Archive of Our Own

          Just under three hours ago, the only things Cal Kestis had to worry about was what subject he was going to do his Padawan Project on and how humid it was on Lealsibar. Then the fighting started.

He shouldn’t be here, Cal knows that. These aren’t his people and this isn't his battle. In fact there wasn’t even supposed to be a battle and he definitely wasn’t supposed to leave his master's side. In his defence, he hadn’t wandered off intentionally, at least not this time . He’d barely had time to even process what was going on before an explosion broke up him and the troops. His ribs ached from the impact and there was definitely something wrong with his leg. His head spun when he stood up, black spots dancing over his vision, and there was a ringing in his ears that he couldn’t seem to shake. Stumbling around a battlefield practically blind and injured wasn’t ideal, and was definitely not something his master would approve of, but would probably turn into a lesson somehow. There’s a dip in the ground behind him that he doesn't see – not that he can see – so he takes a tumble down the small hill before landing in a clearing. He doesn't get up, he knows he should, but the world spins less laying here and his leg aches and he's much more aware of his bones than he should be. 

The tranquillity doesn't last long, especially when shots are still being fired over him but it's the sudden flaring pain in his ribs that really snaps him out of it. All of a sudden a boy, one dressed in green and a helmet, tumbles over him and hits the ground. Hard . “Osik!” (shit) he cries out as he makes contact with the forest floor, before glancing around to make sure no adults heard him. It’s then he realizes that what he tripped on was not a fallen down tree, but a boy. He quickly kicks Cal square in the chest, scrambling to get away from him. Cal doubles over the best he can while laying down, clutching his chest and groaning.

“What was that for?!” But the armoured boy has a gun trained on him, a small one, but it’s still a gun.

“Tion'ad cuyir gar?” (Who are you?) His voice is demanding, but Cal really has no idea what he's saying. 

Still clutching his ribs he rolls onto his side, taking the boy in. The helmet is extremely familiar to him, like he's seen it before. Then it dawns on him, “You’re a Mandalorian!” The boy stiffened up, he seemed to have understood him, that’s good. Moving to try and sit up Cal realizes that he’s missing something very important, his lightsaber. He can hear his master scolding him now ‘This weapon is your life Cal, try not to lose it.’ The other boy seems to detect his panic, and dank farrik, manages to find his weapon before he does.

“Jetii.” (Jedi) He basically spits the word out and Cal doesn’t need a translator droid to figure out what he’s saying.

“Give it back!” He makes a move to stand, pain shooting up his leg and ribs causing him to collapse as quickly as he rose. The shock and adrenaline from the battle is wearing off, meaning the little strength he previously had is quickly leaving him.

The boy jerks his hand away, holding the lightsaber above his hand. Cal can see the weak spots in his armour, the places where he could easily strike. He almost feels bad for thinking about attacking the boy, after all, he’s made no move to hurt him. “Meg cuyir gar doing olar Jetii?” (What are you doing here Jedi?)

“I can’t understand you!” Cal practically yells. He knows he shouldn’t let his emotions get the best of him but everything is so overwhelming and he's in pain and the boy keeps calling him Jedi. He feels helpless, all he can do is stare up at this boy, panting for breath, hoping he will get his weapon back. The pair are so caught up in each other they forget about the battle raging around them, not until bullets are flying past them again. Cal watches in horror as the boy takes a bullet directly to the chest and stumbles backwards, falling onto his back. Before he even has time to think he’s scrambling forward trying to reach the fallen Mandalorian, ignoring the near constant surges of pain pulsing through his body. Finally he’s at the boy, draped across his chest, hands feeling all over his cool metal of the chainmail, trying to find the hole where the bullet pierced the armour. Who even wears chainmail anyways? The boy suddenly sits up, his armoured head crashing into Cals. He falls backwards, clutching his forehead, dank farrik that hurt. He’s sure he’s crushing the other boy's legs but his head aches and the ringing in his ears has returned, making it hard to care. 

Another Mandalorian, one dressed in full blue armour, rushes up behind the boy. “Bob’ika! Ca'nara at ba'slanar!” (Little Boba! Time to go!) The boy – Bob’ika Cal supposes – whips his head around to look at the older man. It’s only then that he sees the ginger boy laying on ‘Bob’ika’s’ legs. “Me'bana?” (What happened?)

