Abril: Guys! It's been an exact year since I published the first chapter of this story :D I wasn't conscious of this but today when I was giving the last checks to the chapter and I thought "Hm, it must've been about a year since I published LSD." And when I checked, it was A YEAR exactly. Well, it will be tomorrow, it was posted on 11/29.
So, happy one year anniversary of LSDITB! The road's been long but I bet it's been fun! (Chuckles nervously in angst and how long I take to update shit.)
WARNINGS at the end notes.
The Fury floats in mid-space, weightless and pathless, as she should always be- well, according to Jango. They left the planet of his last bounty about an hour ago, so far the ship had remained quiet. Obi-wan still sleeps on the couch of the common room as peacefully as one could after getting the osik kicked out of you.
The Mandalorian breaths out tiredly, rubbing at his face to take some of the stiffness away. He stands slowly from the cockpit and limps as he goes to fetch the medkit.
"Kid? Obi'ika," he calls softly to the other when he comes back to the teen. When he doesn't answer, Jango risks shaking him a little by the elbow.
When Obi-wan wakes he doesn't jump, but only because he's sluggish and weak with exhaustion. It's in the heavy look of his eyelids as he blinks and in how he tries to push himself up into a sitting position but can't. Fire burns inside Jango's chest and he almost regrets not finishing off the mercenaries when he had the chance. He thinks of the kid's reddish locks torn from his head and the blaster bolt on his shoulder, and who knows what else. He struggles to keep himself contained and makes a conscious effort to breathe through his ire. Right now, more important than his righteous anger is Obi-wan, and his ire is not going to help the young Jetii one bit.
"Are you with me?" He asks and receives a faint nod from the teen whose face rests against the cushion of the seat with a somewhat sleepy look.
The ginger looks at Jango's busted-up face as the man drags close to the couch the short stool, his eyebrows sloping down in concern. He looks like he wants to say something but doesn't.
"You did a number on those guys," the Mandalorian begins with a proud smile. "I'm quite impressed," there's a crinkle in the corner of Jango's eyes to mark the phantom of a smile but nothing more.
"I bet with some training you could become a phenomenal bounty hunter," he can't resist adding but does so with nonchalance. There's no need to dump on the boy his dreams of the future, not now at any rate.
The teen rearranges himself a bit. His hands, which rested protectively against his chest and under his chin, move up to brush his hair away from his face and rub away at the tiredness that clings to his eyes. Jango catches the imprints of fingers around his pale and oddly discolored neck, it's been like that since they've met, hidden from the world for almost two years and rubbed raw. It's always looked wrong and unhealthy, but now with the traces of violent pressure, even more so.
The Mandalorian breaths in carefully, unconsciously mimicking Obi-wan's slow meditation intakes of air.
"Come on up Red, we need to treat your wounds," Jango says as he reaches for the boy's shoulders and helps him sit. "Where else are you hurt?" He grabs the med kit from the floor where he left it, opens it and looks at its insides for what he might need. "Red'ika, where else are you hurt?" He repeats when the boy doesn't answer immediately as he puts some things on the low table in front of the couch.
He looks up when he realizes the silence has stretched too long. Abnormally long even. Obi-wan is looking down at his intertwined hands resting on his lap, his face is nervous and his breathing is slightly quicker than normal.
He leaves the medical kit aside and shifts closer to the redhead, their legs touching.
"Kid, what is it? Tell me," Jango asks softly, placing a hand over the teen's own. Red is shivering a little. The man sees it then, the slight, repeat of his mouth opening and closing; he wants to say something but he can't. It's been so long since the kid displayed this tell it almost catches the Mando off guard when he recognizes it. Obi-wan's breathing speeds up a little more, his eyes are on the verge of tears.
"Oh. Oh, kid, it's okay, you don't need to talk to me if it's hard, okay?" The teen keeps looking at his hands, ashamed. "Hey. Look at me. It's okay," Jango squeezes Obi-wan's nervous fingers gently. After a moment the kid's head lifts and blue grey eyes meet dark brown ones.
