Morgan writes Star Wars

Qui-gon grimaced and stroked his beard pensively. “That is unfortunate.”

“That’s one word for it,” Silas groaned into his hands. “Jango. Ner vod. Gar mirsh solus.”

 “I know,” Jango snapped.

“It may not be Ser Fett’s fault entirely,” Qui-gon said. The man looked the most grave Din had ever seen. “You said the offer came from a count in the Serenno system?” Jango nodded. Qui-gon sighed deeply, and Tholme looked to have connected the dots. “A month ago, likely soon after your- ordeal- Master Dooku retired from the Order to become the Count of Serenno after his brother’s demise. His brother, a man named Ramil, had attempted to turn his people against the Republic, and Master Dooku ended up having to take his life.”

“You think this Ramil was the one to contact Jango?” Din asked.

Qui-gon shrugged. “It makes the most sense. I, however, do not know if the former Count was at all Force-sensitive.”

“If he was,” Tholme said, “enough to have caused the blackout Ser Fett described, the Order would have known.”

“So he had help?” Din asked, wishing he could have a drink. There were already so many loose ends.

“Well, we know the Clone Army from your time was a Sith trap,” Silas added. So it makes sense they would help create it.”

“The same Sith that attacked us?” Din asked. He didn’t think he could deal with another Sith.

“Maybe,” Tholme said. He was staring at Jango intently. Jango shifted in his seat, looking anywhere except Tholme. “It may be possible to get a glimpse of them.”

“How?”

“Using the Force to erase memories is not so simple as getting rid of the memories. It is more akin to putting a block in place. It may be possible for us to lift that block, even if just for a moment,” Tholme explained. Jango shot out of his seat, shaking his head.

“Nu draar!” Jango exclaimed. “No way a Jetii is digging into my head!”

“Jango,” Din said sternly, “sit down.” Din addressed Tholme, who didn’t look shocked by the outburst. “Is there any other way?”

“I can contact Mas- sorry, Count Dooku,” Qui-gon offered. “Perhaps his brother left some sort of information on the matter.”

Din nodded and eyed Jango, who hadn’t sat down. Instead, he stood, arms crossed defensively, staring at Tholme and Qui-gon. “Let’s start with that.”

Sensing Din was done talking with them, Tholme and Qui-gon bowed and left the room, whispering to each other. Jango made to leave, but Din stopped him. Din and Silas shared a look.

“Jango,” Silas started gently, approaching Jango slowly as if he were a spooked tooka. “I don’t like the idea of the Jetii in your head either. But if-“

“But nothing,” Jango interrupted. “No one is allowed in my head except me. End of story.”

Din could see the conversation was escalating. So he raised a hand to interrupt. “Let’s wait to see what Dooku says. Now, let's talk about the next move. Your contact won’t wait forever for a response.”

Jango lowered himself into his seat with a slight nod. “Yeah. Yeah, ok. What do I say?”

“Well, you can’t just say you’ll do it,” Silas started. “We need to keep the line of communication open.”

“Ask questions,” Din said. “Try to draw information out of them. Credit amounts, specific responsibilities, and the contract's duration.”

Silas nodded. “Enough that it seems like you’re interested but unwilling to accept blindly. We might be able to throw in a question about what the army is for.”

They spent the next twenty minutes or so planning out a follow-up message for the mysterious contact. Din didn’t have the most experience with this- most of his jobs had been through Greef Karga. The non-Guild contacts he did have were either recommended to him by Karga or were passed down to him from his clan’s previous bounty hunter. Luckily, Silas and Jango had enough experience between the two of them that they were able to create a good message inquiring about details of the job without sounding too suspicious or pushy.

By the time they finished, Din hadn’t heard anything back from Qui-gon, so he dismissed Silas and Jango, telling them to go get something to eat. In the silence of his office, Din took his helmet off so he could rub his temples, willing his budding headache away. At times like this, when diplomacy and people management became difficult, Din developed a greater respect for the Armorer.

Din received a message on his comm. Obi-wan was telling him about a little show some of the ade of the staff was putting on in one of the gardens. He sent pictures of himself, Grogu, Vos, Satine, and Bo-Katan sitting in the small but growing audience. Bo-Katan messaged him soon after, all but demanding Din’s presence. Din chuckled and sent an affirmative. With all the Sith and Jedi nonsense that had been going on, Din couldn’t spend time with all his ade during this trip like he had hoped to.

It was ironic. The more he worked to protect his ade, the less time he spent with them. He wished he could give them all his attention—resign from Mand’alor and take Grogu, Satine, and Bo-Katan somewhere remote and safe to raise them. Obi-Wan could visit in his free time. Maybe they would start a garden—apparently, force-sensitive people sometimes had a connection to nature. Grogu would also probably enjoy the wildlife a garden would attract.

But no. Din had made a commitment to his ade, himself, and the Mandalorian people. Plus, Satine would never be happy stepping away from Mandalore. The girl was determined to maintain her buir’s legacy, even if Din didn’t think politics was the place for a teenager. But maintaining legacies and living up to your buire’s expectations was something he saw a lot in the Mandalorians around him. And, as Din thought about it, something he saw in himself. In each choice he made as Mandalore, he thought about his parents, his buire, and even Armorer and what they might’ve thought about it. Would they have been proud? Would the simple merchants on Aq Vetina be able to find pride in their son’s actions? Did it even matter? Some years ago, during his first years of bounty hunting, it occurred to Din that he’d lived more of his life with Mandalorians than with his parents.

As Din exited his office, he contemplated what he would tell his ade. Din couldn’t keep the potential clone army or spy a secret for long. Grogu would be the hardest to tell, Din decided, as letting the clone army be created felt like Din had failed Grogu in some way. He’d failed in preventing the creation of the very people who had murdered the Jedi and traumatized Grogu. The others didn’t have the same experience as Grogu, simply going off the child’s horror tales.

Yes, Din thought to himself as he entered the garden where his ade had gathered. Grogu’s opinion of Din mattered a lot more to him than his long-dead parents'.

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Mando'a translations: Ner vod- my brother Gar mirsh solus- You're an idiot lit. Your brain cell is lonely (Gar for your, mirsh solus for brain cell is lonely) Nu draar- No way, absolutely not. Lit. not never (Mandos use double negatives for emphasis)

Din had no idea. The situation on its own was baffling. It was made worse by the pit opening up in Din’s stomach. The clones were being made- that wasn’t supposed to happen. Din was supposed to stop the Clone Wars and everything after. He’d become Mand’alor, helped Jango, and begun repairing relationships with the Jedi in hopes of preventing his future. Was it all for naught? Was this a futile effort, some amusement for whatever gods may exist? Jango wasn’t alone, wasn’t desperate, and didn’t hate the Jedi. There was no reason for him to be cloned. And yet here they were, a clone army on the way. Din staggered back to his chair and sat heavily.

“What do I do?” Jango asked again, growing more frantic.

“I don’t know,” Din muttered, head spinning.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jango yelled. “You’re the Mand’alor and a kriffing time traveler! You have to have some sort of idea!”

“Well, I don’t!” Din yelled, shooting up from his chair as he slammed his hands onto his desk. Din was sick and tired of everyone assuming that Din had all the answers. Jango fell back a few steps. “This shouldn’t be happening, so I have no kriffing clue!”

The room was quiet after his outburst. Din was heaving in breath after breath in a futile attempt to calm himself down. But he was still spiraling, thoughts of failure creeping up from every corner. Din barely noticed someone knocking on his door. His head was hung down, and he didn’t bother looking up when the door opened. There was fierce whispering between Jango and whoever came into the room. After a few moments, it stopped, and there was the sound of fading footsteps as someone left the room.

Din dropped into his chair as someone approached him. They stood at the edge of his desk as if waiting for Din to acknowledge them. Din would rather they leave him alone with his thoughts, but they stubbornly remained.

Suddenly, tiny hands were gripping the edge of his helmet and pulling. Din jolted back, reaching for his blaster, ready to stop them from removing his helmet. But instead of meeting a hostile, he was greeted with a soft coo. The world returned to focus, and Din saw that Obi-wan was standing next to him, holding Grogu. Din’s heart dropped, and he removed his helmet before reaching to grab Grogu. The child, ears still drooping, settled into Din’s arm and tried to wrap his arms around Din’s neck in a hug. Din cupped the back of Grogu’s head.

“I’m sorry, ad’ika,” Din whispered into Grogu’s ear. He looked at Obi-wan, who was struggling to hide his shock. “I’m sorry to you, too.”

Obi-wan smiled slightly. “It’s ok. We were nearby and felt, well…”

Din winced. “I’m sorry you had to feel that.” Grogu cooed and cuddled closer.

“Is everything ok?” Obi-wan asked, brow furrowed in worry.

“Nothing you should worry about,” Din said. He didn’t want Obi-Wan or Grogu to stress about it. There was nothing they could do about it, but Din knew his ade well enough to know they’d want to help. Plus, parents shouldn’t dump their problems on their kids.

“So there is something,” Obi-wan concluded, crossing his arms. Din would have to ask Qui-gon if the kid was always this stubborn or if Din was just lucky to know him during his stubborn streak.

“And it’s nothing you need to worry about,” Din stressed. Grogu grumbled, shoving his face into Din’s neck.

Obi-wan frowned. “I’ve never heard you yell. So it has to be something big. You can’t deal with that alone.”

Din shook his head, fondness swelling in his heart. His sweet ad cared so much about others. “And I won’t, I promise. Just- just not right now.” 

Din would gather Silas, Jango, and Qui-gon later- probably after telling Silas to corner and talk to Jango. Din was so focused on changing the future that it was hard to consider situations in the present moment. Din was sure they could use the situation to their advantage- like hell, he was letting Jango’s clones become an army for the Republic. He had a feeling Mandalore was about to have a population boom. That would only make dealings with the Republic more fun. Din doubted any Mand’alors before him had to deal with spies, Sith, and clones. Lucky him.

“The Force—“ Obi-wan hesitated as he gathered his thoughts. It’s been tense, for lack of a better word. It's like we’re on the edge of a cliff and one move away from falling down.”

That was a pretty apt description of the current situation. But Din would appreciate it if the Force left his ade out of it.

“There have been some unfortunate developments,” Din said.

“And Jango is involved in them?” Obi-wan asked.

“Yes, but it’s not really his fault,” Din explained. I shouldn’t have yelled.” Din stood from his seat and shifted Grogu to one arm so he could grab his helmet. “I should apologize.”

“Maybe give it a bit,” Obi-wan suggested. “Give each other time to cool down.”

“Your Jedi training teach you that?” Din asked as he pulled his helmet back on.

“Sort of,” Obi-wan admitted, sheepishly tugging his Padawan braid. “I. uh, may have gotten into many fights as a youngling.”

Din chuckled as he walked out of the room. That wasn’t surprising in the least. Obi-wan was feisty- probably would have made a good Mando’ade in another life. The thought of a baby Obi-wan sulking after being told to cool off was a cute one. Din made a mental note to ask Qui-gon for baby pictures.

“There was another child in my covert the same age as me,” Din shared as he led Obi-wan towards the kitchen to grab mid-meal. Grogu perked up —Din rarely told many stories about his time as a foundling. “We argued a lot. The Goran told us to work it out in the sparring ring.”

“So you two fought a lot, then? Did you ever start to get along?”

“The first few fights were real. But we managed to become something like friends-sparring buddies.” Din looked fondly back on his childhood rivalry with Paz. They had grown apart as the two had grown older, and Din eventually took up the mantle of beroya. Being a child had been so much easier.

“When we get frustrated or mad, we are taught to meditate and release those feelings into the Force. Sparring is good-natured competition. Mostly.” Obi-wan added that caveat quickly enough that Din suspected that Obi-wan was involved in some non-friendly sparring.

“Different methods. Both are fine,” Din said as they reached the kitchens. Grogu tried to jump out of his arms at the smell of food. But Din, who was wise to Grogu’s tricks, held tight. Not that it mattered too much. The second they stepped in, a nearby cook was cooing over Grogu and offering the child a biscuit. Din, fully aware the people who swore to him would probably commit treason for Grogu, allowed it.

“You spoil him,” someone spoke from behind Din. Din turned to see Qui-gon standing serenely with his hands tucked into his robe’s sleeves.

"Yes, and?”

“And nothing,” Qui-gon said with a chuckle. “All children should be spoiled a bit, I suppose.” Obi-wan looked offended. Din guessed Qui-gon wasn’t one to spoil his own Padawan.

“Here for mid-meal?” Din asked as he accepted a tray of food for himself and Grogu to take to his rooms to eat.

“Among other things,” Qui-gon said in his mysterious ‘the Force told me some interesting information, but I won’t outright say it to maintain my mysterious persona’ voice. Din mourned the days he wasn’t so proficient in reading the body language of Jedi.

“I think I felt the same thing,” Obi-wan said as he grabbed his own plate of food. “It’s why Grogu and I went to find Din in the first place. But he won’t tell me what the problem is.”

“Don’t pout, Padawan,” Qui-gon reprimanded with a fond smile. “I’m sure the Mand’alor has his reasons.” Qui-gon looked at Din with an expression that read ‘I hope I get to know those reasons.’

“Food first,” Din said, and he left the kitchen. “Then I’ll call Jango and Silas for a meeting. Maybe the other Jedi, too.”

Qui-gon nodded. “I will let Master Tholme know. And perhaps our Padawans can find a productive use of their free time? Maybe meditating on the matter to see if they can glean their own information.”

Obi-wan sighed. “Yes, Master.”

Din gently bumped Obi-wan. “Get Satine and Bo to join you. Good practice for them.”

The mind healers Satine and Bo-Katan had been seeing had suggested that trying meditation may help them better process their feelings, especially after everything that had happened over the last few months. Satine had taken to it, but Bo-Katan was still struggling, arguing that sitting and breathing were useless when she could be training. Din, while not the best role model in the situation, had done his best to emphasize the importance of listening to the professionals.

“Sounds like a good plan. I will see you later, Mand’alor.” Qui-gon bowed and walked off. Din realized the man had never grabbed any food. Must have just been trying to track Din down.

It wasn’t a meeting Din was looking forward to. Just the thought of the clones sent his heart racing, and he wished he could ignore it completely. But he had more than himself to be concerned with. If Din didn’t do anything, the pain his ade would go through would be insurmountable. It was Din’s responsibility to prevent that, even if it was horrible for his blood pressure.

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But Din wouldn’t tell Jango to stop talking when the man came to him, rambling on in half-formed thoughts and sentences. Clearly, Jango needed someone to listen to him as he reasoned out the solution to his problem- whatever it was. So Din would sit with him, reading some proposals for potential spy candies from Silas while giving Jango half an ear and the occasional sound of acknowledgment. People would talk to fill the silence, and as long as they felt Din was listening, they would go on and on until they eventually let slip whatever they were trying to hide. It was a strategy Din had gotten really good at. Good for bounty hunting and Mand’aloring.

Right now, Jango was talking about the morality of cloning, which was a random enough topic that Din felt confident in saying that it was a topic Jango was using as a lead-up to whatever he was actually contemplating.

“Would they be Mandalorian? Are they me or my ade or something else? Would they even have souls?” Jango asked.

“I’m a political leader, not a religious one,” Din said. “But I would guess it would be up to them if they wanted to be Mandalorian. And it's up to you what relationship you want with them.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone wants more mes running around,” Jango weakly joked. “But I don’t know if I would be a good buir. And would I just raise them to be like me? Or will they develop their own personalities?”

Din had been experiencing an interesting phenomenon since traveling into the past. Mandalorians and Jetiise alike had been seeking him out for parenting advice. Din certainly felt more qualified to give out parenting advice than political advice. But cloning as a weird workaround to talk about becoming a buir was new.

“Kids are weird,” Din said bluntly, putting down the datapad he’d been reading. “None of my ade are biologically mine, but sometimes Grogu does something that reminds me of myself.”

“So there’s no way to know,” Jango concluded, staring at the ceiling.

Din shrugged. “Well, your ad wouldn’t have the same life you did. Hopefully. No offense.”

Jango chuckled and dropped his chin to his chest. “None taken.”

“You could just adopt,” Din suggested. If Jango was so worried about an ad with his genetics, adoption was a good alternative. And, not to brag, Mandalore had some of the galaxy's best orphanages and adoption processes. He’d even gotten pleas from planets who’d recently faced wars and had an influx of orphaned kids. They asked to be able to send some of the ade to a Mandalorian planet so their ade would be guaranteed to be taken care of. Din had agreed to take some but primarily worked with these planets to set up their children's services.

Despite Din thinking it was an obvious and easy solution, Jango waved dismissively. Rude. “That’s not the point,” Jango stressed as he stood up.

“What’s the point?”

That was the wrong thing to say. Jango threw his hands in the air, clearly annoyed, and began pacing. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“The only clones I know about were the ones from the war in my time,” Din said gently. “And I never kept up with that.”

Jango abruptly stopped and pointed at Din. “Exactly. What did that me have to do with those clones? Did he know that they would be used to kill all the Jetii-even the ade?”

“I don’t know.” Din sighed and stood up. He walked over to Jango and rested a hand on his shoulder. “From what I guess, that you was alone and hurt. He isn’t you- you won’t make the same mistakes as him.”

“You don’t know that,” Jango muttered, not looking into Din’s eyes. Din wasn’t a fan of eye contact- it made him burn and itch uncomfortably. His helmet was great in that aspect- people had no idea he wasn’t actually looking them in the eyes. But Din didn’t have his helmet on now, and he wanted Jango to look at him. So Din ducked his head to catch Jango’s eye. Jango still wouldn’t look at him, so Din gently shook him, which startled Jango enough to look back at Din.

“I, generally, don’t know osik,” Din told him. It startled a snort out of Jango. “But I like to think I’m a good judge of character.”

“You sure about that? You kept me around,” Jango said with a rueful smile. Din moved his free hand to Jango’s other shoulder and shook him again, slightly harder this time.

“You’re an idiot,” Din told him. “But you’re also loyal and stubborn and know a hell of a lot more than you give yourself credit for. People look up to you.”

Tears welled in Jango’s eyes, which he angrily wiped away. Jango’s chin dropped to his chest, and he scoffed. “I’m a karking failure. In this time and yours.”

“Why?” Din asked. As a rule, Jango tended not to express his emotions very well. Din had never asked, but he guessed it was caused by the man’s time as a slave.

Jango ripped himself away from Din’s hold to pace in front of Din. His hands flew to his hair in a tight grip. “Everyone seems to trust me- but I’m just a failure. Everyone around me dies, and I’ve never been able to save them- Jas’buir, my buire, Arla-“ Jango cut himself off with a violent sob. Din lurched forward and pulled the man into a tight hug. Jango shook in Din’s hold, gripping onto his cuirass.

“You were an ad,“ Din muttered. “None of that was your fault. Tayli’bac?” Jango didn’t respond but slowly stopped shaking, still breathing harshly. Din held tight. He would stay until Jango was ready to pull away.  It took a few minutes until Jango pushed back against Din’s hold. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he looked stable enough. So Din felt comfortable enough to ask, “Tell me what brought this up?”

Jango let out a long breath and nodded. He sat back into the seat he’d occupied earlier. Din sat in the chair next to him instead of behind his desk.

“I got a message offering a job,” Jango started. Din nodded. He’d supported Jango, slowly returning to bounty hunting. Din understood that it wasn’t an easy career to give up, and he could tell Jango had been going slightly stir-crazy in Keldabe. “It was for good credits- something about a Count. I was curious. Figured I’d hear them out.”

“In person?” Din asked. Jango cringed and nodded. Din sighed. Meeting a client in person with such a vague offer was a bad move.

“I don’t know why. But I went- remember when I went to the Serenno system that month?” Din nodded- Jango had only been gone for a few days. Factoring in travel time, Jango had only spent two days in the system. He’d been quiet about the trip when he returned, and Din had guessed it had been a bust job. “When I reached the meet-up stop- some cantina- it was empty. I watched it for an hour before figuring it had been a fake or something.” Jango inhaled sharply. “Next thing I know I’m waking up outside my ship with a headache, a day later, with the credits in my account and a message saying they’d contact me later with another offer for a new job.”

“Ka’ra,” Din breathed. “Why didn’t you say something.”

Jango shrugged but looked at Din with panicked eyes. “I don’t know- it just, just slipped my mind? I forgot about it when I left the system. I thought maybe it was-“ Jango’s breathing picked up. Din reached over to comfort him, but Jango shook his head. He took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before slowly letting it go. Jango repeated this a few more times before speaking. “I thought maybe it was brain damage from everything. But a few days ago- right before the Jetiise came- I got a message. They wanted to hire me and other Mandalorians of my choice to train an army. And, and I think-“ Jango stopped abruptly and dropped his head into his hands.

But Din didn’t need him to finish. “You think they clone you.”

Jango nodded. Din took a deep breath, trying to tamper down his growing panic. This time was supposed to be different- no clones, no Clone Wars, no Jetii genocide, and no Night of a Thousand Tears. And yet, there might be Jango Fett clones being made right now.

“And there’s more,” Jango said quietly. “They offered me more than credits.”

“What?”

“They offered me a son.”

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<Back/Next>

         All that to say, Din wasn’t allowed to go with the Jetii to examine the alley where the Sith had attacked them. Obi-wan and Jango had gone with Tholme and Vos to convince anyone who saw them that they were just friends on an outing. Qui-gon had wanted to go, but two Jetii masters would be too suspicious. Instead, Jango had been volun-told for the excursion (something about exposure therapy?). It seemed his remaining ade had dedicated themselves to distracting Din and Qui-gon. Bo-Katan had insisted that this was the perfect time for Din to teach her how to use a jetpack- Din was of the opinion that she should have an actual teacher, not someone who learned by trial and error but was outvoted. Grogu had decided he wanted to mediate with Qui-gon, and the Jetii was weak to the request of the child.

         Din had to admit, it was hard to constantly check his comm for messages from Obi-wan or Jango when he was trying to make sure Bo-Katan didn’t fly into a wall or something. Not that Din should worry too much- Bo-Katan was a natural and was trying to see what the most reckless maneuver she could get away with while also making Satine, who had decided to spectate, wince.

         Din hadn’t even realized an hour had passed until Obi-wan and Jango entered the courtyard. Grogu’s eyes shot open, and he screeched joyfully as if it hadn’t been an hour since they had left. Grogu toddled to Obi-wan, and the teenager picked him up without further instruction. Bo-Katan landed, and Din allowed himself a breath of relief. Qui-gon and Din approached them as the girls put away the jetpack before joining them.

         “How did it go?” Qui-gon asked.

         “Alright,” Obi-wan said. “Master Tholme and Quin went to their rooms to meditate so Quin can get everything straight. They’ll let us know when he’s ready.” Din nodded like he understood perfectly. He supposed having a bunch of impressions shoved into one’s head would be disorientating. “He did say that he felt a dark energy.”

         “It was weird,” Jango commented. “Cool, but weird.”

         Din was proud of Jango’s progress. Months ago, when they’d first met, Jango would’ve tried to kill the Jetii instead of having to go on a solo trip with three of them.

         “He can take as much time as he needs,” Din said. Grogu cooed, and Obi-wan set him down. The child began to chase after a bug that was flying around.

~

         It took until latemeal. Din had been hunched over a datapad containing a proposed treaty between the occupants of Kalevala. Satine had taken over the compromise after Din had mentioned Almec’s attitude surrounding the topic. She and Sainn had come to a fair agreement that satisfied both of their clans (with some exceptions, Almec included). Satine had even asked Bo-Katan for her help. Din was proud of his ade for handling the situation so effectively. He made a few notes on the document- his thoughts on potential conflicts certain sections could cause and other ideas- before sending it back for a final review. Din wondered if the Armorer had to do excessive paperwork when leading their covert.

         There was a knock on Din’s door, so he slid his helmet on (taking it off when he was alone helped him become more comfortable without it).

         “Olarom o’r,” he called, and the door opened. Master Tholme and Vos walked in and bowed. Din gestured for them to take a seat. The padawan looked tired, and Din wanted to tell him to go to bed- surely this could wait for the morning?- but this information could be vital.

         “Mand’alor,” Vas said, the most serious Din had seen the teen, “I believe your attacker was the Sith apprentice.”

