Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Firmus Piett had been sixteen when the Clone Wars began.

Perhaps for most teenagers in the Core and Mid-Rim worlds, nothing of note had changed. The war was a distant thing, worried on by their parents while they remained tucked safely away in their homes. For teenagers enrolled in the Young Sailor Initiative for the Axxila Anti-Pirate Fleet and in the D’Astan Sector at large, it was a right karkfest without ever being invaded. Yet.

Serenno’s secession out of the Republic certainly didn’t help, as belonging in the same Sector, it made the other planets fall under suspicion. Axxila, the planet with the largest population, spearheaded the campaign of cleaning corruption within their government system when several mayors, ministers, and officials tried overthrowing the Prime Minister and vote the entire planet to the Separatists. As previous Admiral of the APF and to this day carries several outstanding bounties on his head by various groups, the PM shot four dead in the assassination attempt and proceeded to scuttle the rest of the sloozers in short and bloodthirsty order.

The public had been outraged and indignant that these traitors would attempt to circumvent the popular vote, and while the Republic had no love here this far out in the Rim, a society built upon a legacy of post-Hutt occupation, escaped slaves, ex-criminals, and bounty hunters, the thought of having their choices being made for them caused a significant amount of frothmouthing.

Celanon was quick to support the housekeeping trend, and the handful of other planets and residential moons of the Sector followed suit. It led to dozens of elected officials to be sent to the curb or to the jury, and a general sense of unrest to the rest of the galaxy.

It made Piett’s job a lot more interesting, with pirates, smugglers, and slavers trying to piggyback off the confusion and juggling of power.

Unfortunately for them, the APF and the YSI were rearing to go.

The Rodian was cussing to the high heavens when they were dragged out of the captured ship, spitting Huttese to two amused teenagers who were marching the pirate away and to the holding cells with the rest of their belligerent crew. Piett checked off Resisting Arrest on the list of crimes with a bland expression, filling in the blank box between Possession of Illegal Substance(s) and Operation of Stolen Vehicle.

“That’s the last of them, sir!” A bespectacled lad stuck his head from out of the cockpit, a bruise already forming on his cheekbone and cap still lopsided, but lips pulled into a lopsided grin.

“Thank you, Liam. You should go see the medbay for that bruise.” He clicked the datapad’s screen off, hazel eyes lifting up to glance around the common space of the frigate. “Have you seen Balund?”

“I think he went into storage, Captain!” Liam gave him a sloppy salute, grin widening as he got a disapproving look in return while tromping down the ramp back to the Rattlebog.

It was still a tad jarring to hear his title. While legal age of work was fifteen on Axxila, the APF’s age requirement was eighteen to prevent a fuss from the Republic since they dealt with more than one rerouted public transport. Previously, those interested remained enrolled at the Academy until they were of age, but the YSI had been developed for younger sailors to gain real experience under what was supposed to be a relatively controlled environment under adult supervision.

It had been a doozy from the get-go, as the first voyage when Piett had been fourteen (he had been allowed entry due to permission by A’ma) went completely sideways by getting cornered by two slaver ships on the fringes of the Sector.

With no deaths, several minor injuries, and the Orcara Admiral having bitten someone’s ear off, it had been a resounding success.

Now with the Admiral of the Rattlebog being voted in for Representative for the entire Sector (somehow the entire sector of planets collectively decided to lump together under one Representative instead of individual Senators and by some miracle agreed on the same person by nearly 90% of the popular vote for someone who hadn’t even ran), and the oldest of the crew being reassigned to other vessels, it had left Piett, at seventeen, as the oldest and most experienced member of the now all-teenager crew. He was hitting the ground running, and the whole crew wholeheartedly right behind him.

Letting the sloppy salute slide for now, Piett strode across the room to the narrow hallway. Wall panels had been pulled away during the scuffle, exposing a cache of broken battle droids salvaged from one of the many battlefields elsewhere in the galaxy. Illegal for civilians to have without proper certificates of handling and disposal, and certainly illegal to be attempting to sell. Pirates did not care for such legalities, however. They cared about profit, not the damage that could be done to innocents when some moron tried to rebuild the war droids for their own use, or have it self-destruct, as some were prone to do when tampered with.

With a disapproving frown, he looked away from the illicit goods in the walls and stepped into the trove of other stolen and illegal property, datapad tucked under his arm as he located the tall Nalroni.

“Captain Piett,” Balund bowed his muzzle towards the shorter being as Piett moved beside him, ears cocked to somewhere behind him. Listening, but to what? Piett kept his expression mild, but his gaze flitted over Balund’s shoulder, wary of whatever it was that had piqued the other’s interest.

“Everything in order, Lieutenant?”

“Nothing rigged to blow that I can tell, sir. We’ll have to do a secondary scan, mine's on the fritz right now, but they should be safe enough to move.”

A shadow crept across the far wall, behind some barrels of Spice. Balund’s tufted ears followed, nose quivering as he resisted sticking it up in the air to snuff. He did an excellent job in keeping his voice from flexing in his interest, and with his back to the movement, their intruder wouldn’t be able to see his expression.

“We’ll need to make room in Containment again,” Piett hummed, making a show of pulling the datapad out from under his arm and turning the screen on without navigating to the proper page as he kept the movement in his peripheral, watching it inch close towards the exit. It was humanoid in shape, but small. Another pirate? “This is the tenth ship we’ve captured this week alone. It’s only a blessing we decided to scrap the last four and three more were ten-and-less occupancy.”

“The last five weren’t worth two chits put together.” Balund’s lips pulled back from canine teeth in a sneer. “The only reason we kept the Nightfellow was because it’s apparently a collectable-“

The shadow lurched, darting out from its cover in a bid of freedom while the two were distracted. Unfortunate for them, Piett was well and ready, datapad not even hitting the floor before he had grabbed the being and drew them short.

His reward was sharp pain shooting up his arm from his hand as the being- the kid- sank their teeth into the joint of his thumb.

Piett, as any Axxilan teenager who spent their days hunting down pirates, cussed in three different tongues of which Huttese was only one of them and was perhaps the mildest of the words he uttered. He let go of the brat in the instinctual need to escape pain, only for Balund to swoop in and hoist the child up by the scruff like a disobedient pup before they could flee.

“Let me go!” The child-the boy- struggled, trying to kick the Nalroni, whose long reach kept the boy out flailing uselessly. He wasn’t even a tween, ten being the oldest that Piett would guess, a tanned Human or Human-passing child who spoke with a sharp accent and bared his teeth and glared with even sharper dark amber eyes from under an untamed mass of dark, tangled curls. But his cheeks were on the thin side, dirt smudged across his nose and under his nails. His clothes may have once been a beige tunic, but it was now an abstract painting of grease, oil, and general filth.

Piett shared a look with Balund.

“Slave or stowaway?”

The boy glowered, puffing out his cheeks at the question despite not being directed at him. “I’d rather be dead than a slave.”

Stowaway, then. On a pirate’s ship of all places. It boded better for the pirates, because having Transportation and Sale of Sentient Beings was certainly something they did not want checked off on their list in this part of the Outer-Rim if they wanted to live. It didn’t bode well for Piett, because dealing with runaways and stowaways usually meant dealing with indignant, emotional, or traumatized individuals who either had no respect for authority or had drawn the shittiest hand in life that they were on the cusp of a mental breakdown.

It also meant a banthaton of flimsiwork.

“What’s your name, kid?” Piett wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose at the pending headache as the boy had the audacity to hiss at him.

"Go choke on seawater elsewhere, osi'yaim!"

He suppressed a sigh. Great, an uncooperative brat of a child. Basic wasn't his first language, judging from the curt jabs of his pronunciations and continuous impeccable stabs of curses that no language barrier could stop. Yet Piett was feeling remarkably petty at the moment, sharp pain throbbing through his fingers from the vicious bite, and so he smacked his lips and gave the inquiry again in slow, precise order with only the barest of distaste that would make A'ma sigh and Bluebird huff in amusement if they were here listening in.

"What. Is. Your. Name?"  

The question, even with clear wording, was ignored as the boy scowled, spat out what could only be another cuss in whatever his primary language was, and tried kicking Balund again, this time hooking his leg up around the Nalroni’s arm and tried to do… something. Balund just barked in his version of a laugh, letting the kid growl and try biting him as well. Too bad- the Nalroni had eight younger siblings to roughhouse with that one scrawny Human was more funny than anything to the canine being.

Piett gave in to pinching his nose.

Chapter Text

“You certainly know how to pick them, Piett dear.” Mrs. Obrin glanced over at Piett who stood behind the scowling boy, hand clamped down on the child’s shoulder to keep him from jumping up from his chair and trying to escape through the ceiling vent. Again.

The boy had been a handful since being discovered. He had, effectively, broken out of the three rooms they tried holding him in, slipped out from under watch of eight different people, stole someone’s blaster (which had been recovered almost immediately right after at the cost of a new hole in one of the hallways), tried stabbing Liam with a fork, and freed himself from a total of five binders until Piett slapped on a pair he carried with him that kept even belligerent Wookies from breaking free on his wrists, then chained another set to the first binders, the other end clasping around Piett’s own wrist to keep the boy tethered and on a short leash.

This was all before the Rattlebog docked on Mactorb Station above Celanon for unloading, repairs, and put the crew on shore leave until their next scheduled patrol some two weeks out. At least no one else had gotten bit (his thumb still ached under the bacta and plaster), small mercies. But they’ll certainly need to work on watching troublesome charges the next time they meet back up for training before their next patrol. Pirates were one thing. Angry, feral children was something else.

The ancient Nautolan folded her hands, returning her attention to the boy. He jutted his chin out defiantly.

“I know this is difficult for you, dear,” Mrs. Obrin consoled the boy as gently as she could in her flowing Alderaanian voice. “But the faster you answer us truthfully, the sooner you will be out of here, alright?”

His glowering continued for another minute before he dropped his gaze from the black, unblinking eyes of Mrs. Obrin. He then gave a jerky nod, unable to keep up the defiance, although his expression was still quite confrontational. It was more progress than the entire crew of the Rattlebog could achieve, but she was a miracle worker so it was both a relief and expected.

“Alright then, dear.” Mrs. Obrin smiled, turning to her computer terminal on her desk as she tapped across the keyboard. “May I have your full name?”

“…Boba.” The boy was glaring at her through a curtain of knotted bangs, chin tilted down towards his chest. “Boba Fett, son of Jango Fett.”

“And what does your father do, Boba?” Her fingers continued across the letters, already looking up any identification.

Boba straightened up a little, clearly proud of his dad. “He’s a bounty hunter!” he exclaimed, before his shoulders slumped a little, the gleam in his eye fading back into a scowl. “You won’t find him. He’s dead, and there’s no one else.”

It must be a recent event, Piett mused, giving the boy a consoling squeeze on the shoulder he was still holding to. He himself knew what it was like to lose family, but he had A’ma now. She had stepped in when no one else did. Who was left for Boba? Who would stand by his side?

Mrs. Obrin gave a sympathetic noise in her throat as she scrolled through what was on her display.

“Fett is a very Mandalorian name. Was your father a Mandalorian?” With another jerky nod, the Nautolan hummed, fingers clacking again. She frowned at what she was reading, and Piett’s headache was creeping behind his eyes again, because that could only bode for ill when Mrs. Obrin frowned.

“Well, my dear, you’re not in any Republic database, and I cannot find your father either, not even for any registered Guild,” she explained to Boba, giving Piett another glance. “I can request to search through the Mandalorian census, but it could take quite some time.”

“I’m not on it,” Boba replied with such certainty that it could only be the truth. “I wasn’t… born, on Mandalore or in its Sector.”

“But your father was, wasn’t he?” Mrs. Obrin was already making notes on her terminal. “I can hopefully find a next of kin there, but it will take a little while before I am granted access. A few days to a week, perhaps, considering the past state of things in the Sector. In the meantime… well…”

“Mrs. Obrin?”

She sighed as she looked at Piett. “He isn’t from Republic Space, so giving him to Child Services would be beyond their jurisdiction, and with the war going on they are so far over capacity I’d be reluctant to send any child under their care, citizen or not. We can’t just take him directly to Mandalore either, if he isn’t in their census. That’d be another mess of trying to find someone to watch him and trust them to find a next of kin without them letting him slip through the cracks, as I quite frankly don’t trust the New Mandalorians to properly care for a child raised by a bounty hunter. We could ask for one on the Shelter List to watch over him until a next of kin is found, but with his father being a bounty hunter…”

“You expect retaliation.”

