FIC: Haat'Mand'alor be Yaim'ol ~ Star Wars ~ Obi-Wan/Jaster ~ Mature ~ Chapter 2/10

[batsutousai]

Title: Haat'Mand'alor be Yaim'ol
Fandom: Star Wars
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Jaster Mereel
Warnings: Time travel, canon-typical violence, fix-it (apparently), not everyone dies/some live, the Kaminoans are the worst, Jaster is the Mand'alor we deserve, character death, the clones deserve better, Jaster has 3 million grandkids, mental manipulation, Mandalorian culture, Mandalorian morality, an excessive amount of murder (of Kaminoans), Jedi culture respected, Jango needs a hug, Rex needs a hug, Fox needs a hug, EVERYONE GETS A HUG (except the Kaminoans), asexual Jango, nonbinary clones, trans clones, polyamory mention, disabled characters, happy ending
Summary: Jaster Mereel doesn't die on Korda VI, but is instead thrust forward thirty years to Kamino.

A/N: As promised, Jango gets to suffer Jaster's 'disappointed buir everything'.
Also, Boba is cute (if a bit of a shit), so are a bunch of other clones, Jaster has three million plus grandchildren and is living, a certain trainer does not survive over-protective Ba'buir!Jaster, and the Kaminoans are actively the worst.

Hover for chapter-specific warnings, for those who would prefer them.



"Get out of my way, jetii," Jaster heard as he woke.

"No. Jaster-" Obi-Wan said.

"No one gave you permission to use my buir's name." That was Jango. Actually Jango, not one of the clones.

How long had he slept?

"He did," Obi-Wan replied calmly. "Tervho was there, you can ask her. But you can't go in; Jaster is sleeping."

Jaster's attention was drawn away from the argument-Jango was attempting to leverage family relation-by the curtains shifting and a small, familiar face poking through. "Su'cuy," he offered the vision of Jango at nine or ten.

Golden-brown eyes narrowed on him. "You're Ba'buir Jaster?" they demanded, more than asked.

This, then, must be the adiik Jango had taken with him when he'd left Kamino. "I am. Your buir never told me your name, I'm afraid."

The adiik glowered at him for a moment, then said, " 'M Boba."

"Su'cuy, Bob'ika."

They ducked their head in the same way Jango had always done while trying to hide his pleasure at a compliment. "Su'cuy, Ba'buir."

Jango had moved on to threats-Obi-Wan sounded unimpressed as they pointed out Jango had already tried to kill them-and Jaster shook his head and patted the bed. "Come up here, let me see you."

Boba cast a quick glance over one shoulder, then scurried across the space, saw Jaster's wounded leg, and scurried around the bed to the other side before scrambling up to lay down next to him.

The position was familiar-Jango used to settle in exactly that spot after he'd woke from a nightmare and climbed into bed with Jaster-and Jaster relaxed into it, wrapping his arm around the adiik to keep them from falling off the edge of the bed, and reaching across his chest with his other hand to scratch through Boba's hair.

"Buir said you were dead a long time ago," Boba informed him. "Are you a ghost? Buir says ghosts don't exist, but I've read all sorts of stories where they do, that they haunt things that were important to them in life, or they stay to punish someone who's done bad. Are you here to punish Buir?"

Jaster raised his eyebrows; Boba was a lot more chatty than Jango had been at their age. "No, I'm not a ghost, although I can't explain how I've come to be in this time and place."

"Maybe the jetii did it. Buir says-"

"I don't think I should like to hear what your buir has to say about jedi," Jaster interrupted. "Why do you think I would punish your buir?"

"Because some of the trainers say that, one day, the Mand'alore are going to come back from the Ka'ra and make him remember that he's the Mand'alor and he should be for his people, not whatever this is."

Jaster considered that. Could that be why he'd been thrust into this future? To remind his ad of his duties? Had the Ka'ra got tired of waiting for Jango to sort himself out, and sent Jaster because he was the one most likely to succeed?

He'd never heard of anything similar happening in the past, but it could simply have been a private story that the Mand'alor of the time hadn't been comfortable sharing.

"Well," he settled on, as Baar'ur Gilamar shouted about weapons not being allowed in the medbay, "if that is why I'm here, no one saw fit to tell me." Then he gently covered Boba's ear and raised his voice to call, "Obi-Wan, let him in."

The curtain drew back properly, revealing Jango, all in silver beskar'gam, with his buy'ce tucked under one arm, the visor lined in blue. He looked so much older, harder than the fresh-faced ad who had beamed at him only a couple of days ago, when Jaster promised he could lead his personal team of ramikade during their battle on Korda VI. The Grunts had been Jango's pride and joy, all of them of an age with him, no more than three years past their verd'goten. Jango had won their loyalty with the story of him setting the charge under the tank on Concord Dawn when he was only eight; they had, to a being, adored him.

"Boba," Jango said, and Jaster was surprised to recognise the tone as one of his own. "I hope you didn't wake your ba'buir up."

"No, you carrying on like a spoilt ik'aad woke me," Jaster returned flatly.

Jango ducked his head and hunched his shoulders; the picture of a chastised ad.

"Come here," Jaster ordered. "When I hugged you this morning, you weren't much bigger than Bob'ika."

Jango flinched, and then he was hurrying over to the bed in a manner that was adorably similar to Boba's scurrying, golden-brown eyes darting to Jaster's bandaged leg and then taking pains to avoid it as he sat his buy'ce down on the edge of the bed and helped Jaster to sit up so he could draw his ad into a proper hug, Boba shifting with him and continuing to lean against Jaster's side.

