#dadjaster

“Obi-Wan,” Jaster knocks on the doorframe, “We’re coming out of hyperspace, you need to get strapped in.”

Obi-Wan closes the book he’d been reading and replaces it on the shelf, and slips past Jaster on silent feet. He follows the boy into the cockpit, where he’s strapped himself into the too big straps again.

“Can I tighten those for you, ad?” Jaster asks, and Obi-Wan regards him with serious eyes.

“Okay,” he finally whispers.

It’s only slightly better than before, but Jaster will take what he can get. He straps himself in and pulls them cleanly into real space.

“Manda’lor to Sundari Palace,” he hails.

“Copy Manda’lor, platform is clear to land. Welcome home.”

¬

The kid, Obi-Wan, is even smaller than Jango expected. The tiny Jedi follows his buir down the ramp, a strange mixture of skittish and defiant. Next to him Myles snorts. When Montross tries to greet Obi-Wan, he glares at him and shrinks away. Jango supposes that’s a valid reaction to being near a new, slimy looking stranger on hardly any sleep.

Finally, the two make their way over to where Myles and Jango are waiting, in the shade cast by the palace.

“Buir,” Jango says, nodding at him, “Verd’ika.”

Obi-Wan frowns at him, little hands clutching at Jaster’s vambrace, “I don’t speak Mando’a, it’s rude to talk to someone in a language they don’t understand.”

Jaster rolls his eyes slightly, and pulls Jango into a keldabe kiss. The gentle bump of his forehead to his buir’s calms the last of his jealousy. A new vod’ika doesn’t mean Jaster is replacing him.

“It’s good to see you, ad,” he says, smiling gently, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, buir.”

A little hand taps Jango’s, and he pulls away from his buir to see Obi-Wan staring at him intently.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, “What does verd’ika mean?”

“Little soldier,” Jango replies.

“I’m not a soldier, though,” Obi-Wan says, spinning to stare up at Jaster, “You didn’t bring me here to be a soldier, did you?”

“No!” Jango says quickly, drawing Obi-Wan’s attention back to him, “It’s a nickname, an affectionate thing. Buir, Jaster, told me you were very brave. I won’t call you that if you don’t want me to.”

Obi-Wan considers that for a moment, then nods decisively, “I don’t mind, but most people called me Obi. And my friends called me Imp, but you can’t call me that.”

“Okay,” he draws the word out slightly, “Would you like to see your room?”

“Okay, but Jaster has to come with us.”

“Of course,” his buir says, “I won’t leave you alone until you want me to.”

“Alright,” Obi-Wan tugs on his vambrace, “Let’s go.”

¬

Obi-Wan runs his hands over his new bedspread. It’s nice. It’s really nice actually, but it kind of makes him miss his bed in the Temple. He’s never had a room and a bed all to himself, not really. In the Creche he slept in a Clan pile, and as an Initiate he slept up in a dorm also with his Clan. On the ship to Bandomeer, he slept in communal quarters. In the mines, he didn’t sleep much. On Jaster’s ship, Jaster was always right there.

It’s becoming apparent the longer he sits in his too comfortable bed in his too quiet room that he can’t sleep at all when he’s alone.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan throws the duvet off and slides to the edge of the bed. He slips his feet into the slippers Jando had pointed out when they left him at bedtime. He doesn’t really want to bother anyone, but he can’t sleep. And Jaster was always there when he needed him on the ship.

He creeps into the hallway, and knocks on the door Jaster had said was his. When there’s no answer, he pushes it open quietly. Jaster is sleeping peacefully, snoring slightly. Obi-Wan shuts the door as silently as he can, and tiptoes his way towards the bed. He curls up into a ball on the end of the bed, just out of accidental kicking range.

The lights flicker on, indicating the start of the day cycle at home. Jaster sets a bowl of porridge in front of his young charge. He’s exhausted. He’d naively expected the kid to sleep peacefully. Instead, he’d been woken by screams and awful retching hours before sunrise over Sundari.

Obi-Wan’s eyes are red, but his face is clean now and he’s wearing vomit free clothes. He huddles into himself, holding his spoon loosely in frail fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters miserably, not for the first time.

Jaster holds back a sigh, “You have nothing to be sorry for. Cleaning up vomit is hardly the worst thing I’ve ever done. I’m sorry your sleep was interrupted. It’s okay to have nightmares, Obi-Wan, especially after what you’ve been through.”

