Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The thing about being the son of one of the most renowned bounty hunters in all the galaxy means that Boba is offered a little more respect than any other fifteen year old normally would be. The thing about being fifteen is that that respect isn’t actually always warranted, as much as it grated Boba to admit it. He wasn’t his father, no matter the fact he was a literal clone, and he was, at the end of the day, still a teenager. He’d started to wear his father’s old armor when he took jobs now, but it was a bit big on him, and the helmet slipped a bit too much for his liking. Actually, it slipped so much that it nearly got him killed on this last job, and Boba was beginning to wonder if it was even worth it.

But then he’d pass by a few clones in blank, white armor, Empire issued. And he couldn’t even see their faces, because none of them ever took off their helmets anymore, not while on duty, but Boba knew that their eyes would be blank and empty. He wasn’t sure if they were blank enough to not recognize him. So Boba wore the helmet, to avoid trouble, and it wasn’t exactly a secret that he and all the rest of the clones share a face, but it was one of those things that were best left alone and forgotten about. Less headaches that way.

(Boba was secretly glad that Tipoca City was destroyed, as much as it pained him. It was his first home, after all, and, while he might say otherwise, he did mourn all the clones who died as the city sank. But still, he was glad that it was gone, because he feared that the Empire might want more clones otherwise and turn to the one last untainted source left of Jango Fett.)

Regardless of all of this, Boba was in something of a mood coming off this last job. He’d nearly gotten himself killed because his karkin’ helmet was too big for his karkin’ head, and there was some kind of twisted irony behind the idea of his father’s armor actually being the reason he ended up dead that made him wholly uncomfortable. On top of that, he was sore from the fight, and the credits he got for the stupid job would barely even buy him enough supplies to get to the next system, so all of this was basically a waste anyway. All said, marching back to the landing bay his ship was docked in only to find someone in the process of stripping it was enough to send Boba into a right fury.

Immediately, he pulled his blaster and marched for the engine’s panel, where he could hear the rustling and clanging of the idiot in question trying to unscrew something valuable. He reached in without even bothering to check first, found something that felt like an ankle, and tugged. 

“You skivving rat!” Boba growled, throwing the intruder out and onto the ground. He lifted his blaster, ready to kill the person right there, but stopped short when he saw who he’d actually caught.

A kid. A human boy, maybe about eight or so. He’d yelped when Boba had thrown him, landing hard on his shoulder and skidding his knuckles against the ground. He didn’t seem to notice though, as he immediately threw his hands in front of his face and cringed against Boba’s blaster. “Hey, I’m sorry, alright!” the boy said, hunching in on himself. “I haven’t taken nuffin’ yet, I’ll put it all back. I swear!” 

Boba stared down at the kid, and after a moment, he lowered his blaster. He was still damned karking mad, but he wasn’t going to shoot a kid. He did consider giving him a good kick, though.

“Dank ferrik,” Boba swore. “What’s a brat like yourself doing here?” Corellia was crawling with street kids, but they didn’t usually come out to these hangers. There were usually even scummier folk using them, and no use getting caught up in a rival gang.

Or a bounty hunter.

The boy looked up nervously at Boba, and when he saw that the blaster was put away, he slowly lowered his arms. “Jus’ looking for sumfin’ good,” he mumbled. “All I took out was a compressor,” he said, and he pointed to where it sat on the ground. “I can screw it back in real quick.”

“You’re not touching my ship.” 

The boy glanced nervously between Boba and the ship. “Then…what do I haveta do?”

Boba crossed his arms. “What?”

“Well, you ain’t killed me or beat me, so I’s gotta do sumfin’, right?”

Oh kark. Boba glared down at the kid, even if he couldn’t tell with the helmet. The boy had a ratty shirt on and ill-fitting pants. There were wraps in place of shoes, and he had unkempt, brown hair atop his head that looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. And he was staring at Boba with some kind of look in his eyes, still a bit frightened, but mostly just resigned to whatever fate Boba decided to give him.

“Who do you work for?” Boba asked, because on Corellia, there was no such thing as a random street urchin. Everyone worked for somebody.

The kid flinched and lowered his eyes.

“Tell me who you work for,” Boba repeated, his tone dropping as he took a step forward, one hand going to his blaster.

“Sh-Shrike,” the kid said. “Garris Shrike.”

Oh. Him. Yeah, Boba was familiar with him. Shrike had tried to add him to his little collection of orphans once. Of course, Boba nearly killed him for it.

“Osik,” Boba hissed, then reached down to haul the kid up by the scruff.

“Hey!” he cried, squirming against Boba’s hold, but he was still small enough that he couldn’t break away. 

“C’mon, brat.” Boba dragged him into the ship, deposited him at the tiny table set next to the kitchenette, and then dug around for a ration bar. When he found it, he dropped it in front of the kid and went to retrieve a water pack. “Here,” he said, setting that down too, and then he sat across from the kid and crossed his arms.

The boy glared at him suspiciously. 

“Eat,” Boba huffed. “I know you’re hungry.”

The boy shifted. “Whadda want for it.”

“Oh for kark’s sake- just eat the damn food,” Boba said. He stood abruptly from the table, startling the kid. “I need to go fix that mess you made. If I find even one thing out of place, I’ll cut your fingers off. Got it?”

The boy nodded rapidly.

“Good.” Boba marched back outside and went to check on the engine. The kid wasn’t lying, it wasn’t actually that bad. Crawling inside the panel to make sure nothing was loose was a pain, but he got it done in a decent amount of time, and reattaching the compressor was easy enough. When he was done, he reattached the panel and then headed back inside. 

He was very surprised to find the kid still there, not moved an inch, and the ration bar and water pack completely untouched.

“What the- what are you still doing here?” Boba demanded. He thought he’d been obvious enough, going to go fix the ship to give time for the kid to run off. 

“I…” The kid looked at him, confused. “But I haven’t paid ya, yet?”

“Paid for what?” Boba demanded.

“Not beatin’ me.”

Boba threw his hands up in the air, bewildered. “You were literally trying to steal from me, and now you’re concerned about paying me back?”

“But now you knows it was me,” the kid said, very matter of fact.

And, oh. Now, he was starting to get it. Kid wasn’t willing to risk Boba coming after him after he tried to steal from him.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” Boba said. He wouldn’t stoop so low as to hurt a kid. Give it a few years, and maybe he would beat him, just to teach him a lesson, but not now. Kriff, the kid still had baby fat on his cheeks, or he would if they weren’t so sunken in.

The kid scrunched up his nose and frowned at Boba. “Why not? That’s what Garris-” He cut himself off.

Boba gave him a sharp look. “What?” he demanded. “What does Shrike do to you?” 

The kid shrugged and hunched in on himself. Boba didn’t really need an answer, anyway. He already knew what Shrike did when things didn’t go his way. 

“Kriff,” Boba sighed. 

“It’s why I came here,” the kid muttered. “He sends me to go thievin’ and picking pockets n’ stuff. But I didn’ get a whole lot today, so I thought…I thought I could find sumfin good here.” He glanced around nervously and said, “And now I’m prolly late. Garris’ not gonna like that neither.”

Osik, did Boba hate that sad tooka look in his eyes. “Is there…” He hesitated. “Is there really nowhere else for you to go?”

Another shrug. And then, suddenly, the kid got a contemplative look on his face, and he said, “Hey. You could take me somewhere!”

“Excuse me?” Boba cried.

The kid had a grin now, nodding as if he’d figured it all out. “You’ve got a ship! You can take me somewhere.”

“And I’m just going to do this for you?” Boba asked. If he were in a better mood, he might even be amused by this kid’s gall.

“I can do jobs for ya!” the kid insisted. “I’m real small and can do lots of stuff! I’ll pay that way. You jus’ gotta take me offa here.”

“Where?” 

“Anywhere,” the kid said, a determined frown on his face. “I don’ care where. Jus’ not here no more.”

“That’s a dangerous thing,” Boba said, crossing his arms. “I could drop you off on an empty moon in uncharted space.”

“Eh, that’s too much work. You’ll jus’ dump me in the next system, most like.”

Well, the kid was a clever one.

“I haven’t even said I’ll do it,” Boba reminded him.

And then he got the tooka eyes again. “Oh, please Mister? I promise, I’ll be no trouble!”

“I doubt that,” Boba grumbled to himself. But really, it wasn’t that big of a deal, was it? The kid was right, he just had to take him a system over. Shrike wouldn’t go looking past Corellia. And then the kid could…well, he’ll still be out on the streets. But at least it will be somewhere a little bit kinder. Hopefully.

“Fine!” Boba said. “But we’re leaving now.”

“That’s great!” the kid cheered, throwing up his hands. He scrambled after Boba and followed him to the cockpit. “I can bet lottsa help! And you can have what I got today from the picking pockets.”

“I don’t need your scrap money,” Boba sighed. Though when he started the engine and saw how low his fuel was, he did reconsider for half a second. Not that this kid’s pickpocketing money would be remotely enough to fuel up on, but he was dangerously low on credits, and his last job hadn’t been the best. Resisting the urge to groan, Boba reached up to pull off his helmet, then rubbed at his eyes.

