It's been one day since, adrift in space inside a lonely ship, with nowhere to go really, a man comforted a tortured teen, and hoped that one day he'd be strong enough to offer himself to be the kids aliit. He's not strong enough yet, losing his family in Galidraan broke him in a way he doesn't think will ever heal, but maybe… maybe someday things will be different.
That day Jango's quiet interloper, his little field mouse, walks to the cockpit where the Mando diligently checks the levels and state of his ship. The boy stands up straight and there's something dignified to him Jango hasn't seen before. Red's always hunching and shrinking into himself, being as small as possible and out of his way. The teen looks him square in the eye and gestures with his fingers to the collar around his neck. He's ready.
"Alright," says Jango as he stands up and follows Red back to the table in the common room. He takes out his tool box from one of the shelves and they settle right back where they sat yesterday. Jango on the stool and Obi-wan on a chair.
The Mandalorian takes out the necessary instruments and sees the teen brace himself, he looks straight at Jango, brows set and ready. The man's a little proud he can admit, even though there's a slight tremor to the kid's hands, he looks ready.
"Ready?" He asks for good measure and the kid nods, craning back his neck to give Jango easy access.
Jango brings up the small vibroblade and presses the edge against the collar, slowly cutting away the access panel, the kid shudders a breath under his hands as he pries away a small square of metal. He works slow and deliberately, getting it wrong with one of these things could get the kid electrocuted from one second to the next. Worst case scenario, the collar explodes the head off Red. Which is not happening under any circumstances, not under the Mando's watch.
There's a small sniff and Jango stops. He shifts his eyes at the kids face, he's not crying, but his eyes are glassy. Jango hesitates, his hands hanging in midair as he fears the teen will retreat into the void inside himself where he'll be absent and unfeeling. Just like he found him on the vents.
Red's eyes meet his and, very deliberately, he takes Jango's hand and presses it back against the collar, the message loud and clear. The man sighs out softly and rolls his shoulders to get the tension out; he continues.
Some 40 minutes of delicate work later there's a soft click as the slave collar falls away from Red's neck to his shoulders, then it slides down to the floor. The boy takes in a shaky breath as he looks down at the slight set of half circles connecting on one end. His blue gray eyes turn to Jango, the ghost of a smile touching his lips; the Mando returns him a face splitting grin.
The air is light around them, free. The teen exhales harshly again, his face almost incredulous, like he hadn't been able to properly breathe for a long time.
A moment later though, Red's brows furrow painfully. He grabs onto the table to keep his suddenly unsteady balance.
"Red'ika, what's wrong?" Jango asks, anxious that he might've done something wrong while deactivating the collar. He places his hand on the skinny shoulder. The teen leans with his elbows on the table, pressing both hands to his head, very clearly in pain. "Red? You have to tell me what's wrong so I can help-"
The teen slides to the floor and before Jango can check on him the strangest thing happens. The man stumbles back a few paces along with every other object in the vicinity of the kid, like a rippling wave of some unseen force had pushed them away…
Jango stops for a second, standing with what feels like a large blank on his head while the kid is wriggling on the floor. He looks at the open, discarded collar, at a few random levitating objects around the common room, at the kid again, at the collar.
There's a feeling in his gut like the opening of a hole, but his mind is still blank.
Mandalorian Force sensitives don't have use for collars like that, they're not trained enough to need them and they never will be for someone to think they'd need to use them. Force suppressing collars are expensive. And why would Death Watch of all people keep a random kid to torture at that? It had always bugged him a little, yes, but he had chalked it off to Kry'tsad's generally despicable nature but… Why would they give a random Mandalorian kid a force suppressing collar? Even if they did want to make his suffering greater.
It made no sense.
…
It made so much sense.
When Jango looks back down again, somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks it's awfully funny that the first time he saw the teen he had seen the leftovers of childhood in him and had dubbed him a child; but now, panting on the ground, he remembers the oddly callused hands and perfectly landed punch to his jaw. He thinks of the hiding, of the quiet stealth. He thinks of the only thing Death Watch and True Mandalorians have in common.
And Jango no longer sees a vulnerable kid but a man who was well within their age and right to go out and fight in a place where he didn't belong to and die there.
He sees red.