Jango hiccupped against Jaster's shoulder, like he did when he was trying so very desperately not to burst into tears, and Jaster scratched his blunt nails over the close-cropped dark hair, murmuring, "Uur, uur, kotep kih'nau. Morut'yc."

That was all it took for Jango to start sobbing, clinging hard enough to Jaster that his beskar'gam ached where it dug in.

"Come here, Boba," someone murmured, and Boba got off the bed, giving Jaster a bit more space to hug Jango as tight as he could, whispering hollow promises of safety and honest words of love against his ad's hair.

When Jango finally tugged back, he rubbed roughly at his face, possibly in an attempt to hide the dark flush Jaster didn't need to see to know was there-Jango had always been embarrassed about the handful of times he'd really let himself cry, and Jaster had never known if that was because his birth buire or ori'vod had shamed him for it, or if they'd just never communicated to him that it was okay-and quietly said, in Mando'a, "I got there in time to see Montross leaving you behind. Would've run out and got shot down myself, after you fell, but Silas stopped me. When Vizsla finally left and we could get to you, all we could find was your blaster."

Jaster caught one of Jango's hands in his, idly considering the unfamiliar scars and the thick callouses, as he murmured, "What happened to Montross?"

Jango huffed. "Banished them. Wasn't sure I'd have the support I needed if I killed them outright. They're dead, now."

"And Vizsla? Obi-Wan said they were assumed dead."

Jango grimaced at the mention of the jedi, but said, "Dead. Dire cats. Left their remains to rot in the sun, as they deserved. Coward."

"Good," Jaster decided, and Jango's shoulders drooped, like he was relieved at Jaster's lack of censure. "Now, would you like to explain why you've helped shape an army for the jedi, despite claiming to hate them?"

Jango's eyes skittered to the side and he pulled his hand from Jaster's.

Jaster knew, before he could even open his mouth, that Jango was about to lie to him. So he held up a hand and turned a disappointed look on his ad. "If the only thing you have to say is a lie, you can leave," he said flatly. "I have a great many grandchildren to get to know."

Jango scowled. "Boba's your only grandchild," he said just as flatly.

Ice flashed down Jaster's spine and his stomach turned. "Out," he ordered.

"They're clones, Buir!" Jango insisted, looking hurt.

"They are children," Jaster snarled, remembering just fine the three clones they'd stumbled across in the medbay. "If you can't see that, you are no child of mine."

Jango jerked back, as though he'd been struck. Hurt and grief chased across his face, before they were both banished by a cold anger that transformed Jango's face into a stranger's. He straightened, grabbed his buy'ce, and stalked away from the bed, snapping, "Boba! K'olar!"

Boba shot an uncertain look at Jaster as he trotted past the opened curtain, but he didn't say anything, just obeyed his buir.

Jaster closed his eyes, hurting and furious and confused; surely he'd raised Jango better than this.

"Jaster?"

He glanced up to find Obi-Wan standing in the open space of the curtain, their expression so perfectly calm, Jaster knew it had to be a mask. And, while a part of him hated that, that the jedi felt they needed to hide, most of him was grateful to be spared whatever reaction the jedi had to whatever they'd overheard. "Yes?"

"Tervho is offering to take us to meet some of the clones, once Baar'ur Gilamar clears you." Their mouth quirked up at one side. "Apparently, the three we met earlier have been talking, and now all of their vode want to meet the jedi."

Jaster managed a smile of his own at that. "Yes, I think I would like that."

Obi-Wan inclined their head and turned away. Then they hesitated, back to Jaster, before offering, "My padawan is nineteen. He is...unusually strong in the Force, but he started training later than most of his peers; he's forever flopping between arrogance and frustration. I've learnt that, sometimes, the best thing I can do for him, is leave him to sort himself out on his own, and let him decide when to come back to me."

Jaster rubbed tiredly at his face. "He was never like this as a child," he complained, and hated that the words came out sounding petulant.

Obi-Wan offered a crooked smile over their shoulder. "He's an adult, now; he's not used to having anyone to answer to. Or, at least, he's not used to having someone there he wants to be proud of him. Give him some time to adjust." They turned away, and added, "I'm not certain I would react well if my master was suddenly alive again and he started judging the way I've raised Anakin, or complained that I no longer use the sabre form he swore by."

That was a...fair point. Jaster doubted he would take his buir-who had been the one to push him to train as a Journeyman Protector, had cheered him on the whole way; her death had been not even a full month before he'd been kicked out of the Protectors-popping up in his life and judging him for his choices, very well, either. "I will...try to remember that. Vor'e."

"N'entye," Obi-Wan replied, and left to, presumably, hunt down the baar'ur so Jaster could finally get out of bed.

Meeting the clones was both a wonder and a source of heartbreak for Jaster. It was like looking into a portal into the past, visions of his ad at varying ages, even the ones he'd missed because it had been before he'd known him, or after he'd...died? Been pulled out of time?

But the clones also had designations instead of names-Vhonte did murmur to him and Obi-Wan early on, that most of the older clones had names they'd been given by trainers or picked for themselves, but they tended to be cautious about who they shared them with, as the Kaminoans and some of the trainers didn't approve; Jaster wanted to break something-and none of the ones Vhonte took them to meet seemed to be fluent in Mando'a.

"I am going to bend Jango over my knee-" he snarled after the second classroom they'd visited.

"No, you won't," Obi-Wan interrupted drily, while Vhonte proceeded to have a coughing fit ahead of them. "It won't help matters, and I doubt your leg would hold up when they fought back."