"It's okay if you can't talk right now. It's not a problem, it's nothing that you should be ashamed of. You didn't need words when you first joined me, you don't need words now. Okay?" Obi-wan's eyes are glassy and wet with unshed tears. Jango squeezes his fingers again with a slight shake. "Okay?" The teen sniffs a little but nods. He takes a deep, steadying, breath and straightens slightly, dabbing at the water in his eyes so it won't fall now that he's composed himself.
"Good," Jango pats his hands before straightening back up. "Now, point to me all the places that you hurt. And please don't leave anything out. We don't want to have problems later on," the man tells him pointedly.
The ginger looks a little shaken still but nods again. Obi-wan points to his shoulder and Jango rolls his eyes, because of course he's hurt there, there's a blaster bolt, hole-shaped space, that marks it quite clearly. He catches a small smile on the kid.
'Smartass,' he thinks fondly.
·~·~·~·
That night cycle, just as Jango is finished taking care of the worst of the injuries and wishing well for what can only heal with time, Obi-wan takes no more than half a breath to fall asleep once he lays down on his bed.
Obi-wan dreams.
He dreams of tall Mandalorians staring down at him. He cannot see their faces under the helmets but he can feel their menacing presence all around him. Stretched and taller than they have any right to be they move towards him with evil intent. The young man, who feels as if time just stopped and he got stuck being a kid- his body growing but his mind shrinking down in fright- takes a terrified step back.
He feels a sickness creeping from inside his body, a wave of goose bumps roll all over his limbs, and he's… The teen shudders. There's something wiggling its way from within him. From the boy's stomach, making steady way up through his esophagus, pushing from side to side, little needles puncturing the walls for perchance. Obi-wan drops to his knees and dry heaves, the harsh undulating motions from his stomach rocking him all the way up to his throat. Something is pushing its way up.
The redhead whimpers a muffled sob for the thing blocks the back of his mouth, stuck there. Obi-wan is choking. He can't breathe. He tries to scream in terror but the sound is muffled. The Mandalorians surround him as his mouth is filled with a soft round object pushing its way out to unstuck itself. It scratches the walls of his mouth and his tongue, he can taste the blood, forcing its way through until it finally pries the teen's mouth open from the inside with its volume. It ricochets out into the night sky.
The boy flops down to the ground exhausted, gasping for air and trembling from the effort. He can finally see the thing that was invading his insides as it made its way up inside him. It's a bird. He can see it flying up, going away and away; far away from him.
"No!" He shouts in despair, but no sound comes out of his mouth. He grabs at his throat, horrified, clawing at it. He wishes desperately that he could call his voice back to him, but it was frightened by the Mandalorians and went away.
The armored bodies come closer and closer. Suffocating him with their presence, large and looming over him like wraiths. He cries. He will never get his voice back. This he knows.
When Obi-wan wakes up he's shaking. Silent tears are going down his cheeks. He feels as if he hadn't been able to breathe. He gasps as quietly for air as he can underneath his heavy blanket. The boy covers his face with his hands and wills himself to forget all about the bird and the Mandalorians and his scared-away voice.
It was just a dream. It was just a dream.
It doesn't feel like just a dream though, not really, not to Obi-wan. His dreams always hold an edge of truth to them, even if there never was such a thing as ridiculous as a bird. As he drifts into sleep again, tears rolling down the side of his face, he holds his neck with trembling fingers, scared of the feeling of something stuck in there not letting him breathe, scared of that same thing going away and leaving him voiceless. Scared of another layer of connection to the world being stripped from him.
Uneasily, Obi-wan falls back into sleep.
·~·~·~·
In the coming days Obi-wan is tired and unenthusiastic. He follows Jango around as per usual but he is quiet as a grave. The Mando can see he's trying to remedy this perceived wrong and push himself towards a nebulous "better". Jango says nothing, afraid of putting his foot in his mouth and discourage the ginger somehow. Obi-wan seems as alright as can be. From the corner of his eye the man has seen him as the teen mouths words to himself, preparing them before trying to push them out.
Red does find a nice middle ground one evening when he's got enough energy to stand up for a while and ushers Jango away from the kitchenette so he can cook again for the both of them. As Obi-wan pours in water for a soup, adds a seasoning pellet, and stirs the slowly brewing concoction, he starts to quietly hum to himself in the middle of his cooking. Something slow and Melancholy, it sounds somewhat familiar to Jang.
