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Chapter Text

Jango is very confused; why is there a little ad sitting in the chaavla sa shebs be'striili all by themselves? Never mind that ad is by themselves at this incredibly dangerous bar. No proper buir would let their ad out of sight in this neighbourhood. Only a dar'buir would even consider bringing their child to this establishment. 

The ad was huddled in the corner of the bar, a tiny bowl of soup held in small, slightly trembling hands. He realizes the bartender, a sturdy woman with slight stubble on her chin, kept glancing at the ad out of the corner of her eye. Then he realized that most of the bar patrons didn't notice the ad at all. The ones that did, the bartender kept the patrons away from the small ad, discreetly distracting them. (Which he was confused about, PEOPLE SHOULD NOT GET DISTRACTED THAT EASILY!)     

Was this the ad's buir?  No, this couldn't be the ad's buir. The bartender had this sad but distant look on her face when she looked at the ad. Like how one would look at an abandoned puppy with pity and a slight concern but not anything to leave much thought on. Maybe throw a scrap towards but not put oneself into harm's way to keep safe.

The ad was wearing an old brown threadbare clock that coved their body and head, shielding their face from view.

Now he knew the safest idea would be not to get involved and leave the bar because, obviously, his verde was not here. So he needed to find them and fast. He got separated from them as they entered the capital of this damp rainforest planet. Of course, 90% of the population was located in the capital. "Jango, go ahead and see if you can get a lay of the land." They said, "Jango will meet at the bar." His verde said. 

They just didn't say which oritsir bar. He was going to kill them. 

However, Jango will not take the safe option because leaving an ad by themselves in a dangerous situation is only something a dar'manda would do. Instead, he groaned to himself, the sound coming out mechanical and crackly with his helmet and voice modulator on. He pushed from the wall he was leaning on, ignoring the frightened whimpers from the people playing sabacc in front of him. He knew he was intimidating in his beskar'gam. This was good because he had difficulty threatening people and passing for an adult instead of a teen out of his beskar'gam. They take one look at his face and think little boy playing dress-up; it infuriates him.

As he walks towards the ad, the bartender takes one look at him, closes her eyes in the way that means they give up and turns the other way. The bartender was in no way this ad's buir. No buir would ever give up on their child's safety when somebody obviously dangerous is heading towards them.

He is towering over the small ad that still does not seem to notice that he is there. "Hello, ad," he says as gently as he can so he doesn't startle the poor ad too much. It doesn't work, he thinks to himself, as he gets a buy'ce full of soup. The gray gloop slowly trickled down his buy'ce, and he knew nobody would ever let him live this down if they found out. 

A short yelp is let out by the ad as the cloak fell away from their face, and he was suddenly eye-to-buy'ce with a little ad that couldn't be older than four years of age on the high end. Maybe even an ik'aad just nearing three years of age. So why the hell were they alone. What was their dar'buir thinking? He took in the little ad's appearance and wanted to kill the ad's dar'buir himself, slowly and painfully.

The ad was a little boy with blue eyes and red hair. Dressed in that threadbare brown cloak and dirty robes. All he could think to himself was that slavers would have a field day with the little ad. Red hair, blue eyes, and young enough to be trained for anything the disgusting pieces of shit wanted, all without a guardian even present to even put up a fuss. On top of that, it is unlikely that anyone would try to find the ad considering he is currently at the chaavla sa shebs be'striili by himself .  

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you weren't supposed to see me." The little ad gasped out quickly, eyes darting around him, looking for an escape. The ad has good survival instincts. He could give them that. (But what did the ad mean when he said that nobody was supposed to see him.) 

"ad, it's ok, don't panic, I'm not upset." That caused the little ad to look at him with massive unblinking doe eyes. He felt a shudder rake through like Manda themselves was judging his soul.

The little ad seemed to relax slightly and said, "Ok," in a tiny voice. (No ad should sound so scared) 

He took a deep breath to calm himself, which caused his voice coder to crackle and make the ad jump. "Hey, hey, easy there, I'm not going to hurt you ad." He was going to have to take off his helmet if he wanted to stop scaring this ad, wasn't he? Well, kriff, there goes his intimidation value to others. 

"Ad, I am going to take off my buy'ce now, I'm going to put my hands on my buy'ce, and I am going to break the seal. Then I am going to lift it off my head. Ok." The little ad stares at him wide-eyed like a baby tooka, before slowly nodding. He takes off his buy'ce, and the ad seemed to relax more and stare in wonder at his face.  

