's a hand squeezing there. He opens his eyes and nods one more time, strongly now. Without further fanfare he turns his back to the house of the Jetii and walks back to The Fury.

"Wait!" Obi-wan's hand shoots out lightning fast and grabs at his wrist in a tight grip. When Jango turns to look at him, the ginger's eyes are bluer than he's ever seen them before, big and pleading. "Stay, please. Come inside, I- I can show you around. You- you can help me tell our tale. I-" he smiles shakily, struggling to find a suitable reason or excuse that'll make him stay. Jango's heart aches. Our tale, our tale. "I'm sure it's going to be hard for me to tell on my own-"

"Red-" Jango sighs tiredly and the flimsy smile falls.

"Just a while, just- Just stay for a day!" The Mandalorian starts trying to pull away from the teen's grip, but gently. The boy holds on tighter. "A night! Ah- a an hour, less! Whatever you want. Just don't go yet."

"You can't have it both ways kid," Jango almost hisses incredulously.

"Why not?" Obi-wan spits, fire in his eyes and it has to make the Mando wonder where this boy had been throughout their whole journey. Headstrong and demanding things from him. Desperate times indeed…

"Aren't you Jetii supposed to be all about letting go?" The Mandalorian asks, covering his face with his free hand and rubbing at his tired features.

"This is not letting go. This is- This is you wanting to walk away, because- because… Old pain and- and wounds that could never heal. You're the one who can't let go. And- I'm not saying you should! Just- Well- you- You're letting go for the wrong reasons!"

Jango makes a conscious decision to ignore everything the boy just said about his pain and why he's doing this. He chooses an easier route.

"We're just different people Obi-wan, you know this," he lets him down gently as he would a small child. Then he takes the teen's wrist and pries it off his own a little more forcefully. "And you can't have it both ways."

Tears fall from his blue gray eyes. It's like he just destroyed something inside the teen. Jango's own eyes are burning, but this is for the best.

"You…" Obi-wan's voice cracks as he tries to speak once more. The Mando is already balancing back, his boots are ready to return to The Fury. Ready to go back to his home and far away from this wretched place. "Jango…"

And the ginger's quiet voice stops the man in his step because… Obi-wan says his name just like Jango had said the boy's. Full of significance, steady and soft.

"You don't have to let go of me," Obi-wan says simply, eyes sad. In them, the man can see the depth of the boy, there is wisdom there that frightens him, understanding of who the Mando is as a person. "Will you stay?" He asks one last time and takes the man's tan hand in his own.

Jango scoffs out a laugh, pierced right through his very center. He feels the heat of the fading sun on his face and he turns away from Obi-wan's understanding face to look at the horizon. The star is just on its last minutes, the height of the Jedi Temple graces them with more light time than would be otherwise possible in a monstrous metropolis like this one. The sky is streaked with saturated oranges and deep purples and soft pinks sprawled here and there. Grace hidden within a violent world of color.

Jango smiles ruefully at the horizon. The boy is right. Sunsets are quite beautiful in Coruscant.

He sighs and looks back at Obi-wan.

"Okay."