Boba jerked under Piett’s hand, twisting a little to look up at him with confusion while Mrs. Obrin nodded.

“Bounty hunters don’t make many friends,” he explained to the boy. “But many enemies. If they know of your existence, then I wouldn’t doubt at least one dangerous, interested party in trying to come after you in revenge against your parent if and when they hear he’s dead and you and easy target in their eyes. If your father was Mandalorian, then at least we have better hope in being able to find someone to take care of you and be able to fend off whatever sloozer tries to pop up.”

Boba opened his mouth, but realization crossed over his expression as he shut it again. He didn’t look happy, slouching back in his seat, but he didn’t appear to be itching to escape anymore.

"You won't find anyone. I don't have relatives."

“Oh, you'll be surprised," Mrs. Obrin explained as turned her attention back to her computer. "In this Sector we can go as far as a fifteen generations to find a proper relation available to be your guardian. If we can't find one, then we'll come back to the drawing board and see our options. As for the problem at hand, there aren’t many Shelterers who have the skillset to prevent such a threat,” Mrs. Obrin pulled up another list on her screen, blinking large eyes at the scrolling letters. “I can compile a list and reach out to anyone qualified, but that too will take some hours-”

“I’ll do it.”

Mrs. Obrin froze. Boba stared at him with wide eyes.

Piett swallowed.

“I’ll Shelter him. I know I’m not on the list and I’m technically too young, but I’ve been serving the APF for a few years now, and currently he’s under my supervision. I am on leave for at least the rest of the week, it wouldn’t be too much of a problem to give him the stability of staying with me until you find next of kin. Between myself and A’ma, he’ll be as safe as we can get if there are people after him. And the less people involved, the less of a chance an innocent bystander will get hurt.”

Mrs. Obrin stared at him for several long seconds before she smiled, huffing out a laugh.

“Well, your A’ma is certainly a deterrent if they know what’s best for them. And you do seem to have young Boba here in hand.” She eyed the bindings for a moment, but didn’t let it deter her as she went back to her screen to clack out a few forms. It wouldn’t be the first or last child that was a Flight Risk.

“I’ll be sure to send the forms to you for signing as soon as you have a moment. I’ll flag it as Confidential so no one can come snooping all willy-nilly into our servers, but if there are people out for him they might already know he’s here. I’d be careful if I were you, Piett dear.  

“Thank you, Mrs. Obrin.” He gave her a bow of his head, before giving the bindings a gentle tug. “Come on then, Boba. Let’s go catch a transport home.”

For once, Boba followed without complaint.

Chapter Text

Mactorb Station was packed. Several public transports had been rerouted to safer hyperlanes, and there was a scramble between the available ships to get everyone where they wanted to be with the changes in their flightpaths.

Piett stepped neatly around a crowd of bickering Twi’leks, humming as he glanced down at his datapad.

“There’s a transport making a stop at Axxila that's leaving soon,” he told Boba, scrolling down the itinerary. Cerrus V was a smaller, but wealthier public transport on its way back to Denon from a trip in the Core, but had been deviated far off course due to Separatist warships seen lurking on the usual hyperlanes. It had to stop at Axxila for "minor repairs" that couldn’t be completed here on the station according to the delay schedule, which worked well enough for Piett.

“If we head over now, we should be able to make it before its departure. Would you like to see if we could order food on the ship, or wait until we get to Axxila? It’ll be a few hours.”

Boba didn’t say anything, and Piett lowered his datapad to look at the boy. His head was bowed, dirty curls hiding his face from view, sullen as the moment he left Mrs. Obrin’s office. He wasn’t hopeful in getting a long-haul room for Boba to get at least a sonic in on the trip back to Axxila, since the transport had public seating available along with its private long-haul rooms that were certainly full by now, but it might help the boy’s disposition. It wasn’t right to leave him dirty and hungry, even if he had bitten him.

Piett sighed as he tucked the datapad into his interior.

“We’ll see what they have available once we board, then.”

He still got no reply, not that he expected any. The boy was brooding, and Piett wasn’t about to keep prodding until he snapped. He kept navigating the crowded station instead, Boba dutifully walking beside him.

The calm lasted until they were right at the gates allowing entry onto Cerrus V when Boba, quite unexpectedly, dropped straight to the floor and screamed.

Piett nearly jumped out of his skin, the binding on his wrist pulling taut as Boba yanked back, screaming at the top of his lungs in a language he could only guess was Mando'a. He was terrified for the worst, heart skipping in his throat in fear that they had already been caught up to, until he spotted the calculated look in the boy’s eyes, the quick smug smirk before he turned wide pleading eyes to the crowd and wailed. He knew, oh, he knew, he was being played. It was drawing attention from the nearby crowds, busybodies slowing down to ogle the screaming child as Piett felt his ears heat up in embarrassment.

“For fuck’s sake, lad,” he muttered, the Outer-Rim drawl specially curtailed to the Axxilan dialect thick on his tongue as he grabbed Boba’s bindings by the middle. “Back up on your feet.”

The boy made himself boneless, wiggling as a caught fish and entirely unhelpful. Piett’s headache returned with a raging throb between his ears as he yanked Boba up, throwing the boy over his shoulder like a sack of tubers. He got pointy elbows into his spine and knocked into the back of his head, but the binders prevented the kid from grabbing his service blaster on his opposite hip even as they dug into his own wrist in its tangled mess.

“You are the worst, most incorrigible child ever to exist. I’m helping you, you frothmouthing brat.”

“Bad day, Captain?” the stationworker grinned at him, not even bothering to get up from his post at the check-in desk as he watched the commotion with great interest.

Piett gave him a deadpan stare at he plucked up the stylus, signing himself and his charge onto Cerrus V while Boba was having a blast of a time pulling his uniform out from tucked into his belt in attempt to claw up his back as a vicious nexu.

“Brothers can be such brats, huh?” The man winked, waving Piett through, and Piett marched through without looking back at the multitude of onlookers gawking at the spectacle.

“Were you dropped on your head as a baby?” Piett hissed as Boba’s screaming stopped as sudden as it started as soon as they stepped onto Cerrus V and out of sight from the other passengers. “Are you trying to attract every single criminal after your head?”

“Why do you talk like you got a mouthful of rocks?” Boba snapped back, clearly still being belligerent on purpose.

“I’m trying to help you!”

“I’d be better off with gangsters!”

Stars save him from a bounty hunter’s brat.  Of course he’d think he could handle criminals, being raised in an environment where that’s what he saw his father do day in and day out. He probably thought he could bite them into submission too. Maybe he could handle himself in a pinch, but he was still only ten, and Mandalorian bounty hunters tended to attract the worst kind of enemies. Piett wouldn’t let him get caught up into a slaver’s ring or wind up dead in some petty vengeance against his already dead parent, even if he had to continue dragging Boba kicking and screaming.

“If you wanted to die that badly I can show you the exit.”

Boba hissed like a hot teakettle and thrusted his knee into Piett's side with a glancing blow that had minimal power due to its awkward angle. It failed to make him flinch.

The engines rumbled underfoot as Cerrus V disembarked from Mactorb Station, heading its way towards the four hour journey to Axxila. They had found themselves in an empty corridor, free from their previous audience and far off from the public seating that no one could hear them. Boba slumped against his shoulder, all previous fight bleeding out of him.

“…I can walk.”

“Are you going to scream bloody murder again?”

He could feel the scowl as small hands patted at his back. Piett sighed, relenting as he stooped down to drop the kid back onto his feet. Boba glowered at him before looking away, watching the stars pass the corridor’s porthole.

Why did he agree to this again?

“Look…” Piett knelt down so he was eyelevel with the boy. Boba’s flitted his eyes underneath his bangs before back to the porthole again. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, and you’re used to doing things on your own, but as your Shelterer it’s my duty to make sure you don't end up in the ground too early. So let’s just… knock off the biting and the fits, alright?”

Boba didn’t say anything, his mouth curling into a grimace and eyes still on the blur of stars. It was the best he was going to get at this point in time from the child. Piett wanted to sigh again, instead rising back to his feet and smoothing out his uniform the best he could from its previous mismanagement.

“Right. Let’s go find the-“

“I think they went this way.”

The pair froze at the Huttese echoing down from around the corner. Hazel met amber as the two looked at each other, another voice hissing to the first to shut up. Despite the previous bravado, Boba’s eyes were blown wide as he stared up at Piett. They needed to move. Now.

Piett took hold of his hand, and in a rare moment of shared wavelength, their feet darted quick and quiet on the durasteel floor towards the closest travel compartment. The locks were a familiar brand, and it only took a combination of hitting three buttons at once to override the lock and pop the door open. Boba fell inside, Piett quick to follow, the boy slapping at the interior panel to shut and lock the door again without being prompted. It slid close just as their ominous shadows turned the corner.

He peered through the peephole, Boba leaning up with one ear against the door as they waited with baited breath. The silence was tense as it took several minutes before a human with half his hair shaved off and black tattoos covering his face passed into his vision, jabbing at the door panel to see if it was open. It beeped and blinked red to show it was locked, eliciting a scowl from the man. A Nikto appeared right behind him, moving on to the next door to test its locks, and continuing on down the corridor before moving out of sight.

When he could no longer see them, Piett placed his own ear to the door to listen to the bootfalls. It was another five minutes before they lost track of them, and let another minute roll by just to be safe until Boba breathed out a sigh, the tension fading from his posture.

“…That was close.”

Piett hummed, but something itched the back of his mind and made his skin prickle. Something wasn’t right.

Then he heard the click of a blaster pistol’s safety being turned off right in his ear, the barrel tickling the hair on the back of his head.

“Don’t. Move.”

Chapter Text

Piett let out a quiet breath, eyes closing as his headache throbbed.

“You do know it’s a crime to threaten a member of the Anti-Pirate Fleet,” he told the stranger behind him. The stranger behind him snorted, the blaster steady against his head.

“No honest person I know kidnaps a kid either, but here we are.”

Oh for kriff’s sake-

“I did not kidnap anyone!” Piett did not turn around, but he sure as hell wanted to, eyes snapping open to glare at the door. “Boba is a Flight Risk, you thick fucker. As the captain who found him, it’s my duty to take care of him until his next of kin are found.”

“I’m not a moron.” The other scoffed, disbelief and scorn in his tone. “I know how the galaxy works. You’re- what- fourteen? You’re no captain.”

“I’m seventeen you-!”

Piett twisted his head, fury coloring his cheeks. The blaster dug sharply into his skull at the motion, but now Piett could catch the fringes of the stranger’s appearance. Tall, masculine, human. His accent was a mix of Mid-Rim and Core, from a wealthy education, no doubt. He was no stranger to blasters, though, hand still and stance confident. Any other time Piett would’ve been keen on seeing how his aim was, but he didn’t want his head being the target, thank you.

“I said,” the man growled, the blaster pushing harsh enough to nearly knock Piett’s chin to his chest. “Don’t move.”

Piett huffed sharply through his nose, gaze flicking down to Boba, who was watching the scene unfold with the same wide-eyed trepidation of someone watching a spectacular holodrama on release night. The nudge of the blaster made him turn his head fully back around to face the door, wondering if a bolt would hurt less or more than his current headache.

“Now,” the stranger began after a minute of Piett complying. “This is what you’re going to do. You are going to let the boy go, and then you are going to stay put until I say so.”

“I thought you said not to move.” He was being petty, but he didn’t get whipped in the back of the head for his mouthiness like some gangsters would do. He got a huff instead, the barrel moving away to allow him to regain motion of his head.

“No sudden moves, then.”

Piett repressed a sigh as he turned to look down at Boba again. The boy was blinking up at him, amber eyes all innocent and hopeful expression that was far too buttery to be anything than some ploy. Piett didn’t need to be a mind reader to know trouble was afoot, and this time it wasn’t aimed at him.

“Well, as you will.” He held down his thumb onto the binder’s reader, letting the light blink thrice before he let go. It blinked from red to yellow before it clicked, sliding off his wrist and let the little blighter free from his leash.