How does one go about communicating with an ad again? He wants his buir. He would know what to do. Right they can't just stare at each other in silence. How does one start a conversation again? Right... names.  "Ad, what is your name? Mine is Jango Fett of the house of Merrel."  

Oh, excellent going Jango formal titles with the possible ik'aad. 

"Mine name is Obi-Wan Kenobi." Stuttered out the ad. As the ad finished talking, all he could feel was all-consuming rage. Oh, he was going to kill some da'buirs quite painfully. Child of no one of no clan.  Obi-Wan Kenobi means Child of no one of no clan in Stewjoni Culture. Stewjoni was part of Mandalorian territory. A Mandalorian citizen did this. 

The little ad quite literally jumped from where they were sitting, hitting the wall behind them. Kriff, he was scaring the ad. "Ni ceta ad, I'm not going to hurt you ad. I'm not going to hurt you, ad. I'm not mad at you."

The little ad looked at him panicky, alarmed and unsure; another shiver travelled down his spine. He tried to make himself as no threatening as possible, crouching down to the ad's height. The little ad eventually calmed down.  

"Where are your parents?" He asked quietly, calmly, hiding his righteous anger at the future an ad being harmed.  

"Don't have any, Master Logi said I am to wait here for him to get me when he is ready and my punishment is over." PUNISHMENT, MASTER oh KIRFF THIS AD IS A SLAVE he distantly realized as all-consuming rage filled him and he felt a kick his backplate on his armour. 

He looked up to see six very tall, very buff, very armed men pointing blasters at him and the ad. KRIFF. He. Was. Going. To. Kill. His. Verde.

.

Chapter Text

Jaster was not having a very good day. He actually thought this was an osik day. This was supposed to be an easy mission, a break, and a chance to unwind after finally driving the hut’uun kyr’tsad away from Manda’yaim for at least two standard months. 

Now it was anything but relaxing because HIS AD WAS GONE. On a strange planet, all by himself, he was just barely 14 as well. Even when they were fighting on the frontlines, he always had his ad insight or Montross’s and Myles’s sight. 

The fact of the matter was he wanted to punch somebody, but the two still very young verde that caused this mess were not viable options. Jaster refused to punch 15 and 16-year-old verde under his care. But he really wants to. A touch on his shoulder pauldron calms him down. His eyes flicker to where Myles is standing behind him. He gives a slight nod in thanks.

“What in the world gave you the bright idea to send a 14-year-old verd who is supposed to be your vod on a wild goose chase, with no way to contact us or know where we set up camp.” He growled out.

Jaster watched the two flinch back before a slightly confused expression crossed their faces. 

“Explain.” He said pointedly.

The one on the left opened her mouth; if Jaster recalled correctly, that was Lola of Clan Whitlock House Kast.

“Alor, we did send Jango on a goose chase. It was supposed to be a joke. Al’verde Montross informed us that we should do something like this to let Jango know we accept him. We, however, did not leave him with no way to contact camp. That would mean messing with his beskar’gam.” 

He sighed. “Did you inform Montross of your plan?”

Lola nodded.

That brought up some very concerning things if what Lola said was true. Further, Lola was most likely telling the truth. She did not deny anything except messing with Jango’s beskar’gam. 

Also, the likelihood of Lola or her partner in crime, who was also her aliit, messing with beskar’gam, was extremely low. Their buir would tan their hides, considering that come for a Clan full of armours. That sort of disrespect would never be tolerated in their homes.

But, if Lola was telling the truth, that meant Montross was encouraging hazing which causes infighting at best. At worst, Montross purposely messed with his son’s beskar’gam and sent him away from camp using two very young verde that trusted him.

That also meant that blame would be shifted onto them, and he would have to punish them severely, which would cause discontent with Clan Whitlock, especially when their side of the story came out. The same clan that armours a significant portion of his fighters. 

Before he could do anything else, there was a deafening BANG. He jumped up from where he was sitting, everyone else following behind him. When he stepped outside, all he saw was smoke coming from the capital city—a lot of smoke at that and were those... FIREWORKS!

OH, MANDA, PLEASE, FOR ONCE, LET IT NOT BE JANGO!  

. . .

Jango was running with the little ad in his arms, another gunshot whizzed by his helmeted head.

Just. Great.

“If you just come back here, kid, I’ll make your death swift.” Yelled one of the men following him as he ran through the rapidly panicking crowd. 