When the man passes by he squeezes the teen's shoulder in support and Obi-wan smiles faintly at him. He continues humming softly and the faint sounds are like magic inside The Fury, they give it life back again.
"That song-" he says once they have finished eating. Obi-wan having opt to sit on the bench against the wall of the long table is right in front of him, his eyes drooping slightly as his constant tiredness starts rearing its head up again. His blue gray eyes turn to him lazily, attentive. "Satine?" Jango asks.
"Satine," Obi-wan whispers with a smile as his eyes close, head leaning back against the wall.
Jango smiles, there it is again, his little field mouse coming out from his hole in the ground.
"She's half made you a Mandalorian already," he says after a while, secure in the knowledge that Red is fast asleep- as uncomfortable as his position seems- and he will not hear his comment.
Though Jango knows that's not quite it, not just the girl teaching him to be like them. It's love. More than puppy love thought? Of that, he can't say. But he can fool himself for a while into thinking this is Obi-wan soaking in Mandalorian culture, that this is destiny somehow, that the boy is meant to be one of them.
Maybe it doesn't have to be a dream, maybe it can be despite it all, despite being Jedi. It worked for that one Mando ages ago, he became a Jedi. Why not the other way around?
Jango shakes Obi-wan up, and leads him half asleep to the sleeping quarters.
He'll ask the boy soon, once he's better and back on his feet, Jango will ask him to be part of his aliit. The thought makes warmth spread inside his chest.
·~·~·~·
Obi-wan is concentrated on the datapad, avidly reading like he needs air. The Jedi had found a small, sad library, in its databanks yesterday and Manda only knew what he'd found there, but his nose had been stuck to the screen for a while. So despite the fact that he's been talking a bit more as of late, he is currently too preoccupied with other things for such trivial things as chatting.
'Figures the kid would be a bookworm,' Jango thinks fondly.
On his way to the storage shelves beside the kitchenette, the man absentmindedly raises his hand and brushes gently at the teen's long hair. Obi-wan springs up from his chair like he's been electrocuted. His fist swings at Jango's head as he turns to face the threat. The man ducks quickly and raises his hands in surrender.
"Hey, hey, hey, easy now. It's alright Red. it's just me. I'm not going to hurt you Obi'ika," Jango says soothingly, his face apologetic.
"I- I- I-" the boy struggles to get himself under control, chest heaving with harsh breathing. "I'm fine. Sorry. You- you just startled me a little, that's all." He looks apologetic himself.
The hair thing, kriff, right. Jango tends to be mindful of his actions around Obi-wan when he wants to be affectionate, but he… he forgot now. He forgot. As if Obi-wan was just some random teen without baggage, but he isn't. Worse still for how recently the three mercenaries had come on board and subjected him again to the demons of his captivity.
Obi-wan's fingers are shaking, he's not okay, and he wasn't just startled, but Jango doesn't know what the hell this dragged up. They could pick from his years with Kyr'tsad from an array of reasons for this reaction to have been so strong.
Sometimes the boy will tell him little things that happened to him then. Why Death Watch had dragged him around from place to place, passing him around between different camps like a lucky chip. What he did to pass his time when unbothered by the warriors. What he observed around him. But those moments of insight are far and few between.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Jango offers, not reaching out to give any sort of comfort, it isn't what the kid needs right now.
Obi-wan laughs incredulously, almost in a glittering manner. Almost bordering on hysterical.
"Okay," Jango nods, accepting, "but if you do want to talk about it, you know where to find me."
The teen nods, mellowing down at the man's own calm manner. Red looks exhausted again.
"I… I feel the words here," he gestures a finger up and down his throat, "but… sometimes I don't feel like they'll ever come out, you know?"