“Good, now come here- oof!”

Boba, as the feral Mandalorian brat that he was, decided to ram head-first into the stranger’s private area.

It was a mad scramble for the next several minutes, as Piett lunged over Boba, grabbing hold of the man’s- the teen’s- arm holding the blaster and wrenching it hard after he had staggered back under the force and pain of having a child rail into his junk. The blond, tall, and broad-shouldered teen was surprisingly quick to recover, his free arm punching Piett hard in the ribs before they toppled over each other’s feet, falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. They wrestled across the carpet, the blond rolled them both over with his overwhelming momentum in comparison to Piett’s lean frame. Not to be outdone, Boba immediately leaped onto the teen’s back, putting the bindings on his wrist to use as he choked him with them.

The blaster- Piett’s blaster- escaped the larger teen’s grasp by then, and Piett kicked it out of reach under the furniture while the stranger took hold of Boba’s arms and threw him over his head, the lad hitting the floor with his back with a harsh thump. The young Captain didn’t give him a reprieve to breathe as he gave the blond a series of jabs to the solar plexus before large hands grabbed him to pin his arms to the floor.

It only lasted for a second before Boba decided to throw a chair at them both.

“Hey! I’m trying to help you!” the blond yelled at Boba after ducking the flying furniture, blocking a knee to the gut from Piett but not the punch that followed to his large nose after he slipped one wrist out from under the offending grip. His arm was quickly restrained by a strong hand once more, pinned so hard he could almost feel his bones grind against each other.

“So was I, and he still bit me!” Piett snapped back as the other teen pressed down on him, blood dripping onto his uniform.

“That’s what you get for kidnapping him, you slaver scum!”

“I. Did. NOT.” Each word was punctuated by a bashing of his forehead against the blond’s chin. It was enough to loosen the grip on his wrists, and Piett curled his legs up to shove the other off.

“How fucking dare you accuse me of such a thing,” he spat, blood slurring his already thick Axxilan accent from the split lip and bitten tongue. “We Axxilan are descendants of slaves, we’d never sell another person!”

That made the blond teen pause, piercing grey eyes staring at him as they both panted for breath.

“…You mean that.”

“Of course I mean that, you entitled aa’ola.”

“Oh.” The previous fire was fading with every breath, the teen’s face falling from angry determination to abject horror as he took in Piett’s rumpled uniform. “…I don’t suppose you were also telling the truth about being a Captain…?”

“The youngest in the Fleet- Boba, no!”

Boba froze, the recovered chair held up behind the blond’s head. Piett gave him the most disappointed look, causing the boy to sigh and set down the furniture without bashing the stranger’s head in.

“You’re no fun,” he griped, but looking far too pleased for having being part of a fight. Mandalorians, honestly.

“It’s just a misunderstanding.” Piett ran his tongue over his teeth as he sat up, wincing at the taste of copper, but overall pleased that he hadn’t chipped a tooth in the brawl. “I’m Captain Firmus Piett of the Axxila Anti-Pirate Fleet. Boba is what you could consider my charge for the time being. We hadn’t mean to barge in, but I don’t particularly like having to fight members of Hutt Cartels on a public transport.”

The other teen had followed suit in sitting up from the floor, pinching his nose to stifle the blood leaking down his face. “Max Veers. Sorry about the, well-“

He gestured vaguely between them, and Piett couldn’t help but huff out a laugh that made both his ribs and his head ache.

“Me too.”

All three of them were in a right state. Even Boba didn’t escape unscathed, the bindings having cut into his wrists during the strangulation attempt and would certainly be feeling the slam into the floor later. The carpet was stained with blood, and furniture had been upended. Veers was only wearing a pair of sweatpants, the bed nearby clearly showing signs of occupation until the interruption. Piett did a quick calculation and concluded it was quite late- or rather, quite early- if based off the Galactic Standard most public transports ran their night cycles on.

No wonder Veers immediately thought the worst. Being awoken up by someone breaking in wasn’t pleasant.

Piett wiped his chin with the back of his hand, smearing blood. He was sweaty, aching, and wanted nothing more than to go home, lay face down in the middle of A’ma’s kitchen on the cool tiles, and take a nap to chase away the throbbing headache that was well on its way to becoming a full blown migraine. He took a glance at Boba’s matted curls and amended the mental checklist.

“Is there any chance we can borrow your ‘fresher?”

Chapter Text

Apparently Denon’s wealthier public transports have water showers. Piett hadn’t been looking forward to being scrubbed raw by the sonic on his wounds, but this was a nice surprise. What wasn’t a nice surprise was Boba, who had been released from his bindings with a single look in warning and ushered into the fresher first, came out sopping wet with his clothes nowhere in sight as he shook his curls out like an akk dog, shedding water everywhere.

Piett, who had his arms full of borrowed cloths from Veers, decided their new acquaintance could take care of that challenge instead of him for once and ducked into the fresher with a simple call over his shoulder of “don’t let him escape”.

Veers will be fine. Maybe. Probably.

Piett closed his eyes, the patter of water on his scalp soothing his headache for the moment. There was still another two and a half hours until they reached Axxila. Piett loved being in the stars, but he knew Axxila like the back of his hand. Avoiding trouble from criminals hunting Boba in extension of his father’s debts would be easier on his home turf, and the locals knew to protect their own from untoward attention of outsiders. They already had two after their trail and more on the way, but none of them would know the planet’s ins and outs like he did. Boba would be safe in his care long enough to find his next of kin. He’ll make sure of it.

Cracking his eyelids open, Piett turned off the water with a reluctant sigh. Boba’s clothes were piled up in the corner, damp from being stomped across by small, wet feet. Piett’s own filthy uniform was folded up as neatly as he could on the sink. He eyed the rags in the corner as he fished his salvaged belt through the loop of Veer’s bigger and longer pants, the cuffs rolled up thrice so he wouldn’t trip on the excess. There had to be a laundry room somewhere on a ship this fancy, but was it worth the risk sneaking out to wash up their clothes? He wrinkled his nose, pulling the shirt over his head. No, it wouldn’t be worth it. Boba’s clothes would disintegrate in the clothing sonic.

The shirt was… quite ridiculous, if Piett was honest, as he stared at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t taken a look at it when Veers rummaged through his luggage, but he should’ve checked before committing to it. He couldn’t remember ever owning, let alone wearing, a shirt from some band he couldn’t even read the name of written in electric purple and the suggestively angled and scantily-cladded band members made his ears turn pink. It slumped over one shoulder, exposing the motley bruise forming on his pale skin. With his hair askew from toweling it off and the dark shadows under his eyes, it made Piett look like he was recovering from a heavy night of partying at a concert.

Piett gave his reflection a bland expression as he grabbed his boots and exited the fresher.

Boba, by some miracle, had been stuffed into one of Veer’s giant shirts, this one a simple black. It was cinched in the middle, the excess fabric tied and tucked into a repurposed... something. It was long and yellow and Veers had even tied it into a neat bow that made Boba preen as he shoveled a spoonful of tuber mash into his mouth from his seat on the bed, quite pleased with himself in his new makeshift dress.

At least he wasn’t naked.

“I ordered food.” Piett started as Veers spoke by his shoulder, craning his neck to look up at the taller teen. Veers didn’t smile, but he did soften his expression as he offered a serving tray to the young Captain. “You two looked pretty starved.”

“…It’s been a long few days,” Piett admitted, accepting the meal with grace. There hadn’t been much time to eat, between escorting pirates and handling the flimsiwork in booking them and their illicit goods before ever stumbling across a feral Mandalorian child. A’ma sometimes had to remind him to eat, even when he was on the other side of the Sector and hadn’t realized himself how long it had been since his last meal. It was a skill she was quite apt at.

“I can see that.” Pale eyes roved over Piett, the mouth finally curling into a smirk. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” His tone was so dry Tatooine could be wet as Piett turned and made himself at home at the nearby desk, picking his way through the food he was given.

Veers, undeterred, dragged a chair over to sit next to him, elbow propped on the edge of the desk and chin in hand.

“He told me you’re fostering him.”

“I’m Sheltering him.”

“Is there a difference?”

Piett closed his eyes to fight back the pounding behind them as he nibbled on a dinner roll.

“It’s a pseudo-adoption in these parts. A Shelterer takes a Shelteree into their home and treats them as their own, no matter short or long they stay. Their debts are your debts, your home is their home, and they are part of your family now forever. A Shelterer takes full responsibility of their charges and doesn’t matter the age, species, or origin. If anyone threatens them, by the Stars’ Wrath they will regret it.” He set the roll down to look over at Boba, the boy watching them with his spoon still halfway to his mouth. “No amount of Hutt peons and drug lord ghouls will stop me.”

He picked up the bottle that had come with his meal, some sort of juice that smelled almost too sweet to be palpable when he cracked the lid open. He peered at its bright pink contents, internally sighing as he brought it to his lips.

“Besides, if I fall, then they’ll have to go through A’ma, and there won’t be a Hutt Space left to salvage from.”

“Is she your mom?”

Piett snorted juice out of his nose when horrible, evil Boba popped up by his elbow, amber eyes peering up at him. It made his migraine spike horribly, and he pushed his tray away to press the heels of his palms to his eyes as he coughed up the rest of his drink. Veers thumped him heartedly on the back.

“No,” he managed to croak out, blindly grabbing for a napkin. “No, A’ma is my… legal guardian, I suppose. She stood in the typhere- the, ah, place of responsibility during Axxilan funerals. It’s a form of official adoption.”

“You Axxilans have a lot of ways to adopt or fake adopt people, huh?”

Piett risked cracking his eyes open to shoot a glower at Veers. “Our society is built by people with broken or fractured families. So we developed ways to build our own.”

“I’m not saying it’s bad,” Veers sat up, his hands out in a pacifying motion. “It’s just… different, is all.”

“Mandalorians can adopt anyone with a vow,” Boba pipped in, watching Piett with an unreadable stare. “Do you really want me in your family? Won’t your A’ma be mad?”

“You are quite the frisky ankle biter.” Piett rested his hand on Boba’s damp curls, giving him a small, if pained smile. “I tried biting my A’ma too when I first started living under her care and she still hasn’t gotten rid of me. You’ll fit right in.”

For the first time, Boba returned with a tiny, but undeniable smile back.

Chapter Text

“No.”

“Yes.”

Piett wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, instead staring impassively at Veers. Veers stared back, arms folded, a bag at his feet and expression as solid as durasteel. Boba swiveled his head between the two of them, clearly interested in seeing what sort of drama unfolded. Spaceport officials and visitors walked in a flurry of color just outside the nook they sequestered in, unaware of the battle of wills happening just feet away.

“Look,” Piett cracked first, migraine unbearable and wishes of laying on the floor and becoming moss forever out of reach. “You have been very helpful so far, and thank you for that, but you can’t come with us.”

“You need all the help you can get,” Veers retorted, thoroughly unimpressed. “Someone needs to watch both your backs, and I got the extra blaster to do so.”

So he did, holster already at his belt and pistol cleaned with precision. It must’ve been buried in his luggage somewhere, because Piett hadn’t seen it the entire time they had been sequestered in Veer’s room, even when he had been half under the bed fishing out his own service blaster.

Piett hadn’t been expecting to see Veers again after saying their farewells, their filthy clothes tucked away into a small drawstring bag the blond had dug out for them. Their borrowed clothing would make them harder to spot, considering Piett was now out of uniform and Boba had been complimented by no less than three grandmotherly figures of different species for his dress and luscious, curly locks. That was before Veers caught up with them, a rucksack that certainly did not hold the full extent of his luggage and demanding to come with them.

Boba was thrilled. Piett was not.

“What about your luggage? Your family? You’ll certainly miss your flight to Denon at this rate.”

“I told the crew to send my stuff back to my parents place if I don’t make departure,” Veers shrugged, undeterred. “And Mom wasn’t happy when I snuck off to go on this trip anyway, despite Dad helping me get to the spaceport. What’s a few more days?”

Piett made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“I think he should come with us,” Boba interjected, unhelpful and troublesome, as usual. “It’s always advisable to enter enemy territory with your Squad.”

“He’s not part of our- there is no Squad!”

