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Metal gleamed in the corner of his eye, and Jason sighed. “Should have known you’d catch up here,” he muttered, tilting his head both to see better and in invitation.
Din sat down opposite him, staring silently at Jason.
“Did I at least give you a decent run-around?” Jason signaled the bartender with two fingers and slouched back in his chair. Din didn’t answer. Jason shifted in the silence. He’d always hated that. Both Din and Bruce did the same damn thing, just stared at you until you spilled your guts. Well Jason wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
The bartender brought over the shots and Jason stuck a straw in the first one, sucking it down in one practiced gulp.
“You’re underage,” Din said, helmet taking on a distinctly judgmental tilt.
Jason tilted his head right back at him and reached for the second shot. For all his words, Din didn’t stop him. “Gonna need it,” Jason muttered, slapping some credits on the table.
“Are you going to come quietly?” It was calm and measured and Jason knew the lack of a threat wasn’t a good sign. They both knew perfectly well that Jason was going back with him, one way or another.
“I know when I’m caught,” Jason said moodily. Didn’t mean he liked it.
Din rose to his feet and Jason followed suit. The man’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder, but Jason figured it was better than being frog-marched across town. He didn’t bother trying to shrug him off. They passed into the bright sunlight and marched through the town, dust swirling under their feet. Jason tilted his head back, enjoying the glare of the planet’s three suns even through his armor. He would miss the sun.
“Do I have time to sort out my ship?” Jason asked. Din radiated skepticism, and Jason scowled, twisting against the man’s hold to glare at him more effectively. “I’m not going to run,” he snapped, stumbling slightly as he was pushed to face forward again. “I’m not an idiot.”
“I’m not sure the Covert would agree with you,” Din said, voice cool. Jason resisted the urge to fold his arms. He wasn’t a child. “We’ve all been concerned about you,” Din added after a moment. “Especially your buir.”
“I’m sure you have,” Jason groused. “So. My ship?”
“Mirean has a good ship market,” Din pointed out.
Jason jerked to a stop, Din slowing to a halt beside him. “You want me to sell my ship?!” he yelped.
Din stared down at him.
Jason’s hands clenched into fists. “But-“
“The Razor Crest does not have a docking bay,” Din said simply. “And I do not trust you to follow me.”
Jason stared down at his boots. That was fair but…. He had stolen the Red Shadow from some trader when he first ran away from the Covert. It was a tiny piece of junk, but it was his.
“What if-“
“You cannot keep it at the Covert,” Din said. “Ships are too conspicuous.”
“Kriffing- fine.” Jason marched forward, as if speed would make selling the Red Shadow less painful. His abrupt change in pace left Din behind for a few glorious seconds before the glint of beskar filled his periphery vision again. Jason twisted away from the hand before it could land on his shoulder. “I’m going,” he snapped. Din just looked at him, but he didn’t try again.
The Red Shadow was on the outskirts of town, in a tiny landing port that was more of a dirt lot than anything else. The Razor Crest was right next to it, and the sight of it didn’t help Jason’s mood. He stormed up to the small office, changing his posture and stride at the last second into something cool and relaxed.
“Jarkin,” he said, leaning against the counter and ignoring Din’s silent figure in the doorway. “You still interested in the Shadow?”
The Dressellian perked up. He’d had his eye on Jason’s ship since he first landed. A marvel of engineering it was not, but there were plenty of quality parts in the ship, at the least.
The negotiations were quick. Jason haggled harder than he had in a long time. If he was being forced to give up his ship, he was going to get a good sum for it.
When they finally settled the price, Jason nodded. “I’ll just clear out my stuff. It’ll be yours in half an hour.”
Jarkin nodded, pleased with the deal, and Jason shouldered past Din and headed over to his ship.
He ran his hand along the wall as he packed his equipment, emptying out the weapons cabinet he had been gradually filling over the past few months. It wasn’t much, all of his belongings only filled a few duffle bags and most of that was weapons and tools. Jason paused in the cockpit and slumped down in the pilot’s seat. He brushed his fingers across the controls. He’d gone on plenty of adventures in this ship, seen lots of places. Jason imagined just...flying away. Disappearing once more among the stars. But no, Din was on the ship, and even if he wasn’t, he’d just follow Jason. His chest ached and he shoved himself to his feet, doing a final sweep to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything.
