Me to myself: I'm not making this political, this story is going to be anything political, I REFUSE for this story to be political. NO. Jango doesn't care for it, therefore we don't care for it. Clear? GOOD.

Me on this chapter: So yeah, Mandalore shit am I right?

Me to mysefl: I will murder you bitch.

Abril: I mean, it's barely political, but I didn't even want to glimpse at it XD. Silliness aside, happy friday! Your reward for making it through the week is this chapter :P

In case you missed it, the first extra story that connects to this one has been posted! "Qui-gon Extract: Searching" It's a one-shot that takes a look at Qui-gon's side of the story while Obi-wan was in captivity.

ALSO, I don't know if I've mentioned this, but Jango is 28 XD

Jango wakes up one day with the ringing sounds of Galidraan assaulting his senses, which of course, puts him in a foul mood for the rest of the rotation. He's always careful not to direct his anger at Obi-wan, but rage does inhabit his skin not too unusually. It's what drives him forward every day, what moves him; it's as much a part of him as his hair or his hands are. A very Mandalorian thing to be indeed. And though he never says so, Red doesn't like it very much, which is in turn, a very Jedi thing to feel.

But today he is steaming. He loathes the Jetiise so much that he can barely think straight. It unbalances him at times, to love this little Jetii so much but hate what he is at the same time. And he is so very clearly a Jetii, he might not look like one or carry a magic sword, but he is. It's in the way he bears himself, in the way he goes about things, it's in what he believes.

So Jango tries not to think about that dichotomy and contents himself with stewing in his hot red ire.

The day goes on, It's getting close to the midday meal and he hasn't seen Obi-wan in a while, 'Where could the kid be?' He wonders. By this time, the teen's usually getting things ready to start cooking.

"Red?" He asks out loud in case he's close, but there's no answer. There's a feeling in his gut then, but he's not quite sure what it is about. He'd know if there was danger around, so it's not that, but just to be on the safe side, he goes looking for the teen.

The Fury hums comfortingly under his feet as he makes his way though the ship, the sights of metal familiar in a way that would usually make him content if he wasn't in such a terrible mood today.

He finds the boy and his blood runs cold all of a sudden. Jango almost screeches at the sigth of Red kneeling in the cargo hold with the slave collar around his neck.

"What the krak do you think you're doing!?" He shouts like a commanding officer.

Obi-wan startles, falling to his butt, making the collar fall away from his neck. 'He was only holding it there,' Jango thinks as a wave or relief floods almost violently through his body. But his bright furious anger, born out of concern, still burns steady within him. He marches to the boy on the floor, Red's face scrunched up in pain. 'Must be that damned thing,' he fumes.

"Answer me, what do you think you were kriffing doing?" He crouches beside the ginger grabbing the slave collar and shaking it in front of the boy's face. He then slams it down on the floor to release some of his pent up ire, but Obi-wan flinches back sharply at the action, curling into himself. Immediately, a little of Jango's anger clears away from his eyes; he needs to calm down now.

"Obi-wan, what were you doing?" A hint of despair colors his voice.

The boy takes his own time to calm his racing heart as well. He struggles a moment to give the Mando an answer, doing that thing he does when speaking becomes hard, taking in a breath to talk but immediately letting go, again and again until he finally gets it.

"You're-" the words slur out of him. What's wrong with the kid? It's the collar, it must have messed him up again, somehow. "You're- You're too loud." The teen forces the words out.

And it's now Jango begins paying attention to how the ginger's face is contorting; like the lights are bothering him, the sounds. But he short circuits a bit, because he's what?

"What?"

"You're so angry, all the time," Obi-wan almost sobs.

Jango looks at the collar and then back at the kid, blinking a little as he tries to process what's happening. It clicks a moment later though. He closes his eyes and sighs.

"Is this a Force thing?" He asks with resignation.

The redhead scrunches his eyes close and nods a couple of times. The Mando sighs louder but sits down and tries to push his anger away. He's been stewing in it all day, he can lay it off a bit for the kid's sake. He can try at least. He doesn't understand osik about what's actually happening, but he can make an effort before trying to pull an explanation out of Red. Jango tries pushing down the fury, ignoring it, whatever will work to make himself less ireful.

Gradually, Obi-wan starts breathing in a little easier. He rests his head on top of his bent knees, shuddering.