Piett made the fatal mistake of looking down at Boba’s sad, hopeful puppy eyes. He could feel himself wavering. And his skull cracking under the pressure of his migraine.

“…Fine. But as soon as we make it home, you’re heading back to the Spaceport.” He shook a finger at Veers, who cracked a grin, giving him a rather crisp salute despite the saltiness of his “Aye aye, cap’n’!”

“Yes!” Boba latched himself to Veers leg, then in all his insufferable personality, dropped to a loud, conspiring whisper. “Can I have it now?”

“Here.”

Piett watched, aghast, as Veers pulled a vibroknife out of his boot and handed it to Boba, who snatched it up with a terrifying glint in his eye. Those fuckers-

“Did you bribe him to try to convince me to let you come?!”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

Piett pinched his nose hard, breathing out sharply through his nose as Boba added the vibroknife to his own boot, pleased as punch.

“If you stab someone, make sure it’s only for self-defense.” Piett gave up on that obvious lost battle, instead dropping his hand from his face and opening his fingers in a silent gesture that Boba accepted, small hand sliding easily into his own, looking all the innocent, cute child he certainly wasn’t. “As for you, you better keep up. Axxila’s streets are complicated enough without losing you to them.”

“I’m sure I’m up to the challenge.” Veers hoisted his bag to his shoulder, giving Piett an appraisal with his grey gaze, blond eyebrow quirking. “Not that it wouldn’t be much of one.”

Piett proceeded to stick his nose up in the air and step out of the nook instead of deigning the slight any sort of response. He could hear Veers snort behind him, but his boots plodding after them with ease.

Axxila was an arid planet, although not the rolling sands of Tatooine. It was mostly dry, compact clay and beds of rock. There were plains of tall, drought-resistant grasses and low shrubs outside the city complexes, but by and large the planet itself was mostly shades of brown. The citizens made up for it with their banners of bright colors, the terracotta decals painted with small flower petals and sweeping strokes of feathers. Mosaics were set into the walls and decorated the walkways. Stained glass reflected the sunlight, their rainbows dancing over them as they walked under the tinkling wind chimes hung above their heads. Potted plants grew from every windowsill and balcony, sheltered by the tall buildings and pedestrian bridges.

Boba’s feet started to drag a bit as he gawked at the sights. Even Veers took a pause, but Piett had already clocked five suspicious figures lurking at several market stands to let them soak it in. He squeezed Boba’s hand, sparing a glance over his shoulder.

“Feet up, Veers,” he murmured, the din of the crowd drowning him out from unwanted eavesdroppers, but it did reach the tall teen, who hitched his bag just a little bit higher, his face settling into grim determination as he marched forward to match Piett’s gait. Boba instantly slipped his other hand into Veers’, who started, looking down at the petulant child. Boba’s amber eyes stared up at him, all innocent, and the blond rolled his eyes in response but didn’t let go.

“Oh! Firmus! You’re back!”

The Huttese caught Piett as they passed by a flower stand, a familiar head popping out.

“I can’t stay long, Katomr,” he replied back, but he did tug the other two closer to the orange Devaronian, Veers having to duck under the low awning much to his amusement (it helped hide away from a pair of neerdowells who had been following them. Piett could see their reflection in a polished glass pane looking around before disappearing back into the crowd). “We have to get home.”

“I see that!” Katomr leaned over the counter, dreads falling past vestigial horns as she grinned at Boba, who was clearly keeping up with the conversation, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Well met. I see that Firmus has learned how to pick up strays.” Her eyes lifted up to Veers then, resting her chin in her hand as she waggled her eyebrows at the blond. “And tall and handsomes too. Care to introduce us?”

“No.” Piett’s retort was dry, not even looking down as he gently tapped Boba’s hand as the boy tried sneaking one of the sharp pruning scissors off the counter. “There’s been a nox sighting. We must be going.”

Katomr’s face paled, red eyes blowing wide as her chin slipped from her hand. “A nox? Oh no. You need to go then. Stars keep you safe, Firmus.”

Piett nodded, tugging on Boba’s hand as he turned and scanned the street. They had lost their tails for the moment, and he seemed it safe to merge back into the crowd.

“What was that all about?” Veers leaned over Boba’s head to speak to him without raising his voice, and Piett pointedly pretended he didn’t see the bright pink petals that had fallen into his blond hair after nearly braining himself on a hanging pot.

“We were being followed, and we were provided the perfect cover.”

“She thinks you’re hot,” Boba wrinkled his nose in childish disgust as Veers blinked owlishly. “What’s a nox?”

The poor man carrying his shopping walking past them dropped his bags onto the cobblestone.

“I’ll explain later,” Piett hissed out of the corner of his mouth, pulling the little human train he was conducting a little faster forward out of the Market District.

“You can understand what they had been saying?” Veers looked down at Boba, who gave him the biggest unimpressed glower that a child could pull off.

“Learn something other than Basic, you sheltered di’kut.”

Veers rapped his knuckles gently against the top of Boba’s head, eliciting a scowl from the boy. “I know an insult when I hear one.”

By the time they rounded onto the edges of the Judicial Square, the crowd had thinned out considerably. People were slipping into their homes or businesses. Those on the streets were walking with hurried steps, muttering apologies whenever they bumped into them.

“You should be heading home, Firmus,” one of locals warned in hushed tones. “They say there’s a nox.”

“We are. Stay safe.”

“I don’t think I want to know what a nox is, if this is what happens,” Veers muttered under his breath, watching a parent herd their collection of children across the street after a passing speeder went by, their head swiveling back and forth to either end of the street. “It’s like as if-“

He didn’t get to finish, as Piett spotted the parent turn their head towards them, eyes suddenly blowing wide at something behind them. Veers took hold of Piett's arm, wrenching him off his feet as he shoved Boba in front of him in the same motion.

The sound of a blaster rifle sliced through the street.

Chapter Text

The street devolved into pandemonium. 

A colored lamp exploded through the bolt's trajectory, showing glass on their heads as a sear of red smoldered just inches away from Piett's ear and into the pavement. The parent with the children shoved their offspring around the corner as no less than six different pedestrians whipped out blaster pistols from their holsters and waistbands and volleyed the shooter, a beam of red catching the unfortunate Rodian by the shoulder and ripping them off their perch on the bridge above, plummeting to the street below. 

Two more money-hungry souls emerged from a secondary street, firing into the crowd in vengeance for their comrade as the young trio dove into the nearest alley, joined by a Wookie who lumbered from the other end, blaster rifle in hand and chuffing the entire way. 

Veers made a hipshot around the Wookie, nailing the Human with the facial tattoos from Cerrus V between the eyes before the man could pull the trigger. The Wookie growled at them in an appreciative tone, jerking their head in gesture for them to make their escape before they continued their way to the shootout, letting out a warcry that nearly burst their eardrums. 

"Come on!" Piett took lead, pretending to not notice Boba swiping the blaster rifle almost as large as the lad himself from the corpse as they jumped over it, or Veers' pale pallor but determined set of his jaw as he plowed after them. 

They sprinted out of the alley, weapons at the ready as Piett led them over balconies and across bridges, leaping over parked speeders and ducking for cover behind pillars. There were firefights on several streets, their flight attracting tails until the locals stepped up and blocked them in with great prejudice. Axxila was built by ex-slaves and retired criminals, and the itch to prove their worth or to chase that one last thrill of a gunfight was just under the skin, begging to be scratched. And when an opportunity arose, it couldn't be said that Axxilans didn't rise to the challenge. Some even leaned out of windows to take potshots at the outsiders who threatened their peace, whooping over the cussing and abuse thrown their way.

It didn't help that once the criminals figured out there were more than just their group after the same target, they started turning on each other, adding to the chaos and the whizzing of charges through the air. They had nearly run into a standoff between a syndicate and two gangs before careening off to the side of the five-way junction and entered an underpass of a pedestrian bridge.

There was a whine in the air above their heads when they burst out into the next street, Piett slamming into the back of a Twi'lek wearing the colors he recognized as the Lancer Kings and knocking him off the footpath into a storm drain. He didn't recognize the sound, but it made the back of his neck prickle and instantly made him wary. Boba was on top of it, though, as he turned on heel and fired upward in a hail of bolts.

The shots bounced off armor drenched head to toe in the deep maroon of dried blood, the jetpacked Mandalorian dropping in front of them without barely a scorch mark on the ominous paint. Boba's face went white as a sheet, mouth curled into a sneer as he glowered at the newcomer now blocking their path and making them skid to a halt.

"Priest," he growled through his teeth, but had taken a step back, pressing against Piett. The rifle in his hand trembled, barrel wavering in a minute circle at the beskar chestplate. 

"We've been looking all over for you, brat." The Mandalorian, Priest, replied, the nasty grin audible in his gravelly voice despite the crackle of his exterior comms.  "Poor daddy won't be here to save you. But don't worry, you'll be seeing him soon enough." He brought his arm up as he spoke, the nozzle on his wrist hot and acrid as it hissed. "Now stand still-"

Piett's pistol snapped up faster than lightning, the blaze of scarlet catching Priest right in the gap of his armor in his armpit. The flamethrower arched wildly, setting a banner alight, and Veers swiped his feet out from under him, causing the Mandalorian to drop hard, the flamethrower sputtering out just moments after it ignited. 

They were already running before he hit the ground, leaping over a groaning form of a Hemlock Gang member and slipping under scaffolding, Veers having to nearly fold himself in half to make under it. 

"I take it he's not friendly!" Veers shouted as they slid around an overturned hovercart, the whine of the jetpack back in the pursuit and hot on their heels while the hovercart exploding into sparks as someone fired a rocket at them and missed. 

(They also fired at Priest, which took the side out of the nearby building, but it forced the Mandalorian to take cover. The idiot with the launcher was promptly executed by a furious Zabrak with a knife pulling them backwards through the open window and stabbing at least once before Piett lost sight of them).

"Did you figure that out before or after he tried cooking us?!" Boba yelled back before having to duck an arm that tried grabbing his hair, hissing viciously as he dumped the rest of the clip into the giant Trandshan, smacking them in the head with his blaster like a bat for good measure before leaving the now useless weapon behind. 

"Shut up and keep running!" Piett skidded as he made a sharp turn, vaulting over a wall and into a park. They kept the pace as if to keep going, but Piett twisted last second and dropped down into the bushes, rolling off the edge of a narrow canal and into the tunnel of ankle deep water. The other two were quick to follow suit, splashing down to disappear into the damp shadows.

The three of them stopped to catch their breaths in the semi-darkness, Piett's head drumming in time of his frantic heartbeat. The blaster fire echoed distantly through the tunnel for another minute before dying down, and they could no longer hear the sound of the jetpack. 

"Who was that?" Piett whispered as he waded through the water, clamoring up onto a walkway that disappeared into the darkness. He felt Boba hook a hand into the back of his shirt, Veers in the rear. He had one hand on the wall, the pale service lights few and far between, blaster still clenched in the other. He knew these tunnels well, but it was best to remain cautious. It wouldn't be the first time he found something else traversing the darkness.

"Dred Priest." Boba kept his voice to a near breath, afraid of it projecting down the maze of tunnels and dripping water. " Buir never liked him much. He was the one who organized the death matches when buir  was off planet."

Death matches? At this point, Piett wasn't surprised. Raised by bounty hunters, recognized an enemy by their jetpack engine, could aim a blaster bigger than he was with more precision than some recruits, what's one more silly thing like death matches? 

"Did you win any?" Veers sounded far too indifferent to be anything other than morbidly curious.

"You're not helping," Piett snipped while Boba huffed a snotty " Buir wouldn't let me," at the same time. 

They traveled in silence for a bit after that, the winding Waterworks dangerous enough with the little lighting they were provided. They had to walk slowly to prevent slipping on the algae growing on the narrow paths from flooding and the occasional trash that escaped the filtering systems from the storm drains. While the water was reasonably clean, Piett had personal experience in that falling in wouldn't be pleasant, as the water was far too cold and the pollutant scrubbers made his skin itch and peel terribly despite it being "environmentally safe". 

They reached a fork in the road, one crossing a small footbridge over the canal, the other the same as all the other passages before. Piett started towards the bridge, but the small hand in his shirt prevented him from going further. 