“Kaysh shupur'yc.” (He’s injured) and then, tacked on as a last minute thought, Boba holds out the lightsaber to the man. “Kaysh Jetii.” (He’s Jedi.) and Cal’s head swarms and he thinks he's going to be sick, because of their easy identification of him, his separation from his saber, or his injuries, he isn’t sure. The man takes the lightsaber from the boy, clipping it to his belt.

“No..” His voice is trembling and his hand shakes violently as he reaches out for the saber. This action only succeeds in having him slump into ‘Bob’ika’s’ chest, the boy having to now support Cal’s entire body.

The man leans over Cal, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s ok kid, we got you.” His basic is far from perfect and his accent is thick but Cal is so relieved to hear someone speak a language he understands. Suddenly, he's being lifted out of ‘Bob’ika’s’ lap and into the air. His head in spinning again and the last thing he hears before passing out is, “Vi linibar at ba'slanar.” (We need to leave.)

             When Cal comes to he’s in a place he’s never seen before. It’s dark and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust, but once they do he's met with towering metal walls, detailed with metalwork that matches the level of detail he saw in the holopictures of Jedi temples. It’s cold – the kind of cold that only comes with being deep underground– and unbearably warm at the same time. There’s a steady sound of metal against metal ringing out through the hall, and the light at the end of the hall seems to glow brighter in bursts. A Mandalorian forge he realizes. He’s sitting on the lower half of a bunk bed, and there’s a dresser against the wall to his right and another across the room. The blanket on the bed is extremely soft underneath his fingers, but the mattress appears to be quite hard. Two silhouettes block his view into the forge, two, vaguely familiar silhouettes; The two Mandalorians that saved him. The older looks down the hall, eyes settling on Cal, who is now very much awake. 

"Slanar jorhaa'ir at gar riduur Bob'ika."  (Go speak to your boyfriend little Boba) The older one in blue pushes ‘Bob'ika’ into the hall. The young spins around, his body language radiates youthful anger. “Te beskar'gamr Kelir cuyir olar Nusujii. (The armourer will be here soon.)

“Bob’ika” Cal tries, pointing to the boy. The word feels odd on his tongue. He's trying to get some sort of bearing on the people he's with and where he is.

The boy turns to him and Cal can feel the glare through the helmet. “Vaabir’ne Jor'chaajir ni ibac.” (Don’t call me that.) He practically growls out. Cal cannot figure out what he had done wrong, Bob’ika was after all what the other man had called him. “Boba.” The boy finally says, pointing to himself.

Cal smiles at him, trying to use less words and more actions, seeing as they can’t understand each other. “Boba.” He repeats, pointing to, well– Boba. Boba simply stares at him, as if he were waiting for something. “Oh! I’m Cal.” He gestures to himself.

“Cal. Boba.” He gestures between the two of them, and then to the Mandalorian in the doorway. “Ler.” The adult Mandalorian – Ler – waves before he’s pulled away by another Mandalorian. 

Silence seeps into the room, at least as silent as Cal figures it gets at the forge. “Can I have my lightsaber back?” Cal tries to act out his words as he speaks, making wide gestures with his hands. Boba puts his hand on his hip, resting his fingertips over the pouch where Cal’s lightsaber is obviously stored and exhales loudly, like he's contemplating a reply. 

There’s a sudden change in the air – the sounds of the forge have died down – and a dark shadow is cast over the entrance. This new Mandalorian, whoever they are, demands respect with only their existence. Boba turns, falling into a bow, fist over his heart, knees bent in respect. Cal forced down the instinct to salute, shoving his hands under his thighs. 

"Bob'ika" They start and Cal could swear he heard the other boy snarl through the voicebox. Taking only a few swift steps to reach the pair, they continue. "Te akaanir cuyir jaon. Gar may te'habir gar buy'ce." (The fight is over. You may remove your helmet.)

