Chapter Text
Cal Kestis was in shock. Or he was dead and this was the afterlife. Those were the only two explanations for why he was sitting here, alive, being fussed over. He’d been picked up by a two people crew, ushered around and told information until his brain felt like it was going to ooze out his ears. He had no idea where he was, where he was going, or really even how he’d gotten where he was. It was all very blurry, and overusing the Force wasn’t helping his brain fog.
Which brought him to now. He had been shooed into a bunk-turned-medbay, sitting on an uncomfortable exam table, wearing a soft grey shirt and loose fitting shorts, his clothes gone, the captain, Greez, muttering loudly about how they smelled and were probably growing mold from how wet they were. The other one, Cere, was walking around the makeshift medbay, gathering materials onto a rolling tray. “Your name is Cal?”
“Cal,” he confirmed, kicking his feet slightly. “Kestis. Should I spell it?”
“No,” Cere said, finally turning to look at Cal. “No, I can figure out how to spell it.”
Cal wiggled on the table, uncomfortable in such few clothes, and he was horribly cold. But he didn’t speak, didn’t try to draw any more attention to himself.
Cere sighed deeply. “Kestis, this is a basic medical exam. You’ve had them before, we’re just checking in on your health. Relax,” she said. “Just listen to me, and then we’ll get you a warm meal and a bed. You need rest.”
“And food!” Greez called, walking past the room with a box, likely with Cal’s clothes in them. “He needs food!”
“Do you know how much you weigh?” Cere asked, peering at Cal, a few sheets of flimsi, real flimsi, in her hands. “It’s okay if you don’t.”
Cal shook his head. Cere guided him to a scale, and she wrote the number down. Cal didn’t see it. He didn’t want to. He saw the concern flash on Cere’s face, he knew the number was too low. She didn’t say anything to him, he didn’t ask.
“How old are you?”
“Dunno.”
“Where were you born?”
“Dunno.”
“Do you know the heritage of your parents?”
“No.”
Cere took a breath. “If you had to guess, how old are you?”
Cal was quiet for a minute. “I think I’m seventeen?”
“You’re seventeen?” Cere said, shocked. “Seventeen?”
Cal shrunk in on himself. “Probably,” he said softly. “Somewhere between seventeen and eighteen.”
Cere was quiet for a minute as she wrote his age down. “I’m just shocked,” she said when he didn’t uncurl. “You’re so young. Can I ask, do you know how old you were when the war ended?”
“Twelve, maybe just barely thirteen.”
“So you’re probably somewhere between seventeen and eighteen,” Cere confirmed. “Open,” she added, holding a small wooden stick. Cal opened his mouth automatically, sticking his tongue out at Cere’s instruction. She peered into his mouth. “All your teeth, that’s impressive.”
Cal didn’t know whether to be proud of that or not.
“How’s your hearing?”
“Just fine,” Cal said. “I got my hearing checked every so often. They don’t want deaf scrappers.”
Cere nodded. “Okay. You haven’t noticed any dips in one ear or anything?”
“No.”
“That’s good. Any problems with your sight?”
Cal shook his head, sitting patiently as Cere shone a small light into his eyes and ears. He blinked against the spots in his vision as she pulled away with the light, writing down his stats on the flimsi. Again, he didn’t want to know.
“Height?”
“Uh, five six? Five seven? Somewhere in there?”
“Okay.” Cere wrote that down. “Any pain at all, chronic or not.”
“Not really,” Cal tried, and Cere stared him down until he cracked. “I have a bad ankle, and my wrist twinges sometimes. I get headaches kinda frequently. Master Tapal said I pass out often.”
“How often is often?”
“After touching big echoes and overusing the Force. Not too often anymore.”
“Okay,” Cere said. “We’ll see if we can’t find you an ankle and wrist brace, and I’ll check on things for your head. Maybe some food and rest will do you well. I think we can attribute some exhaustion, brain fog, the like, to lack of proper diet and sleep.”
Cal agreed.
Cere continued to check him over, putting gloves on and examining him, hands always gentle, professional as she touched him, checking him for what, he’d probably never know. He let her, standing there and using the given opportunity to simply prod at his new companion, asking quiet questions and occasionally poking at her with the Force. She gave away her true answers with her emotions, the ones that pushed out of her while she chose careful words. She was worried, she didn’t know if she could trust him, and she wanted to get close to him. She must’ve been a Master in the past, with a padawan his age. She craved to be familiar with him, she needed it like she needed air.
“Here,” Cere said, holding out a roll of bacta infused bandages. “For the bruises.”
Cal looked down at his chest, which was, in fact, quickly turning into a patchwork of ugly burgundies, yellows, reds, and greens. He was glad Cere let him do it himself, although she did have to step in and help him when the ache got too bad.
“Any other cuts, scrapes, anything we should wrap up?” Cere asked, setting the bandage roll back in its drawer.
“Nope.” Shockingly, Cal found himself telling the truth. He was achey as all hells, but he couldn’t feel any other major injuries.
Cere nodded. “Good.”
