Disclaimer: Supernatural and Star Wars are not mine.
A Winchester is a natural with weapons. That's been a given since John winchester entered the Vietnam war and only confirmed when Dean and Sam could handle guns better than any law enforcement officer before they could shave. As Dean says, "Winchester genes, dude."
Give a Winchester a gun, they shoot. Give them a knife, they lunge. Give them an ax, they'll start hacking the shit out of something. But, apparently, give them a lightsaber and they'll shout, "What the hell?" Well, Dean will anyway. Sam just gawks. He'll give himself a point for that.
Where was I? Oh yeah, naturals.
It only took Sam and Dean a few minutes to pick up their new weapon because, when robotic somethings are coming at you, you can't afford to get picky. Dean dove to the right, rolled a few times while he fiddled with the handle, and came up with a slash. One robotic head rolled along the floor. Sam moved toward their attackers. He jumped over one outstretched metal arm, rolled, scraped up his weapon, and moved behind a corner to fiddle with his own handle. A second after the saber activated, Sam was up and swinging, taking down the two enemies circling the corner.
He moved back into the open. Dean was slashing and chopping with ease. They went for the hands first, and robotic hands still clutching blasters littered the floor. It wasn't that hard. It was like any other cutting weapon they ever dealt with and, like with every other cutting weapon, Sam was bouncing by the time he was done. "We're keeping these, right?"
Dean scooped up two blasters. He handed one to Sam. "Call 'em souvenirs," he agreed.
Sam studied his weapons. He shook his head. "Star Wars," he muttered, incredulous.
"That demon's sure got one hell of a sense of humor."
Sam points out that it's funny how easy they cope after the initial freak out. Dean tells him not to think so damn much. Oh yeah, for the record, he didn't freak out. Just, you know, no more accidentally appearing in government buildings on a different planet. No more taking the lightsaber's of two dead jedi's. No more almost getting caught in a conspiracy. No more trouble until they got home. Sam's with him on all those points. Problem is, Winchester's are as bad with rules as they are good with weapons. No more trouble. Yeah, right.
The first time they met Anakin Skywalker, he was drunk. Sam sat down opposite him. Dean took a seat to the side.
Anakin studied them for a moment. "If they sent you..." he warns. He stumbled over the words but his intent was clear. Dean tightened a hand around his blaster. This was supposed to be Darth Vader, right?
Sam spread his hands on top of the table. "Nobody sent us. You just look like you could use some company."
Anakin laughed. It was slightly hysterical. "Yeah, I look like I need help. Why don't you - Why don't you take me to a different planet? Take me away from everything I know. Family. Friends. It's a screwed up life, but it's my life!" He shook his finger in front of Sam's face. "Just take it all away. Keep me away until I lose the last thing," his eyes filled up, "Until they take the last thing I got. Then, you just KICK ME OUT!" He bellowed the last words and Sam jumped.
"Quiet him down," the bartender ordered. Sam nodded.
He didn't have to do anything. Anakin was mumbling now, pushing his drink back and forth on the table. "Jedi code. Jedi order. No hate." He laughed. He looked up at them. He was crying. Dean looked away, uncomfortable. Sam met his eyes. "They killed my mother, murdered her, and I shouldn't hate them. No, I should be a good Jedi. I shouldn't murder the murderers." He mocked, "Jedi way, that is not."
"They murdered her," Sam muttered.
Anakin nodded. "And I murdered them. All of them! And I don't regret it."
Dean spoke up, "You shouldn't."
Anakin looked from Sam to Dean and back again. He nodded, leaning back in his chair. He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. "I need another drink," he called out. The bartender looked at Sam and Dean, who nodded A robot brought the drink to Anakin but the bartender came around to remind them that Anakin was their problem if they want him to have more.
They land up carrying him out between each other. They hoist him into the back of the purple glider Dean won at a game of Poker, the one game that seemed unviersal. Dean still mourned the loss of pool.
"Hey, Dean."
Dean shook his head. Before Sam could continue, Dean pulled away from the glider and anyone who might be listening. "We're not keeping him."
Sam's eyes are wide and innocent. "What?"
"Don't give me that look. I know what's going through that freaky head of yours. We got enough problems. Every damn thing in the underlevels is gonna' come after us if we keep kicking their ass at poker. The only thing we own is this freakin' glider, and it flies, Sam! It's purple, too. We gotta' find a way back." Dean ran a hand through his hair. "What happened, anyway? He wasn't supposed to get kicked out."
"We're not in the movies, Dean."
"It's Star Wars. He's the same - up 'till now."
Sam frowned. "I think we did it." He stayed silent until Dean smacked him upside the head. "Ow! I mean, this place is all about the force. It's this thing that covers the whole universe. When we got sent here, we might have bumped it or something. To other people, it wouldn't make a difference. Jedi, though, they feel the force all the time. It might've - influenced - them."
"It's our fault?"
"It's only a theory and, hey, he was going to go darkside, anyway."
"Great."
Sam let Dean pace. "He could be useful. You said it yourself. We can't keep going like this." Dean grunted. "He knows more about this place than we do. He could, I don't know, show us how to do something else. We don't even know how to do illegal things here. We can't hotwire anything, you can only gamble one game, and I don't know how to use the research material." Dean stopped pacing. "If we can't research, we can't get back."
"What makes you think he'll help?"
Sam snorted. "He wants something to do. He's just going to drink himself to death this way."
"You're trying to sell me the whole saving-people deal."
"Hey, Dean."
"What?"
"Can we keep him?"
Sam flies them to a beaten up building in the lower levels while Dean hums Metallica and doesn't look down. Three months where hardly any transportation is on the floor, and Dean still doesn't like flying. Three months with no leads. Three months of barely fitting in. Three months and Sam's sure they'll be screwed for a long while. Dean's humming gets louder and Sam chooses not to point that out yet.
The Winchester's say no more trouble but it's a load of crap. That's been a given since John Winchester first steps sent him tumbling down the stairs and only confirmed when Dean's first solid food was glue and Sammy nearly strangled himself with his baby blanket. As Sam says, "That's bullshit...sir."
Give a Winchester a firecracker, they'll light the house up. (John never did that again.) Give a Winchester junk, they'll try making a hang glider. (Sam swears it was Dean's idea.) Give them a choice, they'll take in a jedi-was-gonna'-be-sith instead of walking away. "Dude, we got Darth Vader in our back seat," Dean says.
Where was I? Oh yeah, trouble.
How is it? Review.