Jango nods, he does know very well. It's been a surprise to him in all honesty, just how much Obi-wan is willing to share with him about what happened to him. it's like the boy needs to get the things that happened to him out from within himself to be free of the horrors. Most people who go through krak like that seldom will themselves to bring those things to the surface. These are things to keep inside and close to one's heart, these are hurts to nurse and stew upon. Jango would know, that is the way he's done it for as long as he's had hurts to hide. But not Obi-wan. It's like the boy needs to get it out, to give it shape so he can… what? Let go? The Mando almost scoffs at the thought. One doesn't just "let go" of these sorts of experiences, it's like a stain that you can never clean away from your heart and soul.
And then, as if to prove him right, the redhead, whose stare sticks to the ground in heavy thought, begins speaking in a quiet voice.
"There was… someone… He used to…" he goes silent for a moment, but he gathers himself, eyes still on the floor. "He used to touch my hair a lot. Gently, like that." Obi-wan's body is held tightly in place like it's been welded to the metal floor.
"I'm going to lay down a bit," the teen announces without looking up at Jango, leaving the room promptly.
Jango swallows, alone in the common room. His mind pulls unwillingly at other instances, other moments of terror he's witnessed on Obi-Wan. He's not drawing conclusions. He's not.
·~·~·~·
Obi-wan's sunny side starts returning eventually, in small bursts and moments in between his blue moods. It's a wonderful surprise when one night cycle Jango finds himself animatedly discussing with Obi-wan upon the most forbidden of topics.
"That is such nonsense! Jedi and Mandalorians are essentially the same!" Red almost shouts at him. Shouts in his quiet way that's not really a shout.
"We are not!" Jango points angrily at ginger's face, taking real offense to that statement. Obi-wan, not at all disturbed by the gesture, swats away the finger with an unimpressed expression.
"We have more things in common than the usual planetary cultures do!" Obi-wan pushes the issue like a little scholar.
"That is osik! You've been shooting spice, Red. What are you even talking about?" Jango is outraged but also mystified by this seemingly insane piece of statement. That is a sentence that shouldn't even make sense to be spoken, nor should it be allowed to be spoken.
"Listen to me. Listen. I've thought about it a lot," the teen says animately.
"You are not right in the head, kid." The Mando chuckles despite himself.
"Listen," Obi-wan insists. "We're both from pseudo-warrior societies where the hailing of the young is one of the most important pillars. More than born into it we grow into these lifes! Anyone can be a Jedi just as well as anyone can be a Mandalorian, within our specific parameters of course," he says as if it's the simplest thing on earth.
"I wouldn't call what you guys do taking care of the young," Jango chortles into his cup as he takes a sip and muses on the things Obi-wan had listed.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" There's an angry frown on the boy's brow. Jango knows he's dug himself into a hole but he's not backtracking, it's true.
"Nothing," well maybe he is backtracking a little.
"No. Say it. What do you think we are? Oh, you great pillar of morality," he says with false reverence.
"…Baby stealers." It is only by sheer force of will that Jango does not mumble these words.
"And what would you call what Mandalorians do?" Obi-wan asks peeved, but there's also a mischievous note in his voice, as if he's got the Mandalorian cornered.
"Adoption, you nerf herder!" The man shouts, almost in disbelief at how insulted one can get in one single conversation.
"You take kids from their families and indoctrinate them in your ways, raising them by a new creed. The only difference between us is that we don't kill the families we take the children from! And we let our people keep their culture and return to it if they want to."
Jango shouts a sound of protest but Obi-wan doesn't let him get a word in.
"And besides, it's not like we take babies by force. All the children that end up in the temple are given consensually," the ginger says self-satisfied. "Force! A third of our younglings are not even wanted by their families."
"What do you mean?" Jango's healthy amount of animosity at the current discussion gets swept away by that statement. He is confused as these words have not quite gathered sense in his mind.
"People… they don't like having force-sensitive children Jango," Obi-wan says calmly, reading the mans face. "They find what these younglings can do… unnatural. Just like most of the galaxy does the Jedi. It's," the teen looks for what words would be right to say in a moment like this, "I suppose it's hard to love something that is so different."
"The babies you take are… unwanted?" Jango asks almost frazzled by the fact, uncomprehending. He's so taken aback by what Obi-wan is saying that he hasn't even seen himself in that statement yet, 'it's hard to love something so different.'
"Not all, of course, but a lot of them, yes," the boy nods as he tucks into the last bits of his meal.