That was unfortunately true, and Jaster was grateful for the cover of his buy'ce, as it hid his scowl.

Even though Obi-Wan lacked a buy'ce to hide behind, Jaster couldn't guess what the jedi was feeling behind the perfectly calm expression they kept on their face. He hoped that was a sign that they were trying to keep contained any signs of anger or disgust, but recognised he didn't know Obi-Wan well enough to assume anything. It was entirely possible that the calm expression was just how jedi were meant to interact with others-some sort of law specific to them; most stories did describe jedi in such a way as to suggest they did their best to appear unaffected by events around them-and the flashes of personality Jaster had already seen, had been a fluke.

Meeting the other trainers-the Cuy'val Dar, Vhonte called them, 'those who no longer exist'; according to her, they'd all been required to sign a contract that disallowed them contact with anyone outside of Kamino for the duration of the job, and hadn't been allowed to warn friends or family about where they were going-tended to go one of two ways. Either they didn't recognise Jaster's name-all of the non-Mando'ade fell in that category, as well as a depressing number of the Mando'ade-or they got upset at the thought that someone was pretending to be him.

For those he'd known in the past-Kal Skirata, whose buir had brought him into Jaster's camp shortly after he'd found Jango; Rav Bralor, who had sworn to Jaster after Kyr'tsad wiped out half her clan; Wad'e Tay'haai, who had been a couple years younger than Jango, so had never served as one of Jaster's ramikade, but all three of their buire had; and a couple of others-it hadn't been hard to convince them who he was; he'd always kept as aware of the events of his people's lives as best he could, and that breadth of personal knowledge now served him well, even thirty years out of date. Those he hadn't known in the past were a little harder to convince, but most seemed willing to accept Vhonte's word, once she stepped in.

Obi-Wan had it both easier and harder; the only ones who questioned their being a jedi were the clones, but the clones and a few of the non-Mando'ade were the only ones who didn't make it clear that they would prefer to see the jedi dead. That neither Obi-Wan nor Vhonte seemed surprised by that, upset Jaster.

"Almost all of those who would call Jango their Mand'alor," Vhonte said, after the fourth time one of the Mando'ade Cuy'val Dar did the helmeted equivalent of spitting on Obi-Wan, presumably recognising that Jaster was seriously considering starting a fight, "lost someone during the massacre. The rest either took offence to the jetiise sticking their noses into our affairs and backing the Hut'ade, or bought into Kyr'tsad's hatred of them."

"Please stop calling them that," Obi-Wan had requested in a mild tone, before looking at Jaster and saying, "Starting a brawl is unlikely to help matters," while Vhonte scoffed at their request.

"Kyr'tsad are cowards who pretend they hold to the Resol'nare, even as they murder non-combatants and children in their homes," Jaster said, struggling to keep his tone even. "Anyone who follows their lies are dar'manda."

Obi-Wan shot him a startled look, while Vhonte sighed. "Jaster, disliking the jetiise was popular long before Kyr'tsad became the leading faction with those beliefs."

"It's not as though the New Mandalorians are any more inclined to jedi," Obi-Wan added mildly. "In terms of cultural relations, Galidraan may as well have thrown us back to the Mandalorian Conquests."

Jaster huffed, disgusted.

Obi-Wan and Vhonte glanced at each other. But, before they could continue the conversation, they had reached their next classroom, revealing a group of at least twenty clones that looked to be four or five.

Jaster melted, immediately tugging off his buy'ce and going to greet the crowd of curious little faces. By their startled reactions, this was not how their trainers reacted to them, and Jaster had to fight hard to keep his fury from showing. Instead, he knelt before them, introduced himself, and asked for their names.

Obi-Wan joined him after a moment, kneeling smoothly next to Jaster and offering a warm smile to the adiike. They introduced themself and, when one of the braver adiike asked them if they were really a jedi, Obi-Wan's smile turned mischievous and they offered to lift the adiik into the air without touching them.

What followed was nearly a quarter-hour of adiike shrieking in delight as Obi-Wan floated most of them in the air-one realised they could do a cartwheel, which set nearly all of them to performing acrobatics in the air-while the others hesitantly shuffled over to Jaster and Obi-Wan. Jaster ended up with one of them perched precariously on his back, yelling insults at some of those in the air, and two sat in front of him with his buy'ce, looking it over with curious eyes. Obi-Wan, meanwhile, had had to resettle themself to accommodate the two clones who had climbed into their lap; one of them was asleep, while the other was whispering suggestions about how high the ones in the air should be, or pointed out that one of them could use a nudge to help them start spinning.

Obi-Wan was smiling, warm and adoring in a way that made Jaster's chest feel tight, one arm wrapped protectively around the sleeping adiik, and Jaster couldn't help but think that Vhonte had been right: They were wasted on the jedi. Or, at least, they were wasted as a field jedi; it was so very clear that spending time with adiike made them happy, and even the most suspicious of the clones seemed to like Obi-Wan after knowing them for only a handful of minutes.

The door of the room opened and a voice called, "You little shits had best- What the kriff is going on, here?" they finished in a snarl.

"Reau," Vhonte greeted from where she'd stayed back, out of the way. (Jaster honestly wasn't certain if she'd remained apart because she thought she wouldn't be welcome, or because she was recording video of them.) "So nice of you to finally show up. I heard you were running late and decided your class could use a babysitter."

The adiike, Jaster noticed, had all gone still and were watching the doorway with uncertain, scared eyes. Obi-Wan had gently settled them all back to the floor while Vhonte spoke, and they'd stepped in close to each other, like they were huddling together for safety.