Even though he had no clue what this new Mandalorian has just said, Cal can practically see Boba is rolling his eyes under the helmet. Despite this he brings his hands up to the helmet anyways, reluctantly pulling it off. Embarrassed, Cal covers his eyes –he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to see under the helmet, no matter who it was.

Boba is laughing and– his voice is warm and rich and even his laugh has an accent but Cal couldn’t imagine what he was laughing about but it sends a tingling sensation down his spine regardless. Then, there's a hand on his shoulder. “No need to worry..” The new Mandalorian hesitates and Cal can feel them looking away from him.

“Cal.” Boba supplies.

“Cal. Bob’ika has not sworn the creed, the helmet was only for battle. You may look.” They have the same thick accent, and Cal would swear they were stifling a chuckle. 

Cal slowly pulls his fingers away from his eyes and suddenly his head feels like it's spinning again. Boba is breathtaking , so breathtaking that Cal has to remind himself not to stare. There’s something so entrancing about the other boy, his fluffy brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail, aside from the front strands, still too short to be pulled back. They frame his face perfectly; his face still rounded with youth, yet hardened with teenage anger and rebellion. Then the scar on his face catches Cal’s attention. It runs from beside his nose down to his lips and oh. 

Suddenly it’s hard to breathe and Cal has to restrain himself from tracing the scar down to Boba’s lips once more. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, whatever this is. Cal has to stop that train of thought before it stays from him. Self discipline, he reminds himself, his master's words practically ringing out in his mind. Jedi do not form attachments.

The silence that seemed to stretch on for ages is finally broken and Cal could swear he almost let out a sigh of relief when the other Mandalorian spoke again. “Bob’ika, gar ru'kir ulur evaar'la burc'ya shupure.” (Boba, you should care for your new friends' injuries.)

Cal knows that Boba is resisting the urge to roll his eyes, a behaviour he knows so well in himself. It’s almost surreal seeing his own behaviour in another person his age and the small part in the back of his mind nags that there’s a reason the other padawans at the temple are favoured over him. These thoughts are quickly shoved away, both by Cal’s desire to not linger on them, but also by the fact that the other Mandolorian has just crossed their arms over their body. Cal could swear he could feel the stern look that Boba was being given, despite the helmet shielding the olders face. “Bic cuyir jaon'yc at hibirar at baatir, Bob’ika.” (It is important to learn to care, little Boba.) They kneel down, pulling a medkit from underneath the bed. On the way up they accidentally knock into Cal’s leg. Cal hisses in pain in response, and it almost looked like Boba was glaring but the black dots across his vision made it difficult to tell. “We should also teach you basic.” The other Mandalorian speaks again, despite their contemplative sentence, one clearly referring to themselves and the other adults, they’re staring directly at Cal and he has to resist the urge to squirm under their gaze. 

“Gar kar'taylir Ni liser't suvarir gar, staabi?” (You know I can't understand you, right?) Boba half snaps as the medkit is shoved into his arms.

The other Mandlorian laughs, it’s a loud laugh that fills the entire room. “My point exactly.” Turning to Boba once more they speak sternly, “Gar kar'taylir meg at vaabir.  Don't digur at cinarin laam.” (You know what to do. Don't forget to clean up.) They gesture to Boba’s body as they speak. “Ni Kelir dajun val yaimpar.” (I shall plan his return.) With that they turn away, leaving the two boys alone.

They sit in tense silence, at least it's tense for Cal, Boba has just finished rolling up his pant leg, fingers lightly brushing against the skin of Cal’s exposed leg. Cal suspects he hasn’t breathed in at least a minute now, and only lets himself take a breath of air when Boba drops down to his knees, focusing his attention to Cal’s shin. After assessing his leg, Boba speaks once more. “Bic cuyir shuk'la. Gar Kelir aalar aaray” (It is broken. You will feel pain.) Carefully placing his hands on Cal’s shin, he quickly shifts the bone back into place. The pain that shoots through his leg is excruciating. Instead of screaming out, much like Cal desires too, he expels the scream through the force ⎯just like his master taught him⎯ creating a gust of wind that whirls around the stone room. The wind blows Boba’s hair around and Cal thinks his heart might have stopped for a moment. Boba is looking at him, eyes wide with shock, hair finally falling back into place. His mouth is slightly agape, like he can’t find the words he’s looking for. One word finally falls past his lips, “Woor.”