         Din nodded in understanding. Qui-gon had given him a “Sith Crash Course,” which included the fact that the current generation of Sith only had two members- A master and an apprentice. An ineffective system if you asked Din, but the worse organized the dar’jetii were, the better for Din.

         “He- well, there was a lot of echos of emotions.” Vos took a deep breath. “I think I was able to weed out what was you and Obi-wan and what was the Sith. Unless you or Obi-wan have a well hidden anger issues.” Vos tried to smile. Din assumed it was a good sign that he was attempting to joke. “He seemed less angry at you two than at himself. There was fear too- it felt like I couldn’t breathe-“ Vos inhaled deeply again and shut his eyes. Tholme rested a hand on his padawan’s shoulder. Vos opened his eyes, looking more centered. Din resisted the urge to call an end to the meeting. Maybe it would be easier on the padawan to only write a report- no need to say everything out loud. Vos continued before Din could suggest it. “He was terrified of failing his Master- who really, really wants you dead. I wrote down everything.”

         Din wanted to sigh loudly and slump in his seat. While not a surprise, Din did not want to deal with it. But Vos had put himself through emotional and psychic pain for this information. So Din accepted the datapd and said, “Vor entye, Padawan Vos. Your help has been invaluable.”

         Vos bowed his head. Tholme patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you go have latemeal with Padawan Kenobi while I finish with the Mand’alor?” Both jetii looked to Din for this opinion- still weird-and he nodded in agreement. Let the kid rest.

         After Vos left the room, Tholme turned to Din. “The report will be shared with the Jedi Council, and I imagine they will want to discuss the situation and further actions.”

         Din examined the Master. Obi-wan had said that Tholme had worked on several intelligence missions for the Jedi. Din had worked with similar individuals during his bounty hunting days and was in the habit of trusting their instincts. “In your professional opinion, what should we do?”

         Tholme took a moment to consider the question before answering. “We have little information on either the master or apprentice and, as such, must be careful lest we act in a way that gives away what we know. The master wanted you dead, even before you were Mand’alor, which means they were aware of your position and potential for some time. The question is then, knowing the Sith have allied with Death Watch, was Death Watch aware of the attack on you? And, for that matter, how long have they been allied?”

         Din considered. Perhaps the spy had been present for longer than Din had assumed. Several people were wary and outright hostile to Din when he first appeared. Any number of them could have reported his relationship with Satine and how more and more Mandalorians had begun to seek his opinion and help. If the spy reported that to Death Watch, who then reported it to the dar’jetii…

         “Maybe they made a deal- work together to get rid of any perceived threats to Vizsla becoming Mand’alor,” Din guessed. It made sense. Better to deal with all potential problems instead of just the present one. Otherwise, they tended to come back and bite you in the shebs. Din knew from experience.

         “So, they have been allies since you came to Sundari at the lastest.”

         “Maybe longer. Mandalorians used to ally with the Sith, yes?” Din asked as he remembered that part of his crash course.

         Tholme nodded. “A long time ago, yes.”

         “Kyr’tsad are extreme traditionalists. Probably knew that, too. They would be stronger with the help of the dar’jetii.”

         “And the Sith knew they would be more powerful with Mandalore on their side,” Tholme finished Din’s thought. “You think this partnership has been going on for some time.”

         Din shrugged. “Makes sense.”

         “So the next question is then, how did either group know your whereabouts on the day off? I doubt it is a coincidence that they attacked on a day that you, the duchess, and Ser Fett were outside the palace.” Tholme tilted his head as he stared at Din. Din did not appreciate the jetii’s ability to look like he was staring straight through Din’s beskar and into his soul. It reminded him of Yoda but with less riddles.

         “That’s a rhetorical question,” Din guessed dryly.

         The Jetii cracked a smile. “You don’t seem surprised.”

         “Neither do you.”

         “I had a feeling Master Jinn was not telling me everything when he told me of the allyship. I, of course, understand your hesitance to tell me.”

         “And will you tell your council?” Din asked. His initial reluctance was about trusting the new Jetii, but Din knew a warrior when he met one, and Tholme, even with his regal tone, was one.

         “I may suggest the possibility,” Tholme answered. “Just as I will suggest you to consider having your own.”

         “You want me to catch a spy with a spy?” It sounded like the plot of a low-budget holo-film.

         “It would be a dangerous position, so I would not blame you for not wanting to consider it. Normally, I would suggest a Jedi trained for such a thing, but I do not believe that would be a wise decision in this case. But I believe having inside information about your spy and Death Watch’s plans is ideal.”

         Din sighed. He had a point. “Because it’s the only lead we have on the Sith.”

         Tholme nodded sympathetically. “Unfortunately. Not to say the Jedi won’t be looking into the matter, but to maintain the secrecy needed as well, it may take some time.”

         “Time we may not have.”

         “Indeed.”

         “I’ll have to think about who I would trust to do this,” Din said after thinking about it. “No one I know personally would be believable.”

         “I agree.” Tholme stood up from his seat. “I am sorry to leave you with such an ask. I will give you time to think about it. Shall we meet again tomorrow before my padawan and I depart for Coruscant?”

         “Leaving so soon?”

         “I believe it is best to deliver this report in person,” Tholme explained. “I never trust such sensitive information to the Holonet.”

         Din agreed, and the Jedi bowed before exiting, leaving Din to his thoughts.

         Most Haat Mando’ade were very vocal about their hatred of Kyr’tsad, especially after they attacked the hospital, which had killed hundreds of citizens, dozens of them being children. So a Haat Mando’ade was out. Could a New Mandalorian be believable? There had been some dissent among the more radical ones, but most had been soothed by Satine’s promises to ensure their beliefs were respected, which Din thought he had done a pretty good job at. Don’t want to fight or handle weapons? Ok, great, but that doesn’t mean others can’t. Maybe Satine would have a good idea about who to ask- though that would mean Din would have to tell her. While Din was confident she could handle it, she was still just a teenager, and Din didn’t like putting that kind of pressure and knowledge on her. Someone from the more traditional clans that followed him would probably work, but Din didn’t know any of them well enough to trust them.

         There was the added factor that Din had no idea what clan the spy was pretending to be a part of. If he had an agent in Sundari, he could miss someone in Keldabe, and the same would be true in the other direction. So, should he have two? Would they know about each other? There were too many variables for Din to be comfortable. Sure, he had taken contracts with little information- they often paid better-but he had always done his best to gather his own information. And, if something did go wrong, only he would be majorly affected in the end. His tribe may have suffered a bit, but soon enough, someone would’ve taken his role, and they would move on. Now, he has an entire nation to worry about should he make the wrong move. It made him feel off-put.

         Ok, he needed to take small steps for this.

Step 1: he needed help- preferably not from one of his kids. Silis would be a good start; maybe he knew someone trained in this kind of stuff.

Step 2: Figure out logistics- one spy or two? Should they directly contact Din or someone else? Hopefully, Tholme will offer his opinions.

Step 3: Somehow test the candidates because Din was nothing if not a little paranoid

Step 4: Pray and try not to get a stress ulcer.

・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・・。・。・

<Back/Next>

Mando'a translations:

Qui-gon lifted one of his hands from his robe to stroke his beard. “If Padawan Vos held an item that the spy had on them when they were perhaps reporting on what they saw, then yes, he may be able to identify them.”

“That’s a big ‘if’,” Jango said. “And I’m sure the Mando’ade wouldn’t appreciate a Jet’ika touching their stuff.”

“And it would be an exhausting process for Padawan Vos,” Qui-gon added. “Physically and mentally. He is not just seeing the past, but feeling the emotions associated with the memories.”

“Let’s just have Padawan Vos focus on the Sith that was in Sundari,” Din decided. “Let’s not overwork the kid for something that might not work. Chances are the aruetii would catch wind and run before we could find them. It's best to keep the element of surprise and not let them know we know.”

“Best we learn what we can about the Sith that attacked you. Hopefully, that will lead us to their conspirators, and we can find the spy from there,” Qui-gon concluded. Din nodded his agreement.

“Who knows about this?” Din asked Jango.

“Aside from us? Myles and the slicer who intercepted the aruetii’s message.”

“Make sure the slicer knows to keep quiet,” Din instructed. “Credits, vacation, whatever you need to make sure. We will keep this between us for now. And keep specifics off comms. Assume everything is compromised.”

“Shall we tell Obi-wan and your other children?” Qui-gon asked as Jango jumped to work on his datapad, likely messaging Myles in vague terms or some code they had.

Din sighed. “No. They’ll worry and want to help. Keep them out of it until we know more.”

“May I tell Master Tholme?” Qui-gon asked. “I would appreciate the help of another Jedi, as I assume you would like to keep this from the Council for now.”

“You assume right.” Din thought about it. On one hand, Din didn’t know the other Jetii Master nearly enough to trust him. On the other, he was apparently a Jetii spy. “Tell him about Death Watch, not the traitor. I don’t want that getting out if I can help it. We’re in a delicate place as it is.”

Qui-gon bowed and left the room. Din leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh. It was quiet in his office for a peaceful moment. Din allowed himself to close his eyes and think. Barely a year ago, Din’s worries centered around keeping his small green magic child safe. Now, he was worried about Sith, the fate of the Mandalorian people, three other children, and a small green magical child. What would the Armorer say at a time like this?

The ka’ra blesses its strongest verde with the most difficult battles. Banthashit. If anything, the ka’ra was just throwing problems at him, like a child throwing rocks at zoo animals to see how they react. Din was sure one of the Jetii would tell him about how this was all in the Force’s plan and to trust things would turn out how they were meant to. Din said all this was the universe seeing how much stress and anxiety it could give one person before he inevitably snaps and does something stupid like fist-fight a Sith.

“You’re really keeping this a secret from your ade? Even Grogu?” Jango’s question broke Din out of his thoughts. Jango had put his datapad away and was rummaging through the cabinet on which he’d set his helmet. Jango emerged with a bottle of ne’tra gal Din had been gifted after his ascension to Mand’alor. Din had been told it was from one of the best brewers in the system. The quality of the stuff was wasted on Din. He’d grown up on homebrewed kri'gee, and had grown so used to its bitter taste and awful hangovers that the thought of sweet ale was slightly baffling. Suffice to say, Din didn’t mind that Jango seemed intent on drinking it. “I feel like you are too blunt to keep secrets.”

In response to Jango’s question, Din shrugged. “I don’t like lying and secrets. Complicates things. But I will to protect them.”

Jango looked to be in thought as he poured himself a drink. Din waved off his offer for a glass, and Jango set the bottle on the edge of Din’s desk before sitting in the plush chair. In moments like this, Din forgot how young Jango was. The man looked aged beyond his years as he sipped his ne’tra gal, frowning at the ceiling. His scars wrinkled, and Din noticed the bags that had deepened under Jango’s eyes. They’ve never truly disappeared in the months that Din has known him, but that had lightened. But now, they were as dark as the day Jango had demanded to speak to Din before Din had to stun him, triggering a seizure.

“Secrets eat you up on the inside,” Jango said flatly, his gaze not moving from the ceiling. Din let out a noncommittal hum, staying relaxed in his chair while keeping a sharp eye on Jango. The man kept silent and continued to look upwards, lifting his glass for a drink. Din thought about prying, but Jango could sometimes be sensitive, reacting poorly to any perceived signs of aggression. If Din pushed too hard or in the wrong way, Jango was liable to lash out. Din was confident he could handle it, of course, but it would set back any chance of learning about whatever had Jango in this funk.

“Sometimes it helps to share with someone you trust,” Din said. “Share the burden.” Din kept his tone calm and non-accusing. He hoped that if Jango didn’t share his secret with him, Jango would at least talk to Silas. Jango clenched his jaw and inhaled deeply before relaxing. He down the rest of his drink in one shot and set the glass down on Din’s desk before standing up.

“Yeah, it might,” Jango replied. “I’ll let you know if there are any updates.”

Din nodded, and Jango put his helmet on and swiftly left the room. Din hoped that wouldn’t come back to bite him in the shebs. Know his luck recently, it would.

Din’s comm rang with a message from Satine. It was a video of Obi-wan and Quinlan levitating Grogu, who looked to be having the time of his life. It came with the message of ‘ Apparently this is a common Jetii practice.’

Din shook his head, heart filling with fondness. He saved the video of his ade being cute to his secret folder (it was good for early morning existential crises) and stood up. He looked at the cup Jango left for a second before remembering that there were servants who cleaned his office, and they would clean it for him. It was another thing he often forgot- once, he walked in on some servants tidying his bed chambers and almost shot one on instinct. After that day, the staff had a little sign they would hang on his bed and office doors. Of course, Jango thought it was hilarious- a little reserve ‘do not disturb’ sign. Din was just happy no one had complained or wanted to quit.

         Hungry? Din sent to Satine as he left his office.

         Grogu just tried to eat a frog so I’ll say yes. Meet you at the dining halls?

         Be there in 5

Din burned at the thought of his ade being publicly exposed, knowing it was possible that aruetii was in their midst. He wanted to bundle them up and take them somewhere safe- maybe make their own little hidden coven where spies and terrorists and Sith didn’t matter. Din knew they would hate it- he had hated it himself. Din had wanted to see the galaxy; it was the main reason he started training to be his tribe’s beroya. It was a way to provide for his tribe while still being able to get out of those sewers. Sure, they were home, but out there in the Razor Crest among the stars? That was where Din could have peace. No expectations, no worries. Just himself, and eventually Grogu, going with the flow of the galaxy. Maybe one day, once all this Sithly nonsense was over, Din could get a ship (when had the Razor Crest gone into production?) and show his ade a galaxy at relative peace. Maybe go to all the planets a Mandalorian bounty hunter never got to go to: Naboo, Alderaan, and the like. They could meet up with Obi-wan after his different missions. And, if Grogu was able, see the Jetii temple.

But those were thoughts for another day. Today, Din just needed to be there with his family and prepare himself for the boatload of banthshit heading his way.

・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・・。・。・

&lt;Back/Next>

These ruminations only caused Din to spiral as he grappled with his reality. Baby Din Djarin hadn’t even been born yet. Would Din try to convince his parents to come to Mandalore when he was born, or would this Din get to live a normal life with his parents? Din’s mind would run itself in circles with paradoxes until the sun crept past the spires of the stronghold. Din hadn’t been sleeping well lately. It made council meetings particularly tedious and painful. There was less useless back-and-forth arguing in Din’s council than Satine’s because Din didn’t have the patience for it. His followers (and it was still weird to think of them as such) appreciated that about him. Jango was impressed at his Mando wrangling skills. Din attributed it to the fact that half of his kids were Mandalorian and the other half were Jetii. 

Satine and Bo-Katan lived part-time in Sundari- it was still their home even if Din had relocated to the city of Keldabe. The city was still being rebuilt, having fallen into a state of disrepair after most of its occupants, who had been Haat Mando’ade, left the planet. Grogu stayed with Din. Jango babysat the kid when he got bored during meetings. Din was starting to suspect that half the time Jango whisked Grogu out of meetings was due to Jango’s own annoyance with politics. Jango was doing a great job at helping reconstruct the ori’ramikad, but he still got dragged into some meetings as a representative of the Haat Mando’ade.

Obi-wan was the only one of Din’s ade he didn’t see regularly. He and Qui-gon traveled the galaxy for their Jetii missions, often being out of contact for days at a time. The temple had been very helpful, sending updates about Obi-wan’s missions and grades. Din had been in touch with a Jetii from the EduCorps to ensure Grogu had the Force education he needed. Dealing with Jetii was the easiest part of Din’s days, an irony that was not lost on Din.

Take where he was now, for example. Trying not to slump down on his throne- because apparently he just had to have a throne for his image- as he listened to grown Mando’ade argue over land claims on different planets in the system. Din had wanted to tell them to fight it out like the toddlers they were acting like, but that wasn’t conducive to the cohesive society he was trying to make. A shame, really. 

“Kalevala has been the home of the House Kryze for centuries, and as such, all the land on it is under the jurisdiction of the Duchess!” argued the Kryze representative, a young man named Almec. “It is an oasis for the New Mandalorians, who are uncomfortable with the sudden reappearance of armor and weapons in the cities. No offense, of course, meant to you, Mand’alor.”

Din waved his hand in acknowledgment, knowing fully well that Almec definitely meant at least a little offense. 

“And our clans have been living on the planet for even longer!” exclaimed the other representative, Sainn. She was mostly human, with tan skin patched with light blue. Din thought she was part Twi’lek. She wore partial armor- her arms and legs were covered with purple and blue armor. She was from a group of clans that didn’t claim one of the bigger houses and had primarily been independently governing themselves since before the New Mandalorians’ rise to power. They finally decided they wanted to join Din’s Mandalore-which was flattering- and wanted the rights to the land they lived on.

They were asking for less than 10% of the planet's land, so Din was inclined to grant it. Satine had decided she was okay with it, but Almec and some other New Mandalorians were not fans. Din preferred to come to a settlement everyone was happy with instead of ordering the land to be given to the clans. Less chance of unhappy politicians.

Din stood up as Almec opened his mouth to argue back. “Why do you want to keep the land so bad, Almec? No one in your house has used it in a long time. There’s no money in it, and the people living there now aren’t going to leave regardless.”

Almec seemed shocked at Din’s question. “It- it is a matter of principle-“

“What principle?”

“Having two different governments on one planet is asking for conflict-“

“You both will be under the same overall government. Bring any conflicts here. Unless“- Din tilted his head in a fashion he knew was menacing-“you were planning on making your own rules.” The hall was filled with a tense silence. Almec didn’t seem to know what to say in response to Din’s statement. Din nodded and sat back down. “One week, come back with an agreement in one week, or I will make a decision for you.”

Sainn and Almec brought their fists to their chests and bowed their heads. Din made a note to talk to Satine about Almec. There was trouble brewing there, and Din had more important things to worry about. Mainly, at that moment, whatever Silas was approaching him about. 

“Message from the Jetii council,” Silas muttered so the rest of the hall couldn’t hear. “They want to send some Jetii that can see the past or something. They want to see what they can find about the Zabrack that attacked you and Obi’ika. With your permission, they can be in Sundari by the end of the week.”

Din grunted in understanding. The Jetii had exchanged worried looks when Obi-wan had recounted their fight with the Zabrack. Obi-wan had explained to him that a red lightsaber was a Sith’s weapon. It was concerning that Din was apparently already a Sith target, and he hadn’t even done anything to antagonize them yet. The Jetii said it was likely the apprentice that had attacked them. If they could glean any information about the apprentice, it may lead them to the master. Din thought it was an inefficient system, a master taking an apprentice whose main goal was to kill the master. 

The rest of the day went by slowly, but Grogu spent most of the afternoon with Din, which was nice. After latemeal, Din called Satine and Bo-Katan to inform them about the visiting Jetii.

“Are you coming too?” Bo-katan asked.

“I’ll try,” Din answered. Silas had already taken to rearranging Din’s schedule to fit in the visit. This was also something Din was still adjusting to, having a schedule full of people who wanted to meet with Din. “Have you been practicing the forms I showed you last time?”

That night, Din lay in bed listening to Grogu’s soft breaths. Even in a stronghold full of capable warriors who would protect the child with their lives, Din still felt a twinge of worry every time his ad was out of sight. And while this time was safer for Grogu, there were new and unknown dangers around every corner. Sith, greedy politicians, and the remnants of the Death Watch lurked around every corner. It was a complex game that Din was still learning to play, and each move was shadowed by doubt. Even with his new friends, Din couldn’t stop worrying that he would make a wrong choice that would inevitably hurt one of his ade. It was just like the first weeks with Grogu, suddenly alone with a magical child and having to care for and protect them. Except now, Din had four ade. But he wasn’t alone. 

A few days later found Din in the familiar palace of Sundari. The damage from the Death Watch attack had been repaired, and a memorial for the Mando’ade that had died had been erected in the central garden. More people wore armor and carried weapons, but the city was still home to a large number of Mandalorians who preferred not to fight. Something Din didn’t care about. As he’d said a number of times- nothing in the Mandalorian creeds specified having to fight. There were many ways to protect ade and serve the Mand’alor. 

Bo-Katan was currently talking Din’s ear off about her classes at the newly established school that catered towards Mandalorian values rather than Coruscant ones. Satine added her own tidbits as she carried Grogu. They were waiting by the landing pads for the Jetii to arrive. Grogu had been excited all day, babbling and cooing. Din wondered what he was saying. Was he talking about how excited he was to see Obi-wan? Or maybe he was just telling Satine about a particularly interesting bug he’d seen earlier. The joys of having a magic toddler. 

The Jetii ship landed, and Obi-wan bounded off the ship with a large smile. Obi-wan skidded to a halt in front of Din, giving a bow that Din was sure wasn’t regulation, not that he cared. Grogu screeched joyfully, jumping out of Satine’s arms into Obi-wan’s.

“Hello, Grogu,” Obi-wan greeted fondly. Grogu babbled to him, and Obi-wan nodded in understanding. “And I have missed you too.” Obi-wan looked at Din, Satine, and Bo-Katan. “And you guys as well.”

Satine smiled and hugged Obi-wan, careful of Grogu still in his arms. Bo-Katan followed her sister’s lead and latched onto Obi-wan’s side, briefly throwing the little group off balance. Din fondly shook his head at his ade before reaching out and ruffling Obi-wan’s hair. The boy sputtered, and the girls released him as they laughed. Din noticed that Obi-wan had grown some since the last time they’d all been together. 

Qui-gon approached their group, two other Jedi following behind him. The younger boy, another padawan if Din had to guess by the braid resting on his shoulder, had a large grin and wore a sleeveless shirt. It didn’t fit well with the regalness of the man Din assumed was his Master. 

“Mand’alor,” Qui-gon greeted with a formal bow. His lip was quirked slightly. It was funny to think that Din had been considering throwing the man off the highest spire of the Sundari palace only months ago. Now, they were co-parenting a teenage Jedi who somehow got into more trouble than the tiny green one Din had taken in. It's funny how these kind of things work out.

“Master Jinn,” Din greeted, tipping his head in greeting. “Any disasters recently?”

“Only of the usual variety,” Qui-gon said, looking at Obi-wan, who was giving his best innocent face. It was ruined by Grogu giggling manically, probably sensing the bullshit Obi-wan was pulling. “Anyways, may I introduce you to Master Tholme and Padawan Quinlan Vos.” The two Jedi bowed. The padawan, Quinlan, looked confused as he looked at Din and Grogu. Din figured it had something to do with their ‘air of weirdness’ in the Force that Obi-wan said they had. Evidently, time travel did weird things to one’s aura. Din didn’t feel like he had an odd aura, but he wasn’t the expert.

“Su’cuy,” Din greeted. “You’re here to…read the past?”

“Quin has the ability to see the past when he touches objects. Memories, emotions, and such,” Obi-wan explained. 

“The council thinks I might be able to find out more about your Sithly attacker,” Quinlan added, still impishly smiling. “Is this the baby Yoda?”

“Your cooperation is very appreciated, Mand’alor,” Master Tholme said, not so discreetly tugging on his padawan’s braid in admonishment. Quinlan didn’t look repentant. Grogu crooned at the acknowledgment. 

“His name is Grogu,” Din said. Grogu cooed again at his name, signaling to Obi-wan to set him down. Grogu waddled to stand on Din’s foot, holding onto Din’s greave for balance. “And your help is appreciated. Sith aren’t our area of expertise. Mandalorians tend to get jumpy when they have an unknown enemy.”

“And jumpy Mandalorians are good for no one,” Qui-gon added. 

Satine cleared her throat and gave Din a look that meant that Din had forgotten some etiquette. She gestured between herself and Bo-Katan. “Oh, right. These are Satine and Bo-Katan Kryze. My two other ade.” The girls pulled their best courtly smiles, Bo-Katan’s only slightly forced looking. 

“It’s a pleasure to you both,” Satine greeted, “And your help is greatly appreciated. The whole situation has been…”

“Traumatizing?” Bo-Katan offered. Satine slapped her arm. “What?”

“Making sure this Sith is taken care of will be good for everyone’s mirjahaal- peace of mind,” Din said. He went to continue, but noticed Jango slowly walking towards their group. He seemed wary of the new Jetii- while Jango had gotten better about his Jetii hatred with the help of a mir’baar’ur. He was still uncertain of new Jetii, especially older ones that could have been at Galidraan. “Um, why don’t you ade show the Jetii to their rooms. I’ll meet you in the dining halls.” 