Jarkin accepted the control fob and Jason counted his credits twice before nodding farewell. Din was waiting by the Razor Crest and Jason stalled a few yards away. He didn’t want to go back. Even the thought of going back down to the tunnels and underground rooms after spending so much time outside and free made him twitch. He looked longingly toward the little town. It was small and drab and dusty, but it was outside in the open. They had to work hard to survive, but they didn’t have to hide.
Jason’s shoulders slumped as he turned his back on the village and headed over to the ship. To his relief, Din didn’t say anything, only followed him inside and started prepping the ship for take off. Jason slumped in one of the seats, pushing himself idly back and forth with his toes. But he had never been the best at being quiet, and they had barely cleared the atmosphere before he was saying, “Don’t you have more important things to do than chasing me? Like bounty collecting, beroya?” He stuffed the title with as much sarcasm as possible. Din didn’t turn, focused on steering the ship.
“The clan comes first,” he said simply. “This is the Way.”
“This is the Way,” Jason repeated automatically before scowling.
Din set the hyperspeed and Jason’s stomach clenched like it always did in a mix of fear and excitement. It was always a bit of a gamble, hyperspeed. If you went off the programmed routes you ran the danger of smashing into an asteroid belt or even a star. Jason had always been careful to follow the charted coordinates exactly. Either Din didn’t worry about that, or he knew a lot more paths than Jason did, because he punched in coordinates with barely a glance at his maps.
It was only once they were hurtling through hyperspace that Din swiveled his chair around, fixing Jason with his laser-point gaze that could be felt even through the helmet. Jason slumped further in his seat. Here it came, the first of many, many lectures that would probably follow him for weeks.
“We could have avoided all of this if you had waited,” Din said. There was a hint of discomfort leaking through the modulator on his helmet. Spending decades alone didn’t lend itself to good communication skills. “The selection of the next beroya-“
“Spare me,” Jason snapped. “We all know I didn’t have a chance in hell of being picked. I’m too ‘reckless and immature’. I’ve heard what everyone says about me.”
Jason couldn’t see Din’s face, but he imagined his lips pressed tight together like Bruce’s did when he was annoyed. “And running away was the perfect way to prove them wrong?”
Jason’s face burned. “Ne'johaa, <Shut up,>” he muttered, looking away.
“N’usulu? <Excuse me?> ” Din’s voice was low and dangerous and Jason flinched. He and his siblings got away with a lot, since Bruce and Din were aliit, but the man was still his senior and the Covert’s beroya, and that was a title that demanded respect.
“N'eparavu takisit, ba'vodu, <Sorry, uncle,>” he said quietly.
Din watched him for a long second before nodding. He checked their coordinates and adjusted their speed. Jason let his eyes glaze over, tracking the stars shooting by. “Why did you leave?”
Jason huffed. “Does it matter?” He was screwed either way.
“Yes,” Din said simply.
Jason stared at the side of his helmet for a long few seconds. “Bored,” he finally said, pushing himself to his feet. “Kinda like now. I’m going below.”
“Behave,” Din called after him as he slid down the ladder. “Don’t make me carbonite-freeze you.” Jason snorted. The words were threatening, but the tone was playful. A familiar threat for a familiar situation. Though, granted, in the past they had always been safely back at the Covert instead of hurtling through hyperspace, and Jason had always just been exploring the ship instead of being dragged back to the Covert. Jason had always been fascinated by the Razor Crest and the life of the Tribe’s beroya, and he’d had very sticky fingers when he was younger. Bruce and Din had quickly learned to search him before letting him run off into the winding tunnels of the Covert. Jason still blamed Dick for ratting him out. Sure, he’d cut himself on the vibro-blade he’d nicked, but it was only a scratch! The bleeding wasn’t that bad. He’d only needed a bacta patch. Well, and a couple stitches. And maybe he’d been screaming a little. But still! Dick didn’t need to tattle. Bruce had taken away his helmet for two weeks , leaving Jason trapped in their clan quarters.