"I'm sorry… I'm… I haven't- I haven't had much control of the… of the Force, since you took it off. Everything is so… intense. You're very intense. In the Force. I thought… maybe if I put it back on- not closed or anything, just around my neck, maybe… maybe I wouldn't feel it so much… The Force," he mumbles dejected, his eyes wet with unshed tears. "It was working a little until you came in," he adds timidly.

"Red, you-" Jango sighs exasperated, "you need to tell me these things, not go out of your way to do stupid osik like this," he gestures disgusted at the half metal circles.

"I'm sorry," the redhead pleads again.

"And isn't this like… painful or something?" He grabs the slave collar, before thinking better of it and placing it as far away from them as he can instead of hurling it across the room like he wants, "for people like you I mean."

The teen shudders, he breathes with intent, an active effort to calm himself and control his poor shielding. He leans back against a crate and rests there, Jango quiet at his side, but so very loud in the Force.

"It's not… painful, per say, not in the traditional sense at least. It's more like… like being empty. Like losing a sense." The ginger swallows, "it's painful but not in a way that can be felt."

"A sense?" The Mandalorian asks.

Obi-wan nods.

"Like being blind or deaf all of a sudden. Like… being trapped in a small dark space underground where you can't feel… anything. But now suddenly, everything. I feel everything. It's too much for me."

Jango sighs heavily and rubs at his face with his hands.

"Please, tell me how to help you," he begs. "You- you do this all the time, something is wrong and you just… don't say anything. How can I help you?"

"Meditate your anger away?" Obi-wan chuckles, trying to joke the tension away, but Jango looks at him dead serious. "Hm. You want to meditate? You, Jango Fett?"

"Want is a stretch of the word; don't rub it in. What I want to do is help you, you idiot. I ca-" the word gets stuck so suddenly in his throat Jango almost chokes. But he forces it out, god damn it, he needs the kid to feel safe and be okay, "I care about you."

Blue gray eyes raise up to meet his, they're glassy with tears.

"Oh… Thank you," the teen says a little lost but genuine.

Jango rubs at his face in tired exasperation, but his lips quirk to a smile.

"Be honest, is it really so hard to tell me stuff? To ask me when you need something?" The man throws in the air but he's not expecting the heavily charged look Obi-wan sends him. Oh, so the answer is definitely yes.

"Right," he doesn't ask for clarification. "Come on, let me help you," he stands and pulls the kid up with his hand. "We're going to meditate, and we're going to deal with your migraine or whatever it is the Force is doing to you," he sounds resigned and like he would rather be doing anything at all but this. But his hand holds Red's shoulder warmly and the look of wondrous surprise he gets from the teen it's enough to get him going.

.~.~.~.

They have dragged a cushion each to the floor in the middle of the common room. They look awkwardly at each other, as if waiting for the other to start first. Jango, despite being the one to suggest this, is already thoroughly regretting his decisions. He feels completely ridiculous and monumentally awkward. He doesn't want to do this. It almost makes him feel dirty in a way. But the kid looks tired, the furrowing to his eyebrows still slightly pained; Jango has to hold in a long suffering sigh.

"So, how do we do this?" He finally offers. The ginger seems just as uncomfortable as he feels, and massively uncertain.

Obi-wan looks down, there's a shaky smile on his lips, but it's uglily painted by something close to fear. He huffs out a small laugh.

"Well, now you have to tell me what's so funny," Jango says, wary at the wave of different emotions going over the kid's face.

"This is just very weird," the boy comments, not looking at the other.

"Is this something forbidden? Can't you tell people outside your order about meditation?" He jabs trying to lighten the mood but his natural disdain for the Jetii slips through.

"Oh, no, not that. It's mediation Jango, every planet has their own form of mediation," the ginger looks like he wants to roll his eyes at the Mando. "No, it's just… you," he smiles.

"Me?" The man asks unimpressed.

"Yes, it's just, sort of funny in a weird way, to try to teach you of all people something about managing the… the Force. Is this considered heretic?" The boy adds to himself a little quietly, "ah, anyway, I… don't imagine that you know any of this but… You're quite the boogieman at the temple."

Jango frowns a little.