Well, Jango did want to yell back; he needed to save his breath. He heard a little whimper coming from Obi-Wan. FUCK saving his breath. 

“Ad, it’s ok. I got you. I will not let these hut’uun get you.” He reassured. 

“You know what! Congratulations, you are not getting to die, little mando. You’re being sold right along with the little kid. We were going to be nice and let you die but fuck that shit.” It was hollered from somewhere to his right and behind him. 

Jango grimaced and realized, yeah, he might need some help getting out of this one. But his karking com wasn’t working. So where was his buir when he needed him? He would get in so much trouble for not doing an equipment check while on the ship. 

He usually would be able to fight those demagolka himself no problem. Especially with their shotty aim, but he usually doesn’t have a traumatized ad with him who thinks they’re about to be resold. So he can’t fight them and make sure the ad is safe.

Jango looked ahead, trying desperately to think of something that would get his buir’s attention. Then he saw it. A firework stall in the now mostly abandoned marketplace with everyone hiding away. 

Buir was always bemoaning his tendency to explode things on missions. Hopefully, his buir will get the idea.  

He had three grenades; hopefully, it would be enough. 

Jango sped up simultaneously, pulling his grenades out of his belt and pushing himself to the limits, pulling far enough ahead to be past the firework stall and have all six of his pursuers in range. 

He threw the grenades with all his might. A defining BANG filled his ears. Coloured light exploded everywhere, fireworks going off and distantly, he heard his perusers screaming. 

“Pretty.” He heard little Obi-Wan say.

“Yeah, Obi, pretty, very pretty.”

He re-adjusted his grip on Obi-Wan and waited for the smoke to clear. He saw all six of the men lying on the ground. They were unconscious or dead. Ethier way, he didn’t really care. Well, that’s not true. He needed those men dead. 

“Obi-Wan, can you please cover your eyes?” He asked. 

“Why,” Obi-Wan asked, their big blue eyes pleading. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to ask questions! Obi is really sorry.” The ad quickly said, cringing in on himself. Jango panicked for a second.

“No, no, no, Obi-Wan, it is ok; questions are good. I promise. I’m just putting these men to sleep... forever.” Jango said. He hoped that was an ad-friendly explanation. 

Obi-Wan looked at him for a long moment again. He felt another shudder rip through him. “You are killing them.” Said Obi-Wan. Before Jango could panic, Obi-Wan quickly nodded and said, “Okay.” and covered their eyes.

Jango quickly fished his blaster out of his holster and set off a series of six shots, all of them going through the men’s foreheads. Jango then quickly carried Obi-Wan a block away.

“Okay, ad, you can open your eyes now.” 

Obi-Wan didn’t open his eyes. Right before Jango shook Obi-Wan in panic, he heard soft little snores. Ohhh, the ad fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Jaster groaned to himself, looking at the damage the explosive had done.

Myles snorted; "The only sure way to find Jango... follow the scorch marks." Jaster's squad all laughed.

He groaned again. 

. . .

There was a little ad sleeping on Jango; What the kark?  

Jaster was not freaking out... alright, he was freaking out a little bit. He looked at his son, who was tenderly cradling the little ad in his arms. 

Everyone was quietly moving around him, trying not to wake the ad. Questions could come later, Jaster thought as he walked slowly towards Jango and helped him to his feet.  

He felt Jango wince as he got to his feet, and concern immediately filled him; dam it, Jango was hurt... 

A thought suddenly struck him, if Jango was hurt, what about the tiny ik'aad that Jango was carrying? 

Before Jaster could panic, Myles shushed him before saying over the com channel, "Don't wake the ik'aad; they are sleeping."

He hears a series of agreements from the squad as he walks to the shop Jango is currently sitting on top of. The shop, really a stall, was only about eight feet tall. Jaster called out to his ad when he was at the base of the shop, making sure to keep his voice even, "Jango, can you pass down the ik'aad to me and then climb down."

He saw Jango get the hesitant sort of look,

Ohh, Jaster understood; he was the same when he first saved Jango. Jango was scared somebody was going to hurt the ik'aad accidentally... or not so accidentally if the little hazing he's gone through damaged his trust for his fellow Verde. 

Oritsir that the hazing ritual Montross was encouraging would cause problems. Who else felt like they couldn't trust their Verde? What else has he missed? Then, feeling a new flush of anger at Montross, he is glad he decided to leave Montross at the ship, lest he punches him.

"Don't worry, Jango; I'll hand the ad right back to you." 