Speaking of being frozen in carbonite…. Jason wandered over to the freezers, hoping for a few bounties to poke at. He wasn’t in the Guild -- if he had even breathed in the direction of Greef Karga, Din would have been on him faster than he could say kriff -- but there was always work to be done. He was young and fresh and cheap, with a shiny helmet and armor that magnified his height and bulk -- he refused to wonder if the jobs he did get were just because people mistook him for Din. He’d gotten on okay, taking small jobs on whatever planet he had hopped to, just enough to pay for food and fuel. Just being outside among the stars was enough for Jason to be living large. If he ever missed the comfort of his bed back in the Covert, the sight of his siblings, the sound of his buir’s voice and the clanging of the forge, he just got another job. Adrenaline burned away homesickness nice and quick. Jason ran his hand down the side of the freezer. If he’d had one of these bad boys...he could have done so much more.
To Jason’s disappointment, there were no bounties hanging from the rack next to the freezer. “Not even a bail-jumper?” he called over his shoulder as he opened up the weapons storage instead. “Been slacking?”
It was another familiar line in an unfamiliar situation, and Din replied as expected, appearing suddenly behind Jason and plucking the modded blaster from his hand. “Would you do better, ad’ika?”
Jason didn’t jump, he was too used to Bruce and his siblings doing the same, but he sent a long-suffering look at Din behind his helmet. “I’m not little,” he complained. Din hummed, plopping a hand on the forehead of Jason’s helmet and pushing him away from the weapons storage. Jason obligingly took a step back. “And I did okay.”
“Yes,” Din said, returning the blaster to its place and scrutinizing the rest, “you did.” Jason blinked, surprised by the agreement, and Din glanced at him, closing and locking the doors. “If you weren’t able to do the work you would have gone back to the Covert yourself.”
Jason raised an eyebrow, head tilting with the movement, and Din tilted his own helmet in concession. Jason’s stubbornness was legendary in the Covert, and that was by Mandalorian standards. He absolutely wouldn’t have gone back and admitted that he couldn’t cut it. “Fine,” Din said, sounding long-suffering. “You would have been dead. Happy?”
“Very,” Jason said, allowing himself to be herded back towards the ladder. He sidestepped, though, and redirected his steps towards the little cubby where Din kept his foundling sometimes. It was empty. “Where’s the squirt?”
“At the Covert. He’s safe, now that Gideon is gone, and was very excited to spend time with his ba’vodu and vode.”
“That why you don’t have any bounties? Had to drop off the kid and decided to bring your haul at the same time?” Jason raised an eyebrow. “Did you really think he’d be in danger with me?”
“Of course not. I didn’t know you were gone until I arrived at the Covert.” Jason’s steps faltered and Din grasped his shoulder reassuringly. “They were worried about you,” he said. “They wanted you back. They were afraid that the message could be intercepted and put you in more danger.”
“Oh,” Jason said, tongue thick with a combination of relief and guilt. It wasn’t like he wanted Din chasing him, but the idea that they might not have cared enough to even mention it…. But of course they did. Bruce had nearly gone ballistic when Damian got distracted drawing a particularly fascinating patch of lichen and missed dinner. He was kind of a worry-wart.
“Yes.” Din used the hand that was already on Jason’s shoulder to push him up the ladder. “Now get up there where I can keep you out of trouble.”
“We’re hurtling through space,” Jason complained, clambering up the ladder. “What am I going to do?”
Din just looked at him.
Jason huffed, plopping down into his chair. “Fair point.”
“Just relax.” Din flipped a switch. Jason leaned out of his chair to try and see what it did, and Din fixed him with a look. “It’s going to be late when we arrive. You should get some sleep.”
Jason snorted, going back to swiveling his chair. “Are you sure you don’t have even a teeny tiny job? Something on the way?”
“No.”
“Not even a measly bail-jumper?”
“No.”