"What?" He whispered, looking back at Boba, whose head was turned away and towards the direction of the other path. The dim, flickering overhead light was dancing off of a large mound sprawled over the walkway, unmoving. The light washed out the colors, but the shape was similar to the distinct Mandalorian armor he had seen earlier, although this one wasn't coming after them.

Veers was already moving, creeping blaster first towards the pile of armor. Piett had no choice but to follow when Boba tagged along to back up the blond, vibroknife tight in his small fist. 

It was clear, once they moved closer, that they weren't going to be attacking them anytime soon. Eyes stared wide and empty at nothing, with blood dibbled down the woman's mouth and chin. The wall had crumbled under the impact, caking her hair in a fine layer of dust as she slumped below the crater. Blood had pooled underneath her as it seeped from the gaps of her armor, still glistening fresh in the pale light. There was a fist-sized hole punched into the breast of her armor, the gaping hollow the source for the pool as blood was drying tacky in a messy splatter across the curvature of the metal.

"That's Reau," Boba whispered, the thin light shadowing his grim, ghostly visage. "She's… she was with Priest." 

Not so much anymore, Piett thought with a hint of justified satisfaction. It was one less violent Mandalorian to worry about, despite the violence used in her demise being quite dramatic and horrifying. Veers knelt down, careful not to soak his trousers in her blood as he reached out and closed her eyes. She'd seen her own gruesome end, that alone gave her some respect in death that she may not have deserved in the living. 

A pebble skittered and splashed on the other side of the canal. Piett snapped his head towards the noise and Veers scrambled for his blaster, but Boba had already thrown the vibroknife with deadly precision at the glowing red eyes gleaming in the darkness across the water.

Chapter Text

A hand snatched the vibroknife out of the air, the overhead light reflecting off the handle. Piett shoved his arm in front of Veers before he could finish lifting his blaster, hazel eyes narrowing to squint at the familiar gaze looking back at him.

"Bluebird?"

A shift of fabric and the figure- the man, was jumping over the canal and clearing it as easy as a vine cat, feet almost silent as he melted into being in the pale white glow. The hem of the black cloak settled around his ankles as red eyes appraised them from under the low hood, the shadows hiding the rest of his face. Paired with the worn, obsidian sythleather and scratched durasteel armor, it was as if he was born from the darkness around them and deigned it fit to greet them. The entire ensemble made him ominous, and while Boba tensed up for a fight and Veers slowly rising his full height, Piett was nothing but relieved.

"It's damn good to see you." Piett holstered his blaster, giving Boba a gentle pat to stand down before moving closer. A heavy hand clasped his shoulder in greeting, the alien, solid red eyes assessing him with a quick flick before finding Piett unharmed, although haggard. 

"Welcome back, Nahe'ar ." 

Bluebird's deep baritone and lilting cadence soothed Piett's fraying nerves even with the ridiculous nickname of Snowflake. He leaned into the touch, wanting nothing more than to drop his head on the man and fall asleep. But now wasn't the time nor the place, Piett far too rattled with adrenaline and the Waterworks' darkness looming around them. Goodness, this was worse than fighting pirates and slavers. Maybe the lack of sleep was exasperating his sense of stress. This shouldn't be so hard.

"We need to get out of here," Piett explained in a hush, jutting his chin towards the corpse, red eyes following. "These two are Sheltering with me. There's more looking for us, I'll explain when we get home." The faster they leave, the less likely for whatever got Reau to come after them on top of the multitude of gangbangers and crazed bounty hunters crawling out of the woodwork on the surface. 

The glowing gaze rested on Piett for a heartbeat before flitted to Boba, then up to Veers, who stoically stood at least three inches above Bluebird due to being all leg, then back down to the boy, his expression unreadable. With a flick of his wrist, Bluebird offered the vibroknife back hilt first to the smallest of the group. Boba eyed him warily before swiping the knife from the gloved hand and giving him a curled-lip sneer, flashing his bared teeth. 

Bluebird's eyes crinkled in amusement, seemingly content in Piett's tagalongs as he turned his back to them. The azure avian sweeping its wide wings over the entirety of the cloak's black canvas from its perch of a seven-star banner that Bluebird's namesake came from graced their presence in the light until both cloak and man slid back into the darkness. 

"I'd eat my boots if that is his real name," Veers muttered, and at least it eased Boba a little from his coiled unease as he snorted loud enough to echo. Piett sighed, walking after Bluebird, the other two close on his heels. 

Piett was a capable person, a fearsome Captain, and dangerous adversary, but he was only a teenager who had far too much responsibility on his shoulders, both willingly taken and thrusted upon him. He also had a migraine that was going to kill him as soon as the adrenaline high wore off. He could almost cry in relief to have someone else take charge and let him not think of five million scenarios at once for a bit. It must be the days stacking up against him- he's fought pirates and slavers in worse conditions, dammit! Why was this simple task of getting Boba safe in his house turning so daunting?

A small hand slipped into his, pulling his attention downward. Boba almost looked concerned, but there was wariness in his amber eyes as he glanced back at Bluebird, not as trusting of him as he'd been with Veers upon meeting. Piett squeezed his hand, hoping to convey a steadiness he himself wasn't feeling. Still, he had to be strong. Boba- and subsequently Veers- needed to get to safety. Bluebird might be in charge now, but these two were his responsibility. He had to stay together.

They didn't speak throughout the rest of the Waterworks, Veers hovering in the rear and Bluebird taking point. The only sounds not of water were their breaths and feet, ears straining to hear anything out of this temporary norm. But running into Bluebird must've been the turn in their luck, because they didn't bump into a single soul the rest of the way through the maze and up a flight of stairs back to street level.

The evening sunlight nearly sent Piett to his knees as it dug its claws into his brain at the sudden change from near black of the Waterworks to cheery brightness. It made everything else white out until something blessedly cold as ice settled on the curve of his neck, thumb smoothing across his racing pulse. 

"You with me?" Bluebird's quiet voice was a balm to his soul, and Piett risked cracking his eyes open (when had he closed them?). The gauntlet had been pulled off, blue skin a stark contrast to Piett's chalk white. Bluebird loomed close, foreheads nearly touching, his hood blotting out the horrid light. Boba was at Bluebird's side, leaving enough space to dart away but close enough to show worry. Someone was gripping his elbow, and it took an embarrassing long moment to realize Veers was the reason he was still standing upright. 

"...I'm fine," Piett croaked, taking in the freckles that he could see sprinkled on Bluebird's cheekbones and nose now that they were sharing the same shadows. The vibrant eyes gazed at hazel for a moment, the blissfully cool contact abandoning him as the other removed his fingers from his skin. 

Piett had to swallow a whine as his migraine spiked.

"You're about to crash hard," Bluebird murmured, sweeping a look at Veers that Piett didn't have the time to decipher before the red was focused back on him. "We're almost there. Can you make it?"

He didn't trust himself to speak, jerking his head once he got his feet back under himself. He shot Veers a flinty glare until the tall teen let go of his elbow, unrepentant in helping keep Piett from braining himself on the pavement. 

"You good?" Veers whispered, needlessly double checking, and Piett managed to nod without passing out. 

"I will be," he admitted softly, following after Bluebird so he could ignore the look Veers was giving him. Boba had a determined glint in his eye as he squared his shoulders and marched ahead of Piett, right behind the billowing cloak. He also had the Captain's blaster in his hand, taking advantage of Piett's lapse to steal it, and the Captain didn't have the energy to argue for it back.

If Bluebird noticed the barrel pointed at his back, he gave it no heed. 

The only thing that kept Piett from tripping over his own feet was the familiarity of the street they were in. The exit from the Waterworks dumped them just a block away from home, and he could almost hear it calling him from here. He summoned whatever wisps of energy he had left from the depths and surged on.

Veers and Boba were the only unfamiliar faces in these parts, but the locals allowed them to merge into the crowd with little fanfare. They got a few curious looks, but between Bluebird's ominous presence and the general everything that was three kids coming out of a blaster fight with their lives, no one stopped to chat. It was for the best- Boba most likely would've shot them and Piett didn't think his legs would work anymore if he paused regardless of all the willpower he could muster in the world.

He could feel Veers' hand hovering as they slipped off the main road and down the winding alley to the back entrance. In most instances, Piett wouldn't be happy at the obvious mother henning, but in most instances he didn't have static buzzing in his limbs and skull. His vision was blurring at the edges, and he wasn't sure if he was still walking, or just thought he was while he left his body behind. It had been a busy two, nearly three, days- maybe he had died in that last raid? No, the one before that- he at least got to eat an eighth of a piece of toast before the actual last raid, the one where he was certain he got an infection by Boba's vicious bite, but maybe the toast was significant in that he could only reach his inner hopes (like eating) if he was dead. Wait, hadn't he eaten after that? Perhaps that was a dying hallucination. Focus on the toast.

As it was, he didn't remember walking through the door. 

Chapter Text

He was floating in a serene glow. The water was pleasantly cool against his cheek as he watched the tendrils of moss in their slow, gentle dance, permeating the water with a soothing blue-green light. It was just him and the calm sea, adrift and enveloped in peace. 

Something clunked distantly in the background, followed by a boyish curse. 

Piett blinked.

The jar remained in his vision, his cheek pressed to the glass. The moss ball within continued to sway and turn the water a sea green with its bioluminescence that was slowly turning a pretty pink now that he was awake. 

Somehow he had ended up on the couch, one of the hand-woven throws draped over him as he cuddled up to the jar of water. The lights were dim, casting shadows over the towers of artifacts and collections that A'ma filled the old warehouse with looming out from over the second floor railing like cavernous stalagmites. There was a practical furnace pressed up against him, and Piett tilted his chin to peer down at the other end of the couch at Veers slumped on the opposite arm, long legs carefully tucked along Piett's side on the exterior part of the cushions to trap him in. Pale eyes blinked groggily at him, as if the blond had just woken up. 

Another thump sounded from the kitchen, and he could hear hushed voices but didn't understand them. The feet tucked under his shoulder curled, nudging his attention back to Veers.

"You feeling better?" He whispered, and Piett had to think for a moment before remembering the awful migraine, now a distant memory and hopefully not to return for some time.

"I'm fine. How did I…?"

"Carried you. You collapsed at the doorstep." Veers was watching him as Piett slowly sat up, the jar with his Xadaai Sea Moss- now fully a happy spring pink- carefully placed in his lap. "Your Bluebird got you your… worry ball… You've been out for the entire night."

There were a million questions in his eyes, but Veers refrained from asking a single one. Piett was grateful for it, dropping his gaze to the jar and watching the ball of moss sway.

"...Of course he still calls it a 'worry ball'." 

Naturally that was what Piett started with. Bluebird knew full well what it was. He was just secretly an asshole under all the quiet stoicness. Also Piett didn't want to bring back the embarrassment of having to be carried to bed like a toddler by talking about it. Instead he leaned over, setting the jar in Veers' lap. The other teen fumbled a bit, the water sloshing a little before he got a firm, but careful grip on the glass.

"It's a Xadaai Sea Moss. It's technically an algae colony, but moss has more sale appeal than algae. It's, uh, sensitive."

The rather professional and scientific explanation fizzled out after Piett realized what he was doing, clamping his mouth shut. Veers watched with puzzled fascination as the sea moss morphed from pink to butter yellow then phased to a rich evergreen while it settled at the bottom of the jar.

"...Huh." Veers lifted the jar to his eyes, peering through the glass with intensity. The moss continued on as its happy orby self despite the scrutiny. "Do the colors mean anything?"

"Sometimes? I noticed it likes to turn a sea green color when I have a migraine, and occasionally it'll be a certain color for specific people, but otherwise not really?"

The patter of small feet cut the conversation of moss short as Boba popped his head around the couch. Piett took one look before stifling a laugh.

"Were you trying to swim in flour?" He asked, brushing the dark curls now coated in white powder. Boba scowled, but leaned towards the touch. 

"If you're going to be mean, I get your flatcakes," the boy sniffed. "That's the rules."

"What, the very rules you made just now? I don't recall putting you in charge."

Boba, the evil child that he was, stuck his tongue out at him. Veers snorted from his end of the couch. Piett dug his toes into the teen's thigh under the throw in retaliation.