Jaster climbed to his feet as soon as the adiik who had been on his back moved, accepting his buy'ce back from the curious pair, and he put it on as he turned to face the doorway, finding a Mando'ad in beskar'gam that was mostly orange, with yellow bolts on their hal'cabure, yellow kama, and a yellow buy'ce with grey markings.

The newcomer didn't respond verbally, instead pulling out a blaster and firing a shot at Obi-Wan, who had stood with Jaster, and was still holding the sleeping adiik against their chest.

"No!" the adiike behind them screamed, while Vhonte grabbed for the other's blaster.

Obi-Wan held up a hand and just...caught the blaster bolt not even ten centimetres from the adiik they were holding, the energy flaring and sparking against their palm. They shoved the palm forward, and the bolt shot back the way it had come, just missing the Mando'ad and blackening the wall next to the door. A threat that the next one wouldn't miss, Jaster suspected.

"If you shoot at my verd'ika again," Vhonte said, as she shoved the muzzle of one of her blasters against the underside of the Mando'ad's buy'ce-the style was humanoid, so Jaster knew it would be digging into the softer part of the seal, where even a stun bolt would ruin both the atmospheric seal and some of the inner electronics- "he'll have to settle for murdering your cyare, because I'll be the one to kill you."

"It is a jetii," the orange and yellow Mando'ad snarled, with almost more hatred in their voice than Jaster had yet heard from any of the Mando'ade they'd met.

"And you're Kyr'tsad," Vhonte returned flatly.

Jaster itched for his missing blaster, but settled for pulling out the bes'kal kept in his belt.

Next to him, Obi-Wan had stiffened and shifted, turning so the adiik they held was less of a target.

The Kyr'tsad verd holstered their blaster.

"Vhonte," Jaster growled, not putting his bes'kal away, "would you like to explain why there's a member of Kyr'tsad here? Or should I comm my son and demand answers?"

Vhonte lowered her blaster, but didn't holster it. "She's not, technically, Kyr'tsad," Vhonte said, just a hint of disgust audible through her buy'ce's modulator.

"No," the orange and yellow Mando'ad agreed, "I'm not. Unfortunately."

"Isabet Reau," Vhonte bit out, "may I introduce Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Mand'alor Jaster Mereel."

Reau scoffed. "Really? This is the new low you hut'uune are stooping to?" they asked, sounding utterly unimpressed. "Pretending to have revived your previous false Mand'alor because your current one is a joke?"

Jaster was going to gut them.

"If you don't believe Jaster's claims, you're welcome to duel him," Obi-Wan commented, tone perfectly bland. "That is how the contention over the title is supposed to be handled. Not that Vizsla was ever brave enough to try. Against either Jaster or Fett." They hummed. "I guess that made him twice the coward."

Reau let out an enraged scream and threw themself at Obi-Wan.

Jaster didn't even see what happened, Obi-Wan moved so fast. One moment, Reau was coming straight at them, a blade glinting as it extended from their kom'rk; the next, they were on the ground on their back, Obi-Wan's lit kad'au pointed at their throat and his foot stood on the kom'rk with the hidden blade, which was digging into the ground.

Obi-Wan was still holding the adiik, who had woken at some point and was staring between Obi-Wan and Reau with wide, adoring eyes.

"I've faced New Mandalorians better able to fight than you," Obi-Wan commented, tone still perfectly bland, and Jaster couldn't stop a vicious grin at that insult. Obi-Wan's kad'au wooshed off and they stepped back, off Reau's arm. "Consider this a warning: Do not attack me again."

Jaster watched as Reau stood, then stepped forward and pressed his bes'kal to their throat, smiling behind his buy'ce as they froze in the act of dusting off the beskar Obi-Wan's foot had been stepping down on. "Perhaps," he said in as even a tone as he could manage through the fury heating his blood, "you could explain to me, dar'manda, why you have twice, now, endangered a child." Because Obi-Wan might be willing to let the attacks go, but Jaster would not.

"Dar-!" Reau shouted, jerking back as though the insult was a strike. When Jaster's blade followed them, the sharp edge of the beskar pressing against their throat hard enough to cut through the fabric protecting it and likely nicking skin, they drew in a sharp breath and froze.

"I'm waiting," Jaster warned.

"There are no children here," Reau snarled. "Only simpering, whining little-"

Jaster cut their throat.

"Jaster!" Vhonte shouted, sounding disapproving, as Reau grabbed for their throat and let out a gurgling sound.

Jaster turned to Vhonte. "I will ask again," he said icily, and Vhonte straightened, clearly recognising his tone, "why did my son allow someone with Kyr'tsad sympathies here?"

Her head ducked down in a show of subservience, or apology. "I, I don't know," she said quietly, barely audible over Reau's death gurgles. "I think...he was looking to have as diverse a group as he could. It's possible she and Priest-"

"There's another?" Jaster demanded.

Vhonte nodded. "Dred Priest. They could have been suggested by someone else-he asked me if I knew of any hunters or mercenaries who would be willing to vanish for eight to ten years, when he comm'd me about the job-and Jango just...didn't know they had Kyr'tsad leanings until after they'd signed the contract. I know he uses them as examples, a lot, when he needs to show the cadets how to use a particular move in hand-to-hand or with hard-contact weapons. And he almost killed them after the incident."

"Incident," Jaster repeated flatly.

Vhonte hesitated, then said, "Priest and Reau were pulling cadets after dinner and forcing them to fight each other until they collapsed. Jango wasn't on Kamino when it started, but he ended it almost the minute he got back."