“I’ll do exactly what you say.”
Din had apparently decided to ignore him. Jason could work with that.
“I’ll stay glued to your side. Come on, what am I supposed to do without a ship? It’s not like I could leave. I wouldn’t take the credits or the credit.” He grinned at his own joke. Din didn’t react. “We’re going to Nevarro anyway, might as well make some money while we go. Come oooooon. I’ll be locked away forever once we get to Nevarro. Do you really want my last memory of the galaxy to be selling my ship to some two-bit fence? Din. Din. Din. Din. Din. Din. Din. Din.”
“Jason,” Din barked.
Jason grinned, giving his chair an extra hard push that sent him spinning in a slow circle. “Ooh is that the voice you use on the kid? It’s pretty good, but you need a bit more of the ‘I’m going to count to three’ vibe.”
“You’re more of a child than he is,” Din said wearily.
Jason cackled.
For all of his bravado, Jason was practically vibrating with tension as they touched down on Navarro. Din set the ship gently down on the outskirts of town and stood, stretching and watching Jason out the corner of his eye. The kid hadn’t moved, staring straight out the view-port. If he hadn’t been wearing his gloves, Din was sure he would be able to see the kid’s white knuckles as he gripped the arm rests.
Din gave him a second to collect himself, puttering around the ship gathering Jason’s bags and placing them by the hatch. He was examining his ad’s toys and wondering if he should bring any with him when the clang of boot on ladder alerted himself to the kid’s arrival.
Jason’s shoulders were back and his head was high, and Din would have missed the tension there if he hadn’t watched Jason grow up. Given that his own experiences with the kid were fractured, a day or two followed by months of separation, there was no way he would be fooling any of the Tribe, who had seen him nearly every day for the past seven years. But it was a valiant attempt, and Din wasn’t going to point it out. The kid had enough to worry about. Oh, he wasn’t worried about what Jason probably was. No one was going to hate him or never talk to him again. But there were definitely going to be consequences. There had to be. Jason had broken one of their most important rules, and had put the entire Covert at risk in doing so.
There may have been no greater insult than hut’uun, coward, to a Mandalorian, but being asat’uun was close. And Jason had been undeniably selfish, even if Din didn’t believe for a second that he had really left because of mere boredom. But that would be up to the Armorer and Bruce to get out of the boy. Din certainly didn’t know how to go about it. But that was probably something he had to figure out, before his own ad got to an age where he started hiding things from him. Din groaned internally but didn’t make a sound out loud. Jason would be micro-analyzing his every movement and noise right now, and he didn’t want to alarm his vod'ika any more.
“Ready?” he asked quietly, stepping up beside Jason at the hatch.
Jason blew out a loud breath. It rasped in his vocoder. “Kriff it, right?” His head tilted as he shot Din an uneasy look, his shoulders tilting away. “Don’t touch me. I’m going in on my own. Please,” he added after a second’s pause.
Din nodded. Walking in unhampered wouldn’t change the fact that Jason had been dragged home like a naughty nek pup, but Jason had always been terribly self-conscious about what other people thought of him. It would help boost his spirits to not be literally dragged inside. He hadn’t given any indication of running since Din had walked into the tiny backwater cantina, and Din didn’t see any reason he would change his mind. Of course, there was always the off chance he would bolt at the last second, crack under the pressure of having to face the Covert, but Din doubted it. He had seen that jutted chin a hundred times before. Jason had made up his mind, and he was going to follow through. Din’s chest burned with something like pride, and he clapped Jason on the shoulder before pulling one of the duffle bags over his shoulder. Mistakes were inevitable; it was how one dealt with the consequences that determined your mandokarla. Jason would be fine.
“Do they know we’re coming?” Jason asked, trying not to shift his weight too much.
“Yes. I informed them when I found you.”
“Great,” Jason huffed. “A welcome wagon.”
“They were concerned,” Din repeated. “Your buir would have come after you himself if the Armorer hadn’t stopped him.”