"You two were being lazy, so I checked to make sure he didn't poison you. That gives me the right to make rules. And get your flatcakes."

There was no mistaking who he was, but at least Boba appeared as if he kept it civil instead of biting Bluebird. Or maybe he had? No, Bluebird didn't exactly have many places to bite down that wouldn't be a mouthful of armor, and Boba was far too clever to take on a more dangerous predator without provocation. 

Piett simply didn't want to be the only one to bear the scars of Boba's teeth on his hand. 

"I dunno," Veers had swung his legs off the couch and feet on the floor, the sea moss softening to a baby blue as he carefully placed the jar on a nearby table cluttered with ancient flimsi. "Looks to me you were helping. Are you warming up to the blue bastard, you little ankle biter?" 

Boba scowled, his entire face scrunching up and flushing at the audacity.

"It's not like that!" Boba stuck his nose in the air before stomping back towards the kitchen. "I'm eating without you! Di'kut !"

Veers caught Piett’s eye, a twitch of amusement to his lips.

“Well, we should get breakfast before the nochtkhat decides to eat it all and goes mad with power.”

Piet stared.

“The… what?”

Veers, however, gave him a wink, patting his ankle before getting up, leaving the teen on the couch bewildered on what had just transpired without ever explaining what a nochtkhat was. It sounded like some sort of folklore from Denon, but Piett didn’t know enough of the planet to know random facts such as terms of calling their children absolute goblins (from context, it must be exactly what Veers inferred).

(…Not that he was wrong).

After folding the throw and draping it across the back of the couch, Piett plodded towards the kitchen, following his nose towards the scent of sweet and cinnamon. At the stove was Bluebird, his cloak and scarf hung on a peg by the door with tenderness. His back was perfectly straight, strong shoulders set as he watched the flatcake batter slowly bubble on the pan. Without the cloak, he could see the faint regrowth of deep midnight blue at the roots of his stark white hair, and Piett wondered, not for the first time, what it looked like before The Incident bleached out the color. Maybe in the future he’ll be able to see it, but he’s known Bluebird for years, and the regrowth was painfully slow.

Boba had made good on his word, seated at the table with a plate stacked high with slightly overcooked flatcakes and a pile of berries. He sat at the end of the table so he could keep an eye on both the entrance to the kitchen, the door that went outside, and the being currently making them all breakfast. He gave Piett a once over before nodding and going back to his plate, shoving the impressive forkful of food into his mouth while continuing to bore holes into the back of Bluebird’s head.

“Good morning, Nahe’ar.” Bluebird didn’t turn around as he flipped the flatcake over, the color slightly better than the previous one. At least it wasn’t the same shade as charcoal like the small pile there was on the counter within his reach for quick deposit. “Maximilian.”

“It’s just Max,” Veers groaned, plopping down into a chair at the table. “Or Veers. The only person who calls me Maximilian is my mother when I’m in trouble.”

“If you say so, Maximilian.”

Veers just dragged a few flatcakes to his plate from the tower, stoically ceding the battle, but not the war. Boba snickered until he realized the red eyes were peering at him from over Bluebird’s shoulder. The humor faded in a blink, and the boy sneered. He only got a bland look in return before the blue man turned back around to flip a flatcake over off the pan and onto the tower behind him without looking.

Piett settled at the table with them, carefully sliding a flatcake onto a clean plate. He found himself quite ravenous, the days of meager eating and the single meal on Cerrus V taking its toll. Still, he wasn’t going to stuff himself silly like Boba, who couldn’t possibly put away that much food in such a small body.

He had just taken a bite of slightly singed cake when Veers leaned closer, eyes on the back of Bluebird’s head.

“So, Boba and I have a bet,” he murmured conspiringly as Boba did his best to not look like he was perking up. “We think he’s either a Pantoran with a genetic defect or is part Duros, and he won’t give us any hints so you have to be the decider in who’s right.”

Piett sighed.

Chapter Text

Two days wasn’t a lot of time, in perspective, but it felt like an age.

A’ma hadn’t been home when they arrived, and hadn’t returned since. That wasn’t uncommon, more so now that Piett was gone for weeks at a time. Neither she nor Bluebird stayed all the time, often out in the galaxy somewhere. In the very least, Piett wasn’t worried. No one appeared to have followed them to the warehouse, leaving them in the clear for the time being. The local news reported on the shootouts involving several non-local gangs and criminal groups and the authorities were on high alert, searching for any stragglers that escaped the initial roundup. There was word on the Mandalorian, Priest, but Bluebird didn’t seem on edge, so Piett let himself relax and turn his attention to his guests and piling workload.

Piett signed and sent the forms Mrs. Obrin had sent along on that morning, making the Sheltering of Boba official in the eyes of Axxilan Law. Piett never had a brother before, but Boba was starting to grow on him like a toxic mushroom. Boba was his toxic mushroom now, and he would fight everyone in the galaxy to drive the point home.

Bluebird had ascended to his hidey hole up in the rafters sometime after the first breakfast, and the brat of a boy proceeded to try climbing after him no less than five times before admitting defeat, the jumps necessary too far apart and the fall to the floor too drastic for the lad to excuse the risks. Occasionally the red eyes would peek out from the darkness, but was content in keeping his distance- and driving Boba insane. He had resorted to leaving knives he’d stolen from the collection on the first floor on various rafters and handholds in some sort of threat display. It reminded him of a pet tooka bringing back dead rodents and leaving them on the doorstep, and if he had drawn little ears over Boba’s curls in the one holo he managed to sneak of the boy with his hands on his hips staring up defiantly at the eyes in the rafters, well, no one had to know.

Veers took the whole situation in stride. He wasn’t one to let himself be perturbed by what life was currently throwing at him, and Piett was reassured by the surprising new rock in his own. He never exactly had many friends of around his age. Both Bluebird and A’ma were far older than he was, and he forced to keep professional boundaries with his crew. His crew cared for him, and he in return, but sharing the couch in the late evening with no personal space between them while Veers tapped away messages to his family back on Denon and Piett checked in on the repairs for the Rattlebog was a new, terrifying, wonderful comfort.

The extra set of eyes on Boba was always welcome. Introducing the feral Mandalorian child to the vast collections his A’ma had stockpiled had been… well… an experience.

The warehouse’s main floor was a maze of towering shelves, full of artifacts, weapons, and trinkets that Piett couldn’t even begin to conclude the full summary of. They came from hundreds of planets from all over the galaxy, their ages ranging from the last century to thousands of years. Some of the civilizations they came from didn’t even exist anymore, and that’s not even speaking of all the weird, possibly cursed stuff she kept in the basement (of which existence of such a basement he did not under no circumstance told Boba about). Piett had deemed it safe enough for Veers and Boba to explore the space, so long as they were careful. Naturally, Boba found a collection of ceremonial knives and swords and started pilfering them to newly discovered hiding places for future threat displays towards the unaffected alien that lives in the roofline.

Veers had also been affected by the amassed collection. He had gotten his hands on several blasters from the High Republic era after losing Boba to the shelves the last time he had been on ground level and decided to tinker with them. At least he asked permission to clean them up before he started taking them apart, a revered look in his eye as he ran his fingertips over the old weapons.

“My dad is head of the Denon Security Force,” he explained to Piett, legs crossed as he sat on the carpet in front of the caf table, the riot gun in pieces before him. “This trip was to be my last hurrah before I enlisted, but he did teach me a thing or two. Got his own collection of antiques, although he puts them on plaques and displays them without telling Mom they’re fully functional in case there’s a break in.”

“Does that happen often?” Piett asked absently, scrolling through the crew list to make minor changes to their assignments before they reconvened on the Rattlebog.

“The Veers family has always had some standing on Denon, especially after we set up the Security Force some century ago. Every so often someone gets brilliant ideas, but it hasn’t happened in my lifetime, fortunately. Still, best to be prepared.”

“Always a good motto to live by.” Piett lifted his eyes up to check on their residential animal of a child who was currently ten feet up and leaving a neat trail of caltrops on one of the nearby rafters. “I… I am glad you’re here, Veers.”

“Max.”

Piett blinked, looking down from the ceiling to the strong face of the other teen. Veers’ eyes softened, a small smile curling his usual serious resting face.

“Call me Max. I think we’ve been through enough shit for first names, Firmus.”

Piett couldn’t help but let out a small huff of a laugh, setting the datapad down on his lap.

“Then I am glad you’re here, Max. I’m not… well. I don’t know what I’m doing, to be honest, but I don’t regret it.”

“You’re trying, that’s all that really matters.”

Piett hummed, watching Veers turn back to the riot gun, cleaning the parts with practiced ease. He settled his elbow onto his knee, chin coming to rest in his hand as he watched Veers’ motions from over his broad shoulder.

“Do you have any siblings, Max?”

Watching him interact with Boba made him think he had experience with at least someone younger than he was. If he didn’t, he was certainly good at keeping the child distracted when it mattered, but enabling him in others- Piett knew he hid a few daggers for Boba when they think he couldn’t hear them conspiring. It never seemed proper to ask before, but now Piett reached out, wanting to learn a little more about his newfound friend.

“One,” Veers wrinkled his nose as the cloth he had been blotting through the barrel came out black as ink. “A brother. He’s about your age, but an absolute beanpole. Taller than even me, the cheater. Do you?”

“I-“ Piett couldn’t help but choke at the sudden memory cropping up in the forefront of his mind, of standing alone in the graveyard overlooking one large casket and two smaller ones. “I had some, yes.”

Veers was giving him a look again, the one where he wanted to ask many questions and discarding them just as quickly.

“…I’m sorry,” he settled on, his tone oh so very gentle, and Piett swallowed, lifting the datapad back up to his face to hide away.

“…It was a long time ago.” He was proud that he spoke without his voice quavering. “It’s nothing to be sorry about.”

They sat in silence for some time after that, Piett halfheartedly scrolling through his lists while Veers tinkered with the riot gun. The shuffling and quiet clinks of metal on metal from above their heads as Boba continued to weave his traps for Bluebird. It was enough to settle his heart and push the unwanted memories back into their dusty boxes of his thoughts.

The clanking of the locks on front doors on the first floor drew everyone’s attention, Boba sitting up straight and alert while Veers set the cleaning cloth down. Piett placed his datapad onto the arm of the couch and stood, moving over to peer over the railing, the sound of Veers moving behind him to join him. The locks finally clicked apart, allowing the doors to slide open. The long shadow that was cast across the shelves was all too familiar to Piett, who found himself smiling, the previous sorrow fading to delight as he made his way towards the stairs and taking them two at a time before the figure could duck their way into the threshold.

A’ma was finally home.

Chapter Text

The first time meeting A’ma was always a bit of a shock.

Piett remembered when he was much younger and smaller, not even reaching A’ma’s hip. She was gargantuan to him when he first met her, when she stepped into the typhere without a sound and intimidating in her full regalia. Even now she was tall, made taller by the horns scraping the top of the doorframe as she passed through. He barely reached her chest when he skipped the last three steps to meet her halfway, a smile working its way onto his face.

A’ma wasn’t wearing the robes today like she had all those years ago, instead wearing loose trousers that cut midway down her leg, exposing the broad charcoal grey and white stripes of velvety fur all the way down to her hooves. The io’ek chains were wrapped around her waist like a belt, the ea’ae blades hooked to the front and the etched designs catching the light of the warehouse. The tarnished and scratched gold ulu mask was in its usual position on her face, the rest of her head hidden under the azaha headscarf- this one a deep blue.

“Firmus.” Her voice was soothing, the accent in her Basic making her words almost airy as she set her travel bag down by her feet and reached out a gentle hand towards him. Piett took the offer and moved into her embrace, tucked comfortably against her side, forgetting about the company for the moment. So what if he wanted a hug from A’ma?

“Good to see you home,” he whispered in the tongue that she had taught him, the many vowels falling a bit flat in his mouth but the effort was there. She dipped her chin, kind amusement in her posture and tail swishing as she squeezed him before letting him step away. By then Veers was on the last step of the stairs, Boba right behind him. The teen was eyeing A’ma with an unreadable expression, but Boba’s was both wide-eyed and wary- a slightly better reaction than to Bluebird at least, as he wasn’t immediately trying to posture.