Jaster watches relief fill Jango's face as he hands over the ik'aad and scrambles down the building.

. . .

Mij Gilamar had seen a lot of cute things in his life, but this has to take the cake. 

Jango was clutching a very asleep ik'aad wrapped in what he knows is Jango's blanket to his chest, sitting in the lounge area of the ship with his chest plate off so the ik'aad is more comfortable. 

Jaster walks up to Mij before quietly relaying, "Jango is hurt, we found six men dead, and well, Jango claims his wounds are not serious; I'm apprehensive, and not just about him." 

He nods and goes to observe the two in front of him. Jango was wincing, and the ik'aad seemed exhausted and already sleeping. It might be acceptable to tell Jango to lie down with the ik'aad and come for a check-up in the morning, but he was a medic, and there were just too many risks in leaving his patients unchecked.

Also, he is worried that the ik'aad might have a concussion, considering the state of everyone when Jango was found. 

Mij turned his head back to Jaster and asked, "Did you get the story from Jango yet?"

Sheepishly Jaster nods his head negatively. He rolls his eyes before saying, "Well, you are the one who is rounding them into the medbay; I'm going to set up," before rounding on his heel and leaving. 

Mij felt a tad bit of amusement when he heard the resounding groan coming from Jaster. 

. . .

Jango was feeling twitchy, reasonably, he understood he shouldn't be as he and the ik'aad were safe, and he was back home, but he still was. The med-bay wasn't precisely his favourite place, and now he had to wake up the little ik'aad who was sleeping on his chest. 

He glared at his buir, who sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck; Mij declaring a checkup most definitely was his fault. Objectively, he realized that, epically for the ik'aad, a check-up is very important but, but he also didn't want to wake up and scare the ik'aad.  Who knew when the ik'aad last felt safe enough to sleep?

"Fine," he stated a little short to his buir's sheepish direction to wake the ik'aad and go to the med-bay. Jango breathed through his nose, calming himself; it wouldn't do to wake the ik'aad when he was upset.

He gently shook the little one, and bleary blue eyes opened and peaked up at him for the ik'aad to go stock still, fear etching its way onto their face. Trying to calm the ik'aad in basic he speaks quickly, "Little one, I'm not going to hurt you; remember, your safe. Can you trust me?"

The ik'aad is still for a few moments more, and he feels himself shuddering as something passes over him again, but then the ik'aad starts to relax again as he stands up with them in his arms and starts walking towards the med-bay. 

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan is confused; Jango had taken him from the spot Master Logi left him as a punishment for having too much attachment to Quinlan.

Obi-Wan felt that Jango was really mad at Master Logi as well; Obi-Wan had to admit that scared him at first, but the force sang in happiness around Jango, so Obi-Wan listened to Jango and didn't ask questions.

Jango then beat some bad guys who gave off a bunch of icky, grubby feelings in the force. He even made pretty fireworks at the end. Obi-Wan also didn't understand why Jango wanted to hide that he was killing the two men still alive.

Jango was being merciful; the force screamed and wailed around the two men. Besides, there is no death; there is the force.

Jango didn't even get mad about him speaking out of turn! If he had done that in the temple, he would spend at least two hours kneeling on rice holding heavy stones.

In other words, Jango was awesome. Obi-Wan couldn't help but think that Garren, Quinlan and the rest of the Tooka Clan would also love him. 

The problem was Obi-Wan still didn't know what was going on. He must have fallen asleep because when he woke up, he was in a Med-Bay of a strange ship, and there were a bunch more people with shiny armour like Jango. 

Their armour had so many pretty colours; Obi-Wan wished he could wear colours like that before mentally hitting himself. It wouldn't be good if he got another punishment for being vain when he returned to the temple.

Obi-Wan was also startled by how many more force signatures were here; their emotions, though strangely more muted than Obi-Wan ever felt, still they overwhelmed him. 

Though Jango's signature flared and made him feel super safe, warm, and fuzzy, like when he and Quinlan cuddled when they had bad visions, or Quinlan got overwhelmed by his psychometry. 

Then Obi-Wan knew he was safe because the force never lied to him.

He didn't really like the poking and prodding that happened. Then he had to answer some more questions, like how old he was; he was four years old and two months. 

Then questions about if he ever got shots before; he did, and they sucked.

He was really tired when it was done.

Jango and the others took a step out of the Med-bay to talk after the poking; and made him promise not to move from the bed they had him on. 