“Hey!” the boy said. “You’re jus’ a kid too!”

“I’m not,” he snapped. “In my culture, we reach adulthood at thirteen.” That wasn’t completely accurate, and Boba never technically got to do his Verd’goten, but the kid didn’t need to know that.

The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him. “You look like the big kids back on Garris’ ship.”

“Look, you wanna get out of here or not?”

The kid’s mouth snapped shut.

“That’s what I thought.” Boba finished the launch sequence and then the ship rose into the air. 

“Whoa,” the kid murmured, leaning in close to watch as Boba cleared Corellian airspace.

“Alright, Brat,” Boba huffed, pushing him away from the controls. “You got a name?”

“Han.” He tried to get closer anyway, fascinated by the whole process. “Han Solo. What’s your name, Mister?”

“I’m Boba.” He hesitated before adding, “Fett.”

Han grinned at him. “Nice to meet ya, Boba! Can I fly your ship?”

Boba was already regretting this.

The intention was to drop Han off at the next system. This did not happen. In fact, Boba wasn’t entirely sure what happened, just that one moment he was a lone teenager, trying to make his way through the galaxy, then the next there was a small child running about the ship.

Maybe it all started when Han asked what his ship’s name was.

“Slave l,” Boba replied, curtly, trying to ignore the little lump of human sitting in the copilot’s seat. 

Han’s face scrunched up. “That’s a bad name.”

“My father named it.”

“Well he named it bad.”

Boba’s grip tightened on the steering console as he tried to ignore him.

“You should give it a new name.”

“No.”

Han pouted. “Why not?”

“Because this is my father’s ship,” Boba said.

“Oh, so he jus’ lets you borrow it?”

You don’t hurt kids, you don’t hurt kids, you don’t hurt kids-

“No. My father is dead.”

For a normal person, that would have been a pretty clear indication to end the conversation, or at least to offer some sympathy. But not for Han. Not for the kid who probably never even had parents. For him, it was just an invitation to say, “So that means it’s your ship, and you can rename it!”

“I’m not renaming the ship.”

Han huffed and crossed his arms, staring gloomily at the floor. “Why’d your dad even name it that, anyway?”

Boba…didn’t answer that. He knew. Well, he knew parts of it. Not the whole story. But he understood, generally, why his father picked such a name. But, again, he didn’t tell Han any of this. Instead, he said, “It wasn’t always called the Slave l. It used to be called Jaster’s Legacy.”

“What’s that?” Han demanded.

“Jaster…Jaster was my father’s father. He named his ship after him.”

“So why don’t ya jus’ use that name?”

Because I can never live up to his legacy-

Sometimes, Boba wondered if his father would have ever wanted a son, if not for his buir’s death. Sometimes, he thought that when Jango looked at him, he didn’t even see Boba. Just…Jaster’s Legacy.

“I don’t like that name.” And his tone was sharp enough that Han finally stopped asking about it.

He refused to call the ship the Slave, though. He started calling it the Legacy, over and over until even Boba started to call it that too. He wondered if it was intentional or not that Han left out the ‘Jaster’ part of it. Surely a kid that young couldn’t be that perceptive, right?

So maybe it was when the Slave l suddenly became the Legacy. Maybe that was when Han went from a temporary nuisance to a permanent fixture in Boba’s day to day. 

Or maybe it was when Han saved his life. 

They were two systems over from Corellia. Boba had taken another job, another basic one that didn’t pay much. There were a few people who owed the local crime lord some money and, for some reason, he couldn’t send one of his own goons to do it. That was fine enough for Boba, since it was an easy gig and it meant getting paid, despite the absolute pittance amount of credits it was. So, Boba suited up in his father’s armor, told Han to stay in the ship and to not touch anything, then went out to shake down a few poor souls for the last of their life savings. 

Good, honest work, right?

Well, it turns out that the reason why the crime lord couldn’t send one of his own guys to collect was because there was a current gang war happening throughout six of the planet’s major cities, and now Boba was caught up in all of it. He found himself in the midst of a shootout, surrounded by a number of thugs from at least two other gangs, trying his best not to get shot through by someone lucky enough to find the weak points in his armor.

“Did Wic send you?” someone was shouting. “Was it Wic? Who do you work for?”

There was a lot of other shouting going on, and Boba didn’t know who Wic was--the guy who hired him was called Gri’tarn--but he didn’t think any of these thugs actually cared to hear what he had to say. They just wanted to kill him.

It was, admittedly, looking a bit hopeless for Boba. And then a speeder exploded.

These gangs didn’t have the kind of firepower for something like that. And even if they did, they wouldn’t dare use it. The Empire left them relatively alone with just their blasters and their underhanded fighting with each other, but once things start blowing up is when you attract attention. Everyone immediately fell into chaos, trying to figure out who caused the explosion, who needed to die first to prevent something bigger and far more powerful from crashing down upon them. Boba was quite nearly forgotten about.

“Boba!”

He whirled around to find a small, grinning child, with grease on his face and soot in his hair, running up to him.

“Han?” Boba cried, so shocked that he didn’t even react at first when Han grabbed his arm and started to pull him away from the fighting.

“C’mon! While they’re dis’tacted!”

Boba glanced back, where he could still see the fire from the explosion. “Did you cause this?”

“Uh-huh!”

“How?”

They made it well away from the commotion, and Boba could now see that the soot in Han’s hair was definitely ash. 

Han shrugged. “It’s easy,” he said. “I jus’ cut the fuel line and then made a spark trap, then when they turned it on, the speeder ‘sploded itself.”

Boba stared at him. What was Shrike teaching these kids? “I told you to stay with the ship,” he sighed.

Han frowned, his brow scrunched up. “But you needed help?”

Boba resisted the urge to groan and shook his head. “Whatever. C’mon, Brat, let’s go. There’s still a job to do.”

He brought Han with him back to the dingy little bar that served as Gri’tarn’s base of operations, because he didn’t trust sending him back to the ship on his own, and kept him right next to him while he finished the job.

Gri’tarn nodded, didn’t even glance at Han, and said, “I heard there was some trouble in West Shore-”

“I just need my payment,” Boba grunted, not interested in spending any more time here than necessary.

Gri’tarn looked annoyed, but he paid Boba, and then the pair of them were on their way.

“Told’ja I could be helpful!” Han told him cheerfully as they made it back to the ship.

“Well, you’re something alright.”

So maybe it was when Han saved Boba’s hide, though Boba still insisted that he would have been alright in the end. Regardless, though, the kid was useful. And he wasn’t half-bad to have around either. Or maybe Boba had just been so desperate for company that he didn’t mind hanging out with an eight-year-old. It was better than being alone.

And somewhere along the line, Boba found himself tugging Han along with him from planet to planet, struggling to keep him out of trouble. He eventually managed to get it through Han’s skull that he couldn’t come with him on jobs, at least not yet, and now the kid usually occupied himself while Boba was busy with working the streets and running small scams or picking pockets. He made enough that way to keep the kitchenette stocked up, at least, and allowed Boba to get Han some proper shoes and clothes and a jacket for when they visited colder planets. He did wonder if this was terrible of him, letting the Brat run around wild out in the streets while he was working, but it wasn’t anything worse than what he was doing before. And it kept Han busy, and distracted enough, and he was pretty smart for his age and knew when he was in over his head.

It was…comfortable. Too comfortable. Han jumped around the ship while they were traveling, excited to learn every detail about it, begging Boba to teach him how to fly and getting into anything he could. He gave easy smiles and would grab Boba’s hand without a thought, usually to show him something, or drag him somewhere. He proudly showed off his haul whenever Boba got back from a job, giving grand stories about his adventures and surely exaggerating the events to make it all more interesting. Then he’d wait with eager eyes for Boba’s response, and he’d usually say, “Good work, Brat,” or “Not bad.” And it wasn’t much, but Han would light up every time, and his grin would stretch across his entire face.

It hurt. Boba didn’t like it. He’d thought it’d be strange, or weird, but it disconcerted him how easy it was. He’d catch himself wanting to reach out and ruffle Han’s hair, or pull him into a wrestled, one-armed hug. He called the kid ‘Brat,’ thinking that would help keep him at arm’s length, but Han never seemed to mind it, and one time, he shouted at a guy for calling him the same thing.

“I call you Brat all the time,” Boba said as they walked away, said guy left beaten to a mild pulp in an alley behind them.

“That’s different,” Han grumbled.

And Boba felt something drop in his gut, alarm bells ringing in his head. Not good, not good.

Very early on, Boba realized that Han didn’t really read. He could stumble his way through Aurebesh, but not well, and the only other language he really knew was the local Corellian dialect. And Boba remembered that he was only eight, and he probably had never been to a proper school in his life, so he dug around the ship until he found his old datapads that he did his own schooling on, and started to teach Han some of the basics.

He has to know how to read, Boba would justify to himself. And if he was going to be a pilot someday, which he talked endlessly about, then he’d have to be able to do hyperspace calculations, and he’d need some basic engineering skills to run a ship, and anyway, he’d be no help to Boba at all if he could barely even speak properly. So, Boba taught him, but he found that it wasn’t so bad. Once Han could read adequately well on his own, he was able to teach himself without much interference. He breezed through Boba’s old work books, faster than he ever did when he was that age, and seemed ridiculously excited just to learn things. But one day, he called Boba over. He had a question about one of the courses on the datapad.

