Abril: WE ARE ALIVE AGAIN FELLOW IDIOTS. Again, I swear this has been done for months but my friend was too busy to beta my work. BUT, I have new wonderful help, you can all thank Phoenyx-Fyre-Writer for the beta work and for getting this chapter out.
I have 2 wonderful news also (beside updating lol) and that is that fanart has been made for this story (2 of them, hence the 2 news ksks). Guy's I'm still crying over it * sob*.
You can find one of them reblogged on my art Tumblr the-red-butterfly under the tag "Lonely Stars Drifting In The Black" or "LSDITB". It's a gorgeous piece of chapter 1 (or 2, depending on how you're counting the prologue) depicting Obi and Jango's escape done by omikronwhiesai.
The other one was done by vprwv-arts on Tumblr but they haven't posted it yet. When they do I'll be sure to tell you guys.
Without further ado, here it is, the chapter…
They skitter around each other, Jango out of awkwardness, and the kid out of wariness. He's like a small wild animal; harmless, for the most part, but with nerves wound up so tight they could snap. And just like with any small animal, the Mandalorian partakes in the slow careful process that is the taming of the wild.
He leaves odd treats within reach of the teen: food and water for the most part, and a quilt too because Jango just knows how cold the ship gets; specially when one is mostly sleeping against the bare metal of the floors. Which he hopes the boy's doing because if he finds him again inside of the wiring panels, it's going to give Jango a heart problem.
The boy hides away most of the time, it's not very surprising, but sometimes, he orbits Jango like a far away planet. He lingers just at the edges, never close enough to touch but present. The Mandalorian begins leaving the ration bar and water on the large table in the common room where the boy can easily find them at whatever time he likes. Jango likes to think it's a step forward.
With the brunets' tentative presence, another of Jango's concerns becomes increasingly evident. The stink. It follows the kid wherever he goes, and Jango can't blame him for that, Manda knows he probably smelled just as bad when he was a slave, but the teen is not trapped anymore, and there's a perfectly usable sonic on the ship at his disposal. His only guess as to why the boy hasn't used it is because he doesn't want to be caught in a vulnerable position; after all it takes more time to clean up than go to the bathroom.
Then next time he takes out a ration bar for the boy, he makes sure to stay at the table until his little interloper appears. It takes a while of course, the brunet tries his absolute best to keep the most distance he can from the Mando; but with the man unwilling to move from the table the kid will have no choice but to make an appearance eventually.
Jango cleans his non lethal instruments while he waits, making sure there's not a weapon in sight. He's seen how the teen gets when they are anywhere within the man's reach. He relaxes, appearing absentminded to create a sense of security that'll give the kid enough incentive to approach.
No, I'm not waiting for you to turn up at all, no sir. I'm just doing everyday things as slowly as I can like I always do.
The brunet is quiet when he finally decides to show up, Jango doesn't pay attention to him, eyes on the cleaning rag and pressurized air that blows into the little mechanisms. When the boy puts his hand on the ration bar sitting innocently on the table, the dark eyes of the man lift. It freezes the teen in place for a moment.
He's wondered how best to put it, how to approach the subject as kindly as he can, but that is not what comes out of his mouth.
"Kid… you stink." Amazing Jango, wonderful wording.
The teen shrinks a little onto himself, he looks about ready to disappear again. He sees the accumulated grime on his face and the disgustingly greasy locks of hair hanging stiffly over his head, so he pushes forward.
"What I mean is, please use the sonic," nope, that's not better. "I, ah… please for both our sakes." Kriff.
The kid, underneath all the dirt turns red with shame, and that's not really what Jango was aiming for. He quickly decides there's nothing he can do about those hurt feelings.
"I left you some clothes in the bathroom that you can wear," he offers lamely.
The kid makes eye contact with him and he looks pained at the whole current situation.
"Of course, nothing can do a job like water for these kinds of things, but there's a small spray with water there, to help with the harder stuff." So he hadn't meant to make it sound like he just put it there for the boy, he uses it too when he needs to!
After an awkward stretch of silence, the teen begins to retreat, ration bar right where Jango had first put it. He rushes in, to try and salvage whatever is going on right now. He's surprised at how poorly the conversation's going. And maybe, just maybe, he's been pushing it a little too much with his self imposed isolation in space because he didn't use to be this bad at talking, he'd been kind of great in fact!