Cal watched her walk around, around the room, towards a cabinet. “We haven’t got a droid,” she said. “Sorry. Most of our disease tests are good for droids, but we’ll have to draw blood and do it the old fashioned way.” She turned, holding a scarily large syringe. “You aren’t afraid of needles, are you?”
Cal, who had been shot at, nearly murdered, been on the run since the age of thirteen, been scrapping ships since he walked out of a mud pit and almost passed out at Prauf’s feet, nearly killed with a lightsaber in the past four hours, and shot at some more, blanched, shying away from Cere.
She immediately relaxed, setting the syringe down and holding her hands up. “I guess we’re all scared of something,” she said, approaching him slowly. “Cal, look at me.”
Cal stared at her, wide eyed.
“Hey,” Cere said gently. “Hi, there you are. Why don’t you try to relax, Cal. Meditate. Think of home. Close your eyes,” she said, and he followed her instructions. “Think of home, my young padawan. Think well of happiness.”
Immediately, Cal slipped away, his mind blank and smooth, filling in with pictures of a faraway place, a time he had long since forgotten.
A beam of sunshine. A small house in a village. Laughter. Warm hands. A red rug. A little plush animal. Squealing laughter. Familiar voices.
“Cal! Cal, sweetheart, look here, look at Daddy!”
“You’re corrupting him. He’s always loved his Papa more.”
“Not for long. Now shush, he’s crawling.”
“Oh my Maker, Cal! You’re walking! Babe, grab the holo!”
“Look at him! Look at you, sweet thing! You’re so strong, just like your Papa.”
“He’s gonna grow up to be a fine young man one day.”
“Yes he will.”
Cal took a breath, feeling a pinch against his elbow. Cere smiled at him. “All done,” she said, showing him the two vials of blood and the cotton patch taped to the soft crook of his elbow. “You’re very freckled, you know. Did you get a lot of sun? I suppose not. Bracca’s not known for its sunny atmosphere.”
Cal blinked slowly, dazed. “Um, I don’t know?”
“See anything good?” Cere asked, realizing Cal was still trying to work his way out of the Force fog.
“Home.”
Cere smiled kindly, realizing any attempts at meaningful conversations were a lost cause. “Go. Greez set a change of clothes in your room. It’s just down the hall, and then it’s dinner. Not negotiable,” she added when Cal opened his mouth. “You need food, Cal Kestis.”
Cal stood, followed Cere’s instructions down the hall, towards a small bunk and a workbench. He found two stacks of clothes, one was his scrappers clothes, and one was a soft black sweater with navy blue sweatpants underneath it. He chose the cozy clothes, although he slipped into his usual wool socks when his feet got cold.
“Kestis, dinner!” Greez called, and Cal trod down the hall and towards the galley. He sat carefully, staring at the bowl of noodles and veggies in front of him. He was starving, stomach rolling over at the thought of a warm, filling meal. He knew he should take it slow, ease his stomach into a proper amount of food so he didn’t spend all night bent over a bucket, but Maker did the bowl in front of him smell amazing.
“Eat,” Cere said, putting a cup of water beside his bowl and sliding a spork into the bowl. “There’s more if you want it. I promise it’s edible.”
Cal wasn’t really worried about edible.
“It isn’t drugged either,” Greez said, already halfway through his bowl. “Just eat!”
Cal was very worried about drugged.
“Here,” Cere said, taking a bite of his food and chewing on it. She replaced it with a bite of her own. Cal waited, watched, and when Cere didn’t keel over dead, he ate like a man starved, not giving a single shit about manners. He ate quick, scrapper’s instincts telling him that if he didn’t practically inhale his meal, it would be stollen by someone bigger, someone hungrier.
“Think he’s hungry?” Greez asked with a chuckle, watching Cal eat.
Cere was wide-eyed. “He’s starving.”
Cal didn’t even realize he was eating so fast until he was done in two minutes, the food barely tasted, his new shipmates both staring at him. “I’m-“
“Getting a second bowl,” Cere finished for him before he could apologize. “Here. I’ll grab it.”
“No,” Cal said, fast and sharp. “I’ll get it. I want to get it myself.”
Cere shrugged and let him, showing him the pot and watching as he served himself another helping of food. When he sat down, he had a modicum of manners about him, eating slowly and calmly, actually savoring the meal this time. It was a far cry from the starved boy scarfing food down like it would be snatched from right under his nose.
“Cal, when you’re ready, go get to bed,” Cere said. “With a full belly, you must be tired. If you have any injuries you’d like to take care of, the medbay is open all night, and there should be a small kit in the fresher if you’d prefer to take it to your room. There’s a shower too, just don’t use all the water if you decide to bathe. You’re safe here, and you can sleep as long as you have to and take care of yourself any way you need. We’ll wake you if you aren’t up already when we get to Bogano. I think you’ll like it. It’s sunny.”
Sunny. Like Cal’s memories of home. As he set his bowl down in the sink and went to bed, he sat on the mattress, unable to sleep, not trusting of the crew just yet to fully let his barriers down. He set his saber at his side and began to meditate, drawing a blanket over his shoulders to stave off the chill to the air.
He hoped he could see home once again in his visions. If only once.