“Boba, what’s this language?” he asked, holding it up for him to see. 

And Boba was frozen. “That’s…Mando’a.”

“What’s Mando’a?”

“It’s…my people’s language.”

“Oh.” Han looked at him, not quite a question in his eyes. Just waiting.

You could teach him, a voice in Boba’s head said. You could teach him Mando’a-

“Just skip that course,” Boba said, then walked away.

It was important, to keep Han a bit distant from him. He wasn’t…he wasn’t Mandalorian. Truth be told, Boba wasn’t even sure if he was Mandalorian. His father was. And his father raised him to be one. But the other Mandalorians would never accept him, he knew. And he spoke Mando’a, sure, but he barely knew the traditions. He knew about the Verd’goten, because his father always said that he’d take his one day and be a proper adult. But Jango died before that could happen, and now Boba was just…Boba. He knew Mandalore was in turmoil, as the current ruler, Bo Katan, desperately tried to keep the clans together and the Empire at bay. But more and more of them were breaking off and forming their own sects, going to ground, or simply joining the Empire for their own survival. Mandalore was a broken world, with constant in-fighting and grabs for power. Boba wanted nothing to do with it.

Jango would have stepped in-

But would he? He also had left the planet to its own devices, either in a self-imposed exile or simply because he didn’t want to be involved anymore. But he used to tell stories to Boba, stories of the old Mandalore. Stories of when Jaster was still alive, and how much he wanted to bring those times back. He’d never quite said it, but Boba was pretty sure Jango meant for him to do such a thing. To restore Mandalore and bring the clans together.

Jaster’s Legacy-

A truly ridiculous thought. Who would follow Boba? He was just a clone, one of millions. And besides, he wanted nothing to do with that. Even when Jango was alive, he hadn’t cared  about any of that. He just wanted to be with his father, and learn from him, and find their own little pocket of the galaxy for them to be in. It was a difficult thing, because if Jango had never gotten involved in the politics of civil war and the struggles of the Jedi, then Boba wouldn’t even exist. But also, if he had never gotten involved, if he’d simply let go of his lust for revenge, then he’d still be alive today.

So Boba didn’t teach Han Mando’a. And he didn’t talk about Mandalore, or his father, or the fact that he shared a face with some of the stormtroopers that they ran from. The clones were being phased out, anyway, from the Empire’s garrison. Boba was pretty sure that some of them were starting to wake up, or at least doubt who they were currently serving, and the Empire didn’t want to deal with a host of highly trained pissed off clones who suddenly realized that they were being controlled for the past three years. 

And time went on.

Boba turned sixteen. His father’s armor was still too big on him. It’s caused more than a few problems on the jobs he went on, and even Han took notice of it.

“Why do you wear it if it doesn’t fit?”

“Because it was my father’s armor.”

“Oh.” But Han didn’t look like he understood. “But it doesn’t fit?” he repeated, a little quieter, after a moment.

Boba sighed. “He would want me to wear it.”

Han still seemed dubious about the whole thing, but didn’t question it further. He occupied himself with other things, like finding higher and higher level course work for him to learn from and growing out of clothes at a ridiculous rate. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was getting proper meals every day for the first time, but he seemed to grow another inch every few months. Boba started to teach him to use a blaster, because you could never be too young to defend yourself. And once he got enough meat on his bones, he taught him some hand-to-hand as well. Han learned everything quickly and eagerly, ready to do absolutely anything that Boba set out for him. If Boba were a little older, or maybe a little more perceptive, he might have thought it was because Han was afraid of messing up and getting kicked out, or making Boba mad. And that thought might have driven him to do things a little differently. But he was only sixteen, and he didn’t really know what you were supposed to do with a child, except what his own father taught him.

Boba still called Han a Brat. It never worked like he hoped it would. Han got cockier, more confident, and started to tease Boba back. He also started to try and convince Boba to take him along on jobs.

“You’re nine,” Boba said.

“No, I’m ten now!” Han grumbled.

“...Are you?”

Han shrugged. “I think so. Maybe. I dunno.”

Boba couldn’t believe he’d been with this kid for nearly two years and never realized that Han didn’t know his own birthday, or even how old he was. He hadn’t really thought about it. Boba never celebrated his own birthday, not anymore. His age was something distantly noted each time it changed. For Han, though, he was still young enough that a birthday should be significant. Something to remember.  Finding his original records on Corellia was basically impossible, so Boba had Han pick a random day for his birthday.

“Today!” Han declared. “So I get a present, now, right?”

Han ‘turned’ ten. Boba gave him his very own blaster. An old DL-44 he rarely used himself. Ten was probably a little too young for it, but Han could clean and operate a gun better than most people Boba ran into. He was so excited about it that Boba ended up taking him to a small, sparsely populated moon so that Han could practice with it.

“Hey Boba, when’s your birthday?”

“It’s passed already,” Boba tried to brush off. But Han kept insisting, so he eventually told him, then forgot all about it.

About eight months later, Han proudly presented him with a brand new scope for his helmet. His old one had gotten destroyed during a job, leaving a dent in his helmet that he couldn’t seem to get out. 

“Happy birthday!” Han declared. “I know the helmet’s still too big, but you can at least fix this!”

Boba didn’t reply. He stared, face blank and his eyes wide, at Han’s beaming face. Then he turned around and shut himself in his cabin for several hours, and struggled to breath properly, and thought that he was ruining all of this. That Han shouldn’t do this, not for him, and all of this was getting too close.

He remembered his father teaching him about the Mandalorian Way. About foundlings and family and who you claimed as your own-

When Boba finally came back out, he forced himself to apologize to Han, because the Brat didn’t deserve his issues.

“It’s fine,” Han shrugged off, but he wasn’t smiling anymore, and he wandered off pretty quick to do some of his coursework.

“Thank you for the scope,” Boba said, but he didn’t think Han was listening anymore.

Han didn’t get him any more birthday presents.

And that was how Boba turned seventeen.

The Empire was an ever-growing force across the galaxy. More and more worlds fell to its power, and more and more of the work Boba picked up ended up having some kind of imperial connection, regardless of who he went to. Han stuck his nose up at it, but now that he was twelve, he was old enough to help with a few of the easier jobs, and he came along because he was bored of working the streets of whatever planet they ended up on.

“I don’t like the Empire,” Han told him, grumbling about taking a bounty from an imperial governor placed on the planet. “They just make things worse.”

“They do,” Boba agreed. “But they’re the ones in charge, and we have to play by their rules or get killed.”

“Someone should do something about it,” Han said.

Boba was silent. He knew there were whispers of a rebellion. Hints of people organizing together to do just that. But he didn’t want anything to do with such a thing. He saw what getting involved did to his father. What it did to the Jedi, what it did to the entire karking galaxy. He wasn’t getting involved with this.

“Maybe,” Boba eventually conceded. “But that’s not for us to worry about. That’s someone else’s job.”

Han didn’t seem content with the answer, and Boba felt something because of it. It took him a long time to realize that it was terror, and even longer for him to realize that he was terrified of Han getting involved. He didn’t want Han to become part of a hopeless war. He didn’t want Han to suffer and die for some idealistic cause that would probably end up losing anyway. He didn’t want to see what happened to his father happen to Han.

So Boba took Han to the far reaches of the galaxy. He stopped taking jobs that had anything to do with the Empire, even though they paid more. He had made quite a name for himself, anyway, so he could charge premium rates without anyone scoffing and calling him ‘boy.’ His father’s armor quite nearly fit him now, so he even looked the part.

The lack of imperial contracts, though, inevitably meant he ended up taking most of his jobs from the Hutts. Which was, arguably, even more distasteful than taking jobs from the Empire. But they ruled the outer rim, and keeping on their good side meant that Boba had some form of protection from those who might be interested in the son of Jango Fett.

That meant Han had some form of protection, too, but Boba absolutely prohibited him from helping with any Hutt jobs. And, of course, Han hated it.

“You can’t just go off on your own!” he argued. He was thirteen, nearly fourteen now, and all gangly limbs and unkempt hair that he refused to keep groomed.

“Yes I can, Brat.”

“Stop calling me that!” Han snapped.

Han had never gotten upset about that name before. But he was glaring at Boba now, his arms crossed and some kind of look in his eyes that he couldn’t read.

“You’re staying with the Legacy,” Boba said, making it clear that this was final, and he wasn’t going to argue with him anymore.

Boba maybe should have rethought about leaving Han on Tatooine. The job was on Tatooine, so he hadn’t considered it being that big of a deal. He’d be gone for a few days with the speeder bike and be back once the job was done. But Han wasn’t with the Legacy when he got back. Boba immediately thought the worst, and he panicked for a few hours. But once he’d managed to calm down, it was easy enough to find the Brat.

He went racing. 

Of course he did. Boba had finally started to teach him how to fly, and Han was obsessed with it. Of course he got into an illegal canyon race, and of course he won, the smug bastard . Boba had no idea where he got the speeder from, but no one came after him in revenge, and it disappeared after the race, so it must have been some kind of bet. Boba shuddered to think what kind of collateral Han had put down to let him borrow it.