"You are like a… cautionary tale. If not a scary story to the younglings," the ginger explains, looking down for a moment, "there's this thing you hear a lot at the temple… 'Just because you possess more abilities than what most sentients have, that does not mean someone won't get the upper hand on you.'

Jango Fett, the man who killed with his bare hands so many Jedi Knights and Masters." Jango can hear the undertones of a story told time and time again in the teens intonation.

"It was only five to be fair," the Mando wishes he could punch himself in the face and tries to mend it, this isn't what they should be talking about, "only five that I killed with my hands that time I mean…" Oh Ka'ar, that was not helpful at all.

Red offers him a crooked unsure smile.

Jango is trying to breathe through his resentment, this conversation is causing the exact opposite of what they're aiming for. He's not as irefull as he was a while ago, but he can feel the fire bristling at his core, just waiting to spike.

"I… I'm sorry," Obi-wan stops, taking in an uneven breath, "I shouldn't have brought that up, I'm sorry."

"It…" It's not okay, it never will be. "You're forgiven kid," Jango says instead, tiredly.

"If it makes you feel any better," Red says after a moment, "it's something we're taught about. About the dangers of complacency and thinking you know enough about a situation when you don't."

It doesn't make him feel better, but at least there's not some revisionist krak going on there, as far as he's aware anyhow.

"Ah, boogeyman, eh?" He tries lightening the mood.

"Yeah," Obi-wan chuckles. "It is the teachers that warn us, but it's the older kids who make you terrifying. Most of the cretchelings I know fear that the scary Mandalorian Jango Fett will come for them at night and get them in their sleep. I know I was for a while when I was younger. That should please you, no?" The boy asks, a little more lightly and humorous now, "you are a terrifying living legend to the Jedi."

It should please him indeed, but it doesn't. The idea of being children's nightmare fuel, Jetii or not, turns his stomach a bit.

"Let's get this over with," Jango says sourly.

"Yes! Yes, sorry." Obi-wan clears his throat and settles down into his meditative position, "you can sit however you like, so long as you're comfortable, relaxed."

No matter how comfortable Jango sits, that's not going to help him feel any relaxed at the situation, to be doing something so Jetii and from a Jetii, even if it's Red who's showing it to him. It makes his skin crawl.

"First, you have to clear your mind…"

They try for a while there, but Jango is very evidently not managing anything resembling a peaceful state and it's only getting worse for Obi-wan's mind as they keep trying.

"This isn't going to work," Jango finally gives up, happy to be done with the poor attempt and very bad idea.

The boy nods, subdued, his brow painfully furrowed though he tries to hide it.

"Get some rest, maybe you'll feel better," Jango tries, but his voice is flat of emotion, the whole experience draining. It's been a terribly long day. "Ration bar?" he offers, not really in the mood for the whole mess that is cooking, even if he's not doing it himself.

The boy nods once more.

After eating a quiet meal of barley flavored dense mush, Obi-wan lays down on the couch, it doesn't matter where in the ship he is, he knows he'll feel Jango's presence in the Force like a fire licking at his skin. With his face pressed against the cushions, he tries to escape the pressure and noise inside his mind, hoping for some measure of respite.

·~·~·~.

A couple of days later, things mellowed down slowly on both ends. Obi-wan doesn't look like there's a drill trying to pierce its way out from his skull and Jango doesn't look like he'll go into a killing spree without a second's notice.

Jango takes a sonic while the redhead cooks; the comfort of their routine back in place is a welcome and soothing thing. When he comes out from the bathroom there's a familiar smell in the air, something that tugs at his heartstrings like a talented musician. There are two plates already set down on the table. The man sits and stares at his food.

"This is a Mandalorian dish," Jango says bluntly, like he does most things, but there's also a pleasant, if somewhat mystified, surprise in his face.

"Well, I did spend a lot of time on Mandalorian planets," Obi-wan replies quietly.

It's almost startling to look at the fond look that color's the teen's face. Startling and upsetting because the fact that he'd spent a lot of time in the system was more of a traumatic event than anything to draw good memories from.

"You spent a lot of time there… as a prisoner," Jango points incredulously at the other. "A prisoner," he emphasizes.

"I'm well aware, I was there," The boy talks back with a hint of the snark that Jango can sometimes see shining through the kid's subdued nature. "I meant… Even before I was captured I had spent a lot of time there."