Jason grimaced at the idea. At least Din had left off after one measly attempt at a lecture. If it had been Bruce that found him, Jason wouldn’t have had a moment’s peace for the entire trip back. “Thank the gods,” he muttered. He cracked his neck. “Well, time to face the mudhorn,” he said, and laughed at the look Din gave him. Tim had started using the saying after Din told them how he got his signet, and it had quickly spread to the rest of their clan, then to the rest of the Covert. Din sighed and opened the hatch. Jason held tight to his grin and squared his shoulders.
They strode across the hard, cracked ground of Nevarro, boots echoing strangely against the lavastone. Jason projected confidence with everything he had. He had gotten quite good at it, first on the streets of Hitaro-1, then in the Covert. It helped that he wasn’t a tiny kid any more, not even coming up to Bruce’s collarbone. His clan would see through it, but the rest of the Covert would be fooled. He had to believe that, or he might not force himself through the doorway into the sewers.
The dark sky turned to stone over their heads, and Jason’s hands tightened into fists at the enclosed feeling. He had to get used to it again fast; he was going to spend the rest of his life underground.
As they made their way deeper into the sewers, two shadows detached themselves from the walls. Jason recognized the guards: Paz Vizsla and Rakao Mers. Everyone knew about Din and Vizsla's less-than-cordial relationship, and Jason expected the man to step into their path. But it wasn’t Din the man’s heavy gaze fell on. It was Jason.
“Tion'cuy? <Who goes there?>”
Jason faltered, unable to stop himself from shrinking back a little from the larger man. They only asked that question when they didn’t know the Mandalorian. But Vizsla knew him. His stomach sank.
“Paz,” Din said warningly. “Udesii. <Take it easy.>”
Vizsla’s gaze didn’t waver. “Meh gar cuyi Mando, jorhaa'i gar aliit. <If you are Mandalorian, speak your clan.>”
Jason’s jaw tightened. He knew he had put the Covert at risk. He knew they had a right to be angry. That didn’t make the rejection any easier to deal with. He reached down the front of his cuirass and pulled out his mythosaur pendant. “Ni cuy’ Jason Wayne be aliit Wayne. <I am Jason Wayne of Clan Wayne.>” He stared directly in Vizsla’s visor for a long few seconds before deliberately tilting his helmet down and to the right.
Vizsla let him stew in tense silence for a few more seconds before accepting the silent apology. “Su cuy'gar, vod,” he said, stepping back. It wasn’t the Mandalorian way to hold grudges or punish people by shunning them. They either fought their issues out or the Armorer made a decision and that was the end of it.
Jason’s shoulders slumped a little in relief, anyway. He would not have stood a chance if Paz had decided to take his anger out on Jason’s hide. As it was, he and Mers were clearly waiting for the Armorer’s sentence. He quickly straightened again, nodding to the older Mandalorians. As they headed further into the maze of silent hallways, Jason blew out a slow breath. Din glanced at him. “When does the Armorer want to see me?”
Din faced forward again. “In the morning. You will have the night with your aliit.”
Jason couldn’t decide if he wanted to smile or grimace at the thought. “Great.” The further they walked, the more jittery he felt. He knew his aliit loved him, he knew that Bruce wouldn’t hurt him. The man wasn’t a fan of fighting issues out, even though he was allowed to since Jason wasn’t an ad anymore. But even though he had spent seven years with the Mandalorians, he couldn’t help the fear any time he made a mistake. Hitaro-1 was a skug hole, and no one blinked an eye if Jason’s birth parents left him with bruises or cuts or, on one memorable occasion, a broken arm. Jason had been almost grateful for the injuries, it meant they were less likely to be able to sell him off into the slave trade. It was ironic, that in a fearsome warrior culture famed for their brutality Jason was safer and better treated than outside it. It was an irony he still struggled to wrap his head around.
Bruce had worked hard to replace Jason’s memories with better ones. He never hit Jason unless they were training, and even then it was careful and controlled. He always tried to keep his voice low and calm -- Jason wasn’t the only one that flinched at loud, angry men -- and he talked issues out instead of relying on his fists. That last one might have been an unusual trait for a Mandalorian -- even in the Covert it wasn’t unusual for buire to use punishment spars to teach a particularly strong-willed evaar'la <teenager> a lesson -- but no one looked down on Bruce for it. On the contrary, he was generally commended and sought after for parenting advice.