He shrugs, keeping his eyes on his food, “Do… do you still want me? I- I mean, do you still want to take me home with you?”

Jaster picks up his own bowl, and settles across from Obi-Wan, “Of course I still want to take you home with me, if that’s what you want. Nothing will change that.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan hums.

“Okay?”

He nods, “Okay, I’ll go with you.”

“Alright,” Jaster smiles, “Now eat your porridge.”

¬

Jango has no idea what his buir is thinking. A kid? Now? In the middle of all this bullshit with the clans, he’s decided to adopt a kid? Okay, so he hasn’t actually adopted the kid yet but Jango knows his buir. It’s only a matter of time.

Nevertheless, he does as he’s told. He makes up the room next to his buir’s and across the passage from his own. His buir couldn’t ever tell him how old the kid was. All Jango knows about his new baby brother is that he was a slave and a Jedi. And that he’s tiny. Not a lot to go on.

Myles laughs as Jango huffs again, “Why has this got you so riled up? You know Jaster was never going to stop with one ad.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jango scowls, “But a Jedi? Really?”

“He’s not a Jedi anymore,” Myles points out, throwing the kid’s new pillow onto the bed, “Are you… jealous?”

Jango glares at him, “Shut the fuck up.”

“You are,” he laughs delightedly, “You’re jealous! The poor kid.”

Jango rolls his eyes, “I’m still going to be nice to him, di’kut.”

“He’s a Jedi, he’ll be able to feel your emotions,” Myles points out, “Unless you never remove your helmet in front of him, but that would send the same message.”

“They can’t actually do that, can they?” he frowns, “Isn’t that a myth? It doesn’t matter, I’ll get over it before they even arrive. Besides, maybe the kid will decide he wants to go back to the Jedi.”

Myles sighs, “I doubt it. He ended up a slave somehow, and I’ll bet the Jetti had something to do with it.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” Jango says and Myles rolls his eyes.

It’s doubtful the Jedi would let one of their children be sold into slavery, but Myles is right in saying the kid ended up there somehow. And it’s probably not a pretty tale.

¬

Jaster thought Jango had bad nightmares when he adopted him, but Obi-Wan is giving that hellish week a run for its money. The nightmares won’t leave the kid alone. Jaster wonders if he’s gotten a single hour of restful sleep since he picked him up. He certainly didn’t get any before then.

Jaster sleeps on the floor outside his door, until the first cries of the night reach him. Sometimes it takes up to an hour, sometimes only minutes. 

He might be grumpy about the lack of sleep if it didn’t seem like the kid was getting even less than him. While Jaster can knock out for an hour or two during the day, even when he manages to sleep Obi-Wan’s rest is fitful. He tosses and turns, and wrenches himself out of sleep with retching and cries of fear.

During the day, he’s polite and quiet, hovers about afraid to disturb Jaster. At night, he’s terrified. It breaks Jaster’s heart, but there’s nothing he can do about it except what he’s already doing.

Despite the challenges, though, Jaster already loves Obi-Wan. He’s a serious child, but clever and insightful. The ferocity he displayed in the mines is still there, but he’s gentle too. 

Jaster catches him talking to the translator droid he keeps on board, and following the cleaning droid around the ship. When he helps Jaster cook, he does so with grace and determination. He handles the food like it’s precious, and he flourishes under the praise Jaster makes sure to give him.

It’s only been eight days, but already he has a bit more meat on his bones. 

¬

“We’ll be there in four hours,” Jaster reports, “Have you got a room ready?”

“Yes buir,” Jango rolls his eyes, glad his buir can’t see him, “How’s he doing?”

His buir sighs heavily, and Jango can hear the exhaustion in his voice, “He’s… improving. Have you put the monitor in his room?”

“Elek,” Jango says, leaning against the wall of said room, “And the receiver in yours. Are you sure about this, buir?”

Jaster isn’t really sure how he ended up in this situation, but he’s got a tiny Jedi on his ship. Well, a tiny not-really-a-Jedi. He found the tiny Jedi in a deep-sea mine on Bandomeer, being worked to death. Usually, he would’ve gotten on with the job and left well enough alone, especially where Jedi are concerned. But the tiny Jedi, name still unknown, offered to blow himself up to help free everyone. 

Now, Jaster isn’t always the most moral man, according to the rest of the Republic, but he’s Mando’ade. And he will not leave an ad in the care of people who teach children their lives are worth so little. 

And the kid is cute.