“Maximilian Veers,” she greeted without ever being introduced, her words carrying despite never raising her voice as her masked head dipped towards them.  “Boba Fett.” She turned up towards the rafters, giving the red eyes peering down at her a simple nod before focusing back towards the two guests. “Many welcomes to you. I am the A’ma-A’mu, of the Oyix. May your burdens be lighter here.”

An official welcome. Piett breathed out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He didn’t doubt that A’ma would accept them, but he still worried. A’ma’s approval meant a lot to him, even though she had calmly told him again and again that he couldn’t do anything to disappoint her. He should’ve known that a surprise Sheltering wouldn’t faze her in the least, and not make her think less of him for it, but there was always that quiet voice in the back of his mind that he’d do something to muck it all up.

Veers, bless his steadiness, blinked, but nodded towards A’ma politely as he finally stepped off the last stair and onto the ground floor. He reached A’ma’s shoulder even with his long legs, but he didn’t seem all too perturbed with no longer being the tallest in the room.

“It’s good to meet you, ma’am. Firmus has mentioned you several times since meeting him.”  

“Has he?” Her tone was amused, and Piett jumped as her fingers carded through his hair, mussing up his attempts to smooth out the occasional curls. “Honest truths, I hope.”

“You know what? I don’t miss you,” Piett grumbled, trying in vain to smooth down his hair again, but there was no heat in his words even while his ears colored in embarrassment. The color darkened when Veers chortled, shooting the taller teen a glare that did nothing to quell him.

Boba had crept around Veers during their little talk, peering up at the Oyix with a narrowed look. A’ma tilted her head down, a new scratch along the tarnished metal catching the light. With the grace belied of her long legs A’ma knelt down, shrinking to be close to the boy who stood firm before her.

“Buir said the Oyix were all slaves,” he stated as baldly as a child could, ignoring the sharp intake from Veers behind him and Piett’s pinched lips. “So you can’t be an Oyix.”

“I once was,” A’ma replied with not a hint of shame or upset to be found. “Most of my kin still are, as few we may be. My chains are broken, and I have aided many more to break theirs. We are thirty strong on Axxila now, for all things chained can become free, Boba Fett, clone-son of Jango Fett of Clan Mereel.”

Boba immediately became suspicious, but far warier than angry as he rocked back on his heels. His hands were behind his back, and Piett didn’t need to see to know he was clutching a knife he had hidden on his person. 

“How do you know that?”

“I know many things.” A’ma’s tail swished over the duracrete for a moment. “But I’ve worked with many a Mandalorian, including this past week with your ba’buir.”

Boba froze. He boggled at A’ma for several seconds before his face twisted, baring his teeth, but amber eyes so very wide.

“You’re lying.” His voice cracked under the tumult emotions he was trying to hide. “Ba’buir Jaster died. Buir said so!”

Piett took a step towards Boba, a hand resting onto his shoulder. The lad tensed, but didn’t move away, his posture taut and ready to fly apart. He glanced over at A’ma, who remained calm and undeterred by the upset child and potential threat.

“Jango Fett had been missing for over ten years after a mission on Galidraan.” She remained still as Boba flinched, his face flushing then paling at the planet’s name. Piett gave his shoulder a squeeze as Veers slid into place on the lad’s other side, face etched into a serious furrow. “Jaster Mereel, the Mand’alor by manda had been looking for him ever since. In his distraction, Mandalore became under rule of Dutchess Kryze, the Mand’alor by Republic’s Choice, and Tor Vizsla, Mand’alor by kad, has marched on and his son and kin have done to ground. The Clones are of Jango’s flesh, and when Jaster realized this, he had gone to seek answers. It is how he found Jango Fett fell in battle.”

Boba was crying, Piett realized belatedly. They were silent, fat tears that trickled over his cheeks, his lips quivering as he tried so very hard not to even as he stared back at A’ma’s ulu. He didn’t quite understand everything, but it was starting to paint a pretty gnarly picture on context alone. A’ma never lied, and she wouldn’t be sharing this information unless it was true, as she wouldn’t embellish or give false hope. She was honest and direct, and Piett could see Boba struggle in wanting to deny all of it, but from the tears, he knew it was all inexplicably true.

“Jaster has been looking for you ever since the Commander of the Coruscant Guard told him of your existence, to find you,” A’ma continued, calm and steady in the face of upset.

“Fox,” Boba hiccupped, scrubbing at his face with frustration directed inward and sniffling. “His name is Fox. He- why would buir lie?”

A’ma raised her hands, slow and careful as she leaned into Boba’s space. Her fingers smoothed over his cheeks, and he allowed it, shoulders shaking under the support of both Piett and Veers.

“There’s evil lurking in the dark,” she murmured in somber tones. “I fully believe he believed in what he told you. But how that came to be, I have suspicions, but speculations will not bring him back. Nothing will ever bring him back, Boba.”

Boba broke, deep, racking sobs shaking his entire body. How long had this poor boy carried the weight of his sorrow without properly mourning? His anger made sense, back when he had bitten Piett, as Piett had been the same once upon a time. A boy torn apart by tragedy and repressed his sadness behind anger, wielding it as a shield between himself and the rest of the galaxy. Piett had A’ma from the very beginning, but Boba had been left alone for so long, forced to stand and be strong on his own. Now, though, he didn’t have to, and the boy had slipped from Piett’s grasp to fling himself at A’ma, arms around her neck as he cried.

“…Veo vust’I viz vatvah rab to rcati ch’acur vah.”

The quiet commemoration came from the ceiling, Bluebird lounging along the rafters with one leg dangling down. Piett could only piece together perhaps a third of the words he learned through pure osmosis, but he understood the tone and pitch of some of them to know it was in consolation of the departed.

“We will bear your mourning with you,” Piett murmured out the traditional Axxilan phrase, resting his hand on Boba’s back.

“We lost a Warrior in life, yet our Ancestors gained a Brother.” A’ma’s roll of soft vowels was next, whispered to the lad's curls.

“Cheers and bottoms up to the poor bastard,” Veers intoned, his expression grave and voice somber.

Piett slapped Veers hard in the gut with the back of his hand.

“That is not appropriate!” he hissed, as Veers grunted and rubbed his stomach with a scowl.

Boba snorted wetly into A’ma’s shoulder as her tail flicked, amused by her boys' antics.

Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.

Chapter Text

Boba’s ba’buir was coming to Axxila.

The news was both sudden and a relief. A’ma told them once Boba had calmed down and she had puttered in the kitchen making them all a’ba’oi and letting them eat with fresh, warm flatbread. The poor boy was still quite overwhelmed with the news that he had family, but the anger that had been simmering just beneath the surface of every action up until now had evaporated like the fog in the early morning. Now he was tentatively hopeful, cautious, but no longer suspiciously wary. He had heard many stories about his ba’buir Jaster Mereel, and they painted the man an honorable, honest man. He would be able to take care of Boba and teach him his heritage.

He would be arriving tomorrow.

Piett dabbed his flatbread into the broth at the bottom of his bowl as he tried to smother the unhappy twist that knotted itself in his gut while Boba chatted about all the tales he knew of his relative. He should be happy for Boba- was, in fact- but he couldn’t help but be conflicted about the looming departure date.

“You enjoy his presence.” A’ma, always the observant one, spoke without turning away from the dishes. Veers had taken Boba out of the kitchen, lured by the prospect of learning how to disassemble and clean Old Republic blasters after taken one look at Piett’s face and reading him like a book. It still amazed him how fast Veers was learning his tells in the handful of days they've known each other, and it made his heart ache a little knowing how soon it would all be forgotten.

“I do,” he admitted softly, giving up on his a’ba’oi as he dropped the soggy bread into his bowl and watching it soak through. “I promised him Shelter because it was the right thing to do, but I… is it wrong for me to not want him to leave?”

“A’ki’ki.” A hand settled onto his head, combing through his curls. Piett leaned into the touch, half turning in his seat to look up at his own Shelterer, her ulu tilted down towards him. Even without seeing her face, he could feel the soft expression, the tenderness and understanding she exuded from the curve of her shoulders and angle of her head. “He is still yours, even after he is long gone. He may be going with family, but you are part of it too.”

She tapped a finger against his chest, over his heart. Piett felt as if he was no longer seventeen, but much younger as his breath hitched in his chest. He blinked rapidly, chasing away the burn, but he allowed himself to take hold of her hand. She squeezed his fingers, calm and steady as she always was, even during the worst of his moods.

“I don’t want either of them to leave,” he whispered morosely. “I… they’re good people, A’ma.”

He liked having them around- Veers and Boba both. A’ma and Bluebird lived relatively solitary lives, with A’ma being far more social of the two. She could still go for hours alone without saying a word, buried in her work, and Piett had grown up to be similar. He never had many friends or acquaintances his age or younger, not even from before aside from his family, and A’ma had never Sheltered another person after him. Let them stay for a night or two, perhaps, but she never formally or informally taken them in. And when Piett joined the APF, he got along with his crewmates, certainly, but they were colleagues, people he knew by association and through osmosis of being in tight quarters for weeks at a time. The closest person he’d been to had been their Admiral, and when he had been surprised elected for the Senate, Piett became Captain and all chances of becoming anything more than colleagues with his crew died out of professional respect and integrity.

But with Boba and his tenacity and Veers with his steadfastness, it made Piett remember how being a sibling felt. To being a friend. He hadn’t realized he craved for that connection until it was threatened to slip away from his grasp before he had known he was holding it. Both of them had their own families to return to- Boba to an excitement-filled life with Mandalorians, and Veers back to the comfortable life on Denon. Would they remember the strange, too-small teen on a backwater Outer-Rim planet they barely knew for a week? Would they miss him as much as he was already missing them?

A sharp snap to his forehead brought him out of his thoughts, A’ma’s unapologetic flick jarring him back into his body. She had knelt down, long legs tucked under her as she leaned against the arm of his chair, the ulu now eye level.

“Comms are still a thing, you know,” she reminded him, amusement lacing her gentle good-natured chiding, knowing full well how deep his mind wandered and where his thoughts trailed. “And certainly there will be times they could visit, or vice versa. It isn’t as if they are dead if they leave the planet, a’ki’ki.”

Piett felt his ears grow hot as he scrubbed at the spot she'd left tingling.

“I know,” he bit back, feeling both foolish and yet still harboring the gnawing yearning that stole away his appetite. “But I just-“

He floundered, huffing out a sigh as he rubbed at his eyes. It was stupid, really, wanting them to stay. They had lives to get back to, and it wasn’t as if Piett himself could keep them around all the time. He had his own job to return to, where he was gone for weeks at a time. Even now that he worked for the APF, both A’ma and Bluebird weren’t around often. Bluebird had always been a rare visitor, even when he had been younger, but A’ma had set aside her explorations and searches for her own people to raise him. He was thankful for her, loved them both in their own unique way, and they kept in contact even with the lightyears between them. Still…

“I must apologize.”

Piett blinked, looking up at A’ma and her sad murmur. Her head bowed, her horns brushing against his head in silent apology.

“You yearn for companionship,” she continued, quiet and sorrowful. “You always were a lonely child, but I fear I may have assisted in teaching you to wallow in solitude. You are allowed to yearn, to crave company. Friends. You do not need to remain alone, dear Firmus. It is natural to fear being forgotten, to be left behind, but you do not need to do so here. You deserve what they offer freely to you, and they will never forget you. How could they? They already love you.”

Piett could feel the tears threatening to fall again, holding onto her hand for dear life.

“It’s not your fault,” he choked out, squeezing her fingers and bumping his forehead up against her horns. “You’re the one who taught me how to love again, after all.”

His A’ma chuffed quietly, and the worried knot slowly unraveled a few strands.

“You should go sit with them,” she murmured, smoothing her thumb over the back of his hand before unthreading their fingers from each other. “Go. Be young, my strong little Captain. Love with all your heart and soul, so you may carry a piece of theirs and they of yours until the stars fade.”

Piett couldn’t help but smile, abet a little wetly as he slipped off his chair. A’ma rose to her full height, and he didn’t wait for her to step away before he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face against her.

“E’maoi, A’ma,” he said, muffled into her tunic. Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, tucking him close.

“E’maoi, a’ki’ki,” she replied back, so full of love and acceptance that always took his breath away and settled warm around his heart. She patted his back before letting go, and he gave her one last tiny smile before slipping out of the kitchen.