The Mandalorian lets the natural lull of the conversation be, hesitating a second before putting his buzzing thoughts into words.
"Where you..?" The question hangs in the air. Jango is unable to finish it.
"Ah," Obi-wan exclaims with a put-on easiness. Underneath it though, lurks a measure of discomfort. "Stewjoni don't like force sensitives a lot. The ones that do grow up on the planet become heavily ostracized from their communities. Sometimes Stewjoni think the best thing they can do is kill their force sensitives before they can reach any sort of maturity."
"That is disgusting!" Jango barks revolted.
Obi-wan offers him a little sad smile that makes the Mandalorian's stomach sink.
"Did your family-?" He doesn't know why he needs to know, why he can't keep these questions to himself, for they can only be a painful thing for Red to recall.
"Yeah," Obi-wan answers quietly, "but it's okay, I've made peace with it," he says sincerely with a small pull up from his lips. "And… I do think my mother was doing it from a place of love, however misjudged it might've been."
"You call yourself Stewjoni?" Jango asks a little nauseated.
"I am Jedi before I am anything else, but… I am also Stewjoni. We do not renounce the places that birthed us," Red tells him softly, almost as if it was he who wanted to comfort Jango.
"But you don't have to be," Jango blurts in. Other, more dangerous words just burning at the base of his throat. "You don't have to be Stewjoni." 'You could be… something else,' he doesn't say.
"Thank you Jango," the teen smiles kindly, "but I really don't mind. It's just a part of my history and I don't begrudge it."
Jango knows that would never be on Mandalore. If the kid wanted it, he could leave behind his disgusting heritage and proclaim himself Mandalorian, no more Stewjoni. A perfectly clean slate. But Jango keeps the burning words in his mouth, the boy's own words resonating inside his mind, Jetii first and foremost.
"But have you seen it Jango? Stewjon?" The redhead's blue gray eyes are alight with wonder.
"No, I haven't," Jango sighs quietly, comforted by the teen's eagerness to share.
"It's so beautiful and green. The seas are very cold though."
"Been much back there?" And he doesn't say home now, like he would've before. Stewjon is not Obi-wan's home, it does not deserve him.
"Just twice. As Jedi we are offered the choice to return to our cultures, see if it is something we might want to carry with us and make a part of ourselves."
"And did you?" Jango asks, trying not to sound too intense about it.
"No." Red shakes his head, a fond smile on his lips, as if he can read all of the Mando's intentions like an invisible book. "It's beautiful but… but it's not for me."
His words give Jango a small bit of relief and he smiles back at the ginger, comforted by the mere simplicity of existing in the same space as his little Jetii. Two lonely stars orbiting one another in the dark of the galaxy. Just like The Fury. Just as it should be.
·~·~·~·
"What do you know about lightsabers Jango?" Obi-wan asks one day out of the blue.
The dark haired man looks up from the blaster he's been fiddling with, caught off guard by the question. He always tries to listen attentively to whatever the kid wants to share about his life, he learned quickly he has to treasure those moments after the cooking mess between them happened. It was back when the boy was only just opening up and slowly getting words out like shy flowers at the cusp of spring. There's always been a silent agreement between them though; Jango never asks for more. No details, no explanations of things. No nothing. They both know the questions would feel too heavily charged, Obi-wan knows who Jango is to his people, what he could do with delicate information like that of lightsabers. Who knows what such things could be used for?
So it catches him off guard because lightsabers seem like quite the topic that would fall into the 'don't ask' category. He braces himself, elbows on the metal of the table, he threads carefully.
"They can… cut through almost anything and ah… I imagine they're made of some sort of light source as per the name," Jango answers casually. "Plasma beam maybe?"
Obi-wan hums a small sound of agreement. From where the teen sits on the other side of the table he can see the cockpit and its view, his eyes are somewhere in a nothing point out in the blackness of space.
"Do you know how they're made?" Jango narrows his eyes, this feels like he's being set up, but he can't imagine what or why the ginger would set him up for, it's not like him. So he treads carefully, but answers truthful.
"Only that there's so kind of crystal inside… Kyber right?" He knows the answer to that, but he doesn't want to seem too confident about it.
