WARNING: Non-con trigger warnings as this chapter has self-reflection and thoughts on how others might judge things done to them, also a reflection on triggers themselves. Again, this is not worse than what was implied in the Clone Wars (TV), but self-care y'all on what media is right for you.
My goal is to make this story entertaining without trivializing survivors' struggles i.e. not all thoughts about the self will be good ones but it's not going to be a torture fest.
P.S. I will give an explicit warning if there are any hints of flashbacks or consenting lemons in the chapters to come.
AN: Anakin's arch starts off in this story like a blunt instrument. However, I can promise you there is a lot more going on than angst in his back story.
Chapter 4 - Pride
Obi-Wan watched with pleased relief as Jango was embraced first by the older man and then by the younger. Their foreheads were brought together in kaldabe greetings.
"Clever hiring us for a stolen adiik. We didn't know you were alive," the older one, Myles, said in Mando'a.
Jango blinked at him, but switched to Basic as he said, "I didn't actually hire you."
Obi-Wan patted the man's arm and said with a conciliatory tone, "He's too big to fit through the vents."
Silas laughed.
But Myles asked in Mando'a, "Are you from Sundari?"
Obi-Wan shook his head, "I'm Courscanti."
Jango frowned looking down at Obi-Wan, "I have not been teaching you Sundari Mando'a."
Obi-Wan bit back a laugh, "No, but if you want to learn Mando'a on Coruscant, Sundari is version of it that is Republic approved."
Myles scoffed.
"And you didn't think to mention you already knew Mando'a?" Jango asked.
Obi-Wan shrugged, "The written language isn't that different, but you haven't really taught me much I knew before. Textbook Sundari doesn't have as many swears and a lot of the clan language has been stripped from it. Besides, I've never spoken it before."
At least not to another person in memory, and he really didn't want to explain away a Stewjoni accent. He didn't know if he had one, but he had no way to be sure. He learned several languages as an initiate, and Mando'a had been instinctive when he relearned it. Master Ali-Alann had told him that he spoken no Basic when he first arrived at the Temple.
"If you're not swearing, it's not Mando'a," Silas said.
"But you read it and write it well enough to hire us," Myles said, a note of appreciation in his tone.
Jango's chest puffing out a bit in pride was not lost on Obi-Wan.
"I don't actually have any credits to pay you in," he admitted.
Myles laughed and reached forward to ruffle Obi-Wan's hair as Jango often did, "You returned our Mand'alor to us, ad'ika. We are in your debt."
"Speaking of which," Silas said. "We should probably get going."
They all looked at the smoking dock.
"They are dead?" Jango asked.
"Don't insult us," Myles snarked, directing them toward a different landing platform. "Of course the scum are dead."
Jango grinned, "By the way, I assume you know, Obi'ika, but this is Myles and Silas of Clan Mereel. Myles, Silas, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi, ner ad'ika."
Silas winced at Obi-Wan's full name but Myles swatted him over the back of the head before saying, "Welcome to Clan Fett, ner adiik."
"Mereel," Jango corrected.
Myles shook his head, "No, you adopted a child, we are clan Fett now. So get over yourself. Jaster would be proud."
A bit flustered, Jango turned away and flashed a hand sign to the others.
Obi-Wan felt kind of unreal and giddy.
He was free.
Almost.
He still had the collar, but Jango had promised to help him get it off.
And tangible hope wasn't something he had since being taken to Zygerria. And he did believe Jango was good for his word.
That was, as long as Jango didn't learn that Obi-Wan had been a Force sensitive raised at the Jedi Temple.
The man probably wouldn't strangle him, he had, after all, offered to be Obi-Wan's dad, but Obi-Wan wasn't sure his sense of self could really survive another rejection from someone who was supposed to believe in him and keep him safe.
Myles's ship was rather spacious for a fighter, though Obi-Wan and Jango still had to share a room.
"Where are we going?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Concord Dawn," Myles answered. "Wad'e Tay'haai, our blacksmith is there, he'll get that collar off. Mij is with him too."
Jango squeezed Obi-Wan's shoulder, "Beskar doesn't come off easily. But between Wad'e and Mij, they'll get it off without harming you."
"Or blowing me up," Obi-Wan said dryly.
He could see Silas and Myles give him the side eye, doubtless wanting to ask why he had been forced to wear it. But apparently, Mandalorians knew better than to drag up trauma like that. Bondage was personal, and a slave's experiences were often all they owned.
That made him relax a bit, knowing they weren't going to pry into his past.
"Take a seat, Obi'ika, I want to put some bacta patches on your neck."
Obi-Wan didn't love the smell of bacta, but just the thought of the cool-numbing effect being applied along the scars on his neck had him sitting without thought.
Jango started pealing patches and slipping them gently past the collar.
Obi-Wan let out a sigh of relief. He was used to the collar being hot and heavy; once all the patches were in place, he could almost pretend it wasn't there.
"I started the kettle when I grabbed the med kit," Jango told him.
Obi-Wan sprang up, "Really?"
Jango smirked, "Second door after our cabin."