He found Boba and Veers at the caf table, their legs folded and heads bent over the tiny parts of a crusty blaster. Boba barely spared Piett a glance before he was moving over, allowing Piett to settle between the two boys, their knees knocking into each other in the tight squeeze between the legs of the furniture.

“Who in their right mind would make a side-arm blaster longer?” Boba continued on as if Piett’s intrusion hadn’t happened and he had simply always been there. “The holster is too small and has too many snaps to make it easy to retrieve. You’re more likely to win fighting them bare handed before you ever get the stupid thing out.”

“It’s so the bolt can be charged for longer without blowing your hand up within three seconds,” Veers’ response flowed over him, and Piett settled back and let the pair argue about the fine intricacies of ancient blaster designs, content in merely being in their presence.

They were his, and he was theirs, and nothing would change that.

Chapter Text

The day Jaster Mereel landed on Axxila was upon them, and Piett was doing his best to not be a nervous wreck.

“Are you sure you have everything?” he found himself saying for the third time in the last hour, hovering over Boba’s shoulder as the lad packed the last of the gifted supplies into a bag.

“Yes,” the boy replied snippily, snapping the bag shut with a little more force than necessary. “Maybe I should be calling you buir instead.”

Veers snickered from his lounging in one of the nearby chairs, watching the whole scene play out without lifting a single finger to help. Piett shot him a disapproving look, which only got him a smirk in reply.

“You’re useless.” Piett jutted a finger at his friend, who shrugged, unbothered by the insult.

“The kid’s going to his grandpa, it isn’t like he’s going off to his first day of school. He’ll be in good hands, you worrywart.”

Piett opened his mouth to reply, but swallowed his words before he could get them out. Veers was right- Boba was going to a relative his A’ma respected. He’ll be taken care of. If A’ma approved, then this Jaster Mereel would be good for Boba, and Piett had known from the start that Sheltering the boy would only be temporary.

But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Piett looked away, forcing his shoulders away from his ears. It had barely been one week since he’d had found Boba biting him on the hand, but it felt like a lifetime. Between dodging hunters, running into Veers, and ducking through the streets of Axxila, it made time seem so long yet so short in the same breath. He had grown quite attached to the both of them, but he couldn’t keep them trapped here forever.

Learning to let go was always hard when it came to people he loved.

“…You better pack an extra knife,” he managed to utter out, not looking down at Boba as the boy snapped his head up towards him and off in the distance above the tops of the shelves. “Just in case.”

“Really?” All previous attitude left Boba as he grinned, immediately turning to barrel down the steps without further prompting.

“Gods I’m going to miss that kid.” Veers’ tone was soft as he watched the boy take the stairs two at a time, dropping his chin in his hand. “I wonder if his ba’buir wouldn’t mind stopping by to visit Denon at some point, mostly to see if he can scale my obnoxiously tall brother like a tree.”

“Please take a holo of it. I’d like to have it framed.”

Veers barked out a laugh as small feet trundled back up the steps again, Boba’s cheeks flushed with glee as he gripped the cruelest, evilest looking dagger in his fist.

“I got a knife!”

A knock on the backdoor froze the three in place, the color draining from Boba’s face and knuckles turning pale on the knife’s handle. Veers set his feet down onto the floor from where he’d draped them over the arm of the chair, the stoic, serious lines of his mouth returning and eyes hardening, focused. Piett felt his shoulders tense, muscles taut and ready for action as if he were on mission and ready to storm a pirate’s cruiser.

A warm hand brushed against his shoulder as A’ma breezed by, her hooves strangely but familiarly silent on the durasteel floor as she walked into the kitchen, unhurried and relaxed as she emerged from the depths of her collections. Piett sucked in a steadying breath, forcing himself to ease and trust in A’ma’s near perfect sixth sense for these sorts of situations.

(It helped that he saw a flash of scarlet from Bluebird up in the rafters, watching over them from his hiding place).

Careful as he could, Piett took a step to Boba, putting a hand on the boy’s wrist. His fingers slackened, a scowl marring his features as he stuffed the dagger and its sheath onto his belt, proudly displaying the horrendous thing that was almost made a short sword on Boba. Veers stifled a snort, rising to his full height as quiet voices murmured from the kitchen, out of sight from the living space they occupied.

Boba crossed his arms over his chest as the soft click of hooves was almost muffled by the steady thumps of boots. A man appeared in the doorway with A’ma looming behind him, decked out in the traditional Mandalorian armor, a grey cape draped across black and red-trimmed plating. A helmet was tucked under his arm, exposing his peppery hair and thrice-broken and healed nose. Aged lines creased his features, making the strong angles of his jaw and face all the more prominent.

He also smelled strongly like hot blaster fire, visible scorched pits and lines still slightly smoldering against the chest plate and the edges of his cape.

“You better not have brought trouble with you,” Piett’s voice cut through the silence, drawing dark eyes towards him. Piett could feel his ears color in embarrassment for blurting, but he lifted his chin and owned it all the same, frowning at the Mandalorian.

“It’s being taken care of.” The man’s voice was low but oddly distinguished compared to the rough and tumble expectations of being a Mandalorian, bringing his fist to his chest as he gave Piett a steady nod instead of dismissing the teen, gaze also turning to nod towards Veers. “I am Jaster Mereel. Thank you for taking care of my ad’s ad.”

The dark eyes dipped to Boba, who stared right back at him with an assessing amber gaze.

“You’re old,” was Boba’s first words to his ba’buir, so very blunt and unforgiving that Veers let out a gross snort before he could help himself, mouth twisting in amusement. Jaster’s own lips quirked, the serious lines around his eyes softening.

“You’ll be old as me before you know it,” he told the boy, who wrinkled his nose.

“I’ll stab it before it can reach me,” he said with all the sincere seriousness of a ten year-old, putting a hand on the newly acquired dagger.

Jaster glanced at the weapon, blinked, then turned his head to A’ma, his brows climbing to his dark hairline.

“Are you allowing him to take that with him?”

A’ma was silent for a moment, the tarnished ulu staring down at the Mandalorian before she nodded.

“It is safe.”

And that was all she said on the matter. Piett sighed while Jaster considered his options before dismissing every question that came to the tip of his tongue and merely shrugged. Knowing what A’ma liked to collect, “safe” was possibly the best option, and the less any of them knew about it the better.

(Regardless, all the cursed, truly dangerous objects were still stowed away in the mythical basement that not even he has ever entered. The dagger Boba had was only as dangerous as its sharpness and unfamiliar design and its origin negligible).

“Well, the more the better. Luci and Oli’bern are currently drawing fire from Priest, so we should be able to make it to the spaceport before we draw attention.” He made a face, and clearly there was some history there involving the one Mandalorian they had met days prior. The open comms in his helmet suddenly went off in a hail of tinny blaster fire and muted curses that he absently turned down with a twist of his fingers.

“He knew you were coming?”

“He knew someone was coming,” Jaster gave Veers a wry grin. “He was mighty surprised seeing me come back from the dead. I’m not too sure where all these reports are coming from, but I assure you my death has been greatly exaggerated.”

He tried passing off the humor, but there was something sad in his tone, a worried gloss in his dark eyes. Even Boba’s father had said something similar according to the boy, that Jaster Mereel had been killed. Something was amiss if both the man's son and random but associated Mandalorians were convinced that the man was dead, and it only made Piett's worry settle like lead in his stomach.

“The galaxy is shrouded in Darkness,” A’ma voiced gravely from behind Jaster as if she had heard his thoughts. Jaster closed his eyes as if A’ma confirmed one of his fears. When he opened them, the dark depths were slightly damp, forcing him to blink several times to chase it away and instead changed the topic.

Everyone politely pretended they saw nothing.

“Are you ready to go, Boba?”

Piett found himself with an armful of child, Boba latching on like a leech as he squeezed his ribs.

“I memorized your comm code,” Boba mumbled into his shirt, allowing himself to feel something other than angry. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

“There’s no rush, lad,” Piett patted him on the curly locks, feeling a slight burn in the corners of his eyes that he ignored. “You’ll forever find Shelter here if the need ever arises, no matter how old you get.”

Boba snorted, furiously rubbing at his eyes to chase away his own tears. “If I get old, I’ll at least be taller than you,” he replied baldly, a sharp grin on his lips as Piett pushed him off.

“I change my mind, I don’t want to see you again,” he quipped back, but there was no heat to his words and it only made Boba delighted in succeeding in pressing all his buttons instead of sobbing all over him.

Boba turned on his heel to face Jaster, considering the man before padding over.

“Do you think you have room for one more?” Boba asked out of the blue, jutting a thumb to Veers who blinked owlishly. “He needs a ride back to Denon.”

“I can do that,” Jaster replied before Veers could finish spluttering, and Piett’s heart twisted itself into knots. He was expecting only one person to leave, not two. It made sense, though. Boba couldn't admit that he didn't want to go alone, and it was convenient that Veers also needed a ride back home after missing his flight. Veers could keep an eye on Boba and the Mandalorian ba'buir, and Boba could have someone to rely on that he was familiar with in the transitional period. Still, Piett  had to take a breath, proud that his voice was steady as he looked over at Veers.

“You better take an extra blaster. We have plenty to spare.”

Veers stared at him for an unreadable moment before he was suddenly in his space, much like Boba just a minute prior. Strong arms wrapped around him this time, pulling him against a board, warm chest that was his friend.

“Take care of yourself, Firmus,” Veers said against his hair, and Firmus huffed, this time unable to keep the itchy salt in his eyes from escaping.

“I’m not the one joining Mandalorian on a jaunt through space, Max,” he retorted a little weakly and wetly, gripping to the back of Veers’ shirt as if his life depended on it.

“And I’m not the one who’s not even old enough to drink but going out fighting pirates and slavers.” He could feel the chuckle rumble through Veers’ chest, the man giving him a heavy pat on the back before letting him go. “But I will take that GR-14 XT you got since you’re offering.”

“Jaster!” the low, muffled call from the helmet broke up the farewells. “We need to leave now! Priest’s got back up on the way from the next sector judging from the chatter! ETA 15 minutes!”

“Go.” Piett let go of Veers, and Veers made an immediate beeline towards the blasters he’d cleaned, grabbing one of the bigger ones from the line before ducking to stuff what little he had back into his bag. Boba was glaring up into the rafters, giving the red eyes looking down at him a next-time-I-see-you-it’s-on-SIGHT glower before looking away with a huff and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Ao’oaimaka av,” A’ma murmured to them, Piett echoing her farewells in the Oyix traditions. Jaster tipped his chin down in acceptance before offering a hand to Boba, who eyed it with trepidation and stifled hope before his small fingers accepted it.

“We’ll get in contact as soon as we’re able,” Jaster promised as Veers came to stand beside him, taller than the Mandalorian in full armor by a hair.

“I’ll have the APF run interference.” Piett had already picked up his datapad, shooting off a few messages with fingers fluttering across the screen. “It should give you some extra time.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the heavy hand on his shoulder, looking up to that dark gaze. It was warm, though, Jaster’s expression softer than what he’d expect out of a Mandalorian.

“Thank you.”

He could feel the weight of the man’s gratitude, warm and heavy like a thick blanket. It made him duck his head, focusing on finishing up the last of the messages. The hand gave his shoulder a squeeze before letting go, moving to instead put the helmet back on over his head.

“You two ready?” he asked, vocoder crackling a little.

“Oya!” Boba cried cheerfully from beside his ba’buir, and Veers blinked with a stumbled “oya?” as well.

And just as fast as they had come, the three were gone, the door clicking shut behind them.

Suddenly the building felt a lot emptier than Piett had ever realized before, the warmth of his friends absent and leaving his home oddly hollow.

“You will see them again.”

A’ma was watching him, her ulu pointed towards him. Piett sighed, moving to sink into the couch cushions and scooping up his jar of moss, feeling all the more adrift and the mass ball casting a somber blue-grey in reflection.

“I know,” he whispered eventually, lifting his datapad to watch the muted news report of an ongoing fight between Mandalorians on the other side of town. “I know.”

Five hours later, a soft ping on his comm stirred him from his slight doze, a smile creeping across Piett’s face as he read the words displayed.

Made it.