"Kriffing Jetii." With a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through his body, Jango grabs the teen by the loose shirt and lifts him up from the ground as if he weighs nothing. The redhead makes a startled yelp before Jango thrusts him against the wall with enough force to make the little Jetii slam his head against the metal.
"I bet you think it's very funny, don't you?" The teen looks dazed as he tries to focus on the man in front of him "You take me for a fool, is that it?" He slams him again with vicious feeling.
The Jetii looks confused, uncomprehending, and it only makes Jango's blood boil even more.
He sees snow in the corner of his eye and luminous swords humming like the bearers of death. He brings up his other arm and closes his fingers around the tender flesh of the Jedi's neck, oddly colored against the rest of the teen's skin.
The confusion recedes from the ginger's eyes and they fill with animalistic fear; a little mouse in the hunters' hands. Jango relishes in it.
"You think I'm just another puppet to your orders 'honorable crusade'? Honor… you're not capable of it. All you Jetiise always parading around like you stand on some moral high ground. Saints with red stained hands." He laughs out loud at that.
Teen kicks his legs in the air, hoping he might strike the Mandalorian, but Jango had handled worse than the struggling of a malnourished teen, his efforts are useless. The Mando snarls and leans close, his dark eyes burning with rage as he holds the ginger's own gray. The Jetii's eyes tremble.
"You're just as filthy as Death Watch. Murderers the lot of you. At least Death Watch doesn't pretend to be something they're not." He presses harder against the ginger's airway and thinks, 'just one more Jetii neck broken under the hands of Jango Fett, as it should always be.'
The desperate gasps for breath fill the room as the Jedi claws weekly at the Mandalorian's hands, just as the teen had done what feels like a lifetime ago when Jango found him that night tied like an animal in a small pen. He whispers to the teen's ear.
"Get out of my sight before I change my mind you little vermin," he shoves him one last time against the wall and lets go.
The body hits the floor hard and the redhead coughs and coughs and gasps for air. For a while, he can't draw a single breath at all. He's not moving fast enough and Jango conceders kicking him in the gut to give him some incentive.
Finally, the Jedi scrambles on all fours until he can stand up and run away. Jango notices with little interest how the ginger's face is wet with tears and full of emotions he doesn't care to examine. The less he sees of the stowaway the better.
Jango walks to the corner that faces the small kitchenette where he has a small training space. He begins hitting at the dummy like an unleashed demon. In the corner of his eyes he sees gentle flakes of snow fall. He hears the hum of energy like a choir of death.
Hours pass and Jango is still furious.
He is burning up inside, every part of him boiling like the surface of a sun. He wants to go, to be out there bounty hunting, which he's been postponing because of the kriffing Jetii. It's only by sheer force of will that Jango doesn't destroy his own property in a fit of rage; his fists scream for blood and his baster for a target.
His soul wants violent retribution and he can't get it in this tin can unless he wants the stink of a dead body trapped with him for the foreseeable future. Right now he's, ironically enough, like a caged animal, and if he doesn't do something soon he's going to be a caged animal with the corpse of his prey between his paws.
He goes to sleep and dreams of a ginger head of hair matted and dripping with blood. Cold gray eyes staring blankly from a pale freckled face. Jango's hands wrapped snugly around the teen's throat like a trusty collar.
His rest is fitful, tense; he's on high alert though his door is bolted.
He dreams of going into Death Watch's camp, in and out like a shadow with the best data he can snatch up. As he goes out by the side of the main tent his eyes cross a set of blue gray orbs, he raises an eyebrow to the tied up stranger, nothing more than an animal, and continues on his merry way. He never once looks back.
The next morning he wakes up and does his daily routine uninterrupted. Not a single strand of reddish hair in sight to interrupt him, and he almost wants it, he wants to see the kraking Jetii dare to make an appearance, see how well he gets out of it this time.
He prowls the ship like a panther, oozing danger and violence everywhere he goes though he's perfectly contained. The slamming kicks and punches he delivers the training dummy resonate all through the vessel from their powerfully cultivated strength.
At mid meal his jaw hurts from how tensely he holds himself.
He was such a fool. How had he not seen what was in front of him?
Hadn't he trained himself for this? Wasn't Jango the perfect killer for Mandalore's enemy number one? Had he not honed his skills to never let Galidraan repeat itself? To know on sight, if one of those hut'uun was hiding?