Obi-Wan bowed to him before ducking into the back of the ship. Tea and sleep sounded blissful.
A Jedi might not be able to trust a Mandalorian.
But at this point, Obi-Wan was more freedman than Jedi. He had done things to survive that his crechemates would have been disgusted by.
But as the cards fell, he had managed to help others, help his little brother, had a long list of Senatorial crimes he planned to make those Senators regret, Mandalorian allies, and, he had himself.
It was a good day, with an even brighter tomorrow.
oOo
"You found an odd one," Silas noted.
Jango sank into his seat, "If by odd, you mean brilliant. Yes, yes he is. He got himself of Zygeria without help and he got us both freed within months."
"How did he manage that?" Myles asked.
"He changed the roaster on the guards and drugged the current dock foreman, then got himself sold to the pirates by pretending to be obedient. He marked the pirates correctly, knowing they would act on a 'good deal.'"
"Haar," Silas swore in admiration.
"More impressive," Myles chirped in. "Surviving on Zygerria, even for a few months—"
"He was there for three years. His cousin sold him into slavery when he was thirteen," Jango corrected.
Both of their helmets were off so he could see their expressions of horror.
"We are not sending him back," Myles stated.
Jango nodded, "I haven't finalised the adoption, yet. Obi'ika is a very giving person, but he doesn't trust in good things or trust that my help isn't conditional. I am waiting until we got the collar off, so he knows that it is his choice."
Myles shook his head, "Three years of hell… It is miracle that boy's spirit is well intact."
"How did he get you free? When you didn't manage it in the last year," Silas asked.
"I," Jango said loftily, "cannot fit in the karking air vents. Which is apparently where they the chip detonators."
"Well, in that case," Silas said. "Thanks for not blowing yourself up while waiting for the adiik to rescue you."
Jango swatted him over the back of the head. "I took six of those Jetiiese down with me. And those cowards didn't get back up."
He remembered their faces —each and every one of them— as they gasped for their god and their 'Force' denied them.
If he was honest, it wasn't fully their fault. They had all been fooled. The Jedi by the Senate and the Governor. Jango's clan by the Governor and Death Watch.
The Watch hadn't fought them directly, merely sabotaged their ships before they set the Jedi on them.
After that, well… Jango's men had fired the first shot.
But the Jetiiese shouldn't have been there; they shouldn't have been protecting the corruption.
The Jedi were a dying race and they didn't even realise it.
Jango would be only too happy to help them along.
"I have a spare set of clothes in the back," Silas said, noticing his wandering attention.
"Thanks," Jango said, rising to his feet. "I doubt I will sleep much, but I don't want Obi'ika to wake up alone."
"We'll let you know if we hit a star," Silas said cheerily.
Jango snorted and exited to the back cabin.
Obi-Wan was already asleep, his tea mug empty.
The ad'ika lay still. That had disturbed Jango at first, until he realised it for what it was; a trained sleep. Obi-Wan didn't move or make sounds in his sleep, it was to keep from being noticed. His breathing was slow, not exactly shallow, yet it couldn't be described as relaxed either.
Anything could wake him, but most often, someone being quiet was what would alert him to something being amiss. So Jango made no effort to remain quiet, moving normally through the room.
He had finished getting dressed when Obi-Wan made a low sound. Jango froze, then went to his ad'ika's side.
Obi-Wan was caught in a nightmare as he jerked, writhing in his sleep from remembered torture, likely from an eletro-whip. The ancestors knew, the ad's back was a patchwork of lashes and burns. Some of the scarring was bad enough that had the ad not been rigorous in following his stretching routine he might have been partially crippled.
Jango placed a hand on Obi-Wan's chest, over his heart. It wasn't a place an enemy would grab or seek to control him by. His limbs, back, throat, head, and even his hips, were all trigger points. But touching his chest like this, without caress or pressing down, offered support without threat. Mainly because it would be easy for Obi-Wan to defend himself from such a gesture if he needed to.
Despite all his triggers, Obi-Wan was highly tactile and seemed often times touched starved. It was a difficult line to tread, offering touch without reigniting past harm, but not impossible.
"Obi'ika," Jango coaxed softly.
Obi-Wan jerked awake, his eyes still a bit glazed.
Jango hushed him, "You're safe, ner ad'ika."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and scooted back against the wall, not in fear, but in a silent plea for help. He was giving Jango room to protect him, allowing Jango room to place his body between his ad'ika and the door.
Already dressed for bed, Jango laid down in that space, gently pulling Obi-Wan into his chest. His ad'ika immediately curled into him, falling back asleep in mere moments.
Some might look down on a sixteen-year-old needing comfort like this. Those karkers likely wouldn't have survived a tenth of what Obi-Wan had.
In fact, that Obi-Wan could let himself be comforted and give comfort in turn at all was nothing short of a miracle.
He was hurt and hurting, but he was far, far from broken.
Tucking his ad'ika beneath his chin, Jango began to make plans for them. Having worked in the mines on numerous occasions, he was almost certain Obi-Wan could be fitted for a full suit of armour without issue. Although, given how flexible the teen was, something Jango had learned first-hand on the few practice spars they had managed to keep out of sight from the pirates.