"I'm sorry, I'm not… that sounds very bad. I'm not trying to… Ah, kriff." He places a hand on his eyes as he pushes down his exasperation. When he looks back at the teen he finds a fairly odd thing happening to his face. He's not completely sure what it is, but it's the first time he's seen it present.
The brunet gives him a slight nod and after another pause he disappears from the room. It's quiet then, and Jango lets his forehead fall with a thump on the table. He sighs.
A couple of hours later, as he's organizing the shelves in the common room beside the kitchenette, he hears the clicking of the bathroom door close and then the humming that comes when the sonic is turned on. He stops, then closes his eyes and thanks every deity out there for this blessing.
It's a moment later when Jango identifies what was different about the kid's expression. There hadn't been any fear there, it had been a normal expression like any other person would have, if maybe a little wary. He doesn't know what to think of it, but it must be good.
One long sonic later the teen walks back into the room and Jango makes the astonishing discovery that his stray passenger is not actually brunet but ginger. The parlor of his skin too, increases exponentially for being uncovered from layers of accumulated dirt.
And the only thing Jango can think of the fact he'd thought the kid had a whole different head of hair is, 'that is disgusting.'
A second later he is also very grateful that he didn't say those words out loud, cause although the kid doesn't look happy per se, or even content, there's still a niceness to his face revealed once he comes out of the small bathroom. Perhaps it's like a small burden has been lifted up, or maybe it's just the general lack of fear and captured animal look he always has that makes him seem lighter. Or maybe being clean and feeling a little like a human again is enough. Jango would know, he'd been there himself.
Awkwardly, the teen stands there, holding himself stiffly as he carries in his arms the bundle of his clothes. He's got Jango's own set on, a brown shirt so washed out it looks beige and black pants that didn't fit the Mando all that well. The clothes fit the boy more like oversized sleep clothes than anything else, but nothing that a belt or a waist leather won't fix. He looks better now, human, like the sentient that he actually is instead of a caged animal in a pen.
The smell hits him again and he glares at the culprit in the teens arms. He declares:
"we're going to have to burn those."
·~·~·~·
Two days after the monumental awkwardness of the sonic situation, something incredible happens. A mop of reddish hair pokes into the common room, that in itself is not precisely unusual, but Jango is there and it's nowhere near time for a meal. The kid looks at Jango for a moment and very deliberately sits down on the chair opposite to his own.
The Mandalorian does his very best to pretend this is a normal occurrence and continues fixing one of the little gadgets in his amour. On the inside he's pretty excited, which makes him feel as ridiculous as it sounds, but sue him, he's been working on the kid for a week and a half now, he deserves to be excited about this small show of trust.
From his place at the table the kid has a view of the cockpit, he does nothing while he sits with Jango, but observe, occasionally whatever Jango's doing, but mostly out there.
Right now they are drifting through space, no hyper travel and no planets to dock to, just how Jango likes it. Just him and his ship floating through the vast loneliness of space where no one can bother them. Completely alone.
At least that's how it used to be, but now, they've a quiet third presence in their midst. It's hard to describe. The kid doesn't talk, he barely shows himself most days, but it's company. He's another breathing, living person, who inhabits the same space as Jango. It's nice, he thinks, not being completely alone.
The redhead stays like that for a long while, blue gray eyes fixed on the cockpit window, watching the illusion of distant lights in the dark spinning around them. But it's the ship, they're the ones drifting away in circles. Between them and the void only finely constructed, thin metal.
Jango looks at the kid and exhales.
"Hey." The kid turns away from the stars to look at him, there's still a little wariness in his eyes but it's dimmed, now the most the Mando sees there is a bone deep exhaustion and sadness. The teen's heavy with it, it's like it drags him down. "What's your name?" He asks softer than he's used to doing anything.
Gray blue eyes pierce him. The teen takes a small breath but it stays trapped inside of him. His orbs now shift away from Jango and then back to him a couple of times. The struggle ends with the kid looking at his lap and saying nothing. Jango knows he can talk, the sounds of distress he's heard from him are testament enough, so he wonders what's got the ginger as quiet as a grave.
It dawns on him that he hasn't… he hasn't even introduced himself, and here he is expecting the kid to give him an answer back.
"I'm Jango," he amends and offers across the table his hand, the boy looks up at him, brows furrowed like he's trying to figure something out.
