(Before Kylo Ren) (Ben is nine)
He was on mission when he first heard the name Marelle. Technically it was a mission. Actually, technically he was still grounded from pulling the last stunt and crashing his X-Wing on the landing strip, but Ben needed new shoes and Poe was the only available advocate who could convince him to try on at least three pairs and walk away with something sensible on his feet. They'd survived that particular ordeal, Ben was currently sporting something with velcro straps in a hideous clash of orange and purple, frosties had proved the cure for all headaches, and Poe was mentally composing an explanation for the Solo heir's loud fashion statement when the sniggers broke through the low din. Ben looked up crossly, his forehead already dimpled with angry words, and Poe quickly shoved the rest of his frosty towards him.
"They're not looking at your shoes," he interjected softly. Turning around, he glowered at the occupants of the opposite table. He hadn't loitered three hours in a shop that smelled dubiously like rank socks just for the kid to throw his shoes in the garbage disposal at the first critical remark.
However, the ring of misfit engineers were focused on something odder than Ben's A-Wing sneakers. Namely the gawky, lanky-limbed, mottled-faced ginger who was attempting nonchalance as he ordered a drink that was probably three years past what he was legally permitted to drink. A splutter of mirth erupted from a burly, orange Twi'lek.
"Does your momma know you're drinking jet juice, Armie?"
"Wait, you know the twit?" a balding humanoid interjected.
"Sure. It's Marelle's boy," the Twi'lek responded, slurring the woman's name with the same respect one would bestow on a puddle of bantha slop.
Poe's fingers drew into a loose fist. "Hey," he called softly. "That's enough."
Two words garnered him the attention of every being in the room. Chairs scraped back. Oh pfassk. Poe shifted to the edge or his chair, estimating how to draw the scuffle away from Ben. I may or may not walk out of this with a black eye and a bill for the damage. General Leia would throw a fit, but he couldn't just let this one pass. It was the matter of a mother's virtue after all, and this kid wasn't much older than himself.
Ginger, however, had higher expectations of his defendants. "Stay out of it, Space Scum," he snarled, crinkling his nose at Poe's rumpled jacket. "These dewback muckers aren't fit for exogorth fodder."
Eager silence was interspersed with the shuffling of heavy limbs as the engineers shuffled to the front lines. The Twi'lek stooped over the redhead, his thin nostrils flaring as though he had stumbled upon a rubbish bin. "Perhaps you would like to repeat that in more solicitous terms, Armitage."
The ensuing retort was so vulgar and inhumane that Poe could only roll his eyes, scoop Ben out of his chair, plop him over the order counter, and lunge into the mass before Ginger was mashed into carrot paste. There wasn't much to gloat about after that. Long after the last bottle had shattered, Ginger's nose was pouring crimson floods, Poe could see three clear feet out of one eye, the engineers were chortling as they were prodded out of the cafe by the local bar thug, and the only reason Poe wasn't waiting on bail was because a certain bawling, tyrannical nine-year-old was sympathized and adored by the bartender who had a cousin with a friend that was infinitely loyal to Alderaan's former princess.
Ben was granted another frosty, Poe received a nerf steak for his eyes, and Ginger offered a frosted glare of his own as he stalked - or rather, wobbled - out of the cafe to make his own way home.
"Mother said you weren't supposed to pick fights," Ben reminded amicably as he smacked a mouthful of syrup.
"Your mother also governs an alliance," Poe retorted, grimacing as he shifted the steak to the right side of his face. "Rebellion is our code."
"Armitage was a grouchy gundark," Ben said, making a face. "He should've been happy we saved his ugly face."
"Be nice," Poe stressed, lifting the steak long enough to give the kid a stern glance. "We don't call people names."
"Unless they're the bad guys," Ben corrected.
"Yup, unless they're the bad guys," Poe hummed.
His inner monologue of explaining to General Organa why her son had skittered home on a sugar high of three frosty treats was interrupted by Ben's grievous complaint.
"Armitage's boots are cool. Why do I have to wear these stupid shoes?"
(Aftermath)
There was a certain thrill in defying death, knowing that one flash of green fire could vaporize him instantly. Perhaps he should have re-examined his sense of self-preservation after waking up on Jakku, hundreds of yards away from a smoldering Tie Fighter, but then again, that was the magic of life. Sometimes you survived.
Poe figured the Dameron luck might favor him yet another day. Black and red Tie Fighters hurtled around him, spewing gunfire at his fragile wings, but they could not match the grace and agility of a well-maintained fighter.
"One of these days I'm gonna rig her to fly backwards," Poe mused to BB-8 as he popped off a spiraling Tie. "That'll flip the First Order over their heels. Almost managed it with my last ship; daft stormtroopers had to blow it up."