That agility and flexibility had proved somewhat challenging against Jango's superior strength and speed. At least in the small confines of the glorified cabin, a small storage compartment, they had been limited to.
No, Obi-Wan would do well as a Mandalorian.
And he would make a fine warrior one day; among the finest.
oOo
Obi-Wan woke as he often did, shielded by Jango.
He didn't move though, allowing himself to relax for the first time in years because there was no one coming to order them around.
He had learned that Jango wasn't just a Mandalorian, but the Mand'alor.
Which was more than slightly frightening, Jedi and Mandalorian relations being what they were.
Though it explained Jango's intense anger at the world, and why the pirates bullied but never went too far with the warrior. Still, slavery was slavery, and for Obi-Wan, the threat of violence was sometimes more disturbing than the pain or punishments his 'masters' gave him.
Especially, with the collar that he had no defence against. The pirates activating the device had only been the second time it had happened to him.
The first time had been worse, even though it had been worth it.
The Zygerrains didn't typically use collars on their slaves and the chances of killing him had been too high. The pirates had proved that Obi-Wan's life meant little to nothing to them, so despite Jango's protection, he had never felt safe.
But now he did.
The chances of the collar being used on him now were as likely as him getting a blaster bolt to the head. With Mandalorians that wasn't out of the question, but rather unlikely if Obi-Wan simply kept his mouth shut.
When the collar came off, would he return home? Could he? He didn't think Jango would take him to the Temple but he would probably be willing to take him back to Coruscant.
The thought of home made Obi-Wan slightly nauseous.
Why?
Meditating was a lot harder without the Force, but that didn't mean it was impossible to use meditation for other things than just communing with the Force.
It was still useful for self-reflection, and sanity.
So why didn't he want to go home? When home was all he had wanted since he had been sent away from the Temple.
So why now?
He breathed in deep, and released it slow.
He didn't want to go home, not because he didn't want to see his people —see his friends— but because he didn't want them to see him.
He didn't want them to see the scars, to see what he had become, and the way he had debased himself to stay alive.
Theoretically, sex wasn't against the Jedi code. But the things he had been through weren't really about sex. It hadn't been consensual, though he had still chosen submission over death and intolerable pain.
They had never discussed the choices he had ended up faced with in his initiate classes.
He used to be very good at Jedi philosophy, he had been top of his class in philosophy for as long as he could remember. But he didn't know where the lines were anymore, he didn't know how his actions fell into that world of understanding.
Nor did he know how the Jedi Masters would respond, what they would say.
And that was what was making him sick.
The thought of explaining the last few years, of facing their judgement.
Or their pity.
His other immediate option was to remain with Jango. But the fallout of choosing to remain with the Mandalorians might be far more dire than being shamed at the Temple. If the Mandos learned what he was, his life could be forfeit before any more choices were necessary on his part.
Jango wouldn't understand the Force, nor was he likely to accept his origins as a Jedi. Yet would the Jedi understand what Obi-Wan had been through? Could he handle their misunderstandings if they didn't?
Would they be ashamed of what he had to do to survive? The Jedi were supposed to be empathetic, but he knew that they were, —or, at least, they could be— prideful.
And Obi-Wan had been brought low.
He didn't think he could stand before the Council as he was now, nor could he face Yoda.
Yoda would see too much.
And Obi-Wan didn't want to be seen.
Jango stroked a hand through Obi-Wan's hair, "Good morning, Obi'ika."
"Morning," he mumbled into the man's sleep shirt.
"Come on," the Mand'alor coaxed as he sat up. "Myles has real food on board, not just ration bars."
Obi-Wan felt his mouth water. He hadn't had real food since he had left the Temple. Good food hadn't been wasted on slaves, aside from a few crumbs and some near rotted fruit.
Jango squeezed his shoulder, "Come."
Obi-Wan nodded and, scraping up his courage, he asked, "Can— Could I take another sonic, please?"
Jango ruffled his hair, "Of course you can, ner ad'ika."
Obi-Wan grinned.
No one owned him anymore.
Jango was a friend, not a foe.
So long as he never found out what Obi-Wan was, what he had been.
But it wasn't until he was freshly clean again, getting dressed before the mirror and seeing the state of his own body, did Obi-Wan make his decision.
Maybe he wouldn't stay with the Mandalorians, he couldn't imagine repaying Jango's kindnesses with lies, but he wouldn't go home either.
Qui-Gon had never chosen Obi-Wan as a Padawan, and he was well and truly aged out of the Knight Corps now.
He wouldn't go back to the Agricorps.
He wouldn't go back to the Order and submit himself to their judgement.
The galaxy was wide and lacked no shortage of opportunities. He would find his place amongst the stars.
And if the Force returned to him, he would never let himself be caught again.
Still, when he went to breakfast, his first real breakfast in years, and Jango had a hot cup of tea waiting for him, Obi-Wan decided that he would miss the Mandalorians when the time came for goodbyes.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, snow leopards, or feedback on the story, pretty please?