Tentative, like most things the ginger does, he reaches out to take his hand; he almost thought the boy wouldn't. The kid's hand is cold and soft to the touch. It's almost birdlike in its thinness and has an odd set of calluses the Mandalorian can't tell the origin of; it's not any he's got in mind at any rate. He puts that information in the back of his mind for now and shakes the hand firmly. He smiles slightly, intoning in a humorous manner, hoping maybe he can draw out a slight quirk to the kid's lips.
"Jango Fett, pleasure to meet you." Once they let go, he realizes the redhead is frozen in place, his gaze stuck to the table where their hands had met. Though his shaggy hair falls around his face, now almost fluffy from being cleaned, Jango can glimpse through the strands that the panic has set right back into his gray eyes. The teen looks like he's trying his hardest to control his slightly accelerated breathing.
"Kid?" He asks concerned, not knowing what exactly went wrong here.
Jango startles back when the ginger's chair rakes harshly against the metal floor when he shoots up from his seat. His back is straight and as tense a rod as he stands there still. He strides out of the room then, with barely controlled hurry, his desire to escape present in every motion.
Jango wrecks his brain, and thinks of every little thing he could've done, anything at all that could serve as an explanation as to what went wrong here. But he doesn't know, he can't think of a single thing that would cause the kid to react that way. He was fine, quiet yes, but fine and almost relaxed as they had sat in silence. But… he knows trauma is like that, it seems almost without reason to those on the other side; Jango knows from experience.
Some things just tip you over.
He's certain of one thing though, going after the kid is not going to help matters right now. He has to wait him out, and the boy will appear whenever he has sorted himself out.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Jango returns his attention to the tools and pieces on the table.
One step forward and two steps back.
·~·~·~·
The kid spends the next couple of days hiding from Jango again, the ration bar and water container untouched on the table until the dark haired man decides enough is enough and goes to look for the kid again, worried he might find him passed out in some nock of the ship from lack of nourishment.
He finds him for once, and it almost surprises him, in one of the ventilation ducts close to Jango's room, he removes the metal slit and pears in. The boy's limp on his side, curled up with his legs to his chest, his face tear streaked. He looks at Jango emotionless and empty.
The man stops at the sight, it tugs painfully at his heart, this… this looks familiar. Like his worst days, alone, all alone in the world because there's no one left. This is him when he allows himself to break away because there's no one there to see him fall. Jaster is not there to catch him.
His eyes mist and he pushes the feeling away; he's got more important things to deal with right now. He kneels down and awkwardly places half of his body inside the shaft, his legs stretched behind him like some kind of lizard. He leans on his forearms once he's as comfortable as he'll be able to get.
"I'm not… I'm not going to ask if you're okay, I know you're not, I know…" He takes in a steadying breath, the kid's demeanor doesn't change, he's absent but full of pain, "I know how you feel." He forces the words out, the shine of the collar snuggly resting around the teen's neck grates at him. He has to ignore it because looking at it always makes him nauseous, it makes him feel like he's got one on himself, again. It makes his hands tremble with the memory of spice withdrawal and too little to drink, and uneasy swallowing.
"A couple years ago I was a… I managed to escape a slaver ship. I was there- I was-" he swallows down and forces the words out, "I was there for years." His voice breaks a little at the end, but he almost screams victory at what he sees.
His words bring the kid out from his absent state. Dull, gray blue eyes light up a little, his gaze almost focusing on Jango: he's listening. A shiver runs through the ginger's malnourished body, but he doesn't move.
"I don't know what those demagolka did to you or what you've faced. But it's not hard to imagine, and I have no doubt that it was hell. I understand though. I don't know what's going through your head right now, but if I… if I can help you… I need you to know I'm here. I know you're scared kid, that's okay. You may not believe me right now, but I mean it. I'm not going to hurt you."
Jango doesn't think he's talked this much since before Galadrin, it's unfamiliar, but he needs the kid to know. There's a burning need in him to make this sad teen, that's all but a stranger to him, who now shares and lives in the Fury with Jango, know that he can be safe again, even if it doesn't feel like that now.
A tear slides down the pale cheek. There's a heavy silence around them.
"Maybe you won't believe me right now, but I'm not in a hurry, we can work on that." He offers an uncertain smile he hopes is reassuring, he's not very good at smiling.
He sees it then, a bit of life returning to the teen's face, recognition, as he draws away from the void of nothingness. Jango sighs in relief. The ginger shivers again.
"Come on, let's get out of here, you need to eat."