Cal couldn’t contain his giggle. “Woor?” The word feels stiff on his lips and clearly Boba feels the same for his face scrunches up. Putting out his hand, Cal closes his eyes and concentrates on the air between them, remembering the teachings of his master he pushes the air, creating a much lighter gust of wind. 

Despite his light head, Cal does his best to maintain eye contact with Boba. “Wind.”

“Wind.” Cal suspects that the word is as uncomfortable and unfamiliar as Mando’a is to Cal, but the effort makes him smile. Boba merely returns to tending to Cal’s leg, working carefully to splint the leg. Cal frowns a little at this, knowing he will likely be forbidden from any physical training until his leg is healed, that is assuming he doesn’t get in trouble for his absence and unplanned trip to the Mandalorian colony. 

“Vaii else cuyir gar shupur'yc?” (Where else are you injured?) Boba barely attempted to mime out the question, so all Cal could offer in return was a blank stare. Eventually, Boba held out his hands, hovering them just above Cal’s body. Cal nods, allowing Boba to poke and prod every inch of his body. There’s a tingling sensation everywhere that Boba touches him, but nothing really hurts, not until Boba pokes at his ribs, then Cal is hissing in pain, attempting to pull away. He inevitably strikes his head on the bunk above, which only causes more pain. Boba seems almost unphased by the situation, bringing out a cold pack from the medkit and placing it, albeit slightly aggressively, into Cal’s hand. His next actions make Cal feel like his entire world has stopped spinning. Boba’s hands begin tugging at the hem of Cal’s shirt, bringing it upwards, pulling it off him . For the second time in this process Cal feels like he can’t breathe, he simply sits there, allowing Boba to remove his shirt. No amount of training in the Jedi Temple could have prepared Cal for this, Boba sets the medkit on the bed and pushes Cal onto his back. Boba then crawls onto Cal, very carefully resting on his thighs, so as to not hurt him. As he begins to patch Cal up, he begins to speak. Cal doesn’t know what Boba is saying but the words have a soothing cadence to them so he closes his eyes and allows Boba to talk as he begins to bandage his ribs.

It is only after Boba removes himself from Cal’s thighs does he open his eyes again, the force feels out of control around him and Cal would swear his blood was flowing faster than it ever had before. Boba has made his way over to the dresser, and is selecting clothes from the bottom two drawers. The room is quieter than before, as the sounds of the forge have ceased entirely, all that is left to fill the room is the sound of Cal’s heavy breaths.

“You’re my age.” Cal doesn’t know why he said it, he knows the other cannot understand him, but he speaks anyway. A part of his hopes Boba will say something back, anything.

Boba doesn’t speak, he just looks up, clean shirt hanging off his arms, and stares at Cal. Something inside Cal twists and squeezes his heart and Cal looks away, mumbling an apology. Cal takes this time to survey his own clothes, which are dirty and tattered from the explosion, he would need new robes when he returned to the temple, but these could hardly even be considered robes anymore. Looking up once more, Boba is now dressed, the clothes were a lot more casual than Cal was expecting.

Cal didn’t even have to ask, or at least make an attempt to ask for clothes before a pair is tossed onto his lap by Boba, who is now facing the wall, waiting for Cal to change. Carefully Cal puts on the slightly too small clothes. Right as he finishes, there is a knock at the door, and another Madalorian pokes his head through the door.

“Cuyir gar tsikala?” (Are you ready?) He calls out, causing Boba to flush and glare at the man. Despite the blue accents on the helmet, Cal can tell this is not Ler. 

“Ne'johaa buir!” (Shut up Dad!) Boba calls out, seeming to have gotten back some of his defiant anger back. Despite this, he's smiling, and makes no protest when the man gestures for Boba to help Cal. Together the pair hobbles behind the man, towards the ship.

It is only at the entrance to the hanger that Cal realizes he has no idea what they are planning on doing with him. Planting his good foot into the ground, he pulls Boba into him, making a grab for his lightsaber. Despite his failed attempt to reclaim his weapon, he is still holding Boba, so Cal does the next best thing he can think of. “Where are you taking me?!”