It didn’t stop on Tatooine. No matter where they went, Han managed to find some kind of race to join, or just trouble in general to get himself into. Boba found him hanging around with local gangs, even picking up some minor jobs if Boba was gone long enough. 

“You have to stop this,” Boba finally told him, firmly, after dragging Han away from a pirate crew that was definitely trying to recruit him. 

“You could take me on jobs,” Han shot back, shrugging. He’d sprouted up another few inches, and it bothered Boba to know that he was very soon going to be taller than him.

“You’re not getting involved with the Hutts.”

“You let me get involved with other jobs,” Han reminded him. “Even the Empire!”

“That’s different.” 

“How though?” Han demanded. “They’re all a bunch of sleamos no matter where they’re from.”

It was different. The Hutts…the Hutts weren’t like the rest of the crime syndicates that Boba took jobs from, or even the Empire. Because they weren’t really a crime syndicate, and they weren’t an organized controlling force. They were gangsters, the most powerful gangsters in the galaxy, and they’ve managed to bully the Empire into keeping away from them, and even the Republic before that. They didn’t play by anyone’s rules but their own, and there was no way to truly trust them. Boba was in decent standing with them, since he did jobs for them and did them well, but they didn’t have a shred of loyalty towards him. He was safe with them for now, but that could change in an instant.

Boba would have taken less jobs from the Hutts, if he could. But he was already avoiding the Empire, and that left his pickings rather slim. Especially since the other crime syndicates didn't really like the fact that he had a little tagalong with him. The Hutts never cared, so long as the job got done. Boba tried to keep Han out of it, but it was getting harder and harder as he got older. And if it was either this or the Empire...

Boba was twenty-two now. Han had just turned sixteen. In many ways, Boba had to conclude that this was his own fault. He knew what happened every time he left Han on Tatooine, but he just didn’t see any other options. He had to take the Legacy for this job, and he didn’t trust leaving Han somewhere else. So he found a room for him, and made him swear not to join any races, and tried to get through the job as quickly as possible.

He really should have been smarter than this.

“Hey,” Han said, shrugging. “You said not to join any races. You never said anything about finding work.”

Boba was furious. “You took a job from Jabba?" he hissed.

“It was on-planet. And pretty simple. All I had to do was-”

“You can’t take any jobs from Jabba!”

Han rolled his eyes. “You do it all the time.”

“That’s different. I-”

“It’s not different,” Han grumbled, staring Boba down. He was eye-level with him now. No longer that tiny kid who tried to strip his ship.

Boba took a breath. Forced himself to let it out slowly. “You will not take any more jobs from Jabba. Or any Hutt. Do you understand me?”

And then Han got mad. “Don’t tell me what to do!” he snapped. “What makes you think you can tell me what to do?” 

“I-” Boba stopped himself short. The question seemed intentional, just daring him to answer. But he couldn’t say anything.

Han scoffed. “That’s what I thought.” And he stormed off. 

Boba decided to let him cool off for a few hours. And maybe use that time to get his own head on straight. Because who was he to tell Han what to do? He’s never made any claim towards him. He was just someone he shared space with, someone who helped around the Legacy and made trouble for Boba.

Han came back a few hours later. Boba wanted to know where he was but knew better than to ask. He just hoped he wasn’t hanging around Jabba’s palace.

Boba had hoped it was a one-time thing, but of course it wasn't. Han kept taking more jobs, not necessarily just from Jabba, but wherever he could find them. As soon as they touched down on a planet, he’d disappear, immediately finding the best paying gigs and only coming back once Boba had concluded his business there. He didn’t come on any of his jobs now, not even when Boba expressly asked him to join. He said he always had “something else going on.”

He had to grow out of it eventually. Han couldn’t play this game forever. Right? That was what Boba assumed, anyway. He should know by now that he was only ever going to be proven wrong.

Han was eighteen. He was taller than Boba by several inches, and was starting to look like a man, now, not a boy. He dressed like a spacer, and hung around unfortunate crowds, gambling or racing or placing bets. He always seemed to come out on top, though, his charming smile working on just about everybody he met. 

He wasn’t smiling when he came to Boba, one day, and said, “I’m leaving.”

Boba resisted the urge to groan, then said, “I was just finishing up here. How long are you going to be gone?”

Han shook his head. “No. I’m leaving. I…I got my own ship.”

That got Boba’s attention. “What?” he demanded. “What are you talking about? Where did you get a ship?”

“I won it in a game of sabacc.”

“What?”

“I’m leaving,” Han repeated. And then he stood there, arms crossed, a daring look on his face. Waiting for Boba’s response.

Stop him, stop him, stop him-

“I…what are you going to do?” Boba asked.

“I’ve got some things lined up,” Han said, but he looked frustrated. Angry, even. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

Just ask him to stay. He’ll stay if you ask him. Just tell him he’s your brother and you don’t want him to go-

The words stuck in his throat. Boba couldn’t say anything, no matter if he wanted to or not.

Han scoffed and stormed for the Legacy’s hatch. He paused at the bottom of the ramp and turned to shoot Boba one, last glare. “You know,” he said. “That armor finally fits you.” And then he was gone.

Boba sat and cursed himself, over and over. Wondering how he could ever be so karking stupid. Wondering how he managed to lose his family all over again, and this time, it was no one’s fault but his own.

Chapter Text

Boba never thought that his ship was particularly big. So many times, it had been nothing but confining. A limited space, no room to really move, cooped up for days on end with a rambunctious Brat who couldn’t sit still. 

It seemed oppressively large now. And so empty. Some legacy indeed.

Boba wondered where Han was. He thought about looking for him. He was a bounty hunter, and a damn good one at that, he was positive he could find the Brat with little issue. But Boba never did. He wasn’t sure if it was because he thought Han wouldn’t want him to, or because he was still trying to keep him at arm’s length.

There was plenty enough to occupy his time with, anyway. Boba took more jobs than ever, capitalizing on the fact that the galaxy was on the brink of war, which meant there was lots of work to be had. He avoided the Hutts. Boba knew that Han was still taking jobs from them, Jabba in particular. It irked him to no end, but short of dragging him back to the Legacy himself, there was little that Boba could do about it.

So Boba took on jobs, and kept an ear out for Han’s exploits, just to make sure that he was still alive. He seemed to be doing well enough as a smuggler, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Boba had to admit that Han was a better pilot than him, one of the best pilot’s he’s ever seen, actually. Maybe it was better that he was flying for Jabba instead of getting caught up in the Imperial Academy. 

Speaking of the Empire, things were only getting worse. Boba found himself racing from one planet to the next, just barely able to dodge the notice of any imperials. He was fairly certain that there were no clones left among the garrison, and the Empire had their fair use of bounty hunters themselves. But it was generally better to avoid their radar. Especially when Boba started hearing whispers about someone named Vader. A dark, imposing figure who could do impossible things and was known to be utterly without mercy. And, if the rumors were to be believed, he wielded a glowing red blade that could slice through flesh and bone in an instant.

Boba’s beskar offered him better protection than most against a lightsaber, but he had no interest in getting involved with a Sith. 

As the Empire grew, so did the murmurs of rebellion. There were bounties, now, of potential rebel leaders. Boba saw names like Saw Gerrera, Lux Bonteri, Jan Dodonna. There were old Republic and Separatist names alike. Boba considered them, maybe picked up some of the smaller ones, but decided it best to avoid the bulk of them. It put him too close to the Empire for his liking.

Boba was twenty-seven the first time he saw a bounty for a Jedi. He stared at it for a long time, something uncomfortable churning in his gut. It was actually two bounties, and one of them was for a kid. A teenager, sure, but still a kid. Now, this wasn’t actually news to Boba. He knows that the Empire has been hunting down Jedi survivors ever since the beginning. But it was always done with imperial resources. Boba had heard that there were specialists for that sort of thing. People specially trained and designed to hunt down Jedi. This was the first time they’ve ever outsourced the effort. Or, at least, it was the first time that he’d ever heard about it. 

It had to do with the rebellion again. They weren’t just whispers or rumors anymore, but an actual, organized effort. It seemed like every day Boba was hearing reports about another ‘terrorist’ attack by ‘traitors to the Empire.’ A prison break on Narkina V, imperial compounds being blown up, illegal message broadcasts. There was more, of course there was more, but now there was something actually solid to point to; not just an idea, or some vague hope, but an actual reality that people were fighting back against the Empire. 

Boba didn’t pick up the bounties on the Jedi. He had no interest in getting himself involved. Not with the Empire, not with the Rebellion, and he also just really karking did not want to go up against a Jedi. 

The years passed. Boba heard that Han ran an imperial blockade in that hunk of junk he called a ship and was privately impressed. He was still irritated that it was all for a job for Jabba, but impressed nonetheless. He, again, thought about tracking him down. Or at least just leaving him a message. Something, anything. But he never did.

Boba thought about how old Han would be now. Just about twenty-five, he thought. Almost seven years since he last saw him. Since he spoke to him. He still remembered Han’s last words to him, before he walked away.