The Mandalorian extends his hand to the other as best as he can from where he awkwardly lays half inside the ventilation shaft. If the kid wants he can easily reach it. Gray eyes look at the tan, calloused palm. Then, with a shuddering exhale, he places his own on top and lets Jango pull him out of the vent.
Once standing outside, the boy looking drained, he lets his hand linger on Jango's own just for a small moment. There's a suspended moment there, like a held in breath, as the boy wants to hold tighter, but nothing happens. He lets go with a restrained step back.
·~·~·~·
Now instead of playing hide and seek they waltz around one another, orbiting like errand stars this way and that. If Jango sits at the table in the common room, the redhead cuddles on the couch at the other side of the room; if he pilots, the teen sits at the table and looks at the stars. Always far away where the Mando won't reach him immediately if he gets any ideas. He can tell the kid wants the company and fears it at the same time, he's allowed Jango some contact but it's in no way the new norm.
"You know I have to call you something right? I can't just keep calling you kid forever. Unless you like that of course," The ginger scrunches up his nose in displeasure but pretends to ignore him, and Jango relishes in the reaction, "so, because you refuse to talk to me, I'm going to have to come up with a name for you."
The teen's head wips towards him from the couch.
"I was thinking Red is good, you're like a walking sign with that mop of hair after all." That is obviously a gross exaggeration, his hair is only faintly orange, and the kid looks like he's dying to rebuke him. Good, that's exactly what Jango is aiming for; if the ginger wants to get into a good screaming match with him all the better. If Red doesn't want his name he can very well tell Jango with his own words.
The teen halfheartedly glares at him, which is another new emotion from the boy and the Mando is entertained enough he's tempted to pat himself on the back.
"So, Red, ration bar or ration bar?" He says as he shows off two identically flavorless packets for the boy." The displeased and slightly nauseous look on the teen's face is enough of a different emotion as well.
Soon enough, Red turns into Red'ika.
There's a warmness growing inside Jango's chest, which has probably been there for longer than he cares to admit. Right now he's not too inclined to fight against it though.
·~·~·~·
Jango likes the kid, he… kriff he really does. Little by little, he begins seeing the small shines of a person flashing through the cracks of sadness and diminishing fear. For the first time the vows of adoption cross his mind but he… he can't do that, he's not well. Of course, compared to the kid he's in a wonderful state of mind, but that's just a façade and the boy doesn't deserve that. Red doesn't deserve a man who is barely holding himself together and who would rather rot away in the loneliness of space than try and get himself back into the world. He can't consider it.
But what if- what if the kid really is all alone in the world, just like him? Maybe that's why he hasn't asked Jango to take him anywhere -that or the fact that the kid can't say a word to save his life.
He pushes the gai bal manda out of his mind, but it's always there, at the edge of his thoughts when Red inches a step forward; when he looks for Jango for company. He wants to reach forward and ruffle the ginger locks on his head, though he knows he shouldn't and it wouldn't be welcomed.
"There's a second bunk in the sleep room you know. You could take it if you wanted. It'd be more comfortable than whatever place you choose to sleep for the night," he ventures to say one day.
The redhead doesn't answer but Jango can see consideration in his eyes.
One day, at the end of the wakening cycle, he finds the boy sitting beside the door to his room. He pushes back his hair away from his face, and looks uncertainly at Jango, it's clear he's been waiting for him.
"Come on in," says the Mandalorian as casually as he's been treating every development with the kid, as if it were a thing that happens every other day.
Once Jango settles into his bed, he can see the wild locks of reddish hair poking from under the covers of the other bed. It's closer than the kid usually allows when he seeks the man's company, and it's evident from the fact that the teen isn't really relaxed, nor will he be enough to sleep any time soon. He does look otherwise comfortable under the protection of the bed covers. Jango considers this another win and then drifts off into sleep.
He doesn't stop to consider the fact that he would have never let his guard down with a stranger like this, ever. He would've pretended to sleep, or outright stared the other party into submission. Maybe its reckless, maybe it's stupid, but his usual surveillance is not springing up in his mind to keep him alert, he just feels, if not safe, at least right enough to just let go.
He sleeps.
·~·~·~·
The gap between them shortens more, one bit at the time with every day that passes. They eat together, Red sits at the co-pilot seat with him when he goes to watch the stars, he rests his head on the table to observe when the Mandalorian does mindless things on his datapad or anything else as equally mundane.
Jango gets too comfortable with the kid one day. He makes a mistake.
"Red'ika, come here," he says absentmindedly as he searches for things inside his toolbox.