His ade agreed, and Din picked up Grogu to hand him off to Bo-Katan. Din said his goodbyes and went towards Jango. 

“Mand’alor,” Jango greeted, quickly pressing his fist to his chest. Din just sighed loudly. Jango grinned for a brief moment before his expression sobered. 

“Jango, I thought you were going to stay in Keldabe?” Jango had offered to keep things running with Silas. Din suspected it was less out of a desire to help and more out of some misplaced sense of guilt he’d developed about getting Din into this whole Mand’alor mess in the first place (Din held that it was his own decision, and fleeting moment of righteousness, that got him there in the first place.) 

“I was, but we got sensitive information that we felt was better relayed in person than over comms,” Jango explained. “Can we go somewhere private?”

“I have an office here,” Din said, beginning to lead the way inside. 

“You might want to call one of those Jetii, too,” Jango said grimly. “This is about the dar’jetii.”

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Next>

After an unexpectedly long break, I'm back! Turns out that between working, clinicals, and senior year I've been too busy to write much. So updates might be sporadic until next semester.

Mando'a translations:

beroya- bounty hunter

ori'ramikad- supercommandos (elite special forces)

Su'cuy- a greeting

mirjahaal- peace of mind, a general term for emotional well-being, especially after a trauma

mir'baar'ur- baar'ur for a healer, mir' as a prefix for mind/brain/mood, so a therapist

        Tech’s life didn’t flash before his life, and he didn’t think about all his regrets nor regret his choice to end his life. Tech felt…content. He was confident in his brother’s abilities to save themselves and Omega. He’d given them a chance at life. He felt relief when he saw the tram cart zip away. If he had any regrets, it would be that he wouldn’t be able to take the Empire down bit by bit and save Crosshair. Hopefully, his sacrifice would spur his brothers to rescue Crosshair in his memory.

        By the time Tech reached terminal velocity, the mountains around him were passing by in a blur. His visor confirmed all his files in his datapad had been successfully transferred to the Marauder. Everything he needed to do was done. Tech closed his eyes so he didn’t have to stare at the tram lines he was falling away from. Wrecker’s pleas still wrung in his ears.

        Free falling to his death was not what Tech thought would kill him. Statistically, his greatest chance of dying was getting shot or dying in a ship crash. Tech really should’ve spent more time on making jetpacks.

        His heart beat faster as anticipation crept up on him, much like the ground was. Tech was surprised to feel a hint of fear and couldn’t find the root of the cold feeling.

        Tech barely had a moment to register hitting the ground before the world went dark, and he died.

---------------------

        The first thing Tech noticed, despite definitely having all his bones broken, was that he wasn’t in pain. And he could wiggle his toes and fingers, which should also be impossible, given his spine had been broken.

        It was also bright, which didn’t fit Tech’s expectation of death.

        Tech opened his eyes. It wasn’t like waking from a coma or a prolonged stay in bacta. In those cases, opening his eyes was a challenge. Now, it was as easy as waking up from a restful night of sleep. There was a blue sky above Tech, and he could see the tops of tall evergreen trees. There was some ambient noise typical of an evergreen forest; however, Tech couldn’t see any fauna from his place on the ground. There was a lack of any sounds indicating a fight, so Tech took that as he was temporarily safe.

        Tech sat up slowly, expecting to be overcome with pain or numbness typically associated with spinal injuries. But nothing happened. Even the perpetual dull ache in Tech’s back from his horrid posture (and yes, Echo, he could acknowledge it- it just wasn’t a priority-) was gone. And then Tech noticed the weirdest thing. His goggles weren’t on his face, but he could see just fine. Tech looked at the ground around him, and his goggles were resting next to him. Despite not needing them, Tech put them back on. His vision didn’t change, but Tech felt more settled.

        Tech stood up warily, checking over his kit. His blasters, backup vibroknife, and datapads were all gone. Tech pulled his helmet on to check his visor, but it displayed ‘no signal.’ Tech huffed in annoyance and removed his helmet with more force than needed.

        Tech turned in a small circle to observe the clearing he was in. It was small, a rough circle with a diameter of 5 meters. The grass was dotted with low ferns and small yellow and purple flowers, and the sweet smell allowed Tech to identify them as vormur flowers. Odd. Two species of plants- the Veshok trees and vormur flowers- were native to Mandalore when the plant still had flora on its surface.

Why would Tech’s afterlife be the ancient planet of Mandalore? He knew many regs felt a connection with Jango Fett’s Mandalorian roots. Echo had told the Bad Batch stories of the older clones teaching the broken Mando’a they picked up from their trainers to the younger clones. Once the war started and the clones were able to access the Holonet, many regs fully picked up the language and started practicing the culture. The Bad Batch had never had such connections.

        Tech hadn’t noticed his mind beginning to race- the lack of increased breathing and heart rate made it challenging to identify a panic attack. Tech was dead; that was the only thing he was sure about. His brothers were gone- which was probably a good thing, but damn it, Tech hadn’t been alone in years. Not since the Bad Batch had formed. They had a pact that no brother was left alone lest the Kaminoans came and pulled them into another one of their torturous tests. Not ever since Hunter had been taken for five days and was in a dissociative state for another two.

        Tech grappled for his helmet and put it back on. He fumbled for his visor, pressing the button to allow him access to his recorded files. Tech didn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t access them. Thankfully, they were there, and Tech played the compilation of various conversations between his brothers and Omega. As he listened to the inane conversations, Tech observed his surroundings again. It was easier with the silence filled in with Crosshair and Echo bickering in his ears.

        In the clearing, there was no sign of anything but plant life, and Tech couldn’t make out any movements of the underbrush in the forest around him. The sun had begun to set, light streaming through the branches in golden lines. It was peaceful. Tech stopped his recordings and removed his helmet since the panic had receded.

        The sun had begun to set, so this afterworld apparently had a day-night cycle. In the near distance, smoke began to waft up beyond the trees. If Tech strained his ears, he could make out the sounds of laughter and yelling. He briefly contemplated going away from the noise, but something compelled him forward. When Tech reached the edge of the clearing, he noticed a path in the forest he had missed. Or maybe it hadn’t been there before because it was unlikely Tech would’ve overlooked such a thing. A preliminary glance down the path didn’t reveal any signs of ambush. Though the pathway bent 5 meters in, Tech could only survey it so far.

        Tech began to slowly walk down the path. The uncomfortable feeling of not having his weapons was warring with his desire to examine all the flora that no longer existed in the modern day. As Tech approached the voices- the pathway seemed to be directly heading there- he began to make out the words and voices. And, to Tech’s surprise, they sounded like Echo. Like regs.

        Alarmed, Tech moved forward until he reached a point that was out of sight of the regs but within earshot. As far as Tech could tell, the regs were jovially telling stories about their lives. There was no indication of control chips or the Empire. That made sense if this was an afterlife. Tech still needed to understand why regs were here, so he waited.

        “And then Echo tries to make a sharp turn but falls flat on his face!” One reg said, much to the amusement of the others. Tech remembered the mission in which the same had happened- Wrecker had laughed about it for a week. Tech wondered if these (presumably) dead regs somehow knew about that or if that was a common occurrence for Echo before joining the Bad Batch.

        “Didn’t he become an ARC with you, Fives?” a reg asked when the laughter faded slightly. The question aroused another round of laughter. Tech tensed up at the name. Fives was there. Tech hadn’t been the closest with Echo’s twin, but Wrecker had gotten along with him before the batch distanced themselves after Echo’s ‘death.’ But there was no denying that Fives and Echo had what Echo called ‘ori’vod energy.’ And frankly, Tech could use that along with some explanations right about now.

        Mind made up, Tech marched forward. The voices went quiet as he approached, the sound of his footstep against the forest ground signaling his arrival. Tech reached the end of the path. It opened into a large clearing. There was a bonfire in the center- the source of the smoke Tech had seen. Regs gathered around the fire and scattered in small groups around the clearing. Tech counted 100, wearing colors of several different battalions. Other paths were coming off the clearing.

        Some side groups were muttering amongst themselves as they stared at Tech. Tech felt his hands begin to fidget will all the eyes on him. Sure, he was used to being stared at, but he always had his batch by his side. Wrecker and Echo tended to draw most of the attention by the nature of their physiques.

        Tech scanned the regs until he saw blue paint. He began marching towards the group. There were 15 of them, but Tech only had eyes for the one with the stripped kama and double pauldrons. Fives looked shocked to see Tech, and his eyes kept darting behind him as if looking for the rest of his squad- looking for Echo.

        “Tech?” Fives asked, stepping forward to catch Tech by the arms. Tech’s jaw clenched as he scanned over Fives’ face. Typical reg haircut, a goatee that Echo had frequently mocked, Aurebesh ‘5’ tattoo that Echo also made from up. Fives looked like he hadn’t aged a day since the last time Tech had seen him. “Hey, hey vod’ika, what happened?’”

        “I died.” Tech felt something tighten in his chest at finally admitting it out loud. It was impossible to ignore anymore. Tech had died and was now surrounded by dead regs in some sort of afterlife that Tech had predicted wouldn’t exist. “I- the tram car would’ve broken off, and there wasn’t time to pull me up, so I-“

        Fives leaned in and rested his forehead against Tech, cutting him off from reliving his death. A mirshmure’cya- a Keldabe kiss, a common form of affection between Mandalorians and clones. Echo had the habit of pulling each Batch member into one after challenging missions- which were most of their missions. Fives, like Echo, rested on hand on the back of Tech’s neck. Tech gripped Fives’gauntlets tightly, dropped his helmet, and closed his eyes.

        “I couldn’t let them die too. They need to save Crosshair,” Tech muttered an explanation.

        “You did good, Tech’ika,” Fives assured him. “I’ve been watching you boys. And some of the vod’e that came through have their own stories about you.”

        “Came through?”

        Fives pulled back but kept his hold of Tech’s arm. The hand on his neck gestured around. “This place, it’s like an in-between. All of us here are waiting for our vod’e to come through. Some come and go immediately.”

        “Where do they go?”

        Fives shrugged. “Beats me.”

        Tech looked around. Most of the vod’e had returned to their conversations, except the other 501st members and three regs in white armor. Tech recognized Jesse and two other 501st members looked familiar- Tech wracked his memory until he remembered their names: Tup and Dogma. Tech looked back at Fives, who was smiling at Tech. “You are waiting for Echo?”

        Fives nodded. “And Rex. Torrent goes together or not at all.” Tech nodded, his mind filling with questions. Before he could ask his next one, Fives patted his shoulder and let go. “Come on, let’s sit and introduce you to everyone first.”

        Tech frowned but allowed Fives to guide him toward his brothers, stopping momentarily to pick up his helmet. “You know Jesse-“ Tech nodded at Jesse in acknowledgment. “You meet Tup and Dogma once, I think. They-“

        “Dogma killed General Krell on Umbara and was decommissioned despite proof that Krell had become a traitor,” Tech recited from memory. Dogma flinched, and Tup wrapped an arm around him. “Tup killed General Tiplar at Ringo Vinda and died shortly after. The Kaminoans tried to pass it off as a virus, but it was later revealed to be a faulty biocontrol chip activating Order 66 without receiving any actual order.” More regs flinched at ‘Order 66’. Good first impression, Tech. That was why Hunter or Echo always handled introductions.

        Some of the regs were looking at Tech in annoyance- Tech didn’t know why. He was simply repeating information from mission reports. Fives just shook his head, smile still in place. “Good to see you haven’t changed, Tech.”

        Tech adjusted his glasses. “Why would I have changed?”

        Fives chuckled but didn’t answer his question. “Fair enough. That’s Hardcase-“

        “Sacrificed himself in the Battle of Umbara to destroy the Separatist supply ship.” Hardcase grinned at Tech. “Captain Rex expressed his desire to keep him and Wrecker apart at all times.” That caused the 501st members to laugh. Hardcase shook his head.

        “Damn shame. We could’ve made magic together,” Hardcase lamented.

        “You would’ve made significant property damage,” Tech corrected.

        “Same difference.”

        Fives introduced him to the remaining 501st members; Tech only recognized a few of them. Curiously, Kix was nowhere to be seen despite having gone MIA soon after Echo’s rescue. When Tech asked about it, Jesse said he hadn’t come yet.

        “You forget about us, Fives?” one of the regs in white asked.

        “How could I?” Fives joked. He swept an arm towards them. “Before Echo and I were the Domino twins, we were a part of the Domino squad. These are the other members- Droidbait, Cutup, and Hevy.”

        Tech nodded in recognition. “Echo talked about you a lot.”

        They seemed pleasantly surprised. Cutup asked, “He did?”

        “Yes. I believe it was easier to talk about his training days and your squad as opposed to his time with Fives in the 501st,” Tech explained. Fives sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He muttered something that sounded like, ‘Oh, Ey’ika.’ “99 also talked about you, especially Hevy. Speaking of-“

        “Yeah, he’s still here,” Fives said. “I’m pretty sure he’s determined to be the last one and greet every vod’e as they come.”

        Tech scanned across the clearing but saw no sign of the clone. Hevy asked, “Your batch is named after him, right?”

        Tech nodded, continuing to look around. “Yes. 99 was the first modified clone- CT-9901. The rest of my batch followed along with others. We, along with 99, were the only ones that survived after removal from our tubes.”

        “He’s at one of the houses,” Fives finally said. “We’ll show you around soon. He’ll probably make his way out soon.”

        Tech nodded but continued to look around. He felt unsettled. The last time Tech had seen 99, he’d still technically been a cadet- Clone Force 99 had their first mission a week after the attack on Kamino. Tech never was one to care about what others thought of him, but 99 was his original ori’vod. All of Clone Force 99 had looked up to the older clone. Tech was sure that 99 wouldn’t appreciate the idea of ‘Plan 99’.

        Fives sat Tech down, and before he knew it, Tech was surrounded by the Domino squad. Tech’s leg began to bounce as his mind raced with different possibilities. Tech blindly pressed for the button on his helmet’s visor. His recordings began to play out loud. Tech noticed the regs around him went quiet as the voices of his squad came from his helmet. The recording was from the mission before Kaller- they had finished their mission early, and the planet they were on was nice. So Crosshair had pulled out his ‘secret’ stash of Corellian whiskey. They had passed the bottle around after building a fire. The recording was of Echo trying to teach the batch- Tech excluded; he didn’t get inebriated enough to participate- Vode An. No one was in key, and the lyrics kept getting interrupted by laughter.

        Someone began to hum along until the regs started to sing along. They continued, even after Tech’s recording began. Fives wrapped an arm around Tech’s shoulder and began to sway them. It was nice. The Bad Batch had never really been included in the regs’ groups. The Bad Batch was always separate, even when they camped with a battalion. Echo had spoken fondly of his brothers, of nights spent surrounded by hundreds of brothers, the intrinsic feeling of being safe. Tech thought he was beginning to understand. This wouldn’t be such a bad place to stay while he waited for his batch.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

         That was the first time Echo ever had a panic attack. Echo shuddered to think about what would’ve happened to them if no one had found them.

         Fortunately, Jesse had found them and commed Kix and Rex. They had helped Echo and Fives through it and introduced them to the tradition of vod’e piles after a hard mission. Ever since then, Echo had never mourned alone. Even after Skako Minor, he’d fallen apart in Rex’s arms as he cried for Fives, Dogma, Tup, Hardcase, and all the other brothers he’d lost.

         This time Echo was alone. Oh sure, Wrecker and Hunter were on the same ship- there weren’t many places to go when they were in hyperspace. But Echo was alone in the cockpit. The empty pilot’s seat was mocking him- looking so normal when its usual occupant was fucking dead. Echo wanted to scream, rip the chair out of its welding, and tear apart its cushions for daring to be so normal. But Tech would’ve hated Echo for ruining any part of his ship.

         But Tech was dead, so what did it matter? There would be no one else to talk about his prosthetics with. No little brother who filled silences with his rambles on whatever topic was currently in his head as he did a million things at once. Echo would be flying the Marauder alone- Tech’s ghost would haunt him if he even thought about letting Hunter or Wrecker help.

         So. Tech was dead, and Echo was alone. And he wasn’t crying. Oh, he wanted to- could feel the burn as his tear ducts desperately tried to work. But Echo was tired, tired of death, tired of this war, tired of everything, and his body just didn’t have the energy for tears. Usually, Omega would’ve come to stay with him, insistent that no one should ever be alone when they were sad.

         But Omega was gone, and Tech was dead, and so was Fives, and so Echo was alone. It was funny- before, Echo had been charging forward with a purpose. He would do everything he could to save his brothers, even if Hunter thought it was useless. But now, Hunter was planning on hunting Hemlock down to the ends of the galaxy. And Echo thought, privately, it wasn’t worth it. Hemlock had proven himself to be a genius- he would be locking down his base to prevent any chance of the Bad Batch finding his base. Even with Rex’s help, they’d be screwed. The future looked grim.

         Echo’s chest hurt, and he distantly noticed it was probably because of his heaving breaths. His hand dug into the seat’s padding, and Echo could feel the phantom tensions in his lost hand. Echo forced himself to take slower, deeper breaths. He tried to remind himself that he’d lost vod’e before and survived it, so the panic and pain would pass. One day he’d be able to think about Tech, memories of the genius wandering off on hostile plants because he spotted a rare planet, of Tech being able to fall asleep anywhere (including standing up), of his vod’ika, without the overwhelming sense of grief.

         But that day wasn’t today, so Echo let himself ride the waves of grief. One moment he’d be staring into the blur of hyperspace, thinking about cleaning his prosthetics, and the next, his breathing had picked up, and his eyes would water as he remembered Tech would never be there to help him get the hard-to-reach spots. It was a vicious cycle, but Echo couldn’t think of anything to break it. Every little thing on the Marauder hung onto the ghost of Tech. His half-started experiments were still strewn across his workbench, waiting for completion they’d never receive. Tech’s bunk was still messy- Tech had never been one to make his bed despite regulations, claiming that there was little point to the act as he would just sleep in it again anyways. Their food stores still held the yellow ration bars that only Tech liked- Tech claimed specific textures and ingredients were the superior combinations.

         It was like walking around the base on Anaxes without Fives at his side. Something was missing, and there was a hole that would never be filled. Maybe if Omega was there, it wouldn’t feel so gapping and raw. But the universe had decided to fuck over the Bad Batch and rip her away too. His little sister was in the hands of the same Empire that had killed so many of their brothers, undergoing gods-know-what kind of torture at that bastard Hemlock’s hands. Maybe she’d find Crosshair, and they could escape together. It was a nice thought and was the only thing keeping Echo mostly together.

         It was too quiet, and Echo felt like he was going to go crazy. The Bad Batch was never quiet, and it only set Echo’s nerves on edge. Something urged Echo out of his seat and stumbling out of the cockpit. He gave Tech’s seat a wide berth as if touching it would cause it to explode or something. The door to the bunkroom and the rest of the ship was closed. Not an uncommon occurrence, but it felt wrong. In the 501st, there was a ‘no door closed’ policy after a battle. Rex had instated it after more troopers began to hide (like Echo and Fives had) after losing a vod. He'd made it a rule after one time they opened a storage cabinet and had found a body instead of a vod.       

         Echo opened the door and walked into the bunkroom. Wrecker was curled on his bunk, cradling Lula and Tech’s pillow to his chest. Wrecker was asleep, so Echo pulled a blanket over his brother before moving on to find Hunter. The Sargent wasn’t in his bunk, the fresher, the eating/common area, or the medroom. That left the storage bay that doubled as a training room. Echo grabbed a medkit on his way down to the hull.

         Hunter was laying into a punching bag- hands unwrapped and knuckles bloody. Echo settled off to the side, knowing better than to get in between a grieving vod and the focus of their rage. The sergeant knew Echo was there and would stop when he was ready. That didn’t mean Echo wouldn’t do anything.

         Echo sat on one of the crates and placed the med pack beside him. He heaved a sigh and thought about what he wanted to say. “I lost most of my squad on my first assignment,” he said. Hunter didn’t stop his violent assault, but Echo could see Hunter’s head tipped in his direction. It was Hunter’s indication he was listening. “Droids attacked the base we were stationed on. Our sergeant and Droidbait got killed right away. The rest of us only made it out thanks to Cody and Rex.” Echo closed his eyes as he remembered that fateful night. “Cutup got eaten by a giant eel, and Hevy- well, I guess he pulled the first plan 99.” Hunter froze; Echo was on a roll. “Fives and I were the only survivors of the Domino squad. We were lucky that Rex saw something in us and took us in. Stars know what would’ve happened to us otherwise.”

         Hunter had grabbed the punching bag on either side and rested his forehead against it. He was breathing heavily, and Echo was pretty sure he’d started to cry.

         “Losing them felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest,” Echo pushed on. It was becoming less about distracting Hunter and more about getting these things off his chest. “I had Fives, Rex, and the rest of Torrent to keep me together. And I won’t say it’ll get better, Hunter, because I still feel that loss daily. And it gets compounded with every vod I lose. And Fives-“Echo took a gasping breathing, noting he’d started crying, “That loss almost killed me. But I survived, and every day it gets easier to remember them. This is not the end. You will survive, Hunter. Ori’haat.”

         Hunter was looking at him. He looked wrecked. Hunter’s eyes were red, and tears were streaming down his face. Stands of his hair were stuck to his face, adding to the pathetic picture he made. Echo was once again reminded how much younger Hunter was compared to him. “Oh, Hunt’ika…”

         A sob escaped Hunter, and one of his hands shot up to cover his mouth, but his shoulder still shook with repressed cries. Echo stood up and bounded over to his vod’ika, gathering the man in his arms. Hunter all but collapsed, and Echo lowered them to the ground as gently as he could.

         “I was supposed to protect them,” Hunter said between sobs. Echo cradled the back of Hunter’s head with his hand and buried his face in Hunter’s hair. Echo hoped Hunter wouldn’t mind the salty tears in his hair. “I failed them. I- I don’t- it’s not fair!”

         “I know, I know,” Echo muttered. “It’s not. Ni ceta. I’m sorry.”

         Wrecker found them sometime later and didn’t say a word as he wrapped himself around them. Hunter had stopped crying and was staring into the distance.

         “You came back, Echo. That means Tech might too, right?” Wrecker asked in a whisper. Echo didn’t have it in him to snuff out the hint of hope in Wrecker’s voice. 

         “Yeah, vod’ika. Maybe.”

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         “No!” Echo muttered as the world around him slowly came into focus. It was cold, and he was leaning against something metal, and he couldn’t feel his legs-

         “Echo, it’s me, Rex.”

         Echo slumped. Rex was here, so surely everything was ok. His captain didn’t sound harried like they were in the middle of a fight. He sounded concerned, like someone was hurt. Who was hurt? Was it Fives? Echo’s twin always had a penchant for getting into trouble. On second thought, Echo was probably hurt- he could feel the pain spiking along his spine and head. Getting exploded would do that. But Rex didn’t leave him behind. So everything was ok.

         “You came back,” Echo said, his words hoarse. His throat felt like he hadn’t spoken in months.

         Rex looked sad, look horrified. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

         “I must be in pretty bad shape, huh?” Echo asked. “If you’re looking at me like that.” Echo chuckled as he began to look around for Fives. Rex never liked those kinds of jokes, but Fives might appreciate it. His twin’s reaction would at least give Echo an idea about his own condition, considering he couldn’t feel ¾ of his limbs.

         But Echo could find Fives. He wasn’t to Echo’s left- why wasn’t Fives by his side? Was he ok? There was another vod in grey armor that looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t Fives. And this wasn’t the Citadel.

         “What happened? Where am I?” Echo tried to sit up. Maybe Fives was out of view, guarding them or something. But there was a tug on the back of his head and spine, and Echo could make it more than a few inches forward. His breath hitched at the parks of pain the movement produced, and Rec rested a hand on Echo’s shoulder to lean him back.

         “You’re safe now,” Rex assured him. Rex gestured for the vod to come over. Echo didn’t feel completely safe, not with the data still running in the back of his mind. Outcomes and strategies were being calculated, and Echo didn’t know how to make it disappear.