“That armor finally fits you.”

Boba wore it constantly now. The only time he took it off was when he was in the privacy of his own ship, and even then, he tended to stay mostly armored. He was no longer just known as ‘Jango Fett’s son.’ In fact, most people these days didn’t even know who Jango was. Instead, Boba was known for himself. His name was murmured when he walked into bars, looking for his bounty. Potential clients asked for him specifically because they knew what kind of results he offered. His services begged a high price, and only the likes of Cad Bane or Bossk could match his expertise. He’s become more known and feared than his father ever was, and he didn’t even have to create a clone army of himself to do it.

Maybe that was why he took the bounty on Skywalker.

Boba swore he wouldn’t get involved with the Empire, and he also swore he wasn’t going to get tangled up in Jedi nonsense either. But this wasn’t a regular bounty. The price on Skywalker’s head was the highest he’s ever seen, the number so large that Boba could retire several times over if he really wanted. The Empire claimed it was because he was the guy who blew up the Death Star, which Boba was sure was part of it. But he thought there must be more.

Because Boba recognized the name Skywalker. Actually, he almost killed one, didn’t he? Back when he was just a kid. His target had been Windu, but Skywalker happened to be there too. This wasn’t the same guy, of course, but they had to be connected. Maybe a son? There were rumors that he was a Jedi, or at least that he carried a laser sword around. He didn’t seem terribly trained in it, which was another reason for Boba to go after him. A Jedi was a formidable foe, but this boy didn’t seem like he was a Jedi. He just had the potential to be one.

Boba took the bounty. He was careful about it, too. Luke Skywalker had very quickly become the Rebellion’s favorite poster boy. A symbol for the rebels to rally behind. Tracking him down wasn’t easy, and it was made even more difficult by the fact that Boba wasn’t the only one looking for him. He had to get rid of a few other bounty hunters who got in his way, and even one rebel traitor who was planning on selling Skywalker out. Whatever he had to do until he found himself on a cargo transport, interrupting Skywalker’s attempt at stealing supplies.

“Ugh, another one?” Skywalker groaned when he realized why Boba was there. And then they fought.

Boba was right: Skywalker only had the barest understanding of his powers, enough to give him an edge against any other bounty hunter who might have come after him. But Boba had beskar, and practically none of Skywalker’s tricks worked on him. He was going to beat him. Boba knew it, and it looked like Skywalker was realizing it too, based on the panicked look he had on his face. Just another moment and he’ll be dragging him in for the bounty-

“Luke!”

Boba was thrown off his feet when the force of a bowcaster hit against his back. He toppled forward and groaned heavily; his armor protected him from getting shot through, but he might have dislocated his shoulder. A growl of a Wookie followed, which was definitely bad news. Boba really did not want to fight a Wookie.

“Luke, are you alright?”

Boba froze when he heard that. Osik, that voice. How did he know that voice? Slowly, he pushed himself up.

“I’m okay,” Skywalker said. “Thanks for the save.”

Boba could hear the cocky smirk in his voice when he said, “That’s two you owe me! Now let’s get out of here before your friend here decides to…” He trailed off when he looked at Boba, who had finally gotten to his feet, one hand on the wall for support. His mouth dropped open in surprise, and a million different emotions flashed across his face.

“Han?” Skywalker said. “Han, let’s go. They definitely know we’re here now!”

Han stared at him for a moment longer. Then he nodded. “Chewie, get the Faclon ready!” Then he grabbed Skywalker’s wrist and dragged him away, leaving Boba stumbling in the corridor.

Well. Kark.

Getting off the transport was a trick. The Empire was definitely aware they were being robbed by rebels, and Boba wasn’t technically supposed to be there. He ended up having to kill a few stormtroopers to get back to the Legacy, all while dealing with a limp arm and a mind reeling.

Han was with Skywalker. Han was helping Skywalker. Skywalker had been on a rebel mission. That meant Han was on a rebel mission. Han had joined the Rebellion. Han had gone off and gotten involved-

It took less than a week for Han to find Boba. He’d been kind of expecting it, but somehow he was still surprised when Han suddenly stormed onto the Legacy, his eyes thunderous. He was currently camped out on a small planet in the outer rim, and Han found him nursing his bruised shoulder and trying not to drink a whole bottle of Corellian whiskey by himself.

“Boba,” Han said, standing before him with crossed arms. 

“Brat,” he snapped right back, looking him up and down. Kriff, was this really the first time he was seeing him in, what, eight years now? The incident on the transport had been too quick, and Boba honestly had wondered if he had just imagined it. But there was no denying it: Han stood before him, a full man now. He’d lost the lingering traces of childishness he still had at eighteen, replaced by a sharp jawline and stubble on his chin. His hair was cut shorter, actually groomed for once and clean. He still dressed like a spacer, with a vest and heavy boots. On his hip hung the blaster that Boba had gifted him years ago.

“Don’t call me that,” Han grumbled. He was glaring at him. 

Boba stared at him. Han didn’t say anything else, and he wasn’t sure what to do, now. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. So he sighed and reached up to rub at his eyes, and then said, “Han…why did you join the Rebellion?”

He wasn’t expecting the fury, but maybe he should have. “That’s it?” Han demanded. “Eight years, and that’s all you have to say? No, ‘Hi Han.’ ‘Nice to see you, Han.’ ‘Sorry I haven’t spoken to you in almost a decade, Han.’”

Boba frowned at him. “You left,” he reminded him.

Han threw up his hands. “I can’t believe you,” he huffed. “But I guess that’s on me, for expecting something more from you. Whatever. That’s not why I’m here.”

“So this is about Skywalker?” Boba guessed, holding back a weary sigh.

“I can’t believe you took his bounty,” Han said, shaking his head. “You never take bounties from the Empire.”

“Have you seen his bounty?”

Han shot him a nasty look. “I thought you were better than that.”

“I-”

“You’re going to leave Luke alone,” Han said, his eyes narrowed at him.

If Boba’s shoulder wasn’t in so much pain, he would have shrugged. “Okay, fine.”

“I mean it! You-” Han paused. “Wait, really?”

Boba frowned at him. “I’m not going to fight with you,” he said. Then he gestured for the seat across from him and said, “Can you sit, please? You’re giving me a headache.”

Han did sit. And he watched as Boba applied more bacta to his shoulder, wincing as he did so. “Chewie got you good,” he noted.

“How’d you make friends with a damn Wookie?” Boba grunted back.

“Long story.” 

They sat for a while, the silence a bit awkward, but not too oppressive. Boba was the first to speak again.

“So…how long have you been with the Rebellion?”

“Mn…almost a year now,” Han mused. 

“Huh.” Boba finished with the bacta and wiped his hand on a rag. “And Skywalker?”

“Luke,” Han insisted. “He’s my friend.”

“Of karkin’ course he is,” Boba muttered, shaking his head.

“Boba…” Han seemed nervous for a moment, and he almost looked like that little boy that Boba found ages ago. “Boba, what do you know about the Jedi?”

Boba actually spluttered, coughing as he choked on his own surprise. “What?” he asked, completely taken aback. 

“Do you hate Jedi?” Han asked.

Boba narrowed his eyes at him. “Why would you ask me that?”

“You came after Luke.”

“I came after Luke because he has the highest bounty ever recorded on his head.”

Han frowned at him. “Boba.” He hesitated. It was so unlike him to be this unsure, and it gave Boba a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. “Boba, there’s someone I met in the Rebellion. An old war vet…” he trailed for a moment, watching for his reaction. “He’s older than you. A lot older. But I swear he has your face.”

Oh. Oh, shit.

“His name is Rex. He’s a clone,” Han continued. “Apparently, he served with Luke’s father back during the Clone Wars. He told me a bit about what happened, back then.” He sighed, briefly shutting his eyes and holding back a grimace. “He told me about you,” he said.

Boba was very still. He couldn’t say anything. Could barely even breath.

“He told me about your dad.” Of course Han wasn’t done. “He told me about the chips that the clones had in their heads.”

“He really told you all this?” Boba finally said.

“I asked him,” Han clarified. “I had to know, so I asked him. He was very surprised when I told him that I knew you.”

Boba let out a breath. “Han. I don’t-”

“Do you hate the Jedi?” Han demanded. “Do you hate them like your father did? Do you want them all dead?”

“What, you care about the Jedi now?” Boba found himself scoffing, because when has he ever said the right thing?

“I care about Luke,” Han replied. “He’s my best friend. And I know that his bounty isn’t so high just because he blew up the Death Star. I think you know it, too. Did-” he swallowed, “did you know about the chips?”

He didn’t answer at first. He was trying not to meet Han’s eyes.

“Boba,” Han pressed. “Those chips killed Luke’s father. And all of his people, too. Did you know?”

He sighed. “I didn’t know about the chips.” Truthfully, Boba wasn’t even sure if Jango knew. He liked to think he didn’t, because he wasn’t sure how to reconcile it in his head if it turned out that his own father had allowed all his clones to be enslaved like that. “And I don’t hate the Jedi,” he added. “I don’t think I ever did. There was one in particular I wanted to kill, but the rest…I didn’t really care. I didn’t go after Luke because I hate him. It was just the bounty.” He wasn’t sure if that was the reassurance it was supposed to be, but what else could he say? He wasn’t going to lie. Not to Han.