And… yeah, that makes a lot of sense. There has to be a before Kyr'tsad and an after life at the Temple. Some connective tissue that Jango hasn't asked about, though he has wondered about it briefly. Never enough to try and get answers from the teen though.

"What were you doing there anyway?" He asks after a moment and feels the weight of something he maybe should've asked earlier and at the same time something he doesn't want to ask. The boy looks down at his meal, suddenly tremendously interested by the dark grains and little bits of vegetables in there.

"Jedi business," he answers almost a whisper.

Ah, of course. It was never the best idea to bring the topic of the Jetii with Jango, he doesn't blame the boy for his hesitation. Odds tend to lean towards the conversation not ending in a great place. But Jango doesn't want that, he wants Obi-wan to trust him, and he wants to be worthy of that trust, that means letting the boy speak and sometimes swallowing back his opinions –even if he's mostly unsuccessful on that front.

He thinks about it for a while, about what question would be less confrontational for him to ask, but finds that all of his questions will lead him to an unpleasant road eventually, so he takes the direct approach.

"What was a little Jetii like yourself doing on Mandalore?"

"We were requested by the Senate," the teen answers after a pause, "Jedi help, that is. My master and I," Obi-wan shifts his eyes up briefly to the Bounty Hunter.

"Jetiise requested by Mandalorians? Really, Red?" Jango chuckles good naturedly at the absurd notion. He thinks the most likely scenario here was the Senate interfering in business not their own to get a foot in Mandalorian politics, not that it would do them any good at any rate. The Senate setting their Jetii dogs on whatever mess the current civil war had going on and making things worse is what it looked like.

"The New Mandalorians," Obi-wan clarifies as if reading his thoughts; which Jango knows is a much more violent act and definitely not what's happening here. "We were not there to interfere with the war, just act as the Duchesses guards."

The Mando has opinions on the Jetii, 'not interfering in the war,' but he keeps them to himself.

"Ah, the pacifists," Jango says with a disdainful smirk, "that makes more sense. Look where that got the Kryzes. Armours put away to gather dust and no way of protecting themselves. Dead."

The teen had his little disagreeing frown on his brow but said nothing about it.

"Death Watch was trying to kill her, end the line after they murdered her father," Red says quietly, looking down in a different kind of sadness than the one he usually bears.

The Mando stops, his fork half way up to his mouth as his mind begins pulling at the different threads. He frowns slightly, wondering.

"That's how you got captured?" He asks, knowing the fruitfulness of such a question for he already knows the answer.

"We were on the run from them." The boy nods.

"The civil war ended about a year ago," Jango comments, looking directly at Red who does not meet his eyes. "How… How long did those demagolkise have you?" He hopes the dread that he feels does not show in the timber of his voice, that his own memories of captivity do not peek through his eyes. He has never asked how long Obi-wan had been a prisoner for.

When Red asks him what year it is his stomach sinks further down.

Almost two years. Almost two years.

The anniversary of the kid's capture is just around the corner.

With the slow exhale of a breath Jango takes the boy's hand that rests limp on the table, his meal forgotten, and gives it what he hopes comes across as a reassuring squeeze.

·~·~·~.

They dock at the planet Jango has been contracted in, there's a conman on the loose and he's being paid handsomely to find him and bring him to a lofty lord he wronged.

As is the norm, Obi-wan is pretty reluctant to leave the ship and does his best to pretend that staying inside is what he wants, despite the planet being beautiful and rich with natural scenery. Jango doesn't push though, he knows the kid is iffy about crowds, he thinks both the Force and an aversion to people are the main culprits of this. It's an issue, and one which the Mando would like to address. This is not a life he wants for the kid, afraid and trapped inside a metal shell, just barely gazing at life through the cracks. The Mandalorian misses completely how that same statement paints a nice picture of his own life as well, for the most of his thoughts are on his companion. Red should flourish into the best version of himself, like a flower under careful shade and tender sun.

Yes, he wants more and better for the boy, his fear is a problem, but they can deal with the issue another time. For now, Jango's got work to do.

·~·~·~.