         “Wh-where’s Fives?” Echo asked. Fives would help. Rex's devastated expression told Echo everything he needed to know.

         Fives was dead, and Echo was alone. The last Domino.

         Echo clenched his jaw, refusing to shed any tears. Not until he was off this floor, and preferably wearing clothes. Then, when he was safe, he would mourn for his twin. Would rage at the universe for taking Fives from him, at himself for not being there to save his brother. Rage at the Techno Union for not letting him die- he remembered now the pain and the horror of being trapped in his mind forced to help the enemy- so he could welcome Fives into the beyond. That was for later.

         “We're gonna get you home, ok?” Rex said. The vod- it was Tech!- crouched next to Echo.

         Echo tried to give his vod’ika a smile. It came out weaker than he wanted. “Hey, Tech. Funny seeing you here.”

         Tech also did not appreciate Echo’s humor. “Hello, Echo. You have managed to beat the 99.39% odds of being dead. Congratulations,” Tech said as he examined the wires still attached to Echo. It felt violating to be plugged into a machine as if he wasn’t more than a data chip. The plugs were firmly in Echo’s ports (and wouldn’t that take some time to get used to, having ports?), and tugging them only caused Echo pain. “…It is good to see you again.”

         Echo weakly chuckled and raised his good hand (he couldn’t feel the other one, and a quick glance confirmed it was gone, along with his legs) to pat Tech’s shoulder. “You too, vod’ika. You’ll have to tell me everything I’ve missed.” Because, in the back of his mind, in the part talking in binary, Echo had looked up to date, seen the time he’d missed. But he also wanted to hear his little brother ramble again. Maybe it would bring a sense of normality back.

         Echo got lost in his thoughts as Rex and Tech tried to disconnect him. Echo tried to help on his end, but go figure the Techno Union didn’t create a way for Echo to disconnect himself. Instead, Echo went into the system and copied every piece of information from the Techno Union database he could find. He registered the sound of blaster fire closing in. It got louder as the doors to the room opened, and General Skywalker ran in. Echo thought it wouldn’t be appreciated if he tried to stand up to salute him.

         Tech informed the general of their current status- not great- and the general asked Rex about Echo’s condition- also not great. Usually, Echo would’ve been offended, but he felt too hazy with his mind split between two worlds. And Rex was right; walking probably wouldn’t end well at the moment.

         “-Doesn’t remember how he got here-“ not true, at least not anymore. But Echo didn’t feel up to contradicting him. Not if it would mean Rex would look at him with those sad, pitying eyes again. Fuck, he hated that look.

         Echo focused on watching the rest of the Bad Batch back into the room before sealing the doors and sharing the less-than-stellar news. Echo waved at the Bad Batch when they turned to face them in an attempt to raise the mood. Wrecker waved back, and Echo got the feeling Crosshair pulled a bitchface at him. Some things never changed.

         Finally- finally- Tech said they could unplug Echo. Echo wasted no time turning around so Rex could take the cables out of him. It was a horrible, tugging, painful sensation that left Echo out of breath. Thankfully Rex went quickly and got it over with.

         But his mind was quiet for the first time in a long time. “Rex?”

         “What is it?” Oh. Rex sounded worried. Whoops.

         “I got a big headache,” Echo said with a smile. Not even Wrecker laughed, but the giant did smile at him.

         “Better to feel something than nothing,” Rex said with a smile.

         Using his scomp to open the vent door was unpleasant, almost as unpleasant as clinging to Tech’s back as Wrecker threw them into the vent. But Wrecker blowing up what had been Echo’s prison was nice. Wrecker even let Echo press the detonation button. It was cathartic.

         The walk through the cooling system was less fun- again, no clothes- and Echo could tell his vod’ike were hesitant around him. He wasn’t the big ARC they knew. Echo hated being treated like he could break at any moment. So when the time came to show off his acquired knowledge, Echo took it. He probably owed Wrecker an apology for not preparing him for the heights.

         “I’m telling you, there’s a landing pad on that other building,” Echo confirmed. He could see the blueprint in his mind. This was their only option.

         “So you think there’s a ship we can steal?”

         “I hope there’s a ship we can steal!” It felt good to bicker with his brothers again. But the empty spot at his side was still evident.

         They crossed the pipe- Echo definitely owed Wrecker an apology- until droids began to spill from either side. They were trapped, and Echo didn't even have a blaster. Thankfully Tech was still a genius, even if it was a crazy kind of genius. Even Hunter seemed shocked at Tech’s blazé suggestion to jump. But Tech hadn’t failed him yet, so Echo quickly jumped off after the general. The missing hand made it hard to cling to the flying beasts, but thankfully Rex had jumped with him.

         Of course, the droids could fly. That was new.

         But Echo still felt great. He was free- flying away from the cursed building that was meant to be his tomb. It felt like he was giving a giant middle finger to the Techno Union. Echo could imagine Fives at his side, laughing as the droids crashed into a jutting rock. Despite being so high up, Echo finally felt a spark of warmth in his chest.

         Crosshair hadn’t left Echo alone since they’d begun the battle with the Techno Union droids. Echo knew that the prickliest member of the Bad Batch would never admit to being worried, but Echo could see it plain as day. Echo had prided himself on being able to read his vod’ike (Commander Cody had called him the Bad Batch whisperer on more than one occasion). It was also how Echo could tell Crosshair wasn’t just worried about Echo’s well-being. No, from the way Crosshair shifted uneasily and tried to put himself between Echo and his brothers, Echo could tell Crosshair was worried about his brothers. Specifically, what Echo could do to his brothers. Echo would, of course, never hurt his brothers out of his own free will. But Crosshair and the rest of the Bad Batch, once Echo knew the sign to look for, were worried that Echo wasn’t operating under his own free will.

         Anyone else might’ve been offended. But Echo knew that his little brothers were fiercely protective of each other, and any potential threat was to be treated as such. Echo knew they could be much more fierce- had experienced it upon their first meeting. Crosshair was worried about his brother’s safety but still trusted Echo a little. Echo would never have been let on their ship if the sniper thought he was compromised. Which General Skywalker and Rex wouldn’t have taken well.

         All that to say that Echo hadn’t known a single moment of peace since being rescued. Sure, the Marauder was small (and still smelt the same), but Echo thought that constantly having two people on either side of him was overkill. Because, yeah, Rex was glued to his side. Echo appreciated the person to lean against, but he also wanted to strangle Rex and remind him that Echo wouldn’t disappear into thin air. At least Tech had given Echo a spare pair of blacks. It fit awkwardly around his… enhancements, but it was nice to be covered. Without it, Echo could feel the eyes of everyone staring at him, running their eyes over the machinery built into him. Quickly, those looks could morph into the burning gaze of Wat Tambor as the man, monster, tore Echo apart on a whim.

         Wrecker was happy to fill in Echo on what he’d missed- crazy Bad Batch missions that went horribly wrong, another Sith (because why not?), and many explosions. Tech and Crosshair filled in details as Wrecker went, but everyone else seemed content to silence. Occasionally Rex would add in what the 501st was doing during the Bad Batch’s mission, stories about Fives, Dogma, Tup, and Jesse but Echo noticed that the stories tapered off as they moved to more recent events. There was a growing pit in Echo’s stomach.

         When they got to base, Echo refused to lean on anyone. He was going to walk on his own damn feet until a medic pounced on him and made him get on a stretcher. Echo felt like the entire 501st and 212th was staring at him as he shakily left the ship, but with the Bad Batch bracketed him and Rex and the general in front of him, Echo felt untouchable.

         And then, inexplicably, a cheer went up as General Skywalker reached General Kenobi and Commander Cody. Echo’s vod’e cheered and hollered, welcoming him home. Sure, Echo could see vod’e on the outskirts, looking at him with less-than-happy expression, but that didn’t matter. Echo was home.

         “You’re something of a legend,” Rex admitted. “Torrent, lead by Fives, of course, spread many stories about you. You might rival me with the number of shines with hero worship for you.”

         It was sweet. It was overwhelming. Echo’s headache came back. And, like he could smell it, Kix and Coric appeared with a stretcher between them. Echo went easily with him. Standing put a lot of stress on his prosthetics. They weren’t made to be comfortable. It spoke to how bad Echo looked that, as they brought him to the medbay, they didn’t threaten him.

         Instead, Kix softly said, “Hey, vod. Good to see you again.”

         Yeah. Echo was in bad shape. He would’ve thought he was dying if he didn’t come with a brand new internal diagnostic scanner that happily informed him that he wasn’t on the brink of death.

         Echo was in pain. He was in pain, but he wasn’t cold.

         Echo groaned as he came awake all at once, trying to blink through the bright lights of the medbay. Because that had to be where he was. Where else smelled that deeply of bacta? He was in a medbay, and he could feel sticky pads on his chest hooking him up to some unknown machine that was going to dig into his brain and extract information that would get his vode killed-

         “Echo?” someone asked as they leaned over him, blocking the light from his eyes. Echo’s vision cleared, and he could make out Rex. Echo took a deep breath as his panic subsided. He was safe, and the only machines he was connected to were the ones reading out his vitals.

         Echo smiled weakly. “Hey, Rex. We gotta stop meeting like this.”

         Rex shook his head fondly. “Stop doing stupid osik, then.”

         “Ah, no can do, Alor.” Before Echo could say anything else, the doors to the room he was in- because apparently he was given a private room- opened, and Kix walked in. More like stormed in. Good news: it meant Echo was probably fine. Bad news: Kix might actually kill him. “Kix.”

         “Echo,” Kix said shortly as he checked the monitors Echo was hooked up to. Not good. Echo and Rex stayed quiet as Kix examined him. When Kix was satisfied, having jotted something down on his pad, he glared at Echo. “Idiot. What do you remember?”

         Echo ran through his memories. “…Wrecker blew up a Seppie ship?”

         Kix sighed, and Rex chuckled. “Yes. After you got yourself electrocuted when you were too stubborn to disconnect from the system.”

         “Ah.” Yeah, he remembered that. 0/10 would not recommend. Echo almost felt a bit of pity for all the clankers he’d done the same thing to. When most of your body is made of technology, surges of electricity kind of screw up your day. “But we won?”

         Kix sighed, tinged in annoyance. “Yes. And you’ll live.”

         “Great, great,” Echo said with a nod. He flicked his eyes toward the monitors. The beeping was getting on his nerves. “Any chance I can get disconnected?”

         Kix’s face softened- not enough to change his expression. Despite the time passed, Echo could still read the minute expressions of his vode. Kix carefully removed the pads from Echo’s chest and hand. “I want you to stay here for another day for observation. Report any significant pain, memory loss, sudden contractions, or loss of sensation. Got it?”

         “Got it.” Echo grinned. “So I should mention that I can’t feel my toes?”

         Kix smacked Echo’s arm before he left. Echo counted it as a win. Rex looked better but was still looking at Echo with a faintly pained look. Echo used his good hand to reach out and pat Rex’s arm.

         “I’m alright, Captain. Got to get used to getting taken out like a clanker, that’s all,” Echo tried to reassure Rex. It didn’t work. Rex looked angrier, if anything.

         “You are nothing like those Seppie clankers,” Rex said with a sense of finality. Echo shrugged. He kind of was, but Rex didn’t seem to be taking disagreements. “Echo.” Rex leaned in close, making eye contact with Echo. “Ey’ika. You are not a droid. You are a man. You- you are my vod’ika. One of the smartest and bravest men I know. Ok? Don’t listen to a damned thing anyone says.”

         Echo released a breath. Of course, Rex knew about the whispers across base. Whispers about Echo and traitors and brother-killers. Echo had done his best to ignore them, and most of the whispers hadn’t made it to the medbay. Gods know what Rex had heard and had to suffer through. Rex, one of the ranking officers on board, could only do so much about gossip. If Fives was here, his twin probably would’ve started many fights. Fives…

         “Rex?” Echo asked. It came out as a whisper. Echo’s head hung low. He couldn’t look the captain in the eyes. “What happened to Fives?”

         Rex inhaled sharply. He didn’t respond, leaving the room in tense silence. Finally, Rex said, “It… is a long story. Classified, mostly. It- he-“ Rex sighed. Echo still didn’t look up. “Reportedly, he got some infection, which caused him to go kind of crazy. He tried to kill the Chancellor, and the Corries were forced to kill him. He- he died in my arms.”

         Echo clenched his hand and jaw. “That can’t be it.” There’s no way. There’s no way Fives would’ve tried to kill the Chancellor. No, his brother should’ve gone out in a heroic blaze of glory, like Hevy.

         “Echo…”

         “That’s not the full story.”

         “It’s not,” Rex conceded. “But I don’t think you-“

         “I don’t what?” Echo demanded, snapping his head up to finally look at Rex. “Am I too fragile to handle it? That learning my twin brother died while I was stuck as a machine would be too much for me? That the loss of Fives hurts more than the loss of my limbs? Because it does, Rex. It hurts, and it hurts to think that you’re lying to me that he died in such a way.”

         It was quiet after Echo’s outburst. Echo was sure that if he was still connected to the heart monitor alarms would be going off. Echo forced himself to take a deep, measured breath and unclench his jaw. “Don’t tell me the truth,” Echo whispered. “Fine. Just don’t lie to me, Rex. Please.”

         “Ok.” Rex breathed out. “Ok. I won’t.”

         Echo felt tired. He closed his eyes and leaned back. His new headpiece was uncomfortable, his skin rubbing against the new piece of technology, and he had to shift to get into a mildly comfortable position. Just another thing to adapt to.

         “Get some rest, Ey’ika,” Rex said softly. “I’ll keep watch as long as I can.”

         Echo hummed but didn’t open his eyes. His body didn’t feel like his own quiet yet. Echo drifted in and out of sleep, occasionally jerking as his tired mind remembered he couldn’t feel his arm and legs before remembering his situation. It was far from restful, but it was better than trying to face the world. A world where Fives was dead, and Echo didn’t fit in. Most of the Torrent Echo had served with was dead. Only Rex, Kix, and Jesse were left. Jesse was an ARC now, so what need was there for Echo?

         Echo was half aware of Rex leaving, of muttered goodbyes and promises to be back soon.  Without eyes on him, Echo found falling into a deeper sleep easier.

         One of the first things Echo had learned about the Bad Batch on the field was that, despite having a sleuth of infiltration missions under their belts, stealth wasn’t a strong suit of theirs. Sure, they could be quiet, but only if it was absolutely critical. Apparently, sneaking into Echo’s medbay room was not critical because Echo woke fully from his sleep to Wrecker’s attempt at whispering. Of course, that wasn’t his fault- he only had one functioning ear, so his volume perception was not the best.

         Echo was greeted by a sheepish smile from Wrecker as Hunter glared at him. Tech had started reading Echo’s file (and Echo didn’t want to think about the legality of that). Crosshair was leaning against the wall across from Echo’s bed, scanning the room and over Echo.

         “It appears that you have not been negatively impacted by the overload to your servers,” Tech confirmed, and Echo could see the relief come across Wrecker and Hunter’s faces. “I shall have to add protections to sudden surges to your new prosthetics. It would not do to leave you open to such a threat.”

         “New prosthetics?” Echo asked. He wasn’t fully surprised that Tech was already working on them, but it was still a little unexpected.

         Tech sniffed and adjusted his glasses. “Yes, obviously. The Techno Union’s design is not intended for comfort and ease of use. I have made much better options in less time.”

         “Only if you want them,” Hunter interjected, resting a hand on Tech’s shoulder. He gave Tech a pointed look. “It’s Echo’s choice.”

         “Yeah, yes, of course,” Tech muttered, an embarrassed blush covering his cheeks. “Only if you would like them.”

         Crosshair scoffed. “Like he’d want that junk attached to him.”

         Hunter glared at Crosshair, who was unrepentant. Echo chuckled at his vod’ike. “I’d love to see what you’ve come up with, Tech. I don’t know how you’d get the material or time to build them. Maybe General Skywalker will build them.”

         The Bad Batch shared a look between them, clearly trying to communicate something without cluing in Echo. Echo sighed and rolled his eyes. “Out with it, boys.”

         “Ah, well, we were hoping-“ Hunter rubbed the back of his neck-“that maybe you’d be interested in joining Clone Force 99.”

         “You certainly look the part,” Crosshair added. Wrecker punched his shoulder, so Crosshair hissed, “What? He’s not exactly a reg anymore, is he?”

         Echo suddenly couldn’t swallow past a lump in his throat. Echo hadn’t thought about what would happen next- hadn’t really had the time. He had sort of just assumed he’d stay with the 501st, but the more he thought about it, the less appealing it became. Almost everyone Echo had served with was dead- Fives, Hardcase, Dogma, Tup, and so on. Going back to the 501st seemed lonely in some way. How could he walk the walls of the Venator without hearing the echoes of his vod’e laughing, knowing that they were long gone? And Crosshair had a point. Echo didn’t look standard anymore, and on a ship full of regs who’d never known Echo, what would happen? Echo didn’t doubt that those whispers of Echo’s ‘true loyalties’ wouldn’t die if he took to stalking the halls. And as the hero worship that Fives had spearheaded faded, more people would look at him in suspicion. And what place was there for a half-robot, formerly dead, ARC on a battlefield? Echo was lucky he hadn’t been decommissioned already- General Skywalker was likely behind that.

         But here was a group of vod’e who’d never been normal. Who had carved out their own place in the GAR and had made themselves indispensable. A group that protected each other fiercely and looked upon all outsiders with a critical and cautious eye. And they were extending a hand to Echo, willing to welcome him into their ranks. Sure, Echo had worked with them before and had cultivated friendships with each member, but he was always an outsider. But he didn’t have to be anymore.

         Echo had lost almost his entire batch on the Rishi outpost. And then he’d died and came back, and his twin and most of his past squad were dead. Part of Echo was screaming that joining the Bad Batch would be a betrayal to his fallen brothers. But a louder part (that sounded suspiciously like his vod’e) insisted that he needed a place where he was fully accepted. Echo loved with all his heart- to be surrounded by vod’e who didn’t return that, who treated him like an outsider, would break him.

         Echo could hear what Fives would say- Be happy, vod. What could be better than a squad named after 99? Go make him, and me, prouder of you than we already are. And then his twin would pull Echo into a hug and swing him around until Echo relented between laughs. But Fives was dead.

         “Echo?” Wrecker’s voice broke Echo out of his thoughts. “You’re crying.”

         Echo reached his hand up and caught a tear. He looked at it for a moment before wiping it away. Echo took a deep breath and looked over the members of the Bad Batch. Wrecker looked hopeful and excited. Hunter appeared to be trying to hide his eagerness, but some of it was still leaking through. Tech was rapidly looking between his datapad and Echo, the crease between his brow conveying his worry. Crosshair’s jaw was clenched tightly around his toothpick, and the sniper glared at a spot just past Echo’s shoulder.

         Echo knew he could ask for time to consider it. Say he was still a little disoriented and needed time to come to his senses and think things through. The Echo from before would’ve wanted to compare all the possible pros and cons of the situation before committing to it. Of course, that Echo would’ve had Fives to pull him from that and make it a simple decision.

         But that Echo died in the fires of a ship’s carcass in the Citadel with his brother’s screams in his ears. That Echo had died alone, and had been reborn into agony. And now he had the chance to never be alone again.

         “You don’t have to answer right now-“

         “I’m in,” Echo decided, interrupting Hunter. He took care to look each of his vod’ike in the eyes. Wrecker cheered and hugged Echo tightly- loosening his grip at Tech’s admonishments. Echo laughed and wrapped his good arm around Wrecker. “Thanks big guy.”

         “We’re gonna have so much fun!” Wrecker exclaimed as he pulled back. “You can help me beat Crosshair’s record!”

         Crosshair scoffed. “In your dreams.”

         Hunter clasped a hand on Echo’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Echo.”

         Echo chuckled as Wrecker began to goad Crosshair into a round of light roughhousing. It was a miracle Kix hadn’t kicked them out yet. Tech had dived back into his datapad- assumingly blueprints for prosthetics. Hunter had stepped away from Echo to intervene in Wrecker and Crosshair’s fight, only to get swept up.

         “It’s good to be back,” Echo whispered. And he meant it with all his heart.✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

Masterlist

        Vizsla struck first, heavy-handed, and aimed for Din’s neck to catch Din off guard and end the fight quickly. Unfortunately for him, Din was paying attention to every small move the man made, his years of bounty hunting having finetuned his attention to even the slightest shifts. Din quickly met the Darksaber with his spear. The sharp ringing of the noise reverberated through Din’s skull, but it wasn’t painful.

        Din was bulkier than Vizsla; his muscles were a result of years of hard work, while Vizsla’s were from working out and sparing. The man didn’t strike Din as the kind of person to get his hands dirty in everyday skirmishes. So Din could easily push Vizsla away and swipe at him with his spear. Din thought about lighting his flamethrower but decided to keep that as a surprise, just in case.

        Vizsla activated a shield generator and his wrist to block Din’s strike. Din rushed the man, spear held as a block. He clashed with Vizsla, and in his free hand, Din grabbed one of his vibroblades and swiped it under the shield. He barely nicked Vizsla’s side, and Din could make out Vizsla’s faint swear. Clearly the overconfident man hadn’t expected Din to get a hit in. They separated, and Din grinned at the blood smear on his blade. He’d gotten first blood. Not a guaranteed win, but it definitely looked promising.

        The blood enraged Vizsla. He dropped his shield so his hand could grab his blaster to fire at Din. Din took the shot to the chest, grunting at the impact pain, but otherwise fine. Din strapped his spear onto his back to grab his own blaster. Vizsla’s armor wasn’t pure beskar, and while it could take some hits, it would fail much sooner than Din’s. So Din fired shots, not even aiming for the man’s chest or head. He just needed Vizsla to drop his blaster. Din wasn’t going to win if the fight stayed at a distance. He needed to get close. He needed to get the Darksaber.

        Predictably, Vizsla put his blaster away to shield himself. Why he didn’t deactivate the Darksaber so he had a free hand was beyond Din. It was no good at a distance, and it was clear Vizsla wouldn’t have any luck rushing Din.

        Din continued to shoot as he rushed Vizsla again. He went low this time, trying to get his shoulder under the shield. It was a pain, and needed to go. The Darksaber swiped at his back, and Din hissed at a burn on his side. Din was focused on getting his vibroblade under the arm and-

        There! Din slashed the shield generator before retreating. The shield sputtered out, and Vizsla rushed him again before Din could escape. Din met him in a grapple, one hand wrapped around the wrist of the hand holding the Darksaber. Yes, up close fighting was what Din wanted, but it was also more dangerous. Din was saber-resistant, not saber-proof. Din’s other hand punched the wound on Vizsla’s side. He was head-butted in return, and that would be an annoying headache. Din stumbled back, letting Vizsla’s wrist go, catching the Darksaber on his hal’cabur. It left a scorch mark, but Din was fine.  Vizsla tried to hit him with the blade again, but Din dodged as he grabbed his spear again. He held it in front of him as he crashed into Vizsla. The beskar spear met the Darksaber heavily. Din shifted his weight and kicked the side of Vizsla’s leg with all his power. Vizsla’s leg crumpled, and the man fell. Din followed him. He dropped his spear, so both his hands were free to try and wrangle the Darksaber from Vizsla. It left more like a child’s fight for a toy than it had any right to.

        Din took the punches to his side from Vizsla, entirely focused on getting the Darksaber. Din was still on top of Vizsla when he kneed the man’s inner thigh. And like Din had found a button, Vizsla’s fingers loosen just a hair-

        He got it! Din managed to pull the Darksaber from Vizsla’s hand, getting a vibroblade sliced across his side for his efforts. The pain didn’t matter as adrenaline flowed through Din s he rolled off Vizsla and to his feet.

        Neither moved. Din stood above Vizsla with the unlit Darksaber in his hands- using both hands because he wasn’t stupid. The room went silent, their onlookers hushing at the events. Din’s heartbeat echoed in his ears. Vizsla was frozen on the ground, but Din could practically see the hate radiating off him.

        Din allowed himself to take a few deep breaths in the silence. They rattled something in his chest- Vizsla may have cracked something with his hits. He could kill Vizsla; Manda knows the man deserves it. But a part of Din (that sounded suspiciously like Satine and Obi-wan) insisted he gave Vizsla a chance to surrender and live. Din lit the Darksaber, which jolted Vizsla to his feet.

