“whenever you get stressed, you do this thing with your hands. what is it?”
For Corr plz
(Odessen, following the assault on Voss, and Arcann's early defection to the Alliance)
It's...very strange, having a brother again. Especially after losing Thexan to his own blind rage and jealousy. Especially when that new brother is, by right of birth order and raw strength in the Force, the rightful heir to the throne of Zakuul, even if he had been dismissive of his claim to the throne the one time Arcann had brought it up. Especially when that new brother is a half-brother, older made younger through the preservation of Carbonite, and the parent they share brought horror and pain to both of them in such different ways.
He didn't think Corrain would find it in his heart to forgive him, after he'd nearly killed the now-younger man on Asylum, impaling him clean through on a furious lightsaber. Not after he'd ravaged the galaxy Corrain so loved, glassed planets and terrorized billions simply because he could, because he was angry at the world and couldn't take it out on Valkorion. But then Corrain had found him on Voss, had quietly confirmed their shared father - and had stretched out a hand and said "...I cannot forgive you for anyone but myself, but if you want atonement...I can help you start somewhere, Arcann."
And now here he is, standing at Corrain's side as the tiny man paces around the holotable with the Alliance's latest reports, his long white hair tied back in a neat plait. He's rubbing at the base of his neck again, a habit Arcann has slowly noticed that occurs whenever he's particularly anxious about something. But before he can say anything, can ask any questions- Lana catches the offending hand in hers, pulling the slight Jedi to a halt, and plants a soft kiss on the nape of Corrain's neck.
"Relax, my sweet Jedi," she murmurs softly. Arcann turns away, feeling like he's intruded on something precious in spite of how they're standing in the command suite, in plain view of everyone. He's not the only one to do so either - he can see Eiri rolling his eyes pointedly, and the Togruta smuggler who's been such an impressively disruptive force for his supply lines, Kessin, also makes a face and looks away. It's not unusual for Lana or Theron to need to drag Corrain into a moment of calm, he's come to learn. Nor is it unusual for them to clearly display their affection for each other, with the odd side-effect of often quieting his brother's more passionate moments - as if he can only find peace within their presence.
But as Theron wanders over to help Lana corral their agitated Commander out of his nervous pacing, he can't help but wonder about the odd tic here - one that warrants simultaneous attention from both of his brother's partners. He bites his lip on the question, trying not to allow it to cross his tongue. The answer can come in due time, he's sure. When the memory of Valkorion's bitter ache on their pasts rings less clear.
And then Kessin clears their throat, absently flipping one of their lekku around their throat like a violet scarf.
"Oi, ex-tyrant, c'mere for a second," they call.
It stings - but he sighs heavily, turns away from where his brother is leaning into Lana's shoulder, a cold distance in those thunderstorm eyes, and follows them. He's led only a short distance away, just out of earshot of everyone clustered around the holotable - and then Kessin growls at him a little. Belatedly, he remembers that Togruta are carnivores.
"Okay, listen," they snap, but there's an unusual gravity to their voice and he can't help but straighten up somewhat at the tone. "You're about to ask about the reason why Cor's got both the Sith lady and spyboy on him right now, yeah? I can see you watching him when he paces like that."
Arcann doesn't have the heart to lie, so he nods once and then tucks his hands behind his back.
"Well...more precisely, I wanted to ask about the thing he's doing with his hands - where he rubs at the back of his neck," he confesses. "He...does it often, it seems, when he's anxious or stressed, and it's unusual. I wasn't about to ask NOW though, I'm not quite that foolish. Lana has already threatened my life at least four times."
Kessin appears only slightly appeased by that, and they lean back against the stone wall with an eye roll. They're taller than him, Arcann notices idly, though that's mostly due to their arcing montrals.
"Tactful choice," they comment lightly. Then they're quiet for a minute before their expression softens marginally. "Look. You're one of the few people in the galaxy I hate as much as Sith, but Cor's decided you're worth the effort somehow, and he's right about ninety percent of the time. So lemme give you some advice. If you ask about the neck tic - have a few bottles of alcohol with you, and put Lana or Theron on standby. I was there for part of uh...his particular incident. It's a hell of a story, and he's still shattered by it, in a lot of ways."
Arcann stares, a little flabbergasted.
"You- aren't trying to warn me away?" He asks, stunned. Kessin's expression hardens again.
"...no. Not when...well. This involves your father. His father. Ugh. The karking piece of shit Sith Emperor. You already know the little Commander hates your dad. This is related to why."