He regards Jaster with suspicion, and looks ready to fight despite the fact he barely comes to Jaster’s chest.

“Where are you taking me?”

Jaster spins in the flight chair to regard the tiny thing. He’s strapped himself in, but he’s so small the straps won’t stay on. Was Jango ever this small? Jaster really doesn’t think so. 

“Where do you want to go?” he asks, and the kid frowns.

“Why didn’t you just leave me with the other kids? You had no problem letting the authorities take care of them.”

Jaster smiles to himself, “Well, you’re a little Jetii, and you helped rescue all of the other children. The other children will be returned to their families or funnelled into the care system in the Core. I don’t think either of those things suits you.”

“I’m not a Jedi,” he says with surprising vehemence.

“Your tunics say otherwise.”

“Other organisations wear robes,” the kids frowns.

“Other organisations don’t take in small force sensitive children and then leave them in deep sea mines.”

“A Jedi didn’t leave me in the mines,” he pauses, “Well, he’s not a Jedi anymore.”

Jaster whips his head around to stare at the kid so fast he gives himself whiplash, “The Jedi actually left you there?”

“No,” he says slowly, “I just said, he’s not a Jedi anymore. And neither am I.”

He’s not going to get anywhere with this kid. At least not right now. 

“I’m Jaster Mereel,” he says, looking at the kid expectantly.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The kid, Obi-Wan, glares at him, daring him to react. Jaster doesn’t give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t doubt there’s trauma there, but he’s just removed a bomb collar from around his neck. Trauma isn’t a surprise. Kenobi, child of no one. Obi-Wan, the flower of the damned.

“You should take a shower, Obi-Wan,” Jaster says, as gently as he can, “And then we can talk more, and eat.”

Obi-Wan scowls at him, but unbuckles himself and rises unsteadily. He stumbles to the door, but Jaster knows better than to offer his help. He pauses in the door.

“Thank you, for rescuing me.”

Then he hobbles off down the passage. 

“You what.” Jango’s voice is flat.

Jaster winces, “I know, I know. But please just get a room ready for him. He hasn’t said anything yet, but I don’t think he has anywhere else to go.”

Jango huffs, “Fine.”

He disconnects the call and Jaster sighs. He knew Jango would be jealous, but he also knows that as soon as he actually sees the kid he’ll feel differently. Jango is mando’ade through and through, and no true mando can see a child like Obi-Wan and not love him.

There’s a soft knock on the cockpit door, and Jaster swivels around to see the kid in the doorway. His hair, now clean, is red and he’s drowning in Jango’s old clothes.

“I went to the galley,” he says quietly, “But you weren’t there. Who were you talking to?”

For the first time since Jaster met him, Obi-Wan looks unsure. He hovers in the doorway, hands twisted in the hem of the shirt. He looks... young. Because he is.

“My son, Jango,” Jaster answers, “He’s at home, and I was telling him about my mission, and about you.”

“You’re a mandalorian.”

“I am.”

“Mandalorians don’t like Jedi.”

Jaster considers the statement, “In general, I suppose not. There is historical precident for that dislike. But you’re a child and, as you say, not a Jedi anymore.”

It’s both an answer and not. The truth is, Jaster doesn’t like Jetti. But he doesn’t hate them either, at least not like many of his breathren do.

Obi-Wan frowns, but says nothing.

“Come,” Jaster stands, careful not to move too suddenly, “Let’s eat.”

¬

Jaster waits until Obi-Wan has cleared half his plate before he speaks, “Currently, we’re on a heading for Mandalore. My home is open to you, if that is what you want. But if there’s anywhere else you can go, I’ll take you there.”

The kid keeps his eyes on his plate, “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Not even the Jedi Temple?” It’s a cruel question from the way Obi-Wan flinches, but a necessary one.

He shakes his head, “No, not even there. You can drop me off at the closest spaceport, I’m good at looking after myself.”

Jaster nearly laughs, “I’m not leaving you at a spaceport, alone. You’ve got three options kid, come with me, go to someone you know, or become a ward of the Republic. It’s your choice, I won’t force you into anything. But you’re still a child, and will be for a good few more years.”

“I’m twelve.”

“The age of majority for humans is twenty. You’ve got eight to go.”

Obi-Wan scowls, and opens his mouth to retort but is interrupted by a yawn. His eyes are drooping and red with exhaustion.

Jaster sighs, “Let’s go to bed, it’s been a long few days. You can tell me your decision tomorrow.”