Jaster clenched his jaw, furious that Jango hadn't killed the pair outright, but relieved that he'd put an end to it the moment he could. That was...something.

A hand pressed lightly against his upper arm, where it wasn't covered by beskar, and Obi-Wan murmured, "Tervho, you said you all had to sign a contract?"

"Yes. Pay agreement, promises to not attempt to contact anyone outside of Kamino or leave the planet."

"Is it possible Fett also had to sign a contract?" Obi-Wan asked.

Jaster blinked at that, some of his anger draining away; it was possible that Jango had signed a contract of his own that said he couldn't kill the trainers.

"Of course," Vhonte agreed. "Only an idiot would take on a job without working out and writing down some sort of contract, so the employer doesn't kriff you over once the job is done." She shook her head, lekku brushing over the edges of her hal'cabure with the motion. "You think, what, his contract said he couldn't kill any of us?"

"I can't begin to guess," Obi-Wan replied calmly. "But I do think it's suspicious that Fett, of all people, stopped from killing two Kyr'tsad sympathisers when they endangered children. No matter his refusal to claim them as family."

Little hands pressed against his legs, and Jaster looked down to find a few of the adiike peering around him to stare at Reau's still form. Some of them were wide-eyed with apparent surprise, while others looked distinctly pleased.

Obi-Wan hummed. "I believe we need a clean-up crew."

"And I should like to introduce myself to this Priest," Jaster added, letting the icy sensation of aged rage spread through his chest.

Vhonte snorted. "He'll find you soon enough, Mand'alor," she commented. "For now, cadets, why don't you lead Be- Obi-Wan and Jaster to your bunk room, and I'll come find you once the mess has been dealt with."

"'oes that mean there's no class?" one of them asked.

"Yes."

"Gonna stay?" Jaster heard the adiik Obi-Wan was still holding whisper.

"We are, at least for a little longer," Obi-Wan promised, and the adiik let out a delighted noise.

The adiike led them unerringly through the curved white halls to a narrow room lined with ladders and circular hatches with tiny, blue-tinged windows. When one of the adiik popped one of the tubes open to show Obi-Wan and Jaster that it was a bed, upon their request, Jaster had to grind his teeth.

The adiike were showing them a game that involved opening a series of the tubes on either side of the room and splitting into teams to see which of them could get to the far side by hopping from opened tube to opened tube the fastest, when Vhonte arrived with a clone all in white armour that clearly wasn't beskar.

"Alpha-21 will take over watching the cadets," Vhonte explained as the armoured clone stepped past them and was almost immediately mobbed by adiike who were clearly delighted to see them, some of them shouting 'Twenty-one!' while others shouted 'Hope!'; Jaster suspected that was their chosen name, and couldn't quite stop from smiling, as much at the sight, as at the proof that the clones did have names, even if they weren't willing to share them with Obi-Wan or himself. "I thought I would show you two to the trainers' mess, before it starts getting overcrowded."

Jaster glanced at Obi-Wan, who shrugged. "Your call," the jedi said.

"Oh no," Vhonte interrupted. "I know you, Ben; this is non-negotiable. And, if you don't eat an entire serving, I'm setting Mij on you."

Obi-Wan sighed, slumping as though dejected. "Why is it," they asked in a tone that suggested they were speaking to the galaxy at large, rather than Vhonte or Jaster, "that everyone I meet seems to think I don't eat enough?"

Vhonte grabbed Obi-Wan's shoulder and tugged them forward so they were next to each other, Vhonte's arm curling around Obi-Wan's. "Probably," she said in a tone so dry, it was clear through her modulator, "because you don't. And do not start with me about limited rations and trouble finding supplies while you were on the run," she added as she started walking down the hall, dragging Obi-Wan with her. "I stuck around in Sundari long enough to hear about your trip from Kryze and some of the others you bunked down with; I have heard all about your compulsive need to split your rations and give half to someone else."

"I have the Force to support me," Obi-Wan said in a haughty tone. "I can survive on less food than non-jedi. And less sleep, before you start in on that."

"I'll believe that once I've heard it from one of your own medics."

"Healers."

"Baar'ure."

"Fair."

Jaster chuckled quietly as he followed them, grateful that at least one of his ramikade seemed willing to accept a jedi.

They'd been in the mess for around twenty minutes-none of the other Cuy'val Dar would sit with them, though there was plenty of space, and Jaster suspected it was because of Obi-Wan-when one of the adiik clones hurried in, took a quick look around, and then raced over to climb up into the chair next to Jaster with a pleased grin and a call of, "Ba'buir!"

This, then, would be Boba, Jaster assumed. Their hair was much longer than any of the clones of a similar age, which would help to pick them out from a crowd. "Bob'ika," he replied, and they beamed at him. "Where's your buir?"

Boba made a face, nose wrinkling endearingly in that way that Jango had only seemed to do when told he needed to do an assignment that wasn't to his liking. "He's being all grumpy. He broke a plate, I think, in the kitchen, and yelled and broke more things. I left."

Jaster sighed and wrapped an arm around his bu'ad. He didn't regret what he'd said to Jango-he was even more angry, now he'd met more of the clones, learnt some about how they lived, and he had never cared for Jango's rare attempts to lie to him, which his ad knew-but he did regret that Boba had suffered one of Jango's temper tantrums for it. "One would think," he said drily, "that your buir would have outgrown temper tantrums in the last thirty years."

Obi-Wan let out a polite cough, while Vhonte laughed outright.

Boba peeked around Jaster and glowered at Obi-Wan. "Go away, jetii," they ordered.

"Boba," Jaster warned.