Poor stupid Jango, let himself be charmed by a hurt face. That'll teach him to look closer next time. He should've left the Jetii chained there to his fate to be found by Kry'tsad, let the redhead rot his life away under the cruel thumb of the enemy. Best case scenario the Jetiise went looking for their runt and the groups killed each other and rid the world of their presence.
Wishful thinking that. Everyone knows the monks don't care about their members, they have bodies to spare after all, they can just take another baby any time they wanted to.
Jango stewed in his ire for the rest of the day.
He prowls the ship, he starts to think of planets where he can dump the Jetii on, maybe somewhere pirate infested or a barren wasteland. He also muses if he wants to do anything to the interloper himself. His body prickling with rage again as his footsteps echo against the metal walls.
He should probably find the little vermin and put the force suppressing collar back on, he doesn't want any funny ideas going through the Jetii's head. Jango should really be more careful, he knows better, and this whole experience was reminder enough.
Somehow though, he can't bring himself to look all around the ship for a face he rather not set eyes on again.
That night he dreams he leaves Death Watch's camp again, only with what he came there for. He won't remember in the morning that as he leaves the perimeters of the camp he can hear desperate screams of pain and anguished cries, the voice is raw and young. He…
Jango dreams of ginger hair dripping with bright red blood. There's snow beneath his shins this time; it's tainted. He's surprised to find his hands are not around the boy's neck but tangled through the locks. Dull, blue gray eyes stare up at him, frozen tears on freckled cheeks.
"Red?" He asks. He can't tell the tone of his own voice.
He wakes up and goes through his daily routine. He works out, he showers, he has breakfast, he checks on the ships navigation. As he rests in the pilot's seat for a while, he wonders at the feeling all over him, surrounding him. He looks out at the black, spotted with tiny dots of light, and then turns at the unoccupied chair beside his own.
He closes his eyes.
Some hours later he goes for a ration bar and peels off the wrapper, he looks at the piles of rations as he munches on the dense and flavorless mass. They're running a bit low but there's still enough for days to go.
He really doesn't care about what he puts in his body so long as it's giving him enough nutrients, things like flavor and texture lost their importance to him after all that time aboard the slave ship eating like a rat. But he could tell the teen did. He never complained of course, but he did get a sullen look on his face, sometimes even a little nauseous from what Jango could tell. The Mandalorian had been thinking, they were due for a pit stop soon, maybe he could get something easy to cook? Something with flavor-
Jango slams close the cabinet and pushes away the ridiculous thoughts.
He gets to work, sitting down at the table and turning on his datapad, there are a few good bounties he'd had his eye on, he's been itching for a fight and what better way to get it than by earning money. Not that most bounties tend to be good fights, mind you. But at this point any chance to crack noses was better than none.
He turns to his left, words about incompetent idiots at the tip of his tongue but… there's no one on the other chair, or the couch. No glimpses of messy ginger hair.
Jango feels off kilter for a second, he sighs shakily.
He'd been feeling like that these past two days, thinking his imbalance was because of Red, because of the unexpected betrayal he wasn't even aware could happen. Now he thinks… no, he knows there's more to it than that, even if he doesn't want to think about it or admit it. It's not just the righteous fury and the disgust that has been making his skin crawl, Jango...
Jango is alone.
He's alone again in The Fury.
The place is oddly empty and bigger than it needs to be, and that's… that's weird. 'Cause he's used to that, he likes that. He… he does, he really does. But it's like the kid has banished from the ship, like he was never really there at all. There's no quiet presence hovering at the edge of his consciousness, not a dent on the couch where a ginger head naps from time to time, no footsteps going somewhere where Jango isn't.
It's just him.
Jango and The Fury, alone. Like it always was. Like it was supposed to be forever.
He thinks of Galidraan again, of snow, and bright beacons of light and brown robes and blood on the white. He wills himself to anger, he can feel it slipping away through his fingers, losing potency. Anger is the only thing that little Hutt spawn deserves from him.
But he can't muster it, the rage that builds up into action, and fury. It touches him for a moment but falls away with his next breath.
He hides his head under his arms and rests it against the cold table; what is he doing? What is he thinking? What's wrong with him? He pulls at his curls in an effort to clean his head and he…
He thinks of the Jetiise. It makes his blood boil with rage and deep rooted resentment and a vengeance that can never be quenched until they're all gone. He thinks of Red and the ire falls away leaving him almost breathless.