Poe. Don't do it.
"The kriff...?" Yanking his fighter to the right, he narrowly avoided a stream of luminescent pellets and swerved again, giving his comrade room to fire at the opposing Tie.
"Okay, that's it," he growled between his teeth. "You got that booster ready, BB-8?"
A series of doubtful trills made him chuckle. "Okay, so we haven't tested it yet. It'll work; trust me. We just need to get close enough to that Dreadnaught."
"Commander, what are you doing?" the general's voice crackled over the line.
"Just knocking a bully out of the fight," Poe said. "Bastian, Snap, watch my back. We take out those surface canons and they'll have to pull back for repairs. That'll give us another hour at least."
He heard a laborious sigh, and he knew that he'd won this battle of logistics. "Just make it fast, Poe," Leia urged. "Five minutes to light speed. Luke is supporting you all in the Force, but I want my fighters back whole, understand?"
"Copy that," Poe echoed, keying his own coordinates. "All right, BB-8: let's show them what one X-Wing can do."
'Dameron, pull out!'
"Sithspit!" The sudden velocity of the jump flung him against the seat, wracking his flimsy fighter as it was forced to speeds beyond its standard manufacturing. Distracted mid-jump, Poe wrenched to the left just in time, barely skittering over the Dreadnaught's surface before stabilizing into a proper altitude. BB-8 scolded from the rear.
"I know! I know!" Poe exclaimed. "Just a bit of misdirection there. Get me lined up with those surface canons."
Days like this he felt like a cadet again, clipping a wing on a turret or scraping the runway in a shoddy landing. Days when he was just another pilot, as related to Shara Bey as a wombat was to a butterfly. Such lapses in judgment usually resulted in humiliating debacles such as smoldering Tie Fighters and bad interrogations.
Well, not today. Either the mythical Force was finally showing up, or the fabled Dameron luck was turning in his favor, for his X-Wing shook off its rattling stupor and swerved at his command, swinging between canon blasts with the nimbleness of a lightsaber dashing the fangs off a krayt dragon. Scarlet flares and spokes of flame testified that the Raptors were keeping the black crows off his tail. One final bolt and the last surface cannon exploded.
Whooping, Poe hurled his fighter under the Dreadnaught's belly. "She's all yours, General!"
"Stop hollering like a drunken mynock and get out of there," Leia said tartly. "You've done enough, Poe. Now fall in before the Tie Pilots get trigger happy."
"That's a joke, right?" Poe interpreted, picking off two close fighters. "We have a Dreadnaught at our mercy. These things annihilate civilizations; we bring this one down, we're saving billions of refugees."
"That is not your mission, Commander," Leia stated.
"So alter the mission. We'll never get another chance to - "
"We are an evacuating force, not an army! Take on that Dreadnaught and you leave our squadron undefended. Fall in now, Dameron. That's an order!"
Gritting his teeth, Poe toyed with the communications switch. They were so close! All it would take was one payload and the First Order would choke on its own incineration fumes. He toggled the switch, rippling the sound of Leia's terse scold, and finally sighed. One year ago I might have...
She was right, though; he had a responsibility to the evacuating fleet. Something he hadn't taken seriously in his initial days with the Raptors. Dark times changed everything.
"Copy, General," Poe grumbled, reluctantly pulling away from the monstrous ship. "All fighters, return to the fleet."
We could've done it. One bomber would've crippled the First Order.
'You're an asinine fool, Dameron! Pull out!'
"Kriff and Sith, I've got a communicator, Luke!" Poe spluttered, cringing as waves of forewarning rippled through his brain. When the general said they'd have Jedi mojo protecting them she didn't warn them about mental interference!
I'm retreating, okay? he thought as loudly as he could, adding a few spikes of animosity in case the intrusive presence couldn't figure out the message. There was an odd thrum of satisfaction followed by the distinctive sense of something retreating from his head.
He hadn't felt like that since some impersonal Sithspawn chewed out his memories.
Battening down against the wave of incredulous betrayal, he twisted the X-Wing into a tight curve and slid neatly in front of Snap. Spluttering over the line echoed his wingmate's opinion on the maneuver.
"Honestly, Dameron! Would it kill you to fly in a straight line?"
"Just practicing for the Mos Espa Arena," Poe hummed. And plotting my speech for that thrice-dafted hermit.
'Hardly a legitimate insult, Dameron.'
Kriff it all.
Thank you to Sayichi and Daere for reviewing! I may be slightly overly inspired by the newest Star Wars... I've tentatively finished writing the base plot for Arc III, so I'm working on memory chapters now. Still open for ideas for tiny!Ben memories. :)