Work Text:
BD-1 scurries ahead of him, eager to inspect the seemingly abandoned, lone cottage they'd spotted on the trek up the mountain. Cal chuckles at the droid's enthusiasm, but quickens his pace to keep up when he chirps at him to catch up.
The terrain is not all that steep seeing as the small cottage is practically at the foot of the mountain still, but Cal finds himself breathing a bit heavier than normal when he finally reaches the structure. It's fairly small, even up close. Wood lines the outer walls, some of it rotten and even missing some places. It must be from the harsh winters this planet gets hit with. A few remaining spots of snow lay around, not quite melted in the early spring warmth.
Bd-1 hops in through a broken window, always an eager one. Cal opts for the fortunately unlocked door. It creaks something awful when he opens it, but does appear otherwise functional.
The entire inside seems to be covered in a thick blanket of dust however. BD beeps and boops as he takes it all in, scanning various corners and surfaces.
"Definitely abandoned," Cal says when he steps in, leaving the door open behind him.
It seems like the Empire hasn't touched this place, but the mess inside implies the residents still left in a hurry. BD scans some broken porcelain on the floor by the kitchen while Cal peeks into the other rooms.
Two bedrooms. Unmade beds. Open drawers. A few toys strewn across the floor, left behind. A datapad lays forgotten on a small table. The screen is a little cracked, but does not look broken.
BD beeps at him. "I don't know," Cal tells him. BD lets out a curious trill. Cal chuckles. "How should I know?"
They must have left as soon as the Empire stepped foot on the planet. Running before they got them at their door. Not many were afforded with that privilege. Probably a smart move. If they got away, that is.
He steps into one of the rooms. BD trills inquisitively after him. "I'm just gonna take a look," Cal tells him.
He hears the pitter patter of the droid's feet running up to him. Then a small, familiar weight crawls up his leg and onto his back. Cal huffs through his nose and rolls his eyes with contained amusement.
The room looks well furnished. A bed, a dresser, toys. Normal things. Cal imagines a loving family once resided here. He hopes they're alright. That they really got away.
On the bedside table a small, round rock lays. It's smooth and sparkles slightly in the sunlight that filters in through a small window. Cal picks it up without really knowing why he wants to. It fits perfectly in his palm.
And suddenly he's not in this room anymore.
She kicks the rock gently. It makes a delightful skitter-scatter sound down the path. She kicks it some more. It bounces off the other stones in the path. She giggles, and is about to kick it again when—
"Hetta! Dinner!"
She stops, looks towards the small cottage. Her mother stands in the doorway, waves her in.
She picks the rock up, turns it around in her palm, brushes the dirt off it. It's smooth and comfortable to hold. It sparkles just slightly in the sunlight, only noticeable if you really look at it. It's a very pretty rock. It might just be the best rock she's ever seen.
"Hetta!"
She puts it in her pocket. Pats it gently, something warm, affectionate and determined settling over her. Then she runs inside.
Cal blinks. The small bedroom comes back into focus. BD chirps something in his ear that he doesn't quite catch.
"Sorry, what was that?"
BD chirps again.
"Oh. Yeah, I'm alright."
BD beeps curiously at him then.
"I think this rock belonged to the girl who lived here," he tells him. "She was very fond of it. Not so often that we find echoes with good memories, is it? Too bad she didn't get to take it with her."
BD-1 coos sadly, agreeing.
They don't find much else of interest in the cottage. When they finally decide to leave, Cal slips the rock into one of his pockets. He pats it gently, just like Hetta once did. It feels special now. Valuable, just not in credits. There’s something gratifying about the action. Like he’s keeping the memory alive.
His teachers at the temple always said that it was important to preserve the past. To know it, to learn from it, to remember those who came before them.
That's how it starts. And then it keeps happening.
When Cal had been little he’d been terrified of touching things outside of the temple. Terrified of what they could be hiding. Utterly petrified of just the thought of doing it. Even hysteric at times. Like a child throwing a tantrum.
He’d been a lot less adept at handling his ability at that age. The echoes would suck him in so harshly and abruptly and he had no control over it. They’d leave him disoriented and dizzy, often on the floor. He’d been very small back then. In the aftermath - many years passed - he barely remembers what it was like.
Most Force-sensitives his age struggled with their control over the Force, but it felt particularly embarrassing for him. None of the other initiatives were scared of touching things. They couldn’t possibly understand what it was like. To lose control over everything. To be forced to live through someone else’s experiences, no matter how traumatic they might be.
It was terrifying. He never knew what the echo might contain. They were usually harmless, but a few bad experiences had really put their mark on him. Not enough people had experience with psychometry to help him master it either. Some were too scared to even try.