The adiik look up with him with wide, pitiful eyes and their lip pushed out in a pout.

Jaster had developed an immunity to that face by the time Jango was eleven, and he raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his bu'ad in response.

Vhonte snorted, cleared her throat, and then jerked a thumb at Obi-Wan as she said, "Ben's one of my verde, Boba. I trained him in beskar'gam and he showed everyone up with swords and blasters. Don't let the robes fool you, he's as mandokarla as any Mando'ad here."

"I'm sure that isn't quite-" Obi-Wan started.

Vhonte pointed a finger at them and said, "You spent nearly every waking moment the first four months, when Kryze wasn't dragging you around, pestering people to teach you Mando'a; wore your beskar'gam around everywhere the moment we had you properly fitted; helped three of my verde better their swordcraft skills because one of them mentioned they wished they were better; got Kryze to wear kom'rke, which saved her life; kept her safe while on the run for over seven months-"

"Please stop," Obi-Wan groaned, ducking their head down like they thought it would hide the dark flush reddening their cheeks and neck.

Vhonte looked at Boba, who was casting Obi-Wan an interested look around Jaster-and they weren't the only one, Jaster saw; nearly all of the Mando'ad in the room were eying Obi-Wan with more interest than hostility-and said, "Oh, and he found your ba'buir, kept him from bleeding out, and got him to Mij. Despite your buir's attempts to murder him right before."

"Please don't start in on debts or anything," Obi-Wan requested, sounding tired. "Helping Jaster does not outweigh Galidraan."

Jaster frowned. "You weren't at Galidraan," he reminded the jedi. From what Obi-Wan had snapped in the medbay, they'd had their own survival to worry about, at the time.

Obi-Wan gave a shrug that looked uncomfortable and offered a strained smile. "No," they agreed, "but members of my lineage were."

"Not Jinn," Vhonte bit out, eyes narrowed.

Obi-Wan shook their head. "He was with me," they said. "His master-my grandmaster-and his padawan at the time. Komari went on a suicide mission a couple years later, never came home. My grandmaster left the Order after Qui-Gon's death." They shrugged again. "Blamed our answering to the Senate for his death."

"Oh," Vhonte said, staring down at her food, apparently at a loss.

"Were they right, your grandmaster?" Jaster couldn't quite stop himself from asking.

Obi-Wan let out an inelegant snort, a shadow to their expression. "Who can say? A second master might have helped, but Qui-Gon was not a particularly agreeable being." They nodded to Vhonte, who flashed a strained smile. "Adding another combatant could well have resulted in more of us dying, as we struggled to figure out how to fight together, or they could have seen to a different aspect of the mission and somehow caused that part to go awry." They shook their head. "The mission was completed successfully. So far as the Senate is concerned, the death of one jedi was a small price to pay."

Jaster felt cold. A part of him understood-he'd been Mand'alor for almost a decade, and he'd had to make his share of hard judgements, whether it was worth the loss one or even a few of his people, for the sake of the job's beneficial completion-but a larger part hated it.

"That's not right," Boba whispered.

"That is, unfortunately, life," Obi-Wan replied quietly. "I expect that, if there is some sort of war and your vode are called to service, they will all be faced with a moment when they will need to weigh their own life-or, for those in command positions, the lives of those under them-against the lives of the rest of their squad or civilians."

"Have you ever faced that choice?" Boba demanded with all the lack of apology of an adiik.

"Boba," Jaster hissed, while Boba's chair jerked, like someone had kicked it.

Obi-Wan tilted their head to the side, expression that perfectly calm one they'd worn for so much of the day. "Yes," they said. "A few times."

Boba scowled and pushed at the table, scooting their chair slightly to the side. "You're still alive, though. Are you a bad-"

"Boba," Jaster, Vhonte, and at least two more beings snapped.

"-jetii?" Boba finished without any shame.

Kriff, they were so much like Jango at that age.

Obi-Wan's mouth quirked. "One of my best friends claims I am 'disgustingly lucky'. Another option will appear before I can sacrifice myself, or someone with me with take the choice out of my hands." They cast Boba a considering look. "Did you need help getting yourself food?"

"No," Boba shot back, and then scrambled out of their chair and hurried over to the serving line.

Jaster groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. "They are definitely Jango's child," he muttered.

Vhonte and a number of others who were clearly listening in let out noises of amusement.

Obi-Wan let out their own quiet chuckle, then said, "Apparently, while I was gone on the first mission I was assigned as a knight, my padawan took his displeasure at being forced to remain behind out on the Jedi Council by joining a handful of them during breakfast and asking about the most embarrassing missions they'd ever been on. I suspect one or two of their former padawans gave him hints about what to ask."

Jaster, Vhonte, and others chuckled.

"Why did he get left behind?" a non-Mando'ad Kel Dor in a long coat with metal ribbing on their shoulders asked.

"He was only nine, at the time," Obi-Wan explained. "Temple policy is that padawans can't go out on missions until they're eleven. Thirteen, for missions that are expected to be dangerous." Then they inclined their head to the Kel Dor as they added, "Or species equivalent, I apologise; my padawan is human."

The Kel Dor inclined their own head in return, tusks twitching in what Jaster was fairly certain was amusement. "I would hardly expect you to count in Dorin years," they replied, tone almost teasing through their vocoder.

Obi-Wan chuckled. "One of our councillors is Kel Dor; he very much enjoys telling the curious how old he is in Dorin years, and then tells them they'll have to research the conversion to Republic standard themself."