The man spins around, and like every other Mandalorian he has met, laughs. They seem to be good at that. “Coruscant of course.”

This shocks Cal. “You’re taking me back?”

“Yes.” And with that the man continues their journey to the ship. Cal awkwardly releases Boba, and resigns himself to walking the rest of the way on his own. The pain was not worth it, but the pride he was not supposed to have was already wounded enough.

The inside of the ship is odd, Cal can't place what, but something about it is different from the ship's he had been in before. It's no battleship, but it’s still big enough to fit at least one clone battalion. He doesn’t have much more time to observe the ship before Boba shoves him into one of the seats.

“Hukaatir kaysh laam.” (Cover him up.) The other Mandalorian demands before stepping into the cockpit. Boba mumbles something before covering Cal’s eyes with his hand. 

Cal is having a difficult time differentiating the warmth on his face from his blush, and the heat from Boba’s hand over his eyes. He’s doing his best not to fidget but his blood is rushing and he needs to focus on something other than how close Boba is standing to him and how warm he suddenly feels and how good Boba smells.

Despite his vision being obscured, Cal can feel the hum and lull of the ship as they begin their departure off Lealsibar. The gentle rocking and near dead silence makes Cal sway in his seat. He can feel the Force all around him, how it hums and flows through the space around them all. It almost, almost, makes Cal want to meditate. Many minutes pass in this silence, the ship occasionally juddering with turbulence. 

Boba only removes his hand from Cal’s eyes when they enter hyperspace. Immediately Cal is met by the face of the other Madalorian man. The first thought to cross Cal’s mind is that he and Boba look strikingly similar, then he realizes that he is not in fact looking into a visor, but instead the real eyes of this man. 

His mouth is definitely hanging open, but he can’t find the words to comment, nor can he find the strength to shield his eyes. The man’s mouth presses into something of a smile, but his mouth maintains downturned. Their eye contact goes on for much longer than Cal believed necessary, finally being broken by the man's eyes darting to Boba. Boba sighs, “Cal.” He finally says.

The man turns back to Cal. “Cal.. I’m Jango.”

“But..” Cal finally manages to spit out.

“Don’t worry about my helmet.” He says before turning back into the cockpit, Boba quickly follows behind him, leaving Cal alone in the back. 

            Cal has grown used to the sound of Mando’a by now. After a few hours of travel, listening to the incessant chatter from his escorts the language almost sounds natural to him. For the most part, he attempts to work on meditation, which is much easier with Boba no longer pressed into him. The Force tells him the journey to Coruscant won't be much longer, and that his patience is paying off.

For a moment Cal wonders if he’s going to get his lightsaber back, or if Boba will hold onto it. Cal hopes he doesn’t, he doesn’t need another reason to be punished. The jerking slow of the ship sends Cal tumbling onto the floor. Before he can regain himself, Boba is standing above him, staring down at him. Cal doesn’t waste any time scrambling to his feet as Jango sets the ship down on the landing pad. As the door to the ship slides open, Cal can’t help but feel at home again. He’d only been on Lealsibar for a few days, and spent even less time away from the troops with the Mandalorians, but seeing the sun set on the harsh buildings calmed him in a way that no amount of meditation could. 

And then Boba is standing there, the soft colours of the sunset lighting him up, holding out the lightsaber for Cal to take back, and Cal feels his heart clench at the sight. He knows he shouldn’t feel like this, but it’s not like he’ll ever see Boba again. Their fingers brush when Cal takes back the lightsaber, and the sparks travel through his hand and up his arm. Suddenly he’s lost in Boba’s eyes, just staring intensely at the other. 

Cal comes to his senses, “Thank you.” Boba’s face shows no sign of recognition for the words, but Cal pushes past him and out onto the landing pad. Beginning his trek back to the temple, he keeps his head down, eyes on the pavement. Cal can’t help but pause when he hears the ship taking off. Turning around to watch the ship fly through the sky of Coruscant. It’s hard to track through the busy sky, but Cal watches attentively, until the ship vanishes from sight. It is only then that Cal turns around, ready to brave the Jedi Temple.