“...Okay,” Han muttered. 

And then there was even more silence. Boba had never known Han to not talk, but it has been eight years. He wondered if he’s just mellowed out, or if they really just didn’t know how to talk to each other anymore.

“So he really is Anakin Skywalker’s kid, then?” Boba found himself asking.

Han eyed him a moment, then nodded. “You knew him?”

“I knew of him. But everyone knew of him, back then.” Boba decided against mentioning the time he almost killed the man. “I ran into him once or twice. I know he was a highly regarded Jedi, though. And…and his men loved him.”

Rex. Han said that the clone’s name was Rex. Not one he was familiar with, but he didn’t know a lot of the other clones. Jango hadn’t wanted him to get close to them.

“They’re not your brothers. They are not my sons. You are my son.”

Han didn’t look quite so furious anymore. More contemplative. “You’re not going to take any more jobs from the Empire, are you?”

“I didn’t really take jobs from them in the first place. This was just a special case.” That gave Boba a thought, and he frowned. “Hey, speaking of bounties, I heard you owe Jabba money?”

Han scowled. “I’m handling it.”

“Are you?” Boba said, dubious. “Because I know he’s already sent bounty hunters after you.” He’d taken care of a few of them. It hadn’t really been intentional, just that some of them had come trying to get information from him (no one really knew exactly how well Boba knew Han, but there was general knowledge that they’ve worked together before), so he acted accordingly. 

“I said I’m handling it!” Han repeated. “And what do you care, anyway?”

Boba frowned at him. “I care because first it was Jabba, now it’s the Rebellion. If you’re going to keep pissing me off, at least do it without painting such a big target on your back.”

Han stared at him, mouth agape, utter shock on his face. “You-” he said, as if he couldn’t even find the words. “You think I joined the Rebellion…just to spite you?”

“Maybe not just to spite me,” Boba allowed. “But I know you took jobs from Jabba just to make me mad.”

“Shut up!” Han snapped. “This isn’t about you!”

“Then tell me why you joined the Rebellion.”

“Kark you.” Han stood abruptly, fire in his eyes as he glowered at him. “I can’t believe I ever thought- Whatever. Don’t come after me. Don’t come after Luke. Stay the hell out of my way.” He left. The second time he’s stormed off the Legacy with the intention of never coming back. Boba made an aborted attempt to call after him, stopping himself at the last second.

“Kark, shit, kark!” he hissed, banging a fist against his head. The first time he spoke with Han in eight years, and it managed to go the worst possible way.

Han told Boba to leave him alone. He should do just that. After all, Han was a grown adult now, and who was Boba? They used to run together, sure, but neither of them owed each other anything. He should leave it all well enough alone and go on with his own life, just like he has for the last eight years.

Boba tried to find Han. He was one of the best bounty hunters in the galaxy, it shouldn’t be that difficult. Right? Except he was part of the Rebellion now, and the Rebellion actually was pretty impossible to find. They were broken up into individual cells, sometimes coming together for bigger attacks, but mostly sticking to themselves to avoid detection. Boba had only found Han the first time because he’d been tracking Skywalker, who was being hunted down so ruthlessly that most of the work was already done for him.

Han has asked him not to go after Skywalker. But he meant that in the context of bringing him in for the bounty. He wasn’t going to bring the kid in. Just…if he found Han near him once, maybe he’ll be near him again.

“I thought you told Han you weren’t going to come after me.”

Oh, great. So Han told the boy all about him.

“I’m not looking for you,” Boba replied. 

“Oh. Well, Han’s not here.”

“I can see that.” Boba looked around, at the archives vault that they’d both broken into. He wondered why Skywalker was here. “Pretty stupid of the Rebellion to send you off by yourself when the Empire is after you.”

“I’m not here for the Rebellion,” Skywalker said. “This is…my own mission.”

“Even more stupid then.” Boba eyed him, a little disconcerted by the way Skywalker barely seemed to acknowledge him. He was digging around in the archives, seemingly unbothered by who he’d turn his back on. “I hope you’re not like this with the other bounty hunters.”

“I know you’re not going to hurt me,” Skywalker waved off, pulling out a data disk and looking it over. “You told Han you wouldn’t.”

Dank ferrik. Kriffing Jedi. 

“I ought to shoot you just for that,” Boba grunted.

Skywalker laughed, actually laughed. “I see where Han gets it from, now.”

Boba glared at him, though it was hidden by his helmet. “Where’s Han.”

He shrugged. “Leia sent him and Chewie on a supply run, I think.”

“He really let you come out here alone?”

“Ah, no.” Skywalker sent him a sheepish smile and said, “That’s why I waited until he was busy. I’m just lucky Leia didn’t notice.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Maybe.” Skywalker pulled out another data disk and grinned when saw it. “Here it is!”

Boba’s curiosity got the better of him. “What is it?”

“It’s an old archive from the Jedi temple.”

Boba froze.

“Don’t know what’s on it,” Skywalker continued, musing over the disk. “But still, it’s something.” He tucked it away and turned to Boba. “I won’t tell Han you’re looking for him,” he said. “It’d only make him more mad, right now. But when he’s calmed down, I’ll try to get him to talk to you again.”

“Wha- why?” Boba stared at him incredulously.

Skywalker just gave him a sad smile. “Thanks for not trying to kill me,” he said. And then he slipped out of the vault, heading back towards his Rebellion.

Boba moped around for a bit after that. He still tried to find Han, but he stopped going after Skywalker. Months passed by quickly, turning into even more years that Boba hated counting. He took less jobs and spent a lot of time considering things and wondering just how he’d managed to get to this point.

It seemed so stupid. Really stupid.

A part of him wanted to blame Jango. Or Jaster. Or maybe just the Mandalorians as a whole, for never being able to get their shit together and stop fighting each other for more than three seconds. But that seemed stupid too, because Boba was only barely Mandalorian himself. It seemed ridiculous that a planet he’s never been to, that a culture he has never been a part of, could have affected his life this much. 

Really, though, the only person that Boba could truly blame was himself. And it was himself that he blamed when Han got frozen in carbonite.

Skywalker had found him this time, panicked and frightened, a hollowness to his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He rubbed anxiously at his wrist, and Boba saw some discoloration there, where synth skin met flesh. 

“Han’s gone. The Empire took him, he’s gone.”

Boba felt dread. “What?” He took Skywalker back to the Legacy, made him sit down and tell him everything.

“They froze him in carbonite,” he sobbed. “Because of me.” He babbled about that too, something about the Emperor wanting him alive and Vader using Han as a test in the carbon freezing chamber or…something. He wasn’t making a lot of sense.

“Luke!” Boba snapped, grabbing him by the shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eye. “Where. Is. Han?”

“I don’t know!” Luke shuddered, his eyes red. “What if…what if they killed him already? Lando and Chewie went out looking for him, but we don’t know what Bane did with him-” 

“Wait,” Boba cut him off. “Bane? Like, Cad Bane?”

A nod. “Yeah. He was there, too. He was the one who found Leia and Han and Chewie on Bespin.”

“And then he told the Empire,” Boba concluded. “Was he after you at all?”

“I don’t think so. I think he was just after Han.”

Cad Bane probably would have loved to get the bounty on Luke’s head, too, but if he had called in the Empire on Bespin, then he must have thought that getting both would be too difficult and settled for Han. Or he’d also decided that he was done getting involved in Jedi business. Bane wasn’t usually one to back down from a fight, but Boba also knew that he’s turned down jobs based on pure irritation with the client before.

“Okay,” Boba sighed, reaching up to rub at his face. “Okay. If Bane collected the bounty on Han, then that means…that means Jabba has him.”

“Jabba…” Luke muttered, making a face. And then he sighed. “Han was just about to go settle things with Jabba too, before this whole mess.” He glanced at Boba. “I think he intended to come find you after.”

Boba tried not to think about that. Tried not to think about how Luke had promised him, almost two years ago now, that he was going to try and get Han to talk to him again. It was no use torturing himself over it.

“You’ll…you’ll help us get him back, right?”

“Yes,” Boba said. “Yes, I’m going to help you. But pulling one over Jabba isn’t exactly easy. We’re going to have to be smart about this.”

‘Being smart about this’ also meant being patient. Boba needed to get back in good standing with Jabba, but he’d effectively burned that bridge when he stopped taking jobs from him. And he had to be careful about it, to not tip the Hutt off. Boba had managed to keep most of his and Han’s…history a secret, but not all of it. The general consensus was that he’d taken him on and mentored him, sort of, which wasn’t terribly uncommon for bounty hunters to do. It was usually how new bounty hunters, and others of their sort, started out. So Boba had to be careful, to ensure that Jabba didn’t get suspicious on why he was coming back now. 

Boba didn’t actually have a ton of contact with Luke during all of this. It was too dangerous. But he worked with someone named Lando, managing to get him into the palace as a guard, and occasionally he spoke with a girl called Leia.