"Yes, Kyber," Obi-wan says with an undercurrent of reverence. 'Beskar' Jango thinks instinctually. "They are really precious to the Jedi, you know? They are… they're not alive per se, they can't really think. Of course not, that would be silly. But… they are alive, in a way… Sentient," he whispers the last part to himself but the man hears it all the same.
Jango doesn't understand it, and it sounds like spiritual garbage to him, like a lot of things Obi-wan has to say about the Jetiise or the Force. It does not make them garbage though, if he's learned anything from his time with the boy. There's truth there.
But sentience thought? Sentient rocks. Fairytales more like.
"When…" Obi-wan swallows. "When we are young we have to find a crystal for our swords. We go to a sacred place, a desolate maze, and there, on our own, we have to wait to be called."
"Called?" Jango frowns and Red nods.
"There are billions of crystals on a planet like Ilium Jango, but only one will call to us. Kyber calls to the Jedi, it's like a song." He finally looks at the man, eyes full of something more than what the Mando can discern. "We are connected. There's a thread- something, connecting the Jedi with their crystals."
It sounds demented and fantastical, but again, most of what the Force lets the Jetiise do seems that way too, but that doesn't mean it's untrue. When Obi-wan tells him something Jango must believe. So he pushes back his instinctual disbelief and listens as openly as he can.
"What is it like?" The words escape Jango without him meaning to. The truth is, he does want to know. It's… fascinating. Even he can admit that to himself. And it's no wonder really, fairytales are meant to be that way after all. "Being called by the crystals," the Mando specifies.
"It's like…" the ginger looks down at his hands in thought. "Like I didn't know I had misplaced a bit of my soul somewhere, but when I found it I felt… right, complete."
Jango beings to feel a measure of apprehension. Obi-wan doesn't have a lightsaber, this is not a good story that he's telling.
"A Kyber is the heart of the blade, it gives it life. Without the crystal a lightsaber is nothing. Like a crystal is to a blade, so are the lightsabers to the Jedi."
'Beskar,' Jango can't help both think again as a silence extends between them. He gives the teen time and does not press for more of this tale. After a while Obi-wan takes in a deceptively calm breath.
"When…" Red's voice is quiet and soft. "When I was with Death Watch, they… they took away my lightsaber and…" The teen holds his own hands tightly over the table in a self-soothing gesture. "And then took a Beskar knife to the hilt until they managed to pry it open." The redhead takes in a deep breath and slumps his shoulders as he lets it go.
"They- they- They took out the crystal." Water pools in the teen's eyes and it falls down one of his cheeks. "You- you're- No one's supposed to touch it without permission. It's- it's sacred." He takes in a shaky breath.
"Do- do- do you know just how hard is to break a Kyber crystal, Jango?" The Mandalorian says nothing, pinned down by the intensity of the youth's eyes when he turns to him. He shakes his head no, and Obi-wan whispers harshly, venomously, "very."
They are quiet for a while again. Jango doesn't know if the kid will keep talking, but he doesn't want to start doing anything else in case his apparent disinterest stops the little Jetii from saying more. He keeps still, waiting, patient.
"They dismantled my lightsaber, hacking at the hilt until it was just twisted pieces of metal and they… They took my Kyber and they…" More tears fall down his cheeks. "They broke it." The ginger takes in a wet breath.
"I felt…" Obi-wan grabs at the fabric over his chest. "It cried for me when they broke it and I couldn't do anything. I was… I wasn't in the same room when it happened, but it didn't matter. I felt when it died." The teen sobs in a contained manner, like he's holding all of his emotions in a tight grip within himself.
Jango scoots closer to the edge of the bench and offers his hand over the metal table where the boy can reach it if he wants to. The Mandalorian smiles grimly when the teen takes it, blue gray eyes diverted.
"It felt as if my heart had broken, even… even with the collar on, I still felt it." He sighs shakily and brushes away the tears with the back of his hand.
"Anyway," he swallows, "I think it took them more effort than it was worth," the boy comments surprisingly controlled, inspecting the fingernails of his free hand. "They must've been at it for weeks I imagine. The moment it happened they came to me, one of them… one of them had taken off his helmet, he looked so pleased."