        “Bastard,” Vizsla growled, not dissimilar to a feral tooka.

        “Surrender,” Din offered. “You don’t have to die.”

        Vizsla laughed. It was a deranged sound. “You truly know nothing. I would rather die with my pride than surrender to the likes of you.”

        And that was that. Din didn’t bother answering. He fired three whistling birds and waited for Vizsla to move to dodge them. The distraction allowed Din to close in, taking the blaster shots Vizsla fired in stride. He used his jetpack to boost him the last few feet. He knocked Vizsla down again, flying over him this time and landing on the other side. Din whirled and kicked Vizsla down as the man tried to climb to his feet. Before Vizsla could get past his knees, he had the Darksaber at this throat.

        No one moved a muscle. It felt like the entire room was holding their breaths. Din stared at Vizsla, imagining the sneer on the man’s face. Din thought of Paz again- he hoped his actions wouldn’t cause his friend to not exist. Maybe Din’s clan would never be formed. Little Din Djarin wouldn’t lose his parents, would never meet his buire. Satine wouldn’t be saddled with too much responsibility at a young age, Obi-wan wouldn’t become a general, and the Jedi and Mandalorians would never be killed.

        This really was it, wasn’t it? The moment everything changed for good.

        Din thought he should say something, some grand statement offering a final chance at life to Vizsla. Show he was merciful. But Din didn’t feel merciful, and Vizsla had made his position clear.

        It was over with a flick of Din’s wrist. With his head inside, Vizsla's helmet rolled to the side, and the rest of his body slumped in the opposite direction. Din didn’t spare another glance, preferring to look around the room. The Death Watch members looked torn between avenging Vizsla and fleeing. But the True Mandalorians had them surrounded.

        “Kyr’tsad is dar’manda,” Din said after it became clear everyone was waiting for him to speak. The Death Watch soldiers stiffened. “ Don’t let it be your death like it was Vizsla’s.”

        Some soldiers dropped to their knees and bent their heads, following Din’s advice. The majority stayed standing. “ If you surrender, you will be offered a fair trial. You will be executed otherwise .”

        More people knelt, but half were still standing.

        “Long live the true Mand’alor!” One of the standing soldiers shouted. Jango knocked them down and held a blaster to their neck, waiting for Din’s word.

        “I plan on it,” Din said dryly and nodded. Blaster fire rang out, followed by the drop of bodies. The kneeling soldiers did not look up or move as their wrists were restrained and weapons removed.

        Din didn’t know what he was supposed to do next. Probably make sure the True Mandalorians were ok with him being Mand’alor.

        Jango solved that problem for him. He stepped up to Din’s feet, removed his helmet, and knelt with a fist on his heart.

        “I pledge my loyalty and my life. I swear to severe and answer your call as Mand’alor,” Jango swore. He looked up and grinned at Din. “Mand’alor Djarin.” The other True Mandalorians knelt. “This is where you say something,” Jango whispered.

        Din, grateful for the guidance, spoke the words that came to mind. “I may not be known to you. I never wanted to lead; I just wanted to take care of my kid. But the state of Mandalore will only lead to our destruction. We cannot be divided.” Din hefted the Darksaber over his head with one hand, the action feeling right. “We must stand together as one.”

        “Oya!” Jango barked and was echoed by the other Mandalorians in the room.

        Din didn’t feel nervous. For the first time in a long time, he felt confident and at ease. He had a goal and a good idea of what not to do.

        This wasn’t for him, anyway. It was for his ade- for all the Mandalorian ade. He’d make the future better for them.

        A screech from the main door caught everyone’s attention. Din lowered his weapon while everyone else reached for theirs. There was no danger. Standing in the doorway was the Jetiise and Din’s ade. Grogu had been the one to yell. Din was able to turn the Darksaber off and put it in his belt- he’d have to get a clip for it- before Grogu flung himself at Din. It was an impressive jump, clearly Force assisted. Din still caught Grogu easily, as he always would.

        Grogu nuzzled into the underside of Din’s chin. Din chuckled at his purring. “Hey, ad’ika. Glad you’re ok.”

        When he looked up again, all the Mandalorians stood but were at ease. Jinn and Dooku were chatting with Silas and another Mandalorian. Besides the few burns on their robes, neither looked worse for wear. Yoda was smiling at Din. It was both smug and knowing.

        Din’s other ade approached him, looking unharmed. Obi-wan looked ruffled, and his cheeks were still red from exertion. But no one looked hurt. Bo-Katan didn’t hesitate to throw herself at Din, wrapping her arms around his waist. Din hissed when she touched his wound, but pulled her closer with a hand when she went to withdraw.

        “Just a scrape, ad’ika,” Din assured her. “I’ll live.”

        Satine was looking between Din’s face and the saber on his belt. “…You’re Mand’alor now?”

        “That’s what I’ve been told,” Din said gently. “I look forward to working with you, Sat’ika.” Satine looked like she was going to cry, but before Din could get too alarmed, she hugged Din too. Din shifted Grogu to his previously free hand so he could gently hold the back of Satine’s head. “We will unite Mand’alor together.”

        Obi-wan looked awkwardly out of place. It was easy enough to nudge Bo-Katan over so there was room for Obi-wan to step closer. The girls easily wrapped an arm each around him, completing their little circle.

        “We’re going to be ok,” Din said. Eyes were watching his family, but Din didn’t care. His ade were safe and were going to be able to grow up in peace.

        No more Vizsla. No more Death Watch. And soon enough, no more Sith.

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·

And that's a wrap! Just kidding, there's definitely a sequel to this in the future. Just give me like a month to get past midterms and spring break. Mando'a translations: hal'cabur- chest plate Oya: Cheers! Hoorah! Go You! Many meanings, but always positive and triumphant (approx. Let's hunt!)

Masterlist

         Hunter took a deep breath and allowed himself to mourn- he would admit to himself that he’d respected Echo’s intelligence and that Echo had basically adopted the Bad Batch as his own little brothers. Having someone Hunter could rely on that he also didn’t have to lead was nice; the older clone was always happy to listen to Hunter’s laments over comms and return the favor with stories about Torrent (Fives especially). Hunter made a mental note to send a message to Fives because there was no way he was coping well.

         The door to their barracks opened, and Wrecker and Tech came in, bickering about something. Crosshair followed them sedately; the smirk on his face indicated that he was the cause of their argument. But the fight came to a halt when his brothers saw his face.

         “Sarge?” Wrecker asked cautiously. “What’s up?”

         “You look like someone kicked your tooka,” Crosshair commented crassly as he sat on his bunk. Hunter swallowed nervously.

         “Commander Cody called,” Hunter started slowly. Wrecker’s head tilted curiously, but his brother didn’t interrupt because of Hunter’s serious tone. “It’s Echo. He- he didn’t- he marched on.” Wrecker made a sound like he’d been punched. Tech was silent, staring down at the project he’d been working on- it was some armor attachment that Echo had suggested. Crosshair hadn’t broken eye contact with Hunter, face unreadable.

         Suddenly, Wrecker laughed, tears in his eyes. “That’s a funny joke, Sarge,” Wrecker said, almost desperate. “Echo marching on, hah.”

         “Wrecker,” Hunter said softly, standing up and walking to his brother. Hunter set a hand on Wrecker’s arm. “I’m not joking. He’s gone.”

         Wrecker’s laugh turned into a sob, breaking Hunter’s heart all over again. Hunter was able to steer Wrecker to his bed before the man collapsed. Hunter caught Crosshair’s eye, and the sniper nodded and moved to Tech.

         Wrecker was clutching Lula, rocking back and forth. “He can’t, he can’t be,” Wrecker was muttering. Hunter sat down next to him, rubbing his back. Hunter didn’t bother wiping away his tears that began to fall. He looked over to his youngest brothers. Tech hadn’t moved, still staring at his worktable, but his hands had begun to shake. Crosshair grabbed Tech's shoulder and pulled him over to Wrecker and Hunter. Crosshair pulled them to the ground so Tech’s back was resting against Wrecker’s legs. Crosshair put a fidget in Tech’s hand, and the genius ran it around his hands, still staring into the distance. Slowly, Tech began to rock, and his breath hitched. Crosshair stepped away and started gathering supplies, pulling the mattresses off the free beds, piling blankets and pillows. When the pile was ready, Crosshair pulled Wrecker up and over, settling the giant down and allowing Wrecker to rest his head in Crosshair’s lap.

         Hunter slid onto the floor next to Tech, careful not to touch him. Hunter purposefully didn’t listen to Tech’s muttered words, knowing it would further break his heart. Instead, he chose to talk in a low voice. “I know, vod’ika; Echo seemed invincible.”

         “There was a 46.73% chance he survived the war,” Tech replied, shaking his head. “I should’ve expected it, I should’ve, should-“

         “There’s nothing you could’ve done,” Hunter said. “Nothing anything we could’ve done. He’s- was an ARC trooper. He was about as prepared as he could’ve been.” Tech hummed, lost in his thoughts, seemingly unaware of his tears. Hunter sighed. “You want to go join Wrecker and Cross?”

         Tech gave him a frantic look, so Hunter backtracked and said they could stay there until Tech was ready. Hunter settled in next to his brother, closing his eyes. He listened intently to his brothers' heart rates and breathing, reminding himself they were fine- they were alive and here. Hunter tried to steady his own breathing, but he was largely unsuccessful. After an undetermined amount of time, after Wrecker had fallen asleep, Tech crawled over to the pile and curled next to Crosshair. Hunter didn’t move for a moment before following, replacing Crosshair as Wrecker’s pillow. Tech rested a hand on Hunter’s ankle, eyes closing as he slowly fell asleep. Hunter watched as Crosshair went around their barracks, gathering his rifle and ammo. No words were spoken as Crosshair left, Hunter nodding when his brother looked back.

         Hunter was alone, his two younger brothers asleep. So, finally, he allowed himself to cry. He allowed himself to rage at the universe, the Republic, and himself for letting his brothers get too close with a reg. He should’ve known it would end in tears and pain. When it was just them, there was always a chance they’d die, but chances were if one went down, they all did. With regs, they could only watch from a distance as they were shot down by the thousands. Just another faceless casualty of the beast called war.

         Hunter didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he was awoken by his comm ringing. When he sat up, he noticed Crosshair had returned and had curled up behind Tech. Hunter opened his comm and was met with a grim-looking Captain Rex. Even with the blue color of the holo, Hunter could see the shadow of bags under Rex’s eyes.

         “Hey, Captain,” Hunter whispered, mindful of his brothers. Crosshair was already awake though, peeking an eye open but not moving. “How’s everyone?”

         Rex grimaced and shook his head. “About as expected, I think. How are you boys?”

         “About as expected,” Hunter replied. “Hit Wrecker and Tech hard.”

         “And you and Crosshair?” Rex asked knowingly. Hunter grimaced. “Yeah. I know.”

         “Is Fives…?”

         “Hasn’t talked since it happened.” Rex closed his eyes, letting out a scoff. “Always thought I’d be grateful for him to be quiet, just for an hour.”

         “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

         Rex nodded, and there was an awkward silence. Eventually, Rex sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Alright, you boys let me or Cody know if you need anything, ok? And he’ll want a comm too.”

         “Got it.” Hunter nodded. “Take care of yourself, captain.”

         “You too, Sargent.”

         “”Who wa’ that?” Wrecker mumbled after Hunter turned his comm off.

         “Captain Rex, checking in,” Hunter answered softly.

         “Is he ok?”

         “I think he’s about as ok as you.”

         “Oh.” Wrecker sat up, rubbing his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze landed on Tech and Crosshair. “Are they ok?”     

         Hunter took a moment to look at his two youngest brothers. Were any of them really ok? No, but Hunter knew they’d rebound, recover, mourn, and move on. Crosshair would be extra protective during missions, and Tech would invent ways to counteract and protect against whatever killed Echo.

         “They will be. We all will be.”

         The last few days have been an absolute shitshow, and frankly, all Cody wanted to do was go to sleep, preferably for three days. Maybe Helix would take pity and sedate him. The Citadel mission was technically successful, sure, but the Jedi they’d been sent to rescue died, and they’d lost brothers- they’d lost Echo. Bright, mischievous Echo who’d perfected mouthing off while sounding respectful. Echo, one-half of the infamous Domino twins, who’d been probably the shiniest shiny Cody had ever met and yet had grown up to be one of the best ARC troopers. Echo, one of the vod’ike that Rex had taken under his wing and loved fiercely.

         Watching Torrent realize Echo wasn’t coming off the transport when they’d returned to the cruisers was one of the most heartbreaking things Cody had experienced- which was saying something. Two troopers, Dogma and Tup, had all but collapsed, and Jesse had punched a nearby crate. Fives hadn’t spoken since the mission ended and walked like a zombie back to the barracks. Cody had wanted to comfort Rex, but he had work to do, so he left his little brother in the hands of his company.

         That was hours ago, and Cody had finally finished his reports- having made them as scathing as possible. But he had one final thing to do before passing out. He had managed to send a message to Hunter before being swept up. He remembered being baffled (and honestly, slightly nervous) when he learned that Echo, and by proxy Fives, had become friends with the Bad Batch. But he respected it and wanted to let the Bad Batch know the news. Cody needed to call them because he knew that at least Tech would want details. He pulled his comm out and dialed Hunter’s code. Cody rolled his neck around as the call rang, wincing at the cracks from the motion.

         “Commander?” Hunter spoke when the call connected.

         “Su’cuy Hunter,” Cody greeted, trying to give him a small smile. Cody didn’t think it worked that well. “You probably know why I’m calling.”

         “Yeah.” Hunter sighed. He was looking at something behind the comm. “Yeah.”

         “How’re you boys dealing?”

         Hunter grimaced, which was about the reaction Cody had expected. “Tech hasn’t moved from his workstation since he woke up, Wrecker is in a funk, and Cross is meaner than usual.”

         Cody sighed and wished he could go to Kamino, bundle his little brothers up, and smuggle them onto the Negotiator. But he couldn’t. So he’d make do with calling them. And maybe Alpha-17 and getting him to check in on the Batch. “How about you, Hunter?”

         Hunter shrugged, a typical response from any brother dealing with a death. They were, after all, made to brush off trauma. Should they? No. At-length talks with the Jedi had shown that. Yeah, he was calling 17.

         “Yeah, me too.” Cody sighed, rubbing his eyes. “It was just a rough mission.”

         “Should’ve called us,” Hunter tries to joke. It fell short.

         “Stealth isn’t always your strongest suit,” Cody said- it was the reason he hadn’t called in Clone Force 99. Though, chances were that his insane vod’ike wouldn’t have been able to handle the Citadel alone. Plus, Crosshair would’ve killed Tarkin- though would that have been that bad?

         “Yeah,” Hunter said with a pitiful chuckle. He looked over to the side again. “Hey-“

         The comm was taken out of Hunter’s hand, the picture blurred and indecipherable momentarily before Tech’s face came into view. He looked like osik.

         “Commander, I have been working on numerous projects based on the preliminary reports of the Citadel; however, I have been unable to single out the exact cause of-“ Tech cut himself off, face scrunching up. Cody sighed and cut Tech off.

         “I just submitted the final reports, Tech. Also, stop slicing into secure files. One day you’ll get into trouble,” Cody tried to gently scold Tech, knowing it was useless. “But, I don’t think what happened to Echo is something you can prevent, Tech. He went to secure a ship, and it got blown up.” Cody could see Tech’s jaw clenched as the genius devised various solutions. Cody lowered his voice, trying to be soft. “It happens, Tech. You can’t prevent all the death in a war. You’ll work yourself to death before that.”

         “That is unlikely, Commander. I am much more likely to die during a mission. However, it will not be by an exploding ship. " Not if I can help it,” Tech coldly informed Cody before returning the comm to Hunter and taking his leave. Hunter looked more tired when he came back on.

         “Thanks for trying,” Hunter said. “But he’s not going to let it go.”

         “I figured,” Cody admitted. He set his comm down on his desk so he could lace his fingers together. He thought about his following words carefully. “Echo was an exceptional brother.” Hunter nodded in agreement, looking suspicious at where the conversation was going. Cody smiled at his perceptive little brother. “Having you guys more connected to the general GAR benefited everyone. The 501st saw lower casualty rates with Echo being able to relay tactics from you boys.”

         “And?” Hunter asked, frown in place. Cody heard the sound of a door opening and the loud voice of Wrecker.

         “And I want you to consider working with another brother to continue those communications.” Cody tried to say it gently, knowing it wouldn’t be a well-received suggestion. Cody raised one of his hands to cut off Hunter’s interjection. “There will never be another Echo. I don’t expect you boys to have another relationship like that. But even just talking and sharing with Rex would be helpful. Maybe even Fives.”

         “Hey, who’re you talking to, Hunter?” Wrecker asked before coming into view. Wrecker smiled widely. “Hey, Commander!”

         “Hi, Wrecker,” Cody greeted, returning his smile with less gusto. “How are you doing?”

         Wrecker’s smile fell, and the giant man shrugged. “Well, ya’know… I’m gonna miss talking to Echo. He always shared cool stuff with me.”

         “Yeah, I remember Rex talking about how sending you the holos he took was always the first thing he did during downtimes,” Cody reminisced, recalling how Rex had talked about it fondly and with pride. Rex had adored Fives and Echo, his chaotic ARC troopers.

         Wrecker chuckled, but it wasn’t a completely happy sound. “Yeah. What we’re ya’ saying about Fives?”

         “Commander Cody thought it might be a good idea for us to keep contact with the regs, sharing our tactics and ideas,” Hunter answered, voice neutral and not giving away his opinion on the matter. Cody heard someone scoff and guessed it was Crosshair.

         “What’s the point?” Crosshair spoke, confirming Cody’s assumption. “It wouldn’t make much of a difference. Regs die; it’s what they do.”

         Cody forced himself to exhale slowly, pushing down the desire to defend his vod’e. Frankly, Cody didn’t have the energy to argue with the sniper, and it wasn’t like he was wrong. It had been beaten into Cody, literally and figuratively, since a young age that clones were expendable, easily replaced. Maybe his position as Marshall Commander granted Cody a bit more importance. Still, if he died, he would be replaced, and the war would continue as if nothing had happened. Notably, none of the other Bad Batch members disagreed with Crosshair or even attempted to scold him for the statement. Wrecker wouldn’t look Cody in the eyes, and Hunter was scowling and looking off-screen. Cody wouldn’t admit how much it hurt.

         Instead, Cody took another deep breath and gathered every modicum of professionalism in him. “Ok, understood. I’ll leave you boys alone then, but I expect a check-in tomorrow.”

         “Commander-“ Hunter finally spoke, recognizing the cold and forced neutrality in Cody’s voice. “That’s not what-“

         Cody held a hand up, cutting Hunter off. “It is what he meant. But I am not mad, ok? I understand; really, I do. Just do me a favor and don’t call Rex or Fives until you can hide that sentiment.”

         “Yessir.”

         Cody nodded sharply. “Alright. I’m going to ask Alpha-17 to check in with you before you boys are deployed again.” Hunter nodded again. Wrecker was still avoiding looking at Cody, so he softly added, “I’m not upset at you all.” Wrecker finally peeked up, and the sight of tears in the giant’s eyes twisted Cody’s heart. Cody tried to smile, and Wrecker returned it, a far cry from his earlier grin. “Good. Get some rest. That’s an order.”

         “You too, Commander,” Hunter responded before cutting the call.

         Cody slumped in his chair and tried to futilely rub away his headache. He would never admit that his breathing became unsteady and tears pricked in his eyes. Cody had planned on going to sleep, but instead, he stood up and opened his hidden hall panel. From the compartment, he grabbed the bottle of moonshine from the distillery setup he didn’t know existed. After a moment of consideration, Cody sent a message to Rex, inviting him to join Cody in his drinking. Drinking was always better with friends.

         If Hunter had known that Fives would die some months later, he would’ve tried harder to maintain contact with the reg. He thought about calling Captain Rex but figured that conversation wouldn’t go well.

         Well, like Crosshair had said: regs die; it’s what they do.

         The tension on the base when the Bad Batch left their ship was high, all of the soldiers in blue (and some in gold) were staring at them, and Hunter could just tell that they were glaring. It was somehow the iciest welcome they’d ever had, which was impressive. It didn’t help that his brothers were glaring right back at the regs. Hunter’s own reaction of cracking his knuckles as he stepped off the ship wasn’t helping.

         Hunter took a deep breath before stopping in front of Commander Cody, Captain Rex, and two 501st troopers- one of which Hunter vaguely recognized as the medic Fives had been running from on the day they’d met. The other trooper had a Republic cog face tattoo, identifying him as Jesse if Hunter remembered Echo’s description correctly (he did, of course. All clones had a near-perfect memory). However, it appeared the reg had become an ARC trooper. Good for him.

         Commander Cody stepped forward with his hand raised. Hunter slapped their hands together after he’d removed his helmet. “Sergeant, it’s good to see you again.”

         “You too, sir.” And it was good to see him again. While tensions had eased between the batch and the commander, it was clear that Cody was still toeing the line with them, trying to re-find their boundaries. It was hard over occasional comm conversations, most of which pertained to missions. “Sorry, we’re late. We were putting down an insurrection on Yalbec Prime when your comm came in. Had a few unforeseen…complications.” Hunter suppressed a slight shudder.

         Wrecker laughed, and Hunter could sense how the laugh was slightly forced. “Ever fought a male Yalbec?”

         Jesse, who Wrecker had pointed at, glanced at Kix before cautiously responding, “Um, no. Can’t say I have.”

         “You’re lucky,” Wrecker said with more force than necessary. “The only way to kill ‘em is with one of these!” Wrecker pulled out his oversized knife.

         Hunter could admit that they were laying the intimidation on think, especially considering this wasn’t their first time working with the 501st. But with the hurt of losing Echo coming back in full force, they all needed the relief lest Tech starts lecturing the 501st officers on how they could’ve avoided the death of the ARC. Hunter had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well. At least, that’s what he told himself as he boasted, “That’s right, Wrecker here cut off the Queen’s stinger while she was still alive.” But he couldn’t help the slight reprimand. “That’s why all those Yalbec males tried to eat us.”

         Hunter could see Commander Cody’s exasperated head shake out of the corner of his eye as Tech pushed forward to correct Hunter. Better Hunter than the 501st.

         “So, Commander,” Hunter said after a pause, “What kind of suicide mission do you have for us this time?”

         “Let’s get going. We’ll brief you on the way,” the Commander said as they all got onto the shuttle that drove up next to them. Jesse grunted as Wrecker punched him in the shoulder. Hunter could tell there was more force behind that punch than was usual for Wrecker’s friendly punches. Hunter made a mental note to tell Wrecker to tone it down. Echo wouldn’t have wanted them to bully his brothers.

         And wasn’t that funny, that after all this time, Echo was still a small whisper in the back of Hunter’s mind whenever regs were concerned?

         Hunter amended his mental note to remind all his brothers to play nice with the regs after watching Crosshair glare a hole into the ARC. Hunter could guess where the sniper’s mind was- that if Echo was alive, there wouldn’t have been a need to promote Jesse. Hunter felt the same, but he was better at not taking it out on the regs, which was why he prevented Jesse from marching over to Crosshair when the sniper flicked his toothpick at him.

         Aside from Commander Cody getting injured, the mission wasn’t going horribly. They had fun showing off their skills. Hunter saw a glimmer in the captain’s eye after the fact, and had thought he’d heard the faintest of hitched breathing in the middle of the fight. Though that could’ve been the Commander. Even taking the outpost went well, Captain Rex being a little playful as he suggested taking a play from the Batch’s book. Hunter was glad that Rex seemingly hadn’t changed his attitude toward them. It seemed Cody hadn't shared Crosshair’s sentiment with Rex. Hunter could only have imagined how the Captain would’ve reacted to that.

         The extra droids incoming were a bit concerning, but they’d faced worse. Rex commanding his squad definitely tickled Hunter wrong, but the sergeant was used to it. At least it was someone he knew and trusted to be a good leader. Hunter could tell his brothers were having a good time as they took out the clankers, even as they retreated inside as the droid’s backup came.