They only got worse during the war. Though Master Tapal tried to shield him from what he could, it was impossible to keep him away from all of it. He still managed to get wrapped into it. So much pain and fear and misery. There were few happy force echoes to be found on war ridden planets. Cal could stumble across a few aboard the Albedo Brave - memories of antics the clones often got up to in their free time.
War is no place for children.
And then came Bracca.
In the midst of the Empire's oppressive rule there are few moments of simple, happy memories going around. Negative emotions have always seemed so much stronger, more noticeable. He’d noticed it as a padawan. Tragedies at every corner. The ships he’d help scrap on Bracca were full of them. Echoes - memories of despair and pain. Not even just from the war. Ships from every nook and cranny made its way to Bracca eventually, but in the aftermath of the Republic’s fall it seemed to be mostly venators and other “relics” from those years.
And Cal had to help scrap them if he wanted to survive. The galaxy did not care about his psychometry. It did not care about what he’d been through. It did not care that he was only a child.
There are no children on Bracca, after all. Only workers.
Cal keeps finding little trinkets in the ruins of what were once lively and joyful communities, ravaged by the Empire’s greed. Little moments of happiness that seem so small in the grand scheme of things, but mean so much in the midst of the intense weight of misery the galaxy carries now. It feels like an impossible reprieve and Cal soaks it up like a drowning man gasps for air.
Moments of light when things can seem so dark.
He finds a lucky spoon, carved out of wood. He finds a sock knitted with love, worn and mended. He finds a small doll who was once a friend. He finds a small book where the pages are frayed from being paged through countless times, read and reread and reread again. He finds a glove that has explored much and defied many dangers on the way.
He finds a letter, written on real flimsi - and while the ink is a little smudged and the flimsi is a bit crumpled - Cal can make out that the writer is assuring the recipient that they will meet again soon, and that they love them. That one feels particularly melancholic. Cal’s chest aches at the thought of it, but he pockets the letter anyway.
He stuffs his pockets full sometimes. Just little things he wants to remember. Little things he wants to keep with him. BD often offers to help him carry the little trinkets, but the small droid can only carry so much. Cal appreciates the sentiment though. Even if it's not much help.
Sometimes he shows them to the others, and talks about the echoes they have. Greez yells at him for putting them on the table because ‘they have no idea where they’ve been’ and ‘that’s where they eat'. Greez also says he doesn’t like the doll. He says the lifeless eyes give him the shivers. He’s even more creeped out by it when Merrin suggests it might be haunted. If she’s joking she makes no indication of letting the bit go, much to Greez’s detriment.
Cal thinks she gets a kick out of messing with Greez. He doesn’t blame her. Cal thinks it’s pretty funny too.
It’s not just outside Cal finds happy memories. The Mantis is full of them. Little moments from before Cere and Greez rescued him off Bracca. Memories from before Greez even met Cere. Echoes that probably predate the Mantis even.
Like Cere’s hallikset. He’ll brush his fingers against the instrument and find himself in a memory of another song. Moments where Cere felt calm and serene and just content . Sometimes she’ll play the songs for them if he asks her nicely.
Or he’ll grab a mug from one of the cupboards in the galley and relive a past memory from Greez. Like having tea with his great grandmother, years before the Empire even existed. That’s how he finds out what Greez’s favorite mug is.
Merrin hasn’t been on the crew for a long time, and she didn’t really bring much with her - just like Cal. There aren’t many old memories to find of her, but she is participating in creating newer ones. There’s a particular fork in the drawer that carries the echo of the first time she tried Greez’s food. And then there’s the card that won her a round of sabacc once.
Sometimes it’s hard to remember, but joy still exists. even under the Empire’s cold and brutal dictatorship. Cal just wishes twelve-year-old him knew that too, so the helplessness he felt didn’t have to be so unbearably heavy and suffocating.
He keeps the trinkets in a small crate under his cot. He feels like, if the owners aren’t around anymore, he can at least treasure them for them. He’s got this ability that so few have. The least he can do is honor the memories when no one else can. Remember when others can’t. Even if he’s the only one left who can. Psychometry is a rare ability, after all. Both a blessing and a curse.
He carries this newfound responsibility with valor.
It’s them he’s doing it for, at the end of the day. Rebelling against the Empire. Resisting their rule. For both Force sensitive and not Force sensitive people alike to be able to live in a free and safe galaxy.
Happiness deserves to be cherished, he thinks. Especially now. Little reminders that there’s still good. That’s what they’re fighting for. So others can have memories like these. Happy and light and full of love.
Psychometry can be such a burden, but it is also a wonderful gift. Cal wouldn’t trade it for the world. Even if it meant he didn’t have to relive some people’s worst memories too.