The teen obliges, because there's more trust between them now, and peers at whatever Jango's looking for in there, his head almost touching the man's shoulder.
"Let's take this off okay?" He says and reaches out for the slave collar as he finds the right tool to start.
The moment his fingers brush the cold metal, a fist cracks him on the jaw and throws him off balance. When he raises his eyes Red has thrown himself to the other side of the room and is breathing irregularly. There's a terrified expression clouding his face like it's never left.
The borderline hyperventilating breath fills the space around them in a heavy manner, even though the intakes of air are so very quiet. The teen is shaking against the wall, he raises a hand to his mouth and presses there, his eyes are glistening.
His first thought is, of course, of slight pride, because that was a wonderful right hook and that is Mandalorian to the bone. The kid's got it in him still for sure, and oh how Jango could nourish that into excellency. It's not a thought that lasts very long though, because the concern blooming in his chest is so much more encompassing. He… he wasn't thinking; he doesn't know why he thought touching the kid out of the blue would be a good idea.
There's a rasp now to the kids intakes of breath, like it's getting harder to draw in air.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey," Jango raises his hand up in a pacifying gesture, "calm down. I'm sorry. Come on, take a deep breath."
Red's eyes are on him, the threat, but he's also shaking and Jango doesn't think he'd be able to run away if he wanted to. The teen slides down the wall and thumps on the floor.
"Easy-y, easy," Jango lowers to the ground as well, "do it with me okay? In," he exaggerates in a breath, "out." Again and again until the choked breaths of the kid regain a semblance of consistency. Again and again, until the world around them quiets down.
"You okay kid?" The Mando asks but Red is not looking at him, he's covering his mouth with his fist and his eyes are scrunched shut. A tear slides down one of his checks and then another one follows it on the other side.
"I- I'm sorry I wasn't thinking," Jango says, looking at the kid's face for a sign that he's okay.
Red glares at him then, almost viciously, and he wraps an arm around his neck, the message loud and clear.
"I won't do that again, I promise, not unless you let me."
The teen glares even more towards Jango, but he doesn't regret his words. That thing has to come off, one way or another; but he can wait, he can wait for Red'ika to be ready.
·~·~·~·
Red dreams.
He is defiant and biting, like a flame.
The slave collar is snug against the skin of his throat, it makes swallowing uncomfortable. The lightning it discharges is stronger than his body, it leaves him tired and limp on the dirty ground.
"Get up. Get up Jedi scum."
He can't, he isn't sure he would if he could, just to spite his captors.
Fingers dig into the inside of the collar to pull and what little space there is for him to breathe vanishes as he is lifted and dragged out of the holding cell and through the ground.
He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe.
Everything is hazy and he flails his arms and legs trying to catch a leg or dislodge the fingers, but they only tighten more securely. The side of his hip and legs scrap against the grainy ground until he's lurched with a tug and he rolls a few times to a stop.
But he can breathe.
He gasps for air and chokes on it, it's painful and blessed and there are tears in his eyes from the lack of oxygen.
There's a sharp whistle and when the boy looks up he tenses; and he is nothing more than a boy, he's only fourteen and he's so scared. He yearns for salvation, for a last minute rescue, but it's been 3 weeks and nothing's changed. His captors are always on the move and they know how to hide.
He wants to be held and he wants to cry and he wants to rage, to fight. But he's only one kid and they are so many and all warriors and all stronger than him. And it's so cold inside the collar, the world is so cold and so small and he feels blind and deaf, the color of the world turned dull.
The boy looks around, he's been thrown to the middle of the small encampment, a few armored figures gather around, there's anticipation in the air.
He will scream he knows, he's not strong enough not to.
Red dreams, and dreams, and dreams the night away. But Red makes no sound.
·~·~·~·
Soon Jango brings up the topic again.
"Red," he says.
The teen doesn't look at him.
"Red'ika look at me." It's a fight for the teen, but he manages to forces his eyes up at the Mandalorian. Jango looks compassionately at him, "the collar. You know it has to come off, you know it does."
The boy says nothing. The Mandalorian has found an old datapad to curb his growing boredom; there, he fills up the screen with straight lines and curvy lines that go from here to there. He traces with his fingers line after line after line.
"Red?" Jango asks again, his voice sounds stern, but it's not really, that's just how he speaks.
The ginger stops and lowers his hand from the screen. He nods smally, without enthusiasm. He understands.