         But Hunter's ears picked up the faintest voice as he, Wrecker, and Jesse retreated inside. It was layered with a grainy noise that came with being spoken over comm, but it sounded familiar. Hunter did focus on what it was saying until they reached the control room. Captain Rex was hesitating, and Hunter didn’t understand until he finally caught wind of the message the computer was repeating.

         CT-1409.

         That was Echo’s number.

         “Wha-?” Wrecker’s mumble came through the comms.

         “No time,” Hunter barked as Captain Rex joined them to fight to the pick-up point.

         Hunter didn’t fully agree with Rex’s sentiment that this was a signal that Echo lived. Frankly, the thought of their brother having been left in the Separatists’ hands made him want to vomit. The implications if Echo had been alive were…not good. So for Hunter’s own sanity, Echo was dead unless Hunter saw him breathing himself.

         Somehow General Skywalker had convinced the other Generals that this mission was a good idea- masked under the pretense of learning about this algorithm. Hunter could tell that, despite his voiced skepticism, the General was hopeful his ARC was alive. Hunter wouldn’t press the issue, if only to get away from the awkward conversation about General Skywalker and Captain Rex’s ‘thing.’ Yeah. Hunter didn’t need to know.

         Hunter used the time walking back to the ship to think about how his brothers were doing and how he’d have to counteract any of their more violent reactions. Crosshair would be firmly in the denial category, to the point of violence (which wouldn’t end well with Captain Rex’s firm belief stance). Tech has likely already calculated the odds of Echo being alive, the odds of him being in good shape, hell Tech probably had the odds that Crosshair would get into a fight with Captain Rex. Wrecker would probably be the most hopeful of the bunch, the optimism somewhat appreciated.

         Hunter had barely gotten back on the Marauder before Crosshair decided to share his opinions on the matter.

         “I think the regs have finally lost it,” Crosshair sneered from his perch on some boxes. “Either that or the good captain needs his hearing checked.”

         “Or all of us need our hearing check,” Hunter corrected with a sigh. “We all heard it.”

         “I assure you, all of our auditory processes are functioning perfectly,” Tech jumped in as he exited the cockpit.

         “Yeah, what he said!” Wrecker added. “My ears are working just fine!”

         “Well, given your frequent work and close proximity to explosions, it is likely that you…” Tech trailed off at Wrecker’s lost look and Crosshair’s unimpressed look. The genius scoffed. “Regardless. We all heard the computer correctly; the algorithm was repeating Echo’s designation of CT-1409.”

         “Then the captain is delusional,” Crosshair concluded in a harsh tone. He flicked his toothpick away before heading to the back of the ship.

         “But Echo could be alive…” Wrecker said in his quietest voice, hope clear in his eyes. Hunter felt his heart tug for his brother and stepped over to gently pat his shoulder. “Right, Tech?”

         Under the weight of Wrecker’s tooka eyes and Hunter’s glare, Tech faltered for a moment. He adjusted his goggles and checked his datapad. “It is not a 100% guarantee that Captain Rex is wrong.” Left unsaid was the likelihood he was right, but it seemed good enough for Wrecker.

         “Even if it’s not Echo,” Hunter added, “We’ll make whoever is using his number pay.”

         That cheered up Wrecker, his usual grin coming back as he pounded his fist into his palm. “Hell yeah, we will! Imma wreck those clankers so hard they’ll be nothing but scrap!”

         “I don’t doubt it,” Hunter replied, chuckling a bit. He patted Wrecker’s shoulder again. Hunter then turned and followed where Crosshair had gone. Wrecker would be fine for now, and there wasn’t much Hunter could do for Tech.

         Crosshair was bent over his rifle, disassembling and aggressively cleaning its parts. A scowl was firmly in place on his face. Crosshair didn’t acknowledge Hunter as he leaned against the door frame. Hunter bit back a sigh.

         “What’s going through your head, Cross?” Hunter asked softly. One might think that Tech would be the most liable to get stuck in his head, but in reality, Crosshair would stew in his thoughts for hours if they let him. If Hunter had to guess, it had something to do with the countless hours Crosshair spent quietly perched during their missions.

         Crosshair grunted in response, and Hunter waited. Crosshair would eventually talk once he realized that Hunter wasn’t walking away. It took a few minutes, but finally, Crosshair sighed through his nose. “Even if Echo is alive,” Crosshair scoffed at the sentiment, “what’s the guarantee that he’s even the Echo we knew?”

         Hunter grimaced. It was a question that he hadn’t been letting himself think about. “I’m not Tech,” Hunter admitted, earning an eyeroll from Crosshair. “But I’d hazard a guess and say not great.”

         “More like non-existent,” Crosshair snaped. “And what will the captain- hells- the general do about it?” It was a rhetorical question Hunter didn’t even bother trying to answer. Crosshair was on a roll. “Nothing. They don't have what it takes.”

         “To do what?” Hunter asked. He tried to ask it softly, but his tone came out harsh. He didn’t like where Crosshair was heading.

         Crosshair looked at Hunter like he was an idiot- not an uncommon look. “To put Echo -or whatever is playing at being Echo- down.”

         Hunter sucked in a breath between his teeth. It was true but blunt. And no one in the 501st, or Wrecker for that matter, would take it well. “And you do?”

         Crosshair scoffed as if it was a foregone conclusion. But Hunter could see the pain in his eyes. Some might think Crosshair’s bluntness was a signal that he was unaffected by the situation, but Hunter knew better. He knew that Crosshair would shoulder himself with any responsibility he thought would hurt their squad. Crosshair would take that burden and pain and refuse to talk about it until it exploded out of him. Hunter was self-aware enough to admit he was the same way.

         So instead of berating his brother, his first instinct in these situations, Hunter forced himself to take a deep breath and set a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder. Crosshair wasn’t a physically affectionate person, only seeking such comfort in the hardest of times. It was telling, then, that he didn’t brush Hunter’s hand off.

         “We’ll cross that bridge when the time comes,” Hunter said after a moment. “And if it does, you won’t be alone.”

         Nothing was left to say- any platitudes of comfort would not be appreciated. The facts were that Echo was dead, and Captain Rex hadn’t entirely accepted that. For once, it looked like the Bad Batch would have to be the responsible ones.

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

Masterlist

            “Satine?” Din asked as he sent his whistling birds into three Kry’tsad that were heading towards a New Mandalorian family cowering in an alleyway. They fell, and Din yelled, “Get inside!” to the family.

            “Can’t get ahold of them,” Obi-wan said as he jumped up, landing on the back of a Kry’tsad that flew above them. He stabbed into their back, jumped back down, and finished, “But I can still feel Grogu in the Force, so I think they’re alive.”

            Din grunted in response, feeling the relief that mixed with his worry. The two of them worked through the streets, fighting Kyr’tsad. They reached a crossroads, and Obi-wan's head snapped to the left.

            “Master Jinn is over there,” he said. The problem was that the palace was to the right.

            “Go,” Din ordered. “I’ll go to the palace.” Obi-wan hesitated. “Go!”

            “K’oyacyi,” Obi-wan demanded gravely.

            “Ib’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur,” Din responded before running away from his ad. All his instincts demanded that he stay with Obi-wan, protect him, and find his other ade. But Din knew that he would be the most help fighting the Kyr’tsad. Despite not dying earlier, Din wasn’t the best choice to fight a Sith, even a gangly teen one. The sooner Din could end the fighting, the sooner his ade would be safe.

            Din hitched a ride with a group of Haat Mando’ade riding speeders to the palace. Just before they entered the chaos, Din received a ping on his comm.

            Safe , the message from Jango read. I’m going to the palace .

            See you there , Din sent back. Din followed the other Mandalorians of his group that weren’t driving and jumped off the back of the speeders. Din didn’t make it far. He was slammed to the side by someone, and they grappled as they fell to the ground rapidly. Din turned them in the air so a Mandalorian in red and brown armor could shoot the soldier off Din. Din returned the favor and shot the soldier coming up from behind the other Mando.

            Din fell into the familiar movements of battle as he moved toward the center of the palace. The halls were wrecked- tapestries cut and ancient vases smashed. Din forced himself to ignore the bodies- Kyr’tsad, Haat Mando’ade, and New Mandalorians littered the halls. Din thought there was some sort of poetic irony in it- three groups of people, all claiming Mandalorians, all with different views, joined together in death. Death- the only impartial force in the galaxy as far as Din was concerned. Din was glad that his helmet blocked most of the smell. He was certain the hallways were steeped in the scent of blood and viscera.

            Din recognized some of the beskar’game, the Wren and Skirata clans, and some of the faces. In a doorway, slumped over with a knife in her slack fingers, Din saw Ashon, the first of Satine’s advisors who asked Din for advice. The girl who cared fiercely about education. The girl who’d shyly shown up to a meeting yesterday with a pink vambrace. She was dead. And judging by the dead Kry’tsad at her feet, knife wound in their side, she’d broken her vow of pacifism. Din paused; no one was alive in the hallway, so he took a moment to close the girl’s eyes.

            “Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la.”

            Din was decidedly more aggressive from there on. Verde moved out of his way as he tore his way through the halls. He made a pitstop in his room to grab his spear. It would be much more effective than his vibroblade against any dar’jetii. At one point, in an empty hallway, Din was jumped by two Kry’tsad. One of them was shot by an ally he couldn’t see. When din killed the other one, Din turned to see little Ursa standing in a doorway with a blaster in her hands. The girl looked grim, and Din saw behind her. There, huddled in a corner, were the kids of the various dignities and advisors. The Haat Mando’ade children had various weapons in their grips, standing between the New Mandalorians and the door.

            “Vor’e,” Din thanked. “Are you all ok?”

            “Yes,” Ursa said with a nod. “My mother is in the throne room. That’s where Death Watch is congregating. The Jedi is with her.” Din nodded, but before he would continue, Ursa threw something at him. “Bacta,” she said and nodded at Din’s injured thigh. With the adrenaline of the fight, Din had forgotten all about his burn from the dar’jetii’s lightsaber. Din nodded his thanks and sprayed the cool bacta on his wound. It stung, but Din could also feel the relief of the wound being healed. Din went to give the bacta back, but Ursa insisted he keep it.

            Din finally continued towards the throne room. As he got closer, more bodies had saber marks and holes. He could hear the faint hum of a lightsaber.

            “Din!” someone shouted. Din turned and saw Jango grappling with a Kry’tsad. He stabbed them and pushed them to the side. Din clasped Jango’s shoulder. “I left them with a Haat Mando’ade family, holed up in a safe spot.”

            “Good job.” Din nodded towards the hall the throne room was down. “Shall we?”

            Jango nodded, and they ran down the hall. The ornate doors to the throne room were thrown open, and one was hanging half off its hinges. Blaster fire had erupted in the small room. The elaborate windows were busted open, with Kry’stad clustered around their remains. There were maybe 30 Kry’tsad standing between Din and the Haat Mandoade fighting back on the other side of the room. New Mandalorian guards were using their shields to shield the Haat Mando’ade so they could shoot back at Kry’tsad. Din could see Ursa and Dooku still up, standing back to back as they defended the throne.

            “Where’s Vizsla? Jango asked as he scanned the crowd. No one had noticed them yet. Kry’tsad looked all the same to Din, but apparently, Jango could pick Vizsla out of a crowd.

            Their luck didn’t last, and soon they were ducking behind fallen pedestals as they fought back. Din and Jango weren’t in the throne room, so they didn’t see the new figure fly through the broken windows. At least they didn’t until they shouted, “Fett! Come out here and face me like a man!”

            Jango hissed, and the blaster fired stopped. An uneasy silence fell as Jango slowly stood up. Din followed and saw the newcomer. They were nearly indistinguishable, except for their black cape. And, you know, the pitch-black lightsaber they had pointed at Jango in a challenge. The Darksaber, wielded by Pre Vizsla, is Din had to guess. The dar’manda leader of Death Watch, the son of the man who killed Jango’s buir, and Paz Viszla’s relative. The man was laughably small compared to Paz; Din didn’t think laughing was appropriate for this situation.

            “Vizsla,” Jango hissed. “Finally decided to give up?”

            Vizsla laughed an ugly noise. And removed his helmet with his free hand. There was a sneer on his face. “I am here to once and for all prove Clan Vizsla’s claim to Mand’alor. Just as my father killed yours, I will kill you!”

            Jango snarled but didn’t throw himself into the fight. Something was holding him back. There was something in the air Din couldn’t name. A crackling power, like the air before a lightning strike. It spoke to sudden change. This was the moment everything could change.

            This is why I’m here . The realization came to Din abruptly. Din had no idea how he knew it, but it settled with a sense of certainty deep in his soul. This is why I’m here; this is how I can change the future for the better .

            Without thinking about it further- ignoring the screaming doubt in the back of his mind- Din stepped forward. Attention snapped to him, and Vizsla’s eyes narrowed at him.

            “You? The ver’gebuir of the so-called Duchess Satine?” Vizsla laughed again. Again, not really the situation for it. The man continued, still yelling, “You are a nameless, clanless, nobody. Do you think you could beat me, Pre Vizsla? That you have any right to Mand’alor?”

            Din didn’t respond immediately. He unstrapped his spear as he stared down Vizsla. The man began to look uncomfortable as the silence stretched on. Finally, Din said, not shouting like Vizsla was, “More than you. Dar’manda.”

            Vizsla snarled. Before the man could lunge, Countess Wren stepped forward. “If you fight for the throne, it shall be done properly, so there is no more confusion about who is the true Mand’alor.”

            “Fine,” Vizsla spat after none of his soldiers disagreed. Countess Wren nodded sharply. In a swift movement, the Mandalorians in the room stepped back. They formed a ring around Vizsla, leaving an opening for Din to walk through. Din could make out Silas gesturing for Dooku to leave. This wasn’t an event for Jetii.

            Jango grabbed Din’s elbow. “Are you sure about this?”

            “An hour ago, you were trying to convince people I’d be a good Mand’alor,” Din reminded him. “You don’t want to, and I don’t think anyone else here will step up.”

            Din couldn’t see Jango’s face or read what was running through the man’s mind. But Jango loosened his grip and let Din step forward. Jango raised his voice so the rest of the room could hear him, “I will gladly fight beside you when you are Mand’alor.”

            With that settled, the Haat Mando’ade in the room turned to Din in support. With the man they considered the rightful Mand’alor stating his support for Din, they would pledge loyalty to him. Din

            “ Who claims the right to Mand’alor?” Countess Wren asked.”

            “I am Pre Vizsla, House Vizsla, Clan Vizsla, ” Vizsla said, looking proud at his name. “Wielder of the Darksaber .”

            “And who challenges him?”

            This was it. Din could back out, claim a moment of temporary insanity, and give his spear to Jango to let the man fight. Din could remain Satine’s bodyguard and live his life trying to subtly change the future while raising his kids. He didn’t have to do this.

            Din stepped forward and into the circle. Jango followed him and closed the circle. Din clanged his spear against the ground.

            “I am Din Djarin. And I challenge Pre Vizsla for the Darksaber and title of Mand’alor.”

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·    

Mando'a translations: K’oyacyi: Stay alive Ib’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur: Today is a good day for someone else to die

Masterlist

         When Bo-Katan reached Din, she turned to her little followers and announced, “This is Din. He’s a beroya and fought Kry’tsad to save my vod’e!”

         The ade gasped, and Din had 7 pairs of awe-filled eyes turned on him. He was then bombarded with overlapping questions in basic, Mando’a, and what Din was pretty sure of Ryl. Two of the ade, a Twi’lek, and a human female, latched onto his legs. Din looked to Jango for help but saw Bo-Katan dragging him away. Jango was laughing, the traitor. The buire of the ade currently trying to climb him and talk to him was laughing as they walked closer. They didn’t try to help Din, but they did send him sympathetic looks.

         Din tried to field questions while spreading his attention equally. He watched as Jango and his ade walked into another shop, feeling a mix of pride and annoyance.

         “Is it true that you fought off 10 Kyr’tsad by yourself?”

         “Is your ad really a Jetii?”

         “Are you really a Taung, and that’s why you don’t take off your buy’ce?”

         “Did you really kill 6 Jedi with your bare hands?”

         “That was Mand’alor Fett, di’kut!”

         “Sheb!”

         “Rid’ika!” One of the parents scolded sharply. The ad, Rid, apologized. Great, Din now knew one of their names.

         “Ok, ok,” Din took advantage of the moment of silence. “One at a time, please.”

         The kids bickered with each other on who got to go first, and Din sent a comm to Obi-wan not-quite begging him to come back. Leave the other Mandos to their scheming. Aren’t Jedi supposed to help people?

         Obi-wan left him on read. Din would have to talk to Jinn about his Padawan’s manners.

         One of the ade- the little Twi’lek- tugged on his hand to get his attention. Din kneeled so he could better heat the ade, so he didn’t loom over them.

         “’Lek?” Din asked in his softest voice.

         “Are you really gonna unite Mandalore?” The little girl asked. Din hesitated in the face of her open and earnest expression. Din didn’t know where she’d gotten that idea- if Bo-Katan had brought it up or if that rumor was spreading about him. Despite Din’s feelings on the matter, he didn’t want to disappoint these ade. They were all looking hopefully at him.

         “I’m going to do my best to help,” Din answered. Not a total lie. “That’s not a job only one person can do.”

         The ade seemed happy with their answers and continued to ask him questions, many about his bounty hunting and how he’d met Satine and Obi-wan. Those were questions he could easily answer, and he did so. Din was still checking in on his ade’s location- even in the heart of Sundari, there was a chance of a Death Watch attack. Din trusted that Obi-wan and Jango could protect Satine, Grogu, and Bo-Katan, but he was still going to be on watch. Plus, they were all wearing some sort of head covering to protect their identities. Not that Din wasn’t recognizable enough to give that away. But the Mandalorians in their section seemed happy to pretend they didn’t know them.

         After maybe 15 minutes, the ade ran out of questions- and wow, there were a lot of wide rumors and stories spreading about Din- and began to demand Din show off some of his skills. Fortunately, the ade’s buire stepped in and redirected their attention. One of the buire- Rid’s if Din’s memory served, stepped up to him.

         “ Thank you for that,” they said. “You’ve become quite the tale among the ade. Some of the adults too. My name is Ove, by the way.”

         “ It was no problem,” Din replied. “ My ade seemed eager to distract me.”

         Ove laughed. “ They certainly did seem like it. I’m sure it is for a good reason.”

         “I doubt it ,” Din said with a sigh.

         “It is good to see them able to act like kids,” Ove said, looking over to where Din’s ade were standing outside a shop with their heads bent together. “ It has been a hard time for them .”

         Din nodded. “ Makes up for the dread.”

         They laughed together before Ove said goodbye, but not before inviting Din back to entertain the ade another time. Din found himself seriously considering it. When Din walked towards his little group, they actually allowed him to get close enough to talk to them. He was met with innocent smiles.

         “Have fun?” Obi-wan asked.

         “…Yes,” Din answered as he took Grogu from Satine. Grogu huffed and pulled himself closer to Din. Din chuckled. “No need to be jealous, Grog’ika. What were you kids doing, and do I have to worry about it?”

         “You’ll see, and it depends,” Bo-Katan helpfully answered.

         “Great.”

         “Jango is helping me talk to some of the Haat Mando’ade. I want to hear the opinions of the citizens,” Sainte added. Jango didn’t look terribly thrilled at the idea of re-introducing himself to his people. Din didn’t feel pity for him. Serves him right.

         “That’s smart,” Din praised. Satine smiled at him.

         “We also wanted to introduce Obi-wan,” Bo-Katan said. “Ya’know, introduce a non-threatening Jetii.”

         Obi-wan frowned. “Hey-“

         Din nodded, purposefully cutting Obi-wan off. “An ikaad Jetii is more likely to be welcomed by the Mando’ade.”

         “Oh, come on-“

         “Better than Dooku. Or Yoda, the troll,” Jango said, muttering the last bit. Obi-wan seemingly had given up. Din patted his shoulder.

         “You are a good fighter and Jetii,” Din consoled Obi-wan.

         “Yeah, Obi,” Satine said.

         “Vor’e,” Obi-wan said with a smile. “And don’t forget Bo and Jango talking up Din. Especially to the buire.”

         Bo-Katan winced, but Jango met Din’s stare head-on. Bo-Katan quickly copied him, and Din found himself in the middle of a staring contest with the two of them.

         “Oh, please,” Satine sighed. “Jango, stop trying to pawn off your responsibilities. Din, just accept that you are becoming popular. And Bo, stop instigating.”

         They dropped it, but as they continued to walk around the market, Din began to notice the people looking at him. There was less curiosity and more intrigue.

         “Don’t worry,” Obi-wan whispered to him. “I made sure to compliment Jango’s political return behind his back for you.”

         “Good ad,” Din said and patted his head. Grogu reached out and patted Obi-wan too.

         They all stopped in front of a store selling various types of blades. Bo-Katan was practically pressing her face into the transparisteel of the shop front. She was fixated on a vibroblade. It was small and discrete. Probably wouldn’t do too much damage, but it would fit nicely into a boot.

         “What are you looking at, Bo?” Satine asked as she stepped up next to his sister. Bo pointed the knife out, and Satine bit her lip. Din could see that she was warring with herself. Satine worried about Bo-Katan’s safety, and a vibroblade would help the girl defend herself. But Satine was still adjusting to the thought of carrying around anything that wasn’t a stun blaster. Armor was easy enough to adjust to; it was inherently protective, and any deadliness was an add-on. Din would’ve offered to buy Bo-Katan the blade, but he thought it was important for Satine to make the decision.

         Eventually, Satine sighed. “Ok. Do you want it?”

         Bo-Katan lit up. “Really?! I love this less stuck-up you, Satie!”

         Satine frowned as Bo-Katan grabbed Obi-wan and Jango and pulled them into the store. “I wasn’t stuck up. Right?”

         “Uhh.” Din didn’t want to answer that. “You are, uh, very opinionated and stubborn. Still are, but you’re better about it?” Satine, thankfully, didn’t get offended at Din’s fumble (Grogu was laughing away). She just nodded. “Do you want a blade too?” Satine gave Din a look he couldn’t read. “It would make me feel better?”

         Satine shook her head, but Din could see her smile. “I’ll think about it.”

         They walked into the shop. The shopkeeper looked over at them from where they were talking to Bo-Katan. They looked faintly shocked as if they couldn’t believe Satine was walking in. Din shifted to stand in front of her. The shopkeeper looked away quickly. Din and Satine walked over to the rest of their group. Obi-wan and Jango were bickering about blasters vs lightsabers. At the same time, Bo-Katan listened intently to the shopkeeper explain the specs of the vibroblade.

         On one of the display stands, something caught his eye. It was a long metal tube with holes and a sharpened tip. Din wracked his brain for the name of it but came up blank. The merchant saw what Din was looking at.

         “Ah, I see this bes’bev has caught your eye,” they said with a smile. They walked over and picked the tool up to show it off. “It functions both as an instrument and a weapon. It is a beskar blend, so it is very strong. And this-“ they pointed to the engraving on the side of the bes’bev- “was hand engraved by my riduur. It depicts the beautiful landscapes of Mandalore of old.”

         “It’s beautiful,” Satine murmured. She shook her head, as if breaking a trace. “But I’m afraid I only have the credits for my sister’s blade on me today.”

         “That is alright,” the merchant said, setting down the bes’bev. Bo-Katan took Satine to the droid manning the front desk to buy the blade. The merchant stayed by Din, and Jango and Obi-wan moved to stand next to him. All three men were looking at the bes’bev and between each other.

         “I could put it on hold if you’d like to come back for it?” the merchant suggested.

         “ You would do that?” Jango asked, faintly surprised.

         “It is nice to see the Duchess widening her horizons, ” the merchant admitted. “I believe a bes’bev is the perfect weapon for her at this point, elegant but still dangerous. I hope it will help in changing her views.”

         Din agreed, and the merchant marked the bes’bev on hold for a week. Din was pretty sure he couldn’t afford it on his own, but he’d probably be able to convince Jango or someone else to pitch in.

         They exited the shop, Bo-Katan showing her new vibroblade off to Din, who made sure to react with the appropriate amount of awe and sternness in making sure she would be able to use it properly. Grogu was also watching, fascinated by the swishing movements. Satine was talking to Jango- the two getting into debates frequently. They had stopped getting heated for the most part, but Din kept half an ear on it just in case. Obi-wan was walking silently, his lips pulled down into a slight frown. Din was about to as the Jetii what was wrong as they turned down a side road, but Obi-wan stopped in his tracks.