The memory of terrified eyes floods his mind. Of a blue gray look filled with incomprehension and betrayal. Of brittle fingernails scratching at his hand and arm with animal desperation.
He sees a man old enough to go die out there where he doesn't belong. He sees a kid out of his depth in a place he never should've been in. He sees a shiny band of metal surrounding a young neck and glimpses a map of scars too frightening in amount.
He sees a kid.
He sees his hands around a kid's throat.
He sees relief in a face drawn by hunger and pain and sadness, it blooms in the teen's face as soon as the collar falls away.
Red…
Jango's eyes burn. He lowers his arms beneath his face and he screams into them.
He screams again. And again. And again.
·~·~·~·
Red's a Jetii and he's going to have to learn to deal with that if he ever wants to… to what? Live with him? Care for him? Jango isn't sure at all what he even intends, but he'd rather not think about it.
Before figuring himself out though, Jango needs to fix his mistakes, his bantha herd sized mistakes. He needs to apologize. He needs to make things better. He has no idea how he's ever going to manage that after what he did.
It's been two days. Red hasn't eaten in two days and it's his fault.
It's been ages since Jango's had a panic attack, but it's never too late to get back on track. For the first time in a week and a half, Jango goes looking for the teen in The Fury. It takes him a while, which gives him enough time to calm down and try to clear his head, but kriff it, is it hard to find Red. He doesn't blame him though, from his point of view it's hide or die, and even with the limited options he has, the boy has done a wonderful job at making himself invisible.
'What if he's dead?' Jango's heart sinks. He's not well. He doesn't know how long Death Watch had him for but it left a mark on the teen's body, and while two days without food won't kill you, in the state the teen's in, he's not completely certain.
At long last the Mandalorian finds the right place. He follows a hunch more than anything, a feeling, but the rest of his skills tell him he's on the mark. The kid's inside one of the metal crates on the cargo hold.
He takes a breath and stills his emotions.
Jango takes off the lid of the crate and light falls onto a curled up body. Inside the metal box there are a few leftover bits of soft padding. He got extra ship pieces in this thing but he hadn't gotten around getting rid of the crate or given it a new use. But he's there indeed.
It's Red.
He grabs at his head like it hurts, shoulders hunched in as best as he can, but body slumped against the metal walls. A pale hand dislodges slightly from place and it reveals the face underneath. His freckled cheeks are red and wet with tears, his blue gray eyes look angry but glassy and a little unfocused for some reason.
Lack of food is Jango's best guess.
"Hey," he says lamely and the kid glares. "I… I know I understand your anger. I- I'm sorry kid, I'm so, so sorry. You don't deserve what I did to you. You don't deserve to be hurt. I know it's unforgivable, and I have no excuses I can give to you, nor should there ever be an excuse for what I did." Jango looks pained at his own confession.
Is he even truly a Mandalorian? To hurt a child with his own hands, to wish him harm?
Half of him says no, he did the unthinkable, but the other half of him says it was right, the Jetiise don't deserve mercy. He is nauseated by his own thoughts, but still, there's a part of him that has to agree. All of them, they all deserve to go to whatever hell they believe in.
But he knows Red, and he's just a scared, hurt kid, he doesn't deserve to suffer like that, not by Jango's hands or anyone else's hands.
"Red. You just…" The words get stuck in his throat, he wants to say 'you just have to tell me where to drop you off and I will.' But he doesn't, he doesn't for so many reasons. There's a pit in his stomach when he thinks of The fury, empty. He hears the disembodied hum of terrible swords of light ringing in his ears. He can't bring himself to say those words.
"There's nothing I can do to take back what I did, the only thing I can offer you is an apology. I won't… I won't promise not to hurt you; I know you won't believe me, not again. I regret that I betrayed your trust like that and that I'll probably never regain it. You'd be in the right never trusting me again… I'm sorry Red."
Red eyes don't meet his own, they're just slightly directed somewhere over his head, but he seems accepting enough of Jango's words.
"Okay," he sighs after a long stretch of silence and asks, "can you stand up?" Because the kid really doesn't look all that well.