·~·~·~·
The next day Jango sits him down. Better now than later.
"Are you ready?" The teen doesn't look at him but he nods.
They settle in the common room; there's not many other places to be at. Jango pulls the stool he sits on closer to where Red is, tools in hand. The kid's eyes are shiny with unshed tears as he cranes back his neck to give easy access to the slave collar. The man lifts his hands up and places them gently over the metal. The boy flinches but doesn't move from his place.
"It's okay, it's okay." Jango soothes him, but soon, just as the Mando is carefully inspecting the design of the wretched piece of technology, on the back of his hand falls a drop of water. When he lifts his eyes to the teen, he's crying, silently. He looks so scared and through his limbs run small tremors. The boy stumbles on a breath as he does his best to keep steady, his eyes up to the ceiling like a prayer.
"Ssh, ssh," The man quiets him down and tells himself repeatedly, 'ignore it, ignore it, it's for the best. Ignore it, it's better to be done with it.'
He places the small vibroblade on a panel, ready to cut it open to look at the mechanisms inside.
Red chokes back a sob.
"Okay, I'm not doing this." Jango pulls back with an exasperated sigh and drops his tools back on the table.
The redhead drops his face down and hides it in his hands as he makes small shakes with his head; no, no, no, no, no, no. He sniffs again.
"Red. Red, look at me," Jango orders him gently.
After a moment, the sullen teen finally looks up at him, shoulders hunched and the beginnings of that empty look creeping up around the edges. And Jango thinks, 'not if I have anything to say about it.'
He offers up his palms in the small space between them, open and inviting, the boy hesitates a moment but places his palms against Jango's, who closes his fingers gently around the boy's cold fingers.
"Red'ika, listen to me." The kid's sad gray eyes are on him, like he has all the answers that the boy is missing, and that sits on Jango like a heavy burden, but it also honors him. "I don't want to do this to you, okay? I don't want to… to be a reminder of that evil, I'm not here to cause you more pain than you're already in, okay?"
The teen closes his eyes, but doesn't turn away, it gives the Mandalorian a clear view of his shame and deep, soul crushing despair.
"I don't… I don't have people I trust, so I know how hard that can be, but… Kid I'm never going to hurt you, come hell or high water. I swear, you'll never come to harm from me, do you understand?" He gives a squeeze to the ginger's hands, "and if this scares you to the point of tears then I don't want to put you through it."
Down the teen's cheek rolls one more tear and his eyes are pleading as he takes in the words like salvation to a drowning man.
"Okay?" Jango asks and the kid gives a small nod. "You are safe with me."
And then he sees it, the small lean forward of the Red's body, the slight tightening of the thin fingers around his palms.
Careful, so very careful, Jango lets go of a hand and lifts it up to the teens shoulders, slowly where the other will always be able to tell where it is, and he places it there, warmly. And gently, as one does with wild frightened animals, he pulls the redhead forward, slow enough that if the teen wants to pull away he can. The kid is stiff, but he gives inch by agonizing inch until he's resting against the man's chest. Jango takes his other hand to the lean back and holds him.
Slowly, Red lifts his hands from his lap and grabs at the Mando's sturdy shirt. Then like a powerless droid he drops his weight and lets Jango do all the work of carrying him. He starts crying. It's choked and quiet, like all things he does, but it's also guttural and from within so Jango allows himself to squeeze the narrow shoulders into himself.
"It's okay Red'ika, it's okay," he murmurs to his ear.
The teen presses his face to Jango's chest and sobs even harder.
"Let it out, it's okay."
Red pulls at his shirt with fury, making an agonizing sound but muffling it with the Mandalorian's shirt. Jango's own eyes beginning to mist up. He wants to do more, he wants to do everything in his power to ease this kid's pain, this ad's suffering, but there's nothing more to do than what he's already doing. He buries his face against the brittle reddish hair and does nothing more than hold him.
And for the first time he allows himself to dream he can be more for this tortured soul than a passing rock to lean on.
"I'm here, it's going to be okay." He brushes his fingers through the long strands of hair and Red's arms reach up behind him and hold him as well, strongly and desperately.
Jango knows now, he's in deep, this is his child now, and he'll do anything to protect him.
Mando'a:
Demagolka: Someone who commits atrocities (particularly towards children), a real-life monster.
Gai bal manda: Ritual of adoption.
Ad: Daughter/Son, child
Ika: Diminutive suffix, connoting endearment.
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