         “Obi?” Satine asked in worry. Obi-wan looked around frantically, causing Din and Jango to reach for their weapons. Grogu whined, his ears flattening. His son’s eyes widening at something behind him that alerted Din to the danger.

         Without a second thought, Din tossed Grogu to Satine and spun on his heel with his blaster at the ready.

         There was a hiss, gasps from the group, and a bright red light began to descend on Din. It was too close to shoot, so Din lifted his arm to block the blade. He grunted with the force of it- the attacker had dropped down from above- but despite the awful sound of a lightsaber (for Din was sure that’s what it was- despite its red color) on beskar, he held firm. He managed to push his attacker back in order to pull out his own vibroblade, not that it’d do much against a lightsaber. Of all the times to forgo his spear.

         The attacker- a Zabrack Din was able to identify them as- lunged again. This time it was towards Satine and Grogu. The Zabrack moved unnaturally quickly, so Din couldn’t get in between his ade and the attacker. But Obi-wan was and met the red lightsaber head-on with his own. The Zabrack growled. Obi-wan’s face scrunched in effort, so Din stepped in as he barked orders to Jango.

         “ Get them out of here!” Din didn’t wait for a response but noted that Jango quickly grabbed Satine and Bo-Katan and began to run. Din hoped that one of them had commed for help. Preferably a Jetii.

         Din raised his blaster to shoot the attacker’s back, but he pulled back from Obi-wan in time to deflect it straight back at Din. The shot hit his pauldron, and Din could already feel the bruise that would form. But it didn’t stop Din from moving forward to meet the Zabrack’s blade. At the same time, Obi-wan moved to hit the attacker’s back with his own lightsaber while Din kept the attack’s blade occupied.

         The Zabrack grinned- an unpleasant sight made worse by the unnaturally yellow eyes- and hit a button on his blade’s handle. Another equally red blade sprung from the back and nearly skewered Obi-wan. The Jetii barely managed to avoid it, but it did singe his arm. Din grunted and pulled back, and Obi-wan did the same.

         The attacker was still grinning ferally as he looked between Din and Obi-wan. “Run back to your Master, little Jedi,” he purred. “I’m not here for you.”

         Obi-wan’s face hardened. “As if.”

         Din took the opportunity to rush the Zabrack. The Zabrack wasn’t taken by surprise at the motion- Din was pretty sure he could also use the Force- but he wasn’t ready for Din straight up tackling him. It was a weakness Din had noted in all of the Jetii he’d seen fight. They never expect you to charge them. Granted, that was probably due to the lightsaber, but Din was mostly well-protected from those. Mostly, the sharp burn that appeared on the back of his thigh where there were no plates, reminded him.

         They fell to the ground and rolled. When they came to a stop, Din lashed his fist out and caught the Zabrack’s cheek. He was rewarded with a gnashing of teeth and the feeling of being shoved over by a brick wall. Din managed to roll to his feet and partially resist the movement, but he was still pushed back enough that the Zabrack could get it.

         But it was too late. The commotion had drawn in Mandalorians from the street. Fully armored and armed Mandalorians who apparently had taken a liking to Din. And, go figure, when faced with 20 fully trained warriors and a Jedi, the Zabrack retreated. He jumped, making it farther in the air than was natural, until he reached a rooftop. Some of the Mandalorians with jetpacks followed him.

         “Get to your ade,” one of them told Din as he prepared to follow. “We will follow him and lead the other Jetii to him.”

         Din nodded, and the Mandalorians dispersed. Din rushed to Obi-wan, but besides the slight burn, he seemed unharmed.

         “Are you ok?” Din still asked, gently grabbing Obi-wan’s arms.

         “Yeah, you?” Din nodded, choosing to ignore his wound. It didn’t hurt much yet, and he could still walk on it.

         “Let’s get back to the place now.”

         The two of them began to run, but as they reached the main street, they stopped. Because all around the city, there was an explosion in the distance. Screaming and blaster fire erupted, and Mandalorians zipped through the air as they fought. Din saw a group fly by and felt the breath lead him as he finally discovered where the explosion was.

         Death Watch was here. And they had bombed a hospital.

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·  

Masterlist

      Jango sat heavily down on the bench next to Din. Din was just trying to take a second to breathe in one of the gardens in the palace. Grogu was crawling around, wreaking havoc on the fauna.

      “Jango,” Din greeted, looking at the man from the corner of his eye. Din kept most of his attention on his son. Grogu squealed in greeting before turning back to his chase. An unlucky frog was lifted into the air using the Force. Grogu turned to Din with a smile on his face. “Good job, ad’ika.”

      Jango huffed a laugh. “You’re a good buir,” he said.

      Din turned to better face Jango. “If Jinn told you to ask me more parenting advice-“

      Jango scoffed and shook his head. “I’ve been avoiding the Jetii. Though that old toa-“ Jango cut himself off, eyeing Grogu. “Uh, old Master Yoda keeps creeping up on me somehow. I can’t understand half the stuff he says.”

      “Obi-wan says that is normal,” Din said. Din had asked Obi-wan about it after Yoda had approached him and started talking about co-parenting and child support? Din wasn’t 100% he had hallucinated that conversation. “He likes to be cryptic.”

      “Huh.”

      Din didn’t say anything else, content to let Jango figure out whatever he wanted.

      “My buir dreamed of a united Mandalore,” Jango eventually said. “Probably would’ve succeeded if it wasn’t for that aruetii Montross and Death Watch. He just… inspired people. Was a great Mand’alor.” Din used his usual tactic of staying quiet. People tended to want to fill the silence, leaving Din with more information without having to dig for it. “When he died, everyone started to look to me as Mand’alor- well, I wasn’t ready. Buir’s advisors did their best to help me, but politics was never my thing. I could complete bounties easily, but beyond that-” Jango sighed. “Well, you know how that ended.”

      Din still didn’t know what Jango wanted him to say, but Jango seemed to have told his piece. They sat silently as they watched Grogu crawl around and babble to himself.

      “I don’t know much about Mandalorian politics,” Din said once he gathered his thoughts. “I hadn’t known other creeds existed until a little before all-“ Din waved a hand around-“this. But, from what I’ve seen and heard, much of it had devolved into who has the loudest voice.” Countess Wren had proven that. The louder she got, the louder the others got in attempts to dominate the conversation. Satine was barely able to prevent the conversations from breaking out into yelling. “Not exactly a good way to get anything done.”

      Was Din hitting on whatever Jango wanted to hear about? Unclear. Jango was still silent, staring out at Grogu. Din had a feeling Jango was lost in his thoughts. By the entrance to the garden, Bo-Katan walked by, Ursa Wren at her side. The two girls had made quick friends. Bo-Katan paused to wave at Din, which Din returned. Grogu squealed again, got up, and toddled quickly over to his sister (the kids had said they were fine being called Grogu’s siblings, leaving a warm feeling in Din’s chest every time he thought it). Din nodded his assent, and Bo-Katan scooped Grogu up and walked away with him. Din was getting better at letting Grogu out of sight. They weren’t being constantly hunted, so it was safe enough.

      “You don’t yell,” Jango said after another pause. “But people still listen to you.”

      Din didn’t like where this was going. “I don’t know why.”

      Jango smirked. “Well, you’re usually right, and don’t try to push your political agenda at each turn. Plus, even the Jetii listen to you. That’s better than most people here.”

      “I don’t have a political agenda,” Din pointed out. “Besides preventing my future.”

      “Exactly. You just want what’s best for everyone, Mandalore, and your ade. You basically ooze mandokarla” Jango looked like the tooka that got the cream. “You’re half the reason we might be able to some type of truce or treaty with the Jetii.”

      “Hmm,” Din hummed in the back of his throat. “Happy to help.”

      “Yeah.” Jango eyed him. “Have you thought about-“

      “Nu draar,” Din cut in, not even wanting to hear the words that he was sure Jango would say. “I don’t have a claim to it.”

      “Who says you need it?” Jango challenged. “There’s plenty of people that would follow you on both sides. Satine, me, Silas, even Wren seems to like you.”

      “It can’t be that easy,” Din said in desperation.

      “Oh, there will be plenty of people that try to fight against you, Kyr’tsad included. My buir was a banished Journeyman protector before he became Mand’alor. He had a vision for our people, got supporters, and they elevated him and chose him. People challenged him, but he always won. Vizsla only survived because he was a hut’uun who never properly challenged him.”

      “I’m no leader.”

      “Aren’t you?”

      They stared at each other in challenge. Din resisted the urge to reach out and shake Jango, questioning his sanity. If Din didn’t know better, he’d say that the spice was still kriffing with Jango’s brain. Jango was still smirking.

      “And what does Silas think of this?” Din finally questioned. Jango’s smirk fell, and he cleared his throat. Din felt the thrill of victory.

      “I, uh, haven’t mentioned it.” Jango rubbed the back of his neck. Jango rushed out, “But I’m sure he’d come around to it.”

      “Well,” Din said as he stood up and patted Jango’s shoulder. “Good luck with that.”

      Din wasn’t running away. It was a tactical retreat combined with Din deciding to check on what chaos Bo-Katan, Grogu, and Ursa had gotten up to. And maybe find Obi-wan and grill him on Jinn’s deal. Maybe cross some stuff off his to-do list. Do some research on how there was no way Din could actually become Mand’alor because it definitely wasn’t as easy as Jango was making it out to be.

      “Din!” Bo-Katan shouted as she ran down the hall towards him, Grogu in her arms and Ursa by her side.

      “Bo’ika,” Din greeted, shaking thoughts of Mand’alor from his mind. “Grog’ika, Ursa.”

      “Mr. Din,” Ursa greeted politely. Din was still getting used to people knowing his name. Go figure, being called Mando was confusing on a planet full of Mandalorians.

      “What are you verd’ike up to?” Din asked.

      Bo-Katan straightened up in a copy of Satine's pose when she was making proposals. “We want to go to Kih’Keldabe. You promised to take Satie and me. And we think that Satine could use a break from politics.”

      Din agreed with that sentiment. “Did you ask your buir?” Din asked Ursa. “And we’ll need to get someone more familiar with it before going.

      “Jango can come too,” Bo-Katan said, a slight blush on her cheeks. Din narrowed his eyes at her, and she shifted her feet. Din hummed suspiciously but allowed it to pass.

      “I was going to ask her after we asked you,” Ursa answered.

      “Ok. Ask your buir and let us know what she says. And Bo, if you can get Jango to agree, that works for me. Also, you have to ask your sister when she can go. Obi-wan too.”

      “Deal!” Bo-Katan said. She handed Grogu back to Din before she and Ursa rushed off. Din looked fondly down at his son. Grogu tilted his head and cooed. Din rubbed his head, much to Grogu’s delight.

      “Can you imagine me as Mand’alor?” Din muttered to his son.

      “Patuu.”

      “Yeah. Me neither.”

      “Never know, what the future may hold.” Din startled and whipped around to face Master Yoda, looking smugger than Din thought a Jedi was supposed to look. “Always changing it is. With your guidance, even now, it shifts. Choose you; the Force did. A bigger role, you have.”

      With that advice(?), the old Master walked away, cane tapping along. When Din was sure the Jetii was gone, he looked back to his son. “Do me a favor, and don’t grow up to talk like that.”

      Grogu cooed in what Din hoped was agreement. Din began walking to where he thought Satine was. Maybe while waiting for Bo-Katan and Ursa to gather permissions, Din could talk to Satine about what it actually took to be Mand’alor.

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·  

A/n: Din's to-do list now contains "prevent Jango from making me Mand'alor"

Mando'a translations:

Aruetii: traitor

Mand'alor: sole leader of Mandalore

mandokarla: having the "right stuff", showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue

Nu draar: No way, double negative for emphasis

hut'uun: coward, worst possible insult

Masterlist

      “Don’t treat this like one of your meetings,” Bo-Katan cut her sister off. The younger girl turned to Din. “You referred to us as your ‘ade.’” It wasn’t a question, but Din nodded anyway. “Did you mean it?”

      “Bo-“ Satine tried to calm her sister. But Bo-Katan continued on.

      “No, he said it. He either meant it or not,” Bo-Katan said firmly, turning back to stare at Din. “So?”

      Din took a breath, patting Grogu’s head when the child cooed. Din allowed himself to sweep his eyes over the table. Bo-Katan was frowning, but Din could see the tears forming in her eyes. Satine was also looking at Din, but her feelings about the situation were hidden. Obi-wan wasn’t looking at Din, staring at his hands clasped in his lap. Din wondered if Jinn had talked to him and how that conversation went.

      “I-“ Din cleared his throat, voice hoarse. It didn’t help, but the action afforded him another moment before he had to speak. “Yeah. Sorry.”

      Bo-Katan opened her mouth as if to yell- like to rave about Din’s audacity; she and Satine had just lost their buir, and Obi-wan was a Jetii! They never asked for any parental figure, much less from Din, a man from the future whom they had met less than two weeks ago! Satine would undoubtedly back her sister up, if not more gently. Obi-wan would add that Din had done an excellent job preparing them to stop his horrific future, but with his talents, there wasn’t much more he could do. Satine might offer him credits, maybe a ship, so he and Grogu could go start their new, hopefully improved, lives. Din needed to be out of the palace by the end of the day.

      It was what Din had figured would happen as he ran scenario after scenario through his mind during the remainder of the meeting. He hadn’t been able to come up with any good ideas as to what he’d do- his skills lay firmly with bounty hunting, but in this time, he didn’t have the reputation he once had with the Guild. Sure, Satine had managed to get him an official ID again, so Din could theoretically start anew with the Guild, but it would be a pain. Besides, was that what he actually wanted? He had Grogu to think about, and while he had been able to balance caring for the kid and hunting, it hadn’t been easy. They were criminals now, weren’t being hunted. They could settle down. Maybe find a Mandalorian clan open to a traditionalist and his magic son. Din could teach the kids how to shoot, hunt, or whatever.

      But regardless of the consequences, Din couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He had found himself growing fond of these kids- even though they were technically older than him and that Din was like 75% older Bo-Katan had wanted to kill him at some point. It was weird and made his head hurt. But the fact of the matter was that these kids were some of the only people he knew in this time. Din didn’t know what to do if he had to leave them. The worry alone might kill him.

      “Patuu?” Grogu’s voice broke Din out of his thoughts, the gentle smack to his helmet accenting the noise. Grogu was standing on his toes in Din’s lap, eyes wide. Din muttered reassurances to his ad.

      “Sorry, I got lost in thought.”

      “You keep apologizing,” Obi-wan pointed out. Din looked at him and shrugged, biting back another apology. He didn’t want to upset them- it was a new sentiment that Din had gained. Because Din used to never care how other people saw him. But for these kids, Din didn’t think he could handle it if they thought bad of him.

      Din glanced over at Satine and Bo-Katan and saw the older girl wrapping an arm around her sister. Great, Din had made Bo-Katan cry. Now there was no way Satine would let him stay.

      “Please don’t cry, Bo,” Din rasped. Grogu cooed again, looking torn between comforting his buir and Bo-Katan.

      “You don’t get to say you see us as your kids and then apologize for it!” Bo-Katan shouted, whipping her tears away as if they’d personally offended her. “Own up to it!”

      Satine tried to calm her sister down, but she kept staring at Din in challenge. Din didn’t want to know what the girl would do if he failed to act. So Din took a deep breath and said, as steadily as he could, “I have, accidentally, found myself thinking of the three of you as my ade.”

      Bo-Katan slumped back into her seat. Obi-wan sounded almost like he’d been punched, and Satine bit her lip. Satine lightly said, “I’m sure you understand our hesitance….”

      “You just lost your buir,” Din said and nodded to Obi-wan, “and you still have your Jetii buir. I know. Trust me. I know.”

      Satine nodded. “I think this is something the two- the three of us,” Satine corrected as she looked at Obi-wan (who looked reminiscent of a kicked Tooka), “should talk about.” When Din didn’t move, she raised a brow at him. “Alone. Please.”

      “Oh right, yeah, I got it,” Din muttered as he stood up. Grogu slapped his arm.

      “He wants to stay here for this,” Obi-wan translated. So Din set Grogu down on the table. “We can call you when we’re done?”

      “Ok. Just don’t forget to eat late meal.” The reminder slipped past Din’s lips before he realized that was maybe too much of a buir thing to do in this circumstance. The kids just smiled, so he left it at that and left the room.

      Din didn’t move immediately when he stepped into the hallway. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop- no, he was just confused and lost. Din started walking, trusting his feet to take him somewhere safe. He made it to his rooms and was pretty sure that he had passed Dooku at one point. The older man had looked concerned, but he didn’t stop Din.

      Din found himself sitting on his bed as he took his helmet off. He looked at his warped reflection as his mind raced.

      Din was confused. He was lost. He’d been a great bounty hunter, traveling the galaxy's outer edges with his ward. Now, he was fifty years in the past and in the middle of what was shaping to be a new political movement. The ability to prevent millions of deaths was in his hands. And here he was, freaking out about where some teenagers he’d met a few weeks ago were mad at him. Din set his helmet to the side so he could bury his face in his hands as he hunched over his knees. His fingers wound into his hair- he needed a haircut- and tugged slightly as if trying to pull away his thoughts. It was unsuccessful.

      Because Din was scared. In their time, there had been dangers- rouge Imps, greedy bounty hunters, and the occasional beast. But now they were being threatened by other Mandalorians, dar’jetii, and the looming threat of war. And what the hell was Din going to do? Fight his way through it like every problem he’d encountered before? Even with his pure beskar armor and spear, Din was no match for a terrorist group and magical beings. And what if he did stop these things? What new threat would arise? Din didn’t know every last detail about the Clone Wars and what preceded it. There were bound to be things, people, and events he would miss that would spiral into something worse.

      Where was Din’s place in the galaxy? Before, he was secure in his place- he was the provider of his clan and then later of Grogu. Now, he was a bodyguard for a Duchess who, given certain plans played out well, wouldn’t need him anymore. That would leave Din and Grogu alone in the universe.

      Surely, Din thought with some panic, there was someone better suited to all of this that the Manda, or the Force, or whatever could’ve shot back in time. Like Tano or hell, even one of those Rebellion people.

      Din choked on a sob, his chest aching. That pain, plus the sting of him pulling his hair, pulled him out of his downward spiral. He was crying, heaving, and rasping breaths escaping him. His chest felt tight- crying with armor on was never pleasant.

      Ok Din, get your osik together.

      5 things you see: the floor, the bedspread, his fingers, the ornate wallpaper, his knees

      4 things you can feel: the ache in his chest, wetness on his face, stinging of his scalp, the weight of his beskar

      3 things you can hear: his hitching breath, the whirl of the temperature control system, someone speaking beyond the door-

      What?

      Din tried to focus on that last sound and finally made out a frantic voice accompanied by knocking. “Din? Din, please let us in!”

      That was Satine! She sounded scared.

      Without a second thought, Din bounded to his door, mind whirling with reasons why she was here- was she in danger? Was Death Watch attacking? Din opened the door, hand already on his blaster.

      Instead of distant blaster fire, Din only heard Satine squeak as she and Obi-wan turned around, Satine pulling Bo-Katan with her. Grogu peeked his head over Obi-wan’s shoulder and whined.

      “Uhh…What’s wrong?” Din asked, trying to figure out why their backs were to him? His thought slowly caught up to him, and he realized they must have finished their talk and tried to call him. When he didn’t respond, they’d come to get him- how long was Din lost in thought for? “Ad’ike?”

      “Helmet,” Obi-wan answered. Din frowned and, in a kind of dumb move, patted his face. Which was not covered.

      “Ah.” Din surprised himself by not panicking. His covert didn’t exist, and talks with Jango and Silas showed that wearing your helmet at all times was a rule not commonly followed. Did that mean Din would be walking around the palace bare face? No, that felt too exposed. But in his room with his kids- even if they were delivering news that they didn’t want that? Why not. It felt like the conversation he should show his face for. “Just- just come in. Please.”

      Din backed away from the door and watched in amusement as Obi-wan, Satine, and Bo-Katan tried to walk through the door backward. Grogu, evidently annoyed with their weirdness, demanded to be let down so he could toddle his way to Din. As Din always did, he picked his son up. Grogu patted his cheek, a habit the boy had taken to when seeing Din’s bare face.

      The three teens successfully got into the room and shut the door behind- in front?- of them. Din went over to the small living set up to the side of the room and sat on a chair with Grogu on his lap. His helmet was still on the bed.

      “You can turn around,” Din said softly. He was already taking in as much as he could of the three without his HUD changing the image. “It’s ok, ori’haat.”

      Bo-Katan was the first to turn around. She immediately started scanning Din’s face. Din was hopeless to stop the flush of his cheeks, not having as much practice controlling his face as most people had. When Din didn’t change his mind or say something to Bo-Katan, Satine and Obi-wan also turned around. Having three people looking at him was uncomfortable, but Din would bear it.

      Obi-wan seemed to be able to tell Din’s feelings, however. He tugged Satine and Bo-Katan over to the loveseat and other chair.

      Satine tried to lock eyes with Din as she went to speak but couldn’t stop her eyes from flicking across his face. “Are you ok? You look like….”

      “You were crying,” Obi-wan finished. “Grogu got worried about you, so we came to check.”

      “Yeah, just,” Din hesitated on sharing his thoughts. He didn’t want to stress them out or have them change their choices in any way. “Just thinking too hard about some difficult stuff.” Satine and Obi-wan exchanged glances but let him get away with his lackluster answer. Bo-Katan was still staring at him. “Uh, Bo? Everything ok?”

      Satine lightly smacked his sister’s arm, but Bo-Katan waved her off. “I just thought you’d look more… buir-y.”

      “Buir-y?” Din wrinkled his nose at the word.

      “Yeah,” Bo-Katan said with a nod. “Less scruffy.”

      “Bo!” Satine scolded, poorly hiding a smile. Din didn’t bother pretending not to smile. He was pretty scruffy looking. Never really had to deal with other people seeing him.

      They sat in happy silence for another minute before Din sighed. He hated unnecessary waits. “So, what’s the verdict?”

      Satine sat up straighter. “I can’t speak for Obi-wan, but Bo and I- well, you’re right. We just lost our buir, but….”

      “You haven’t been pushy about it,” Bo-Katan finished. “Bet if you didn’t slip up, you would’ve never mentioned anything.” Din nodded in agreement.

      “Plus, from what you told me, you understand how it feels.” Satine’s voice cracked slightly, and she used her shoulder to rub at her eyes. Din’s hands twitched to hug the girl. Satine composed herself and said, “We don’t know if we are ready, or ever will be, to call you buir and say the vows. But we don’t want you to leave. We don’t want you to change.”

      Din’s heart felt like it had stopped. He looked at Bo-Katan for confirmation. The usually boisterous girl seemed shy, biting her lip as she nodded. Din all but deflated in relief, and Grogu squealed.

      “Oh, thank the Manda,” Din mumbled. “Thought you might kick us out.”

      Din had forgotten he wasn’t wearing his helmet, and his under-the-breath remarks could be heard by everyone else. None of the kids looked happy at that one.

      “What! No, we would never have kicked you out!” Satine said in outrage. “You’ve saved our lives, if nothing else!”

      “Plus, you don’t have anywhere else to go.” That earned Bo-Katan an elbow to her ribs.

      “Yeah, you’re right,” Din just agreed. Obi-wan had a knowing look on his face.

      “Is that what you were thinking about? Getting thrown out, and what’d you do?” he guessed.

      “Partially,” Din admitted. “Nice to know I don’t have to keep worrying.”

      “You don’t,” Satine said with finality. Din nodded and looked back at Obi-wan.

      “Right, ok so,” Obi-wan cleared his throat. “Earlier, Master asked to talk to me.”

      “Good,” Din muttered. He elaborated at Obi-wan’s confused look. “Try to talk to me about it; told him it was more of a conversation for you two.”

      Obi-wan chuckled slightly. “That does sound like Master Jinn. Anyway, he wanted to talk about all of this.” Obi-wan waved his hand between them. “He was worried. His last padawan- well, it’s not my story to tell, but basically, he had contact with his birth family and it sort of resulted in him falling, selling me to slavery, and ultimately his death.” Obi-wan took a breath and made to continue, but Din held a finger up.