(Leia Organa, the princess of Alderaan and general of the Rebellion, Boba only later learned, and how exactly did Han manage to meet these people?)

But finally, the pieces were in place. Now they just had to wait for Luke.

“We…don’t really know where he is?” Lando muttered to him. “He sort of disappeared.”

“What the- kark.” Boba had to keep his voice down. Jabba’s palace was a lively place, and no one really took note of him here, but he still had to be careful. “Well, we can’t exactly wait around for him.” He looked across the room, where the carbonite statue hung. Han’s face, frozen in pain. Boba has had to look at it every day for the past month, and he was about ready to kill someone if he had to look at it any longer.

Lando looked unsure. “Luke told me-”

“Call Leia and tell her to start moving.” Boba glared around the palace. “Or I will.”

The droids showed up first. It annoyed Boba to see them, because Luke had insisted on this part of the plan. There was even a holo recording that the astromech played, which only ticked Boba off even more. He had time for this but also still managed to up and disappear right when they were going to rescue Han? Boba might just shoot him once this was all said and done. Just a grazing shot. He won’t cause any lasting damage.

Leia came next, with the Wookie. And this was where it got tricky, because Luke was supposed to help with this part. Getting into Jabba’s palace was, after all, easy enough. It was getting out that was the trick. Luke was supposed to help with making sure they had a clear exit and getting them all out of there. But maybe it would be fine. Maybe this would all turn out okay-

Jabba caught on. Boba hadn’t actually been there. He was trying to find those stupid droids. But then he came out into the throne room, and his heart dropped at what he saw. 

There was Leia, a frown on her face as she faced down Jabba’s deep cackles. Leaning heavily on her was Han. He looked…terrible. Ashen face and blurry eyes, and he couldn’t seem to focus on anything.

Boba almost ran forward. Almost pulled his gun on Jabba right then. It was only Lando, suddenly grabbing his arm, that stopped him.

“Jabba’s expecting it,” Lando muttered. “He still doesn’t trust you.”

“How do you-”

“Luke told me this might happen.” Lando seemed almost baffled by it. “He has a plan.”

“Karkin’ fantastic.”

Boba forced himself to remain still as Han and Leia were taken away. Leia briefly glanced at him, but Han didn’t seem to notice him. If he had carbonation sickness, then he probably had some temporary blindness. Boba found he actually preferred that. He wouldn’t have been able to explain himself if Han saw him and wondered what the hell he was doing with Jabba.

Lando stuck close to Boba. He seemed anxious, as if waiting for something.

“What did Luke tell you?” Boba whispered to him once all the commotion had died down.

“He said…he said that we have to make sure Jabba doesn’t retaliate after we rescue Han.”

“And how exactly does he plan to do that?”

Lando didn’t have an answer.

Eventually, though, Luke finally showed. Boba’s first thought was that he looked nothing like how he remembered. He wasn’t that fumbling kid clumsily using a lightsaber on the transport. He wasn’t the kind, smiling young man he met in the vault. And he wasn’t the broken, haunted soul who came to him desperately all those months ago.

This Luke was calm, poised. He wore dark clothing and walked with a presence that he didn’t have before. When he spoke to Jabba, he didn’t flinch at a single taunt or give an ounce of himself away. His voice was full of confidence despite how outnumbered he was, and there was something in his eyes, like he knew something that they didn’t.

He also called himself a Jedi Knight. Boba believed him.

Luke did end up getting dumped in the rancor pit, and it was only then that Boba realized he had no weapons. 

“Why doesn’t he use his lightsaber?” Boba asked, watching anxiously through the grate.

“He lost it on Bespin,” Lando told him. 

What.

Nobody had told him that. What did Luke expect to do? Why had nobody bothered to at least give him a blaster? What was wrong with the karking Jedi?

Luke didn’t need a lightsaber for the rancor, but things just got worse than that. And now Boba found himself sitting on a sail barge heading out into the desert to watch Luke and Han and Chewbacca get thrown into a sarlacc pit. 

“Just wait,” Lando had promised him, before getting on the smaller barge with Han. But Boba was pretty much done with waiting. He could see Han, from his spot at a window, and he thought that maybe if he was quick enough, he could fly down with his jetpack and scoop him up. He used to do that, back when Han was still a kid. He might be too heavy now. And he’d definitely never forgive Boba for leaving behind his friends. 

They arrived at the sarlacc pit. Boba waited at the window, fists clenched, every muscle tense. He flinched when Han taunted Jabba, not ready to hear his voice again. Luke then told Jabba to free them or die.

He has a plan, Boba told himself. He has a plan, he has a plan, he has a-

Things got very chaotic, very quickly. Strangely enough, Boba’s first thought was, “Where did Luke find himself a new lightsaber?” His second thought was that he had to get to Han. Chewie and Lando were doing well, protecting him, but Luke had jumped onto the other barge and was taking on at least a dozen of Jabba’s goons. Boba jumped from the window and activated his jetpack, heading towards Han.

He nearly got whacked in the face. Han still couldn’t see that well, it seemed.

“Damn Brat!” he hissed, grabbing the pole that Han had swung at him. He then turned and shot at the three remaining thugs still on the barge, nailing two in the chest and sending the third over the railing.

“Boba? Boba, you’re here?”

“Obviously, I’m here.” Boba reached out to grasp his shoulder, just to assure himself that Han really was there, and he wasn’t frozen in carbonite, and he was alive and fine and everything was going to be fine-

“Where’s Luke and Leia?” Han demanded.

Boba looked over and saw that Luke had leapt onto the sail barge, and Leia was turning the main cannon around to shoot at the deck.

“They’re fine.”

Luke grabbed Leia and swung them both down on a rope. Lando used the magnet to scoop up the two droids who had fallen into the sand. They fled as the sail barge exploded behind them, taking Jabba with it.

“The Hutts aren’t going to like this,” Boba noted.

“No,” Luke agreed. “But they won’t do anything about it.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because then they’d have to acknowledge us. After we outsmarted Jabba in his own palace, killed his rancor, freed his prized prisoner, and got renowned bounty hunter Boba Fett to turn on him. All after I publicly offered multiple chances for Jabba to deal with this peacefully. They’ll be struggling to save face, and they might do better by simply denying the whole thing.”

Boba stared at him for a moment, and then scoffed. “Karking Jedi,” he muttered.

“Yeah, what’s this about you being a Jedi Knight?” Han demanded. “I’m out for a while and suddenly you’ve all got delusions of grandeur!”

“I’ve seen Jedi before,” Boba offered, mostly just to annoy Han. “And I saw what Luke did. He looked like a Jedi to me.”

“Shut up,” Han snapped at him. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

When all was done, they made it back to the ships. This should have been the easy part, but it was only more complicated, and Boba felt he was still doing all of this wrong. He pulled Han aside when he had the chance, reaching up to take off his helmet, wincing under the Tatooine suns.

“You’re not going back,” Boba said. It was more of a question, or a plea, even. “You can’t really be going back.”

“You know I have to,” Han said. He had a cautious look in his eyes, his arms crossed. Be careful what you say next, he seemed to warn. Be careful what you say, or the next time you see me, I might be dead.

“You were frozen in carbonite, Han,” Boba said, feeling desperate. “You can’t go back.”

“So what, I’m just supposed to stay with you?” he snapped, eyes narrowing into a glare.

Yes! is what he wanted to say. Yes. Stay here. Don’t leave again.

“I am way too old for you to still be treating me like a child,” Han said, scowling at him.

“I’m not trying to treat you like a child! I…you’re…”

“I’m what?” Han challenged. “I’m not your kid brother or something. Right? I’m not your responsibility.”

You are. His kid, his brother, his family. His to protect and look out for, his to keep safe. 

But how was he to say that? How could he say it? Especially after years of pushing Han away, of trying so hard to not become attached, even though he knew it was a futile cause from the start.

“Han,” he said, feeling weary and old. “You know I care.”

Han scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You have a funny way of showing it.” He was about to walk off, but Boba grabbed his arm. “What now?”

Boba looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’vod-- Han Solo.”

“What was that?” Han asked.

“A phrase. Uh…a Mando’a phrase.”

“Mando’a?” Han frowned at him. “You hate Mandalorians.”

Boba sputtered at him. “I do not.”

“Yes you do.”

“I am Mandalorian!”

Han raised his brow at him. “Sure. So what did you say?”

“It was the gai bal manda. Except I modified it at the end.” Boba was only seven years older than Han, so it was a bit strange to call him his child. But a brother…

“I don’t know what that is.”

Boba glanced behind him, where his friends waited. Leia was glaring at him. Chewie was pretending to be occupied with looking over the Falcon. Lando seemed less hostile, but was also shifting nervously. Luke was staring off into the distance, rubbing absentmindedly at his wrist.

“You don’t need to know right now,” Boba said. “Go back to your Rebellion. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Han eyed him a moment. And then a smile titled at the corners of his lips. “No promises. What are you going to do? I can’t convince you to come with, can I?”

“Not a chance. And besides, Jabba is dead.” Boba got a thoughtful look on his face. “Might be a good time to take over the planet.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

Boba shrugged.