Arcann can feel his blood boil at the mention of Valkorion's other incarnation - and suddenly the way Lana and Theron are tag-teaming his younger- older?- brother into a semblance of calm makes far more sense.
"Then thank you for your guidance, Captain Meyka," he says, tone low. "I'm grateful."
They snort, but there's no bite in it.
"It's not for you, jackass."
-
He manages to catch Corrain alone later that evening, after carefully approaching Lana - suicidal, probably, but she'd just raised an eyebrow at him and nodded curtly, then shot off to find Theron - and the location is ideal. Arcann almost wonders if either the Sith lord or former Republic spy that his brother loves so much had suggested the young commander come out here.
The Odessen wilds are beautiful, after all. Calming but cold, steady but melancholic- a strange, delicate tightrope between pain and peace. And Corrain sits calmly in the grass, meditating. Arcann can feel him in the Force, like the warmth of a summer thunderstorm, clean ozone and soft rain and muggy heat, and dangerous potential. Storms can build, he knows - and Corrain feels like he's been waiting for the sky to break for years.
"You, uh...noticed my little habit, did you?" Corrain asks as he approaches. Arcann reaches for him without speaking, brushing the edge of his awareness against his brother's as carefully as he can, hesitantly projecting both worry and curiosity and the ache that wishes he knew this new sibling better- and Corrain turns to look at him and smiles wryly.
"I'm not going to break anytime soon, Arcann, you don't have to just tap me like that," he says- and then he sees the bag in Arcann's hand, a bottle of Alderaanian wine and a couple cups peeking out- and he laughs. There's a rueful twist to it.
"I was...warned this may help make the conversation smoother," Arcann explains with a sheepish frown, and pauses next to a patch of grass next to the Jedi. "Ah, may I-"
"Sit your ass down," Corrain laughs again, and there's no bitterness in the sound anymore. Arcann does as invited. "And alright, I might crack a bit. Who told you to bring wine?"
Arcann hesitates, then shrugs.
"Captain Meyka."
Corrain groans, a little exasperated, but fond.
"Classic Kess," he sighs. "Alright then. Ask."
Arcann pauses, regarding Corrain for a long moment. This close, his relation to Valkorion is distinct, but not obvious - there's a similarity in their faces that eludes definition- and then of course, there are those stormy grey-blue eyes. Valkorion had that eye color, once.
Corrain just watches him, white eyebrows hiding behind his bangs.
"My original question was going to be to ask why you rubbed at your neck when you were anxious...but I was informed it was related to our father, so-"
He doesn't miss the way Corrain's entire expression curls into a snarl at the mention of Valkorion, nor the way his thunderstorm aura crackles into static electricity and howling anger, a cyclone of hatred forming in the blink of an eye- and Arcann can almost taste the satisfaction of his own answering fury on his tongue. After all - it was this hate, it's intensity and passion which had convinced him to join his younger brother.
"...Darth Vitiate held me captive for almost two years," Corrain says finally, and reaches for the collar of his shirt, tugging it open and pushing the fabric down to bare the upper part of his back and neck. And Arcann freezes at the sight of raised, ropy scars striping over pale skin, at the jagged lines of stark white cut into the nape of the Jedi's neck. There's so many, he realizes. And some are layered over each other, as if to rip open old injuries for added pain.
When he lifts his head to meet his brother's gaze again, he can swear those grey eyes flash acid gold.
"He implanted a shock collar." The quiet voice is like ice. "Wired it directly into my spinal column while I was awake to feel the agony. Used it to punish me when I wouldn't kill for him, then forced me to kill anyway."
Ah. Arcann's expression sours, like a flame forced to smolder, and Corrain grins in answer. It's not a nice smile- there's a feral bloodlust in it, and the promise of vengeance. Arcann knows from his knowledge of the Jedi that it's not something they'd encourage. But it's what convinced him to follow - the genuine pain, the rage, the kinship it creates between them. The sure knowledge that this young storm - his brother, his younger sibling, found in the worst of ways - is his best chance at truly seeing Valkorion fall.
And yet- he can't shake the guilt, the sorrow for what he's done. For the suffering that must be having their father's spirit rattling around inside Corrain's subconscious. There's too much of Thexan's strength of heart in Corrain to see it lost to Tyth's fire and Izax's desolation.
So he reaches out, steadier this time, and lets his youngest sibling feel the weight of his promise.
"I will see his hold on you broken, little brother," Arcann swears, and it tastes a little like hope. "I will see you free again."
And Corrain softens back into kindness and summer rain and the smell of the earth after a nourishing rainstorm, and his smile turns true.
"And I, you, Arcann. And I, you."