      “We are coming back to that,” Din said firmly. It wasn’t the time to push it, and Din figured it was where he’d learned to identify slave collar marks. But Obi-wan wasn’t allowed to drop that information like nothing happened.

      Obi-wan winced. “Ok. Anyway, attachments for Jedi are bad. It can lead you to fall to the dark side. And while the Order doesn’t ban having familial, romantic, or otherwise relationships, it is treated with caution and usually discouraged for padawans since we are still learners. Add that to the Order’s less-than-stellar relationship with Mandalorians. Master Jinn is worried about my future.”

      “Wait, what’s the difference between an attachment and a relationship?” Bo-Katan asked, voicing Din’s exact thoughts.

      “I can be complicated to understand, but basically, an attachment is an unhealthier relationship, at the extreme. You know, possessiveness and all that. Less extreme than that is the idea that a Jedi’s duty always has to come first, no matter what. I can’t stop a fellow Jedi from going on a mission just because I worry about them, and the people who care about me shouldn’t stop me from my duty for selfish reasons.” Bo-Katan still looked a little confused, and Din was sure he did too. “Don’t worry. Like I said, it’s complicated. Some Jedi still don’t fully understand it, and they’ve been learning it all their lives.”

      “So Ji- Master Jinn told you to be wary of me,” Din guessed, the words leaving a sour feeling in his mouth.

      Obi-wan blushed. “Well, yeah. But I sort of told him- uh, you were already becoming a parent figure to me, so whoops.” The words were rushed, but Din was able to decipher them. “So we talked about boundaries and maintaining those kinds of relationships. Also, I signed up to see a mind healer at the Temple, which is pretty common for people forming stronger relationships outside the Temple.”

      Din took a moment to digest everything. He then looked each of his kids in the eyes. They looked happy, and Din smiled. “I’m happy to be whatever you need or want me to be,” he said. “I care about you, ad’ike. I’m going to work to make sure the galaxy is as safe as it can be for you. Haat, ijaa, haa’it.”

      Like a dam breaking, Bo-Katan all but threw herself at Din. Din, of course, caught her and pulled her into an embrace while shuffling so Grogu wasn’t crushed. Satine and Obi-wan moved to the chair’s arms to curl around Din.

      As for Din, he felt content, he was happy, and he wasn’t lost anymore. Children were the future, and Din was determined to change the future for his kids.

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·  

Meanwhile: Qui-gon: having a mini-crisis over his padawan Dooku: patting Qui-gon's back, feeling slightly vindicated Yoda, sipping tea: "Ask Mando for parenting advice you should. Perhaps, co-parent Obi-wan, you can." Qui-gon: muffles a scream into a throw pillow

Mando'a translations: ad'ika- plural of ad'ika dar'jetti- no longer a Jedi, a Sith ori'haat: It's the truth, I swear Haat, ijaa, haa'it: Truth, honor, vision - words used to seal a pact.

Masterlist

         “Great!”  Ashon held her hand out, giving Din a datastick. Tentatively, Din took it. “I was hoping you’d look over my suggestions on integrating the True and New Mandalorians in our education systems. I would appreciate your feedback on how you think we should work with the more traditionalist groups!” Din was nodding along even though his confusion hadn’t gone away. “You can take your time; I shouldn’t need it before the end of the week.”

         Ashon was gone before Din could question her on why she thought Din would know anything about what should be taught in schools.

         Someone cleared their throat at the end of the hall, and Din snapped his head over to see Jinn standing serenely. The man had a slight smirk on his face. “Making a move into politics, Mando?”

         “No?” Din looked down at the datastick in his hand before putting it in his belt, resolving to look at it later. “No. Just helping.”

         Jinn hummed. “You do have a way with younger individuals. The Duchess and her sister do look up to you.”

         Din shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t do anything special.”

         “A natural talent, then,” Jinn concluded. “However, I would like to discuss something with you.”

         “Ok?”

         Jinn folded his hands in his incredibly impracticable cloak. “It won’t take much of your time.” Jinn swept an arm towards one of the empty meeting rooms.

         Din followed the man in, sitting across from Jinn at the table. Din awkwardly fiddled with his hands before resting them on his thighs. Jinn was still smiling, but he looked more serious.

         “Obi-wan speaks highly of you, and I cannot express my gratitude enough to you for being with him and the Duchess when I could not be. You had no incentive to help them as you did and continue to do.”

         “They were alone, being attacked, and couldn’t fully defend themselves. Any good Mandalorian would’ve helped,” Din countered. The way Jinn was speaking made Din sound like some selfless hero. Din was just a Mandalorian bounty hunter that was trying to get his magic kid a teacher and had ended up way out of his depth.

         “The galaxy could use more people with that line of thinking,” Jinn said with a tone of finality. This wasn’t what the Jedi had wanted to talk to Din about. So Din hummed, waiting for Jinn to continue. “Regardless, as you probably already know, there is something else I wish to speak to you about.”

         Din wished he had Grogu or another one of the kids here with him. Any excuse to get out of this conversation.

         Jinn cleared his throat, resting his hands on the table before him. “What do you know of the Jedi code?”

         Din tipped his head to the side as he remembered some of the things he’d been told. “You use the Force, and you help people. Uh, Obi-wan mentioned something about emotions with his meditation.”

         Jinn smiled, so Din figured he’d hit upon some point the man was looking for. “Ah yes, negative emotions like fear and hate negatively impact anyone, but a Force user is susceptible. Such emotions- and attachments- can lead to the-“

         “Dark side?” Din guessed, remembering his conversation with Ahsoka Tano. Din would admit he didn’t fully understand the whole thing; how could the fact that Grogu saw him as a father lead to terrible things? Sure, the kid had choked a few people when he thought Din was in danger, but wasn’t that all the more reason to teach Grogu not to do that? Jinn looked moderately surprised that Din knew what he was talking about. “Before we got here, I had found one of the last Jedi. She wouldn’t teach Grogu because, apparently, he was attached to me.” Din shrugged. “She said she knew someone whose anger had led to the dark side, and it wasn’t good.”

         “And yet you still searched for a teacher?” Jinn asked, a slight frown on his face.

         “I want Grogu to know how to protect himself,” Din explained. “Both physically and from your dark side.”

         “Yet you no longer are searching for someone to teach him to be a Jedi?”

         “From my understanding,” Din said dryly, “That’s not possible since I adopted him officially. Am I wrong?”

         Din didn’t know why Jinn looked so confused, but he was content to let the man puzzle out whatever he was thinking. Din didn’t need to justify his parenting- for someone who never intended to become a buir, much less one to a magic kid; Din thought he was doing pretty good.

         Eventually, Jinn nodded. “Yes, that is right.” Jinn shook his head lightly. “I am afraid I got off topic, apologizes. I did want to discuss attachments with you. But not in concerns to Grogu.” Din had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going. But he stayed quiet and motioned for Jinn to continue. “It had come to my intention that recently you, however unintentionally, have become something of a father figure to the Kryze sisters.” Din nodded in agreement, helmet hiding his bashfulness. “And perhaps, even for my Padawan.”

         Yeah, ok. Din was getting some type of shovel talk from Jinn. Great. Just what he wanted with his day. Still, Din nodded again.

         Jinn tried for a kind smile. “I am glad Obi-wan has found himself comfortable with you. It is something he has…struggled with in the past. And yet…”

         “You’re worried he’s going to get attached to me?” Din asked, tired of Jinn talking around his point. Jinn winced slightly, so Din decided to go in for the kill. “Because I’ve been teaching him Mando’a and Mandalorian culture. Because he tells me more than he tells you?”

         Din wasn’t stupid. He was, by nature and profession, very observant. He had seen Jinn trying to hide scowls when Obi-wan had gone to Din for advice. Seen the way Jinn hesitated to leave Obi-wan alone with Din and how the man had been coming up with more and more tasks to keep Obi-wan occupied.

         “You must understand, I am only worried for my Padawan,” Jinn said, sounding a little strained. “He has struggled with anger and attachment. I only want what is best for him.”

         “Have you told Obi-wan that?” Din asked, annoyance seeping into his voice. “Instead of trying to scare me off, potentially upsetting Obi-wan in the process, have you tried talking to Obi-wan about your concerns?” Jinn gapped, mouth moving, but no words came out. Din nodded with finality. “Great. Let me know how that goes. Now, I have a meeting to get to.”

         With that, Din got up and left the room, leaving Jinn behind. Din allowed himself a moment in the hallway to clear his thoughts before heading to the meeting room. Din wasn’t the first one back. Jango was in his seat, and Silas (who had been the man’s shadow) was nowhere to be seen. Din quietly took his seat. Thankfully, it wasn’t at the main table but instead off to the side of Satine’s seat. She’d refused to let Din stand the entire meeting.

            Din and Jango didn't speak for a few minutes. Jango looked content to stare up at the ceiling with a thoughtful look on his face. So Din was a little shocked when the man spoke. “ My buir was preparing me to take his place as ruler . But he was killed far before I was ready .” Jango turned to look at Din. “ And yet people insist on pulling me into politics I don’t understand.”

         “I know the feeling,” Din said, thinking of the datastick in his pocket.

         Jango sighed, looking away from Din. Quietly, he said, “I don’t hate Kr- Satine. I actually think she’s doing a good job, all things considered. I thought she was a radical New Mandalorian. That’s why I was rude. But she keeps asking me about the Resol’nare and its interpretations.”

         “When I met her, she was more radical,” Din said after a moment. “Her Coruscant education opened her up to these beliefs, but she was willing to learn and change.”

         Jango let out of soft breath. “Guess I should try that too, huh?”

         “It could help. I hear politics is about compromise.” Well, that was one of the kinder things about politics he’s heard. “Have you tried talking to Satine about it?” That seemed to be a theme for today. What is it with these people not talking to each other? Even Din, who isn’t known for his love of talking, could see that as the easy solution.

         “Tell that to Almec,” Jango muttered in basic. Din could understand the sentiment. The man, while loyal to Satine, got on his nerves.

         “You’re outnumbered,” Din said instead of his more unpleasant thoughts. “You and Silas are putting up a good fight, and Satine is a good mediator. But you need more people on your side. Maybe even more traditionalists. That way, you know everyone is heard.”

         Jango grimaced. “Can’t you be the traditionalist's voice? Bringing them in here will result in more yelling.”

         “I’m from the future,” Din helpfully reminded him. “Current affairs and concerns aren't something I know.”

         Jango sighed and agreed. “I’ll ask Silas-“

         The door to the room opened, and Silas and Satine entered. “Ask Silas what?”

         “If any of the older families would be interested in sending a representative.”

         Silas nodded. “I can think of a few. Wren, for starters.”

         Satine smiled. “That’s a good idea, Jango. Let me know who agrees, and I can arrange a place for them to stay if needed.”

         The conversation faded as more people re-entered the room. Satine had taken her seat but leaned over to whisper to Din. “Any reason I saw Master Jinn exiting a meeting room, looking shell-shocked?”

         Din shook his head and tried for an exasperated tone. “Jetii and their communication issues.”

         Satine smirked. “Too true. Just like you and your adoption issues. Which is-”

         “Something we should probably talk about. Yeah.” Din nodded. Satine smiled again, softer this time. Someone called for her attention, and Din let himself lean back slightly in his chair.

         The Kryze sisters had just lost their buir, and Din had no idea how they’d feel about Din accidentally taking that position. Bo-Katan had been silent at first meal, glancing at Din when she thought he wasn’t looking. Satine hadn’t made much mention of it since Din had admitted to her that ‘ade’ to him encompassed more than Bo-Katan. Din remembered after his parents died, he hadn’t called his buir ‘buir’ for months. There had never been a push for it, but Din had struggled with that trauma. On the flip side, Din knew kids entering the covert that took to their new buir like fire, even after losing their parents. Case by case situation if Din had to guess. Maybe he’d look it up. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared. Din’s to-do list was growing rapidly.

Talk to Obi-wan about the slave thing (and the Jinn thing too)

Read Ashon’s proposals

Look up how to parent traumatized kids

Stop the genocide of the Mandalorians and Jetii.

And preferably the Clone Wars too

         Easy enough. But he had to get through this meeting first, starting off strong with Almec trying to make a case for why architecture was a better purpose for beskar. Funnily enough, it was not a popular suggestion, even among some New Mandalorians.

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·  

Masterlist

         “What?” Din asked.

         “Grogu says he knows Fett’s face, but he feels different,” Obi-wan answered with a slight frown. Grogu cooed. “I think the clones were clones of Fett.”

         Din tried to remember the few promotional holos he had seen as a child but could only conjure images of troopers in white armor painted in various colors. There hadn’t been any holos with the clones’ helmets removed. The information caused more questions than it answered, both about Fett’s future and the clones as a whole. It was, fortunately, not Din’s job to figure that out.

         Fett shifted on the bed, causing Din and Obi-wan to stiffen. Obi-wan was watching Fett with rapt attention, Fett was still, but Din could see the slightest hitch in the man’s breathing. Obi-wan nodded at Din; Fett was awake but was pretending not to be. Din was going to call Fett out, but Obi-wan beat him to it.

         “Are you feeling better, Ser Fett?” Obi-wan asked softly. Fett’s hand twitched, and the man slowly cracked his eyes open. The lights had been dimmed so it wouldn’t be too painful for him. Din watched as Fett’s eyes flicked between Obi-wan and himself, briefly lingering on Grogu. Fett frowned and slowly started to sit up, eyes locked on Din. Which was fair- Din had shot him.

         “Su cuy’gar,” Din greeted dryly as he reached over and pressed the call button.

         “Where am I? What did you do to me?” Fett asked in Mando’a, voice scratchy. Fett was apparently assuming Obi-wan didn’t speak the language. At least the man hadn’t fully recognized that Obi-wan was a Jetii- Din didn’t know how well that would end.

         “I stunned you. You had a seizure. You are in the medbay,” Din replied shortly. Before Fett could respond, the door to the room opened, and the baar’ur- a stern-looking Pantroan man named Kilay- entered the room.

         “Mand’alor Fett,” Kilay greeted. Fett looked shocked at the greeting, but Kilay had expressed that he was a True Mandalorian but had accepted employment in the palace. Work was work and all that. It was lucky he was working when Fett had come in. “Me’vaar ti gar?”

         Fett didn’t respond as Kilay checked the monitor Fett was attached to. The medic raised a brow at Fett’s silence, prompting the man to answer. “Not the Mand’alor.”

         Kilay sighed. “Agree to disagree, Mand’alor. Please answer my question.”

         “I feel like I was stunned,” Fett said blandly, eyes darting to Din. “And had a seizure, apparently.”

         “Any withdrawal symptoms currently?” Kilay asked patiently. “We took the liberty to place you on a spice replacement. All the relief with none of the high. Should help wean you off without any more seizures.”

         “You’re not gonna ask how your Mand’alor-“Fett spat the word-“got addicted to spice.”

         Kilay just raised a brow again, finishing looking through the medical devices. The Pantraon crossed his arms. “I can guess, but it’s not relevant. I’ll assume you’re feeling fine, then.”

         “The Duchess is on her way,” Obi-wan interrupted the stare-down between Fett and Kilay. “She said she was able to get contact, and someone is on their way.”

         Fett sneered. Din couldn’t tell if it was aimed at Obi-wan or Satine. But Fett didn’t say anything.

         “Ok. Given you don’t get worse, you can be discharged soon. Preferably when there is someone you can stay with,” Kilay said, ignoring Fett’s glower. “A support system is important in beating addiction. Plus, you will need a place to stay, preferably nearby, so I can continue monitoring you, and we can slowly wean you off the replacement.”

         “I am not staying here,” Fett finally said, shaking his head. Kilay hummed skeptically but didn’t refute the man. A light knock on the door stopped any further conversation.

         “Come in,” Kilay said, and the door opened to reveal Satine. The girl smiled slightly, waving slightly at Grogu when the child cooed at her. She focused back on Fett. Fett looked less than amused.

         “Hello, Ser Fett. I am happy to see you awake. You gave us quite the scare,” Satine said kindly as she stepped into the room, letting the door close behind her. “I do hope you are feeling better.”  Fett grunted in response, arms crossed and reminding Din slightly of a petulant child. Satine didn’t falter. Kilay excused himself. “If you are feeling up to it, there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you.”

         “Not like I have much of a choice,” Fett said.

         “You are the one that came here,” Satine reminded him gently. Fett just grunted again. Satine glanced at Din, but he just shrugged. “Regardless, I contacted someone named Silas Vall, and he is on his way. He sounded pleased to hear you were here.”

         Fett looked surprised at the news, but he quickly schooled his expression. “So he’s my prison guard to make sure I listen to you? How many people have you forced to follow your rules?”

         Satine frowned, and Din could see how hurt she was. Din knew that Satine truly wanted what was best for Mandalore and was coming around to the idea that maybe what she thought was best wasn’t. There was no need to be insulting her.

         “If you don’t like how she leads, why don’t you step up and do it?” Din prodded, Grogu backing him up with an agreeing babble.

         “I’m no leader.”

         “But you were.”

         “And look what happened!” Fett burst, nearly surging out of bed. He was only stopped by the monitors he was hooked up to. “I led my people into a massacre and got myself enslaved. What kind of leader is that?”

         “The kind forced into the position too soon,” Obi-wan answered gently. Fett turned towards him in shock; he’d forgotten that Obi-wan was there. Obi-wan wasn’t phased and instead continued in a tone that spoke of experience far beyond his age. “You were not ready to lead and were led into a trap meant to make you fail.”

         “Wow, that really makes me feel so much better,” Fett sneered sarcastically. “You’re so good at comforting, Jetii.”

         “I wasn’t trying to make you feel better,” Obi-wan retorted. “Just stating the facts.”

         “If you want another chance,” Satine interjected, “I would be very interested in working with you and the Haat Mando’ade, as I am in the process of constructing my own board of advisors-“ Fett harshly laughed, but Satine just raised a brow at him and continued speaking, “And your input on how to better blend the Haat Mando’ade and New Mandalorian beliefs would be appreciated.”

         “Why would you want me?” Fett asked, a slip of insecurity escaping in his tone.

         “Our buire admired and respected each other, and despite their differences, both wanted to work to build a better Mandalore,” Satine stated firmly. “I believe we both want the same. So we can continue their legacies and not let our differences and disagreements tear us, and our people, apart.”

         “But why me?” Fett stressed. “I’m sure whoever is leading the remnants of the Haat Mando’ade would work just as well.”

         “I spoke to him, and Silas was insistent that you would be the one to work with me.” Satine smiled sadly. “You may not see yourself as such, but your people still consider you Mand’alor. And while the New Mandalorians may not be ready to accept you as such, you are welcomed here as my equal.”

         Din couldn’t help the swell of pride he felt at Satine’s progress in the short time he’d known her. Not for the first time, Din wondered how the girl had turned out in his original timeline. Fett looked shocked at Satine’s declaration, and Din wanted to wave his arms and say, ‘See, you shouldn’t have underestimated her!’ but he was a professional. Still, the look Obi-wan shot him told Din he might’ve been projecting that into the Force or something.

         “Ah,” Fett breathed before he set his lips in a grim frown. “I’m not one for politics, but I will help take down Kyr’tsad.”

         Satine smiled. “Great. With Tor Vizsla no longer causing terror, I am confident we can lead our people to peace and prosperity.”

         “Ah, yeah,” Fett said with a grimace. “I already killed Vizsla.”

         “Oh.”

         “How the hells-“ Din muttered, confused on many levels. One while addicted to spice, Fett had managed to kill who Din was assuming was Death Watch’s leader. Two, Vizsla? As in Paz Vizsla, as in Din’s long-time friend/rival, Vizsla? That-

         That kind of made sense, actually- that some type of grandchild of the leader of Death Watch, a member of its offshoot.

         “Who is leading Death Watch now?” Obi-wan asked. “Did Tor have a child?”

         “Yes,” Din answered, shrugging at the confused looks Fett and Satine gave him. “I grew up with his grandson.”

         “Me’ven?” Fett asked, rapidly blinking as if clearing something from his eyes. “Because I thought I heard you say you knew Vizsla’s grandson. Which he doesn’t have.”

         “Oh yeah,” Din mumbled. “Yeah, the kid and I are from the future.”

         “Ok, that’s it,” Fett said abruptly, trying to push himself up off the bed. “Either you’re insane, or I’m still on a spice trip. Either way, I’m done.”

         “Jango Fett, you will sit your ass back on that bed and listen,” A stern voice came from the doorway. A dark-haired human male was standing in the doorway, his green and gold helmet secure on his hip. “Or I will make you.”

         “Silas,” Fett said breathlessly as he lowered himself back onto the bed. Silas looked unimpressed as he entered the room.

         “Mand’alor,” Silas greeted more respectfully, grinning at Jango’s grumble. “Su cuy’gar.”

         “You too. I didn’t know who-“ Jango cut himself off. It was quiet for a moment. Din saw Obi-wan look around the room, which was getting cramped.

         “I will excuse myself,” he said, getting up from his chair and offering it to the standing Mandalorians. Satine motioned for Silas to sit. “I don’t want to intrude.”

         “When has that stopped the Jetii before?” Jango muttered.

         “Hate the people that hurt you, not their kin,” Din snapped, tired of the man’s whiney attitude. If he had to listen to one more derogatory remark about his son or Obi-wan, Din would punch Jango. And doing so in a med bay was typically frowned upon. “I will not listen to you insult my ade anymore.”

         Everyone in the room looked stunned at Din’s mild outburst except Grogu, who was happily cooing. Jango and Silas were rapidly looking between each other, Din, and Grogu, clearly trying to figure out how the tiny green Jetii became the son of a Mandalorian.

         “The future, remember?” Din prompted. “Things are different.”

         “That is an interesting difference,” Silas admitted. Obi-wan slipped out of the room.

         “You actually believe him?” Jango said to his friend. Silas shrugged.

         “The Duchess told a convincing story, and if even half of it is true, we’ll want to believe them. It’s bad, Jango.”

         “And according to Grogu,” Din added, holding up the kid for reference, “You have a bigger part to play than we originally thought. You know anything about cloning?”

         Fett shook his head silently. Satine chose that moment to speak. “It is a long story, Ser Fett. Perhaps we can tell it over late meal tonight? In the meantime, we can get you discharged and set up here in the palace. You as well, Silas.” Silas nodded in acceptance and nudged Jango to agree. The man still looked shocked and confused. Din figured Silas would help fill in some gaps in the time before late meal. Satine smiled. “Wonderful. I will get baar’ur Kilay and have him prep you for discharge.”

         Din stood to follow Satine, sending one last menacing look at Jango. Judging by the man’s sheepish expression, the look got across even with the helmet. That was the nice thing about being around other Mandalorians. They understood faceless expressions better.

         Din followed Satine as she talked to Kilay, and then into the hallway outside the medbay. He stopped her before she could return to her office and do more work.

         “Did you have midmeal?” Din asked.

         “I had some fruit, yes,” Satine said as she typed something on her comm.

         “No good enough.” Din gently pulled her down the hallway, depositing Grogu in her arms when she tried to argue. “Break time. And then you can do some more work.”

         “Ok, fine,” Satine relented. “Also, where’s Bo?”

         “Last I knew, Jinn was teaching her some Jetii moves.”

         “Oh, and you let him?” Satine teased. “I’m surprised since you’re such a papa buir.”

         “… I’m not her buir?” Din said, confused.

         “It’s an expression,” Satine explained. She smiled sadly. “Though you might be getting close. You did say ‘ade’ after all.”

         Din stopped moving. He’d said what?

         I will not listen to you insult my ade anymore.

         Oh. Oh, osik, not again.

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A/N: For those of you that haven't guessed it yet- Legends/comics/books lore is something I don't really know. So Jango Fett's(and pretty much everyone else in this story) history and what he has been doing is a combination of Wookieepedia and me making stuff up while ignoring any pre-existing canon. Mando'a translations: Mand'alor: leader of Mandalore Su cuy'gar: hello, lit: you're still alive baar'ur: medic, doctor Me'vaar it gar?: how are you? Me'ven?: What?

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