“Boba…”

“Hey, you never told me why,” Boba said, ignoring Han’s warning tone. “Why you joined the Rebellion. And don’t tell me it was just because you ‘believe in it’ or whatever.”

“I do believe in it,” Han defended, a small pout on his face. “But…that wasn’t why.” He glanced over to his friends. “They’re why.”

“Luke and Leia?” he guessed. Because he knew Chewie had been with Han even before the Rebellion, and Lando was new.

A nod. “They’re…they’re my family.”

That hurt. Boba tried to hide his wince as he nodded. “I see.”

Han stared at him. Then he shook his head and said, “Karkin’ idiot.”

“Hey-”

“I’ve got to go,” Han said. “Please don’t make the Hutts too mad.”

Wait, wait, wait-

But Han was getting on the Falcon. Leia and Lando and Chewie followed, while Luke got into his X-Wing with the astromech. Boba was left behind with the Legacy, wondering that if family was enough for Han to get involved, then maybe it should be enough for him, too. It was something to consider, at least.

(To be perfectly fair, if Boba had known that the Rebellion was planning their big attack against the Empire, he probably would have followed Han, just to make sure he didn’t get himself killed. As it stands, though, by the time he thought it might be worth it to get involved, there wasn’t really anything left to get involved with. And anyway, Boba was plenty enough busy on Tatooine.)

It was nice, though, that Han was no longer a stranger. He came to visit him regularly and encouraged Leia to get along with him. Luke seemed a little too determined to be Boba’s friend, which was unnerving, but the princess never once stopped glaring at him.

“Just don’t abandon him again,” she finally said to him, her arms crossed, and somehow making an intimidating figure despite being half a foot shorter than him.

“I never abandoned him,” Boba defended. “Han left-”

“Han made his own mistakes, but let me be clear: you abandoned him.”

Boba thought about that a long time after Leia left, trying to parse it out. Figure out what she meant, and why he thought he agreed with her. 

Watching Han, he definitely saw at least some of the places he went wrong. He never thought he’d seen him so happy than when he was with his friends. His family-

He grinned easily at Luke, and made sappy, lovesick eyes at Leia. He joked with Lando and accepted Chewie’s mother henning, all with a contented smile on his face and a peaceful look in his eyes. It was easy. Comfortable. Things Boba had never offered Han.

He had to accept that he wasn’t ever going to be the same to Han as his friends were. Boba might have claimed him, finally, but Han didn’t see him the same way. And that was fine. It was no one’s fault but Boba’s that things turned out the way they did. He was fine with that, made his peace with it. Really.

Until the day Han came storming into the palace on Tatooine, which had become Boba’s permanent home. There was a strange look on his face, and his visit was unexpected, so Boba was immediately on alert.

“What is it?” he demanded. “What’s happened.”

Han looked at him for a moment. And then he began to pace. “Boba…Boba, I never told you this, but there was a Mandalorian in the Rebellion.”

Nope. He already did not like this. Boba fought off a grimace.

“She’s a lot more Mandalorian than you are.”

“That’s not how that works,” Boba tried, but he was waved off.

“It isn’t, but it’s how it works for you,” Han said. “But anyway, she’s Mandalorian. I ran a few missions with her, she’s solid in a fight. Luke got to know her pretty well, because she used to be in this crew that had Jedi.”

“R-right.” Boba was still not liking where this was going.

“One of the Jedi died in the Rebellion,” Han went on. “The other went missing.”

“Where are you going with this,” Boba finally asked, because there was an intense look in Han’s eyes that he couldn’t read and he really had no idea what Han was talking about.

“The other Jedi went missing,” Han pressed. “He’s actually Luke’s age. Sabine--she’s the Mandalorian--went looking for him. Luke helped out, a bit. That’s how I got involved.”

“Han-”

“Sabine brought him back to her family,” he said. “The Jedi. She did something. ‘Claimed’ him. Like, adopted him I guess? Not as a kid, but like as her brother. And it got me thinking.”

“Han.”

“So I asked her about it. Because you’re Mandalorian, but only kind of, right? But you still are, and you said something to me. And apparently Mandalorian adoptions are way simple, and maybe a little concerning, because you could just, like, pick up any random kid and say a few words and-”

“Han!” Boba had stood up, coming close to grab him by the shoulders. “If you’re asking me if I claimed you, then yes, I did. That’s what the gai bal manda is. Although, when I said it, I named you as my brother, not my child. Because…well, that’d be weird.”

“Oh.” Han blinked at him, his brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Boba shrugged, stepping back. “Because. You already have your family.”

“What, you mean-” Han frowned. “I thought I cleared that up, already! When I called you an idiot! You know family isn’t limited, right?”

Boba blinked in surprise. “Well…I-”

“Kriffin’ hell!” Han shook his head. “Well, guess what, buddy. Whether you like it or not, you’ve been my brother for years! It was you who had to do some catch up. With or without your little Mandalorian phrase, you’re my brother Boba.”

There was something that welled in Boba’s chest at the words, but he forced them down, because he didn’t think this was anything he could ever have, and he didn’t understand. None of this made any sense to him.

“Then why did you leave?” Boba asked, feeling a little lost about it all.

“Because you drove me karking insane!” Han threw his hands up in the air. “You drove me insane like family does! And anyway, what did you actually expect? I wasn’t a kid anymore, you know I was going to start making my own way at some point, right?”

“W-well…”

“You are an actual idiot.” Han groaned and reached up to rub at his face. 

“But-” Boba hesitated, wanting to believe him, almost not daring to. “But why did you stay away for so long?”

Han sighed. “I…I was mad, okay? Maybe I should have reached out. But honestly, I was waiting for you to do it.”

“Me?”

“I didn’t exactly hide, you know,” Han snorted. “You could have found me at any time. Or you could have called, at least. My comm number never changed.”

“I did try to find you,” Boba said. “Eventually. After you came and yelled at me for taking the bounty on Luke-”

“You mean when I was with the Rebellion and was being hunted by the Empire and couldn’t let anyone know where I was or risk the lives of everyone I cared about?” Han asked dryly. “Yeah, I definitely didn’t want to be found then. But I’m talking about those eight years. You could have come and found me any time. I wanted you to find me.”

Boba thought about what Leia told him. About how he abandoned Han. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t…I don’t-”

“It’s fine now,” Han said. “Or, well, it’s not fine, not really, but I’m not interested in dredging up the past. Look, none of this is even why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?” Boba asked, wearily. He felt so much older than he was. He knew the other clones had accelerated aging, and he was the only one who grew normally. But he wondered if that only made everything seem twice as long to him.

“Leia and I are getting married.”

Boba was so shocked he actually took a step back. Then, a small smile and, “That’s…That’s actually pretty amazing. Good for you. Really.”

“Yes,” Han agreed, smiling briefly at the thought of it, only to grow serious once more. “We’re getting married in the Alderanian tradition. I don’t really know what the Corellian ones are, and I don’t really care. But anyway, on Alderaan, it’s traditional for a family member to stand for each spouse.” And he gave him a significant look.

Boba’s breath caught. “You…you want me?”

Han rolled his eyes. “Didn’t we just establish that you’re my brother?”

“But what about Luke?” Boba protested. “Isn’t he your family too? Your best friend?”

“Luke is my best friend,” he nodded. “But I’m not asking him to stand for me, I’m asking you.”

“Oh.” Boba took a heavy breath. And then, before he knew it, he’d dragged Han close and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. “I’d be honored,” he whispered.

Han gave a small, surprised yelp, stiff at first against Boba. But it was only for a moment. And then he melted, meeting his hug with his own. This was definitely another area where Boba had failed. He’s never hugged Han before. Not that he could remember, at least. But he always saw Han hanging off his friends, pulling them close, giving them friendly nudges. He remembered when Han was a kid, how he’d excitedly grab Boba’s hand to point something out, or just to get his attention. Yes, Boba had definitely failed here. But at least he could finally start making up for it.

Eventually, Han pulled back, grinning a little. “Good. Glad that’s settled then.”

Boba rolled his eyes. “Brat.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You’re my brat, Brat,” Boba said, crossing his arms and smirking at him. “I’ll call you whatever I damn well please. Besides, you’re a brat for dragging up all that Mandalorian stuff just to ask me to stand for you at your wedding.”

Han immediately frowned. “Well. I knew what I thought. But I wasn’t sure if you thought the same, and anyway, I was curious about that whole Mandalorian adopting thing because that really is kinda a shady way to do things…but also, I was still a little mad that you were so boneheaded about it all. You have to promise not to be an idiot anymore, okay?”

“Will you replace me with Luke if I don’t?”

“You need to calm down about Luke,” Han groaned. “I mean, sure, he’s going to be my brother-in-law soon enough but he’s standing for Leia and-”

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘brother-in-law?’”

And that was how Boba learned that Leia Organa--senator, general, princess--was, in fact, Luke’s twin sister. Meaning her father-

“You’re marrying a karkin’ Skywalker?!”

It’s fine. Leia was clearly the level-headed of the two. And she made Han happy, so Boba decided to just not think about it too hard. And a few years later, when his nephew was born, well, that made it all worth it, right? Boba didn’t even mind that he had to share the new Brat with Luke. Much.