The Kel Dor let out a noise of amusement and went back to their liquid meal, leaving it for a couple of their tablemates-both non-Mando'ade: a dark brown-skinned human or near, who wore silver bracers and had a blaster on their hip; and what looked to be a Pantoran, but with red eyes, instead of the more common yellow, who wore an eye-catchingly red tunic with a plunging neckline, clearly designed to show off their cleavage, and had two staffs leaning against the table next to them-to request information on current events from the jedi, which Obi-Wan seemed happy enough to discuss.

Boba pushed a tray onto the table in front of their seat next to Jaster, then hopped back into the chair and started eating with that particular scowl on their face that, on Jango, had always meant he was thinking hard about something. Jaster smiled to himself and left them to it, turning his focus back to his own food.

Vhonte was just opening her mouth-judging by her expression and the way Obi-Wan hadn't touched their food since they turned to speak to the other table, Jaster suspected she was about to read the jedi the riot act-when a purple and tan reptilian-Jaster didn't recognise their species-Mando'ad in brown beskar'gam with what looked to be abstract designs in grey on their hal'cabure and kom'rke, got up and stepped between Obi-Wan and their conversation companions. The non-Mando'ade fell silent, and Obi-Wan looked up and raised one eyebrow. "May I help you?" they asked, perfectly calm.

"You understand me?" the Mando'ad asked. There was a harshness to the way they bit off their words, which Jaster suspected would suit Mando'a much better than Basic, but they'd chosen to speak in Basic, presumably so the non-Mando'ade in the room wouldn't feel left out. Jaster found them easy enough to understand, used to communicating with all manner of species on a regular basis, but he could see how some beings might struggle to make out their words, especially if they were used to hearing Basic only from one or two species, or those who only heard it spoken in a particular accent.

"I do," Obi-Wan agreed.

The Mando'ad nodded. "You are New Mandalorian?" they asked.

Obi-Wan looked almost insulted for a moment, before their face cleared back to that calm mask they seemed to default to, and they said, "I'm a jedi."

The Mando'ad let out a snarl that Jaster thought was more a sign of disgruntlement than anger, but didn't know enough about their species to be sure. "You helped Kryze."

Obi-Wan gave a slow, almost thoughtful nod. "Yes. I was sent by the Republic Senate at the request of Adonai Kryze to safeguard his daughters, at any cost."

Next to Jaster, Boba dropped their utensil.

"You helped New Mandalorians," the Mando'ad said, nodding their head.

"She wants to know where you stand on Mandalorian politics," someone called.

"Ah." Obi-Wan cleared their throat, their mouth twisting with a wry smile. "I don't suppose claiming neutrality would fly?" they asked in a tone that suggested they welcomed others to share in a joke.

A couple of others in the room let out sounds of amusement, including Vhonte, whose snort sounded almost resigned.

"Not while you're sitting at a table with our dead Mand'alor," Wad'e called from where they were lounging at one of the tables in a corner of the room, which had been near-full when they'd first arrived, and had only got more so in the time since.

Jaster couldn't quite stop a snort at that.

Obi-Wan hummed and nodded, glancing back up at the reptilian Mando'ad. "I should be quite happy to never see a member of Kyr'tsad so long as I live, and I strongly disapprove of Satine-Duchess Kryze's-cultural genocide; I am not a pacifist, but I do not seek violence. Does that answer your question?" they replied, tone even.

The reptilian Mando'ad inclined their head. "Does," they said. They then turned to Jaster, pressing a fist to their ka'rta beskar, and said in Mando'a, "I am Currys, of clan Wren. I swear by house Mereel."

Jaster had been right about their species being better suited to Mando'a, than Basic. "Greetings, Currys of Wren. It is my honour to know you." He offered out an arm, and flashed a sharp smile when Currys accepted the grasp with the familiarity of someone who had done this before, wicked claws carefully held so there was no chance they might cut Jaster, even though their grip was firm. They flashed their own sharp smile back, revealing a mouthful of teeth clearly meant for ripping flesh. "May I ask what species you are?"

They snorted. "I am a Chistori. We do not often leave our home planet; it doesn't surprise me you would not recognise my kind."

Jaster inclined his head in understanding, then had to turn his chair to properly greet a line of Mando'ade who seemed to take that as permission to approach and swear themselves to him.

Behind him, he heard Vhonte hissing threats at Obi-Wan to get him to eat more. Boba snickered, but quickly shut up when Vhonte turned on them; Vhonte was clearly incapable of not parenting everyone around her at the first opportunity.

Throughout all the greetings, Jaster couldn't help but note that, while none of the Mando'ade attempted to interact with Obi-Wan-Jaster honestly wouldn't put it past Vhonte to be shooting warning glares at them so they wouldn't distract the jedi from their food-they seemed to be less obviously hostile towards them.

By the time both Obi-Wan and Boba had finished eating, the crowd had thinned out to just those Mando'ade interested in asking about the Supercommando Codex (Jaster was grateful to find it was still known, and that a large number of the Mando'ade whom he'd not known previously were familiar with it; that Obi-Wan was also clearly familiar with it, surprised Jaster much less, given Vhonte had practically claimed them as her clan).

"Boba," Obi-Wan asked during a lull in the conversation, "did you let your buir know where you were going?"

Jaster jerked in surprise, then twisted to look at his bu'ad, who was slumping in their seat, chin pressing against their collarbone. "No," they muttered.

Jaster closed his eyes and resisted a groan; he should have expected that, really, and seen to it that Jango was informed as soon as Boba had shown up. Jango hadn't pulled the vanishing act on Jaster since he was nine and Jaster had been forced to leave without being able to let his ad know; the rescue he'd left for had ended well, but Jango had been half-mad with terror that he would lose another buir, and had practically plastered himself to Jaster's side for weeks.