The teen nods a few times but shuts his eyes in discomfort, his arms wrapping tight around his head as a wave of pain hits him. A tear rolls down his already stained cheek.
"Here, let me help you," Jango offers but doesn't touch the other, he lets his hand hover in the space over the teen. When the boy does nothing, he asks unsurely, feeling like his heart might break inside his chest "Red?"
It brings the faint memory of a far off dream, snow beneath his shins, long locks of hair matted with blood.
The teen opens his eyes and glares, mistrusting, at his tan fingers, but after a moment he lowers one of his hands from his head and places it in Jango's. Red's hand shakes in his, he can see the fear just barely hiding behind the angry wariness. The Mando pulls him up slowly. The boy is cramped from being so long inside the small space; he stands up on unsteady legs and breathes shakily. He stumbles in place, forehead scrunched in pain.
"Does your head hurt?" Jango asks, holding Red steady with his hands.
A tiny nod answers him and the teen stands in place, trying to let the wave of pain pass through him.
"Is it…" the Mando hesitates, "the force?"
Red freezes, forcing his eyes open, he looks intensely into Jango's brown orbs. The man feels like he's standing trial and being judged, found wanting by the jury. He supposes it's quite an accurate idea.
The boy nods again as the man helps him step out of the crate. Once out, the teen backs away from him, putting a good bit of distance between them. It makes the Mandalorian's heart clench but he deserves it.
It is not square one, but it feels like that. There's a chasm between the Jetii and the Mandalorian. So there always has been, and so it will ever be.
·~·~·~·
There's a coldness between them now, where before there was a warmness born out of loneliness, it had felt companionable. Now when they exist in the same spaces it feels like something to be bared, endured. They keep each other company because what else is one to do? There was a time when Red had felt like he wanted to inch closer to Jango in a way, once the man demonstrated he meant no harm. There's none of that now. Instead of the teen's company curing the emptiness of the ship, it makes it heavy, too full.
Jango thought he'd have to tame the boy again, to continue making an effort to prove himself to the other. But… he dare not do it, he doesn't deserve trying to regain the teen's trust when he already broke it in such a terrible way.
So they just… exist in the same space.
They eat together and inhabit The Fury. And the metal rooms are filled with a stilled quiet that says nothing, nor looks to say anything at all.
Red sleeps in the common room now, far away from Jango and his hands that perhaps did not squeeze as tightly as they could but had still laid around him like a deadly collar.
·~·~·~·
Red sits on the couch in the common room, feet at the edge of the seat without touching the cushion with his low boots, he hugs his knees and rests his head on top of them. There's a little burning flame inside his chest born out of betrayal. His trust, so carefully given like a glass cup, easily shattered by a fisted hand. He feels so foolish, like he didn't learn anything from his time of captivity. He knew better than to trust a Mandalorian who seemed kind and unlike the others. He knew-
But his little angry flame can't contest against his fear. Red is afraid. He's afraid of this place and he's afraid of the man in charge.
Jango Fett. The Mandalorian.
How could he have been so stupid? Even if the Mando wasn't a nightmare come to life -from the mouths of young knights looking to frighten younglings to the cautioning adults reciting history lessons- he saw what the man can do. Dead, all of them, the Death Watch members, all dead by the hands of one man. A boogie man in the flesh.
Red thought… he thought Jango would be different, once the teen had got to know him better. Something akin to a Jedi Shadow, tainted hands but… kind. Jango had seemed kind. But it seems Red is still a stupid little child. He feels like one anyway. His fear doesn't make it very hard to feel like such either. How could he have been so naïve…
There are no restful moments for the boy now. If he moves too fast, if he breathes wrong, will the Mandalorian snap again? He trembles at the thought and wishes so badly he could comfort himself with the sound of a spoken mantra, a comforting song learned from beloved masters. But his voice went away a long time ago.
He can feel it sometimes though, like something stuck inside his throat.
Red glimpses from the corner of his eye, over at the large table, the Mandalorian helmet. It rests quietly and unobtrusive in a corner, polished and well cared for. It looks at him with void, dark eyes. He shivers. The sound of Jango's steps reaches him from the cargo hold.
He closes his eyes and breathes.
He's afraid.
Mando'a:
Aliit: Family (lit, clan).
Hut'uun: Coward (worst possible insult)