Obi-wan extends his open palm to Jango as if offering something.
"'We thought you might like to have it back,' they said. And let it fall to the ground," the teen tips his hand absentminded and watches something fall from it that is not there. "I wasn't very coherent at the time though, everything felt… hazy."
Jango can't stand the dead look on the kid's face, the misery and sadness that oozes from him. He squeezes his hand harder and Obi-wan's grey eyes lift up to him. The man pulls at the ginger's hand to himself, making the kid get up so he can be tugged to sit on the wall bench beside Jango. It's very evident what the Mandalorian intends, so it would be easy for the teen to stop the action if he wanted to. But Obi-wan lets himself be pulled to the other seat and then to the man's chest where he is held in the comfort of strong and sturdy arms.
"Oh, no. I don't- I don't want to cry anymore," the teen mumbles with a wavering wet laugh.
"It's okay if you do though," Jango says, tracing circles with his palm on the boy's back and shoulder. When did he get so good at this? When did he remember how to be human and what others need to be comforted? The Mandalorian could only guess Obi-wan just brought out the best in him. Made him alive again
"I think I still feel it sometimes… The- the moment it happened I mean. Like phantom pain on my chest," Obi-wan sighs. "A couple of days later they tried to take away the shards but I wouldn't give them up. They broke two of my fingers to pry them away."
The ginger extends his left hand in the air between them to show Jango that it has two slightly crooked fingers. The Mandalorian feels the second the anger flares up in him like a furnace and the boy flinches away; he's prepared to let go but Obi-wan settles again slowly against him.
Jango takes a deep breath and tries mimicking the kid's slow meditative breathing until his anger is only simmering and not threatening to spread like wildfire.
"I guess they wanted some sort of… trophy," Obi-wan comments, trying to sound nonchalant but Jango can't fathom why when it's pretty clear this conversation is anything to the kid but unimportant.
"I… This is going to sound weird," Obi-wan says after a moment of silence, his voice so different a mood from what it was before the man almost gets whiplash from it. "But it's strange… getting hugs after so long… It's weird."
Well, that solves one thing Jango had been wondering about. The Jetiise, didn't in fact, neglect their children's need for physical affection.
"Bad weird?" He asks, but the teen shrugs, not making an effort to pull away, which Jango takes for an 'okay' on the current situation. "Well, if you ever don't want a hug or are uncomfortable with something, you only need to tell me okay?
The boy nods against his chest and after a bit they untangle, Red cleaning his face from tears again.
"You're-" the teen chuckles. "Thank you Jango, you're too good to me," he says abashedly.
The Mandalorian gets an uncomfortable lump in his throat, for the story, for that last comment, he doesn't know. 'Too good?' He doesn't think he's doing anything extraordinary but he also doesn't know how to tell that to the kid. 'He's been too long at the hands of people who hate him,' he think pained.
"My pleasure," it's the only thing he can make himself say, forcing his smile to be relaxed, and not very sure of his success.
The teen gets his legs up to the bench and leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He's tired, again. He sighs.
"I think that's why I'm scared of returning to the temple," Obi-wan mumbles and it freezes Jango on the spot.
They've… they've never talked about this. Jango doesn't want them to talk about this. He doesn't want to think of Obi-wan leaving, of The Fury alone, of the boy returning to the Jetiise. He-
He's ready to say, 'you don't have to go back if it scares you. You'll never have to see them again if you don't want to,' but the ginger manages to speak first.
"I'm afraid to talk of what happened there. I'm afraid to… realize how much I missed or how much everyone's moved forward without me. How far back I've fallen. My friends…" He sighs, it's the last thing he says on the matter, and Jango as well, keeps himself quiet but inside his mind is screaming, 'stay, stay, stay, stay.'
He can't bring himself to say it though.
Mando'a:
Osik: Dung, shit
Aliit: Family (lit, clan)
WARNINGS: There's some (maybe?) disturbing imagery in a dream concerning a bird coming out of a person's throat. (I didn't want to put a warning for this but who knows how that might trigger people. The section starts with 'Obi-wan dreams' and ends with the italics of that section.)