"Boba," Vhonte said, voice full of disapproval, even as she lifted her arm and tapped a few buttons on her kom'rk.

A holo of Jango formed over her kom'rk, the back of his buy'ce to Jaster. "Me'copaani?" he demanded, voice sharp.

"I have Boba. They came looking for their grandparent," Vhonte replied in Mando'a.

Jango let out a harsh breath. "Good. They can stay with them. I'm busy."

Jaster didn't need to see Vhonte's eyes narrowing or the way Boba stiffened, shooting their buir's holo a worried look, to know that brush-off meant nothing good. "Trouble?" Vhonte asked, her tone gone light and friendly in a manner that Jaster recognised meant she was gearing up to crack some heads together.

"Dral'hane," Jango said.

Jaster's breath froze in his lungs, mind flashing to the scars of acidic desert marking Manda'yaim and Concord Dawn, where the Republic's fear of the Mando'ade had led to them firing on the planets in an attempt to end their people at the source, careless of the lives of children and non-combatants who were murdered by their order. The Dral'Han was a nightmare story that served as the cornerstone for centuries of Mando'ade hatred of the Republic and Jedi.

(It had taken Jaster years-and some fair bit of less-than-legal slicing-to discover that, while jedi had been involved in the fighting against groups of Mando'ade verde along the boundaries of Manda'lase, and their ships had been used in the bombing of the planets, no jedi had been on those ships. They had, in fact, argued against it in the Senate, going so far as to threaten to leave the Republic entirely if they proceeded with such a horrific plan. Jaster hadn't been able to find any information on why the Jet'tsad had remained with the Republic after the Dral'Han. But, given what Obi-Wan had said about the Senate limiting the Jedi as punishment for Galidraan, he wouldn't be surprised to discover they'd found a way to force them to remain.)

"-any help?" Vhonte was asking.

"Nay-" Jango started, before he fell silent, his head tilting just slightly, in that way that had often meant he'd had an idea, usually one that would end very poorly for someone. "Is the jetii with you?"

"Elek," Obi-Wan said, tone mild.

Jango gave a jerky nod. "Bring them to mern orenth twenty-eight," he ordered, and then the holo cut out.

Obi-Wan let out a hum, which was interrupted by Boba asking, voice small, "Are you going to stop the decommissionings?"

Jaster stiffened and felt, more than saw, Obi-Wan do the same next to him. "Decommissionings?" the jedi enquired gently.

"The Kaminiise, when there's a clone that's not performing 'optimally'," Vhonte said, spitting the word, "they kill them."

The air around them seemed to freeze, and Jaster could have sworn he could see his breath when he let out a startled grunt at the sudden drop in temperature.

"Do they," Obi-Wan said, and their voice was even, their expression that perfect mask of calm, but Jaster could see, as close as he was sitting to them, that their pale eyes blazed with rage. They stood, movements smooth, nothing like the angry, jerky way Jaster knew he would be moving when he found the breath to get up himself. "I believe I need to speak with Lama Su. Excuse me." And then they strode calmly from the mess.

The freezing air went with them.

Curses were breathed in their wake, shocked and maybe a little awed.

Vhonte blinked a couple of times. "Wow," she said at last. "He was pissed."

Jaster took in a slow breath of the warmed air. "He's not the only one," he said, and wasn't surprised by the snarl in his own voice. "How long have these demagol'yc acts been happening?"

Vhonte winced, and was saved having to answer by Kal Skirata stepping up behind her and dropping a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Since before we were brought in, Mand'alor," he said, voice a low rumble of disgust. "Fett's been able to step in a few times-my boys, four of his Alphas, three of the command class, maybe two dozen of the regs-but they got smart, grabbing the clones in the night, when no one would notice them gone missing until it's too late, or taking charge of their medical treatment and an 'accident' would occur."

"And there's me," Boba said in a voice that was too world-weary for their age. "I heard Ko Sai threatening to grab the wrong clone if Buir didn't stop making such a fuss."

That drew outraged sounds from the crowd of Cuy'val Dar.

Kal's lip drew back in a snarl, baring teeth that looked somehow more threatening than human teeth should. "Doesn't surprise me," he said, voice sharp and furious. "I've seen the way she and hers look at my boys, like they're just waiting for an excuse to finish what Fett and I stopped."

Jaster felt a little like the cold air that had followed Obi-Wan from the room, was reforming around him, drawing ice into his veins and numbing his nerves to anything but the flame of rage unfurling in his chest.

He picked up his buy'ce and put it on, then stood, distantly surprised at how smoothly he was moving. "Jango will be expecting backup," he heard himself say, and something about his voice made every single being in that room stand to attention. "Vhonte."

Vhonte grabbed for her faceplate as she scrambled to her feet. " 'Lek, Mand'alor. Ward, take Boba."

Boba groaned, but didn't try to fight as Llats Ward, a Boltrunian Mando'ad with a large kyr'bes painted in yellow across the front their beskar'gam, took charge of them.

Vhonte turned and led the way out of the mess, Jaster close on her heels. The rhythmic sound of a dozen boots striking the ground sounded behind him, and Jaster wasn't particularly surprised, when he switched the camera of his buy'ce to see behind him, to find Kal at the lead of a crowd of Cuy'val Dar following along behind him. Most were Mando'ade, by their beskar'gam, but there were two who weren't.

Part 2 Fucking LJ, tho
Chapters One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten   Glossary
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