Jason only hesitated a moment outside the door to their clan lodgings, just long enough to bang his fist on the door and give anyone inside time to pull on their helmets. It occurred to him as he pushed open the door that it might have been better to wait until someone let him in. But it was too late now.
“Cyar'ika <Honey>, I’m home!” he called, forcing his voice into a semblance of cheer.
Din sighed audibly as he came inside and shut the door. Jason couldn’t even smile at the sound, anxiety locking all his muscles in place.
Footsteps pounded through the house and Dick skidded into the living room, his helmet on crooked, obviously pulled on in a hurry. “Jason,” he breathed. Jason had barely enough time to brace himself before Dick was slamming into him, grip tight even through the armor Jason was still wearing. “You’re back.” His head shot up, scanning Jason up and down. “Are you hurt?”
Jason shifted minutely, uncomfortable. “No, I’m in perfect health.”
Dick’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. That’s good. Because I am going to kill you!” His tone shifted from relief to absolute fury and Jason would have backed away if he weren’t still being clutched to Dick’s chest. He looked over Dick’s shoulder, where his other vode had gathered by the wall. The four of them were standing next to Din, who was gently tugging his mythosaur pendant from his ad’s mouth. Cass was a statue, Damian was scowling, Steph had her arms crossed, and Tim was tilting his head at a very dangerous angle. He would have no help from that quarter.
Dick was still ranting. “What the hell were you thinking? Do you have any idea how worried we were? I almost went after you. Bruce almost went after you. You’re lucky Din came back when he did because I was this close to pulling a you and stealing a ship-”
“Dick,” a deep voice said. Jason froze. Dick gave him one last, hard squeeze and his vocoder couldn’t hide the break in his voice as he said, “We are going to continue this conversation later,” before he was backing up. Jason stared determinedly at his boots. Three silent steps and a second pair joined them. They stood in agonizing silence for a long few seconds.
“Jason,” Bruce said softly. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, and there was no vocoder to hide the relief in his voice.
Jason’s throat was tight and his eyes were stinging. He kept his gaze on the floor. “Hey, buir,” he managed.
There was a moment of silence. Jason could feel Bruce’s gaze boring through the top of his helmet. “Thank you, Din,” Bruce said, “but if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to see my son’s face.”
“Of course,” Din said. “Ret'urcye mhi, everyone.”
“Ret'urcye mhi, <Goodbye,>” Jason’s vode echoed, and the door clicked shut behind Din and his ad.
Jason stood stock still as Bruce reached for his helmet. He moved slowly, gently lifting the helmet over Jason’s ears, and Jason met his buir’s eyes for the first time in months. Bruce’s eyes were wet, and the lines of worry that marred his face seemed deeper. Jason’s own eyes started to sting.
“Oh, Jas'ika,” Bruce breathed. He yanked Jason forward into a hug, and Jason clung to him, all of the homesickness he had been ignoring for months slamming into him with the force of a mudhorn. He had loved his ship, loved traveling and being free, but he hadn’t really felt safe since he left. There was always a part of him that was on guard, he could never totally let go, not like he could now.
“I missed you,” Jason whispered.
Bruce pulled back just enough to reach up, cupping Jason’s cheeks and pressing their foreheads together, and the part of Jason that had been brave and strong crumbled under his buir’s warmth. It had been so long since he had been touched without layers of armor in the way. “I missed you too,” Bruce said, sounding as choked up as Jason felt.
Jason closed his eyes. Tomorrow he’d have to go see the Armorer and accept his sentence. He’d have to deal with the anger and distrust of the Covert and readjust to living in hiding. He’d get slammed into the training mats by Dick, at the very least, and Bruce would probably assign him the grossest chores. But that was all later. For now he was being hugged by his buir, and he could smell dinner cooking and hear his vode arguing off to the side. He was safe. He was home.