That didn't really matter to Obi-Wan; he was going to take a nap, and all of the shiny people and Jango still felt supper safe to him, maybe even safer than before.

But as he started to slip into sleep, the Med-bay doors opened, and Obi-Wan felt a super slimy feeling in the force.

Obi-Wan pretended that he was still asleep, and a big man in shiny black armour came over to his bedside.

"So you're the brat that has been causing me so much trouble." Obi-Wan tensed, alarm bells ringing in his ears that sounded faintly of Quin telling him to bite creepy people.

"Well, your certainly cute for a troublemaking brat." That's it. This dude was creepy; Quin told him if somebody creepy called him cute, he should bite them if they tried to touch him.

Slowly Obi-Wan sensed a hand reaching for him, so Obi-Wan snapped up and bit the man's hand as hard as he could. Then, the man let out a scream and started cursing, yanking his hand away. 

Obi-Wan suddenly had a bad feeling, so he gathered his strength and screamed. Then, as the man approaches again, hands reaching for Obi-Wan's face, Jango is suddenly there with a war cry tackling the creepy dude to the ground.

There's lots of shouting, and for some reason, Jango has to be pulled off the creepy dude and only calms after coming over to Obi-Wan and hugging him a lot. Obi-Wan doesn't mind, though. He likes the hugs a lot; the only person who gives this many is Quin. 

Chapter Text

Quinlan Vos was eight years old. He was officially the oldest member of the Tooka Clan.
 
Quinlan Vos was eight years old and terrified because Master Logi had returned. 

Master Logi returned without HIS OBI-WAN. 

Quinlan only found out Master Logi had taken Obi-Wan when it was too late, and he had been let out of the isolation room where you couldn't feel the force. Obi-Wan was gone. He wasn't able to protect him. 

Quinlan, feeling the weight of his responsibility, nibbled on his lip. He knew he had to find Obi-Wan. Their bond allowed him to sense Obi's fear and emotions. He tried to send warmth through their bond, but their vast expanse made it futile. 

Quinlan felt the weight of guilt on his shoulders; this was all his fault, but he couldn't wallow in pity. With a sense of urgency, Quinlan knew it was time to steal Master Logi's ship. That way, he could use his psychometrics to track down Obi-Wan. Despite the risks, Quinlan was determined to set things right. He had to find Obi-Wan and help him, whatever it took. As he crept through the shadows toward the hangar, Quinlan's heart raced with anticipation and anxiety. The ship loomed in front of him, a symbol of hope and uncertainty. Taking a deep breath, Quinlan steeled himself for what was to come. He carefully disabled the ship's security systems and prepared for his mission.

Chapter Text

Jaster sighed as he looked at his ad, who was cuddling his bu'ad as they both slept; this mission had been a headache. It revealed that Montross had been a traitor and had been actively sabotaging him. He also got bu'ad out of it.

A severely abused bu'ad at that, he and Jango were going to have their hands full. Though, his little bu'ad didn't have a broken spirit. Adopted for less than 24 hours and already dealing with aruetii, with mandokarla.

But this whole situation was concerning; he was going to have to review everything. Review all his people; if Montross could be an aruetii, anyone under his command could be.

But how was the question; he would have to set up an anonymous complaint line. Then, he would have to review helmet cam footage and old mission reports for discrepancies, and till he cleared his commanders, he would have to do it himself.

Jaster could feel the headache building, not to mention the politics and angry clan leaders he was going to have to deal with when this got out. 

But Jaster couldn't bring himself to worry about that at the moment. He was going home and had a new clan member to take in. He had to set up appointments with the mind healer doctors and figure out who he needed to take vengeance on from the state of his bu'ad.

The one good thing Montross did was put things into perspective. He needed to step up, deal with the politics he had been avoiding and finally take his place as Mand'alor so nobody had the guts to even attempt something like this under his command. It was time for his Codex to be put into law, not just for the people who chose to follow him but for all.

Tor nor Adonai would come to their senses. He needed to put their friendship and past aside. It was time to start prepping his people for war. Jaster was going to put an end to both Kyr'tsad and the Evaar'la Mando'ade.

Jaster had to start preparing his people for war. 

War was hell; it was bloody and brutal, but sometimes it was necessary, and well, Jaster may not like war, he was Mand'alor.

Jaster was brilliant at war; he had to be. It was in the Job description. 

Change was needed if his people were going to survive, and so he will make the change. For a better galaxy, for his people.