Obi-wan is alone on the ship. There's an annoying buzzing in his head from being docked near a big city. Through the hours it's been building up an aching pressure behind his temple. The boy sits, and meditates, going round and round in circles in his head in the hopes of pushing away the noise of the people who live here and think and feel. The threads escape his grasp though, more so than they do when he tries concentrating in the deepness of space aboard The Fury, but he keeps trying anyway. Always trying.

They are seekers- He has a hard time remembering what comes next. He pulls at his hair and almost doesn't notice it except a few strands come loose easier than they should. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a place he can't see clearly, he thinks that's a bad thing. It ha to do with poor health?

The thought escapes him and he sits down. When did he stand up? He tries concentrating. Pulls at his hair until it stings though not enough to hurt.

The ringing is in his ears, in his mind.

Going, going, going.

Constant like a siren. Far away but so present. Right beside him.

It screams not of danger. But only buzzes.

Obi-wan scrunches up his eyes in pain, trying to place new layers upon his fragile shields. Building them up slowly and trying not to lose heart when a place in his mind crumbles down which he had thought steady.

He waits the hours, forcing himself to be patient and wait for Jango's return. He just has to be patient. He'll be back soon. Obi-wan just has to wait and breathe. In and out. Trust the process. In and out.

With his eyes closed, the world keeps ringing in his head.

·~·~·~.

It's the day after their arrival on the planet. The conman was surprisingly slippery, but once Jango got his hands on the kriffer, an easy job all in all.

He bears the fruits of his labors and considers bringing a couple of fruits or something sweet for Obi-wan and himself to celebrate onboard. Something to sooth them from all the heavy conversations they've been having as of late. He should probably take a nap before venturing to the market place though. The planet's not going anywhere and Jango stinks.

"Hey, Red!" He shouts as he lowers the ramp and walks into the ship, "I'm back!"

The kid doesn't answer him, but he's not worried, he could be asleep or taking a shower. He opens the door to the hall of the sleeping quarters and bathroom, and then the next set that leads to the common room. As the doors swish apart Jango throws his stuff to the floor and rushes to Obi-wan's side.

The kid is limp on the floor, sprawled like he just fell there; lifeless to the world.

"Obi'ika?" Jango picks up the upper half of the teen's body and cradles him on his lap. "Hey kid, answer me," he checks his pulse, which is slightly rapid, and his forehead, which is sweaty but not hot with fever. "Come on Red," he pats him a few times on the cheek to rouse him, the boy makes a noise of discomfort.

Jango sighs harshly with relief.

"Thank the Ka'ar," he breathes out. "Kid, I'm here, wake up, you need to tell me what's wrong?"

The teen's forehead scrunches up in pain and the boy tries to hide his face towards Jango's middle. He gives a low moan of pain.

"Tell me what's wrong," Jango orders him and after a couple of seconds of the boy's troubled breathing, he mumbles.

"I… there's… There's so much noise." He manages to crook out. "It's so loud. I- I can't… I'm sorry… It hurts." A stifled sob gets stuck in the kid's throat.

"Damn it Red, why didn't you call me?" The man asks in despair.

"I didn't … I didn't want to bother you," his whispered voice wobbles. The man hugs him to his chest, where he can only hope the boy will feel better if the way he's trying to hide himself against Jango's stomach is anything to go by.

"You can't keep doing this to me kid, you really can't. One of these days you'll be bleeding to death when I'm not here and I'll be back to find a cold corpse. If you need help, I need you to ask me for it, okay?"

The boy says nothing, but he is stiff and uncomfortable; Jango doesn't know if it's the pain or if he's avoiding the issue, he just holds him tighter. He pats him softly on the back.

"Don't worry, we'll be out of here soon," the dark haired man tells him gently.

He sets the redhead carefly on the ground and then sprints to the cockpits, all previous thoughts of showers and shopping vanished from his mind as if they never were. There's only one goal in his mind's eye.

Once they hit atmo, Jango helps the boy to the couch, the teens pain still lingering despite them being well away from the city and its people. He sits with Obi-wan as he swallows soft sounds of pain, Jango shushing him gently, brushing calloused fingers through his long strands of coppery hair. He helps the teen sip small amounts of water when he can.

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothes softly and hopes that the boy's agony goes away soon. He's always worrying about this stupid kid he thinks, 'this must be what being a parent feels like-'

He cuts the thought down like it's poisonous and every fiber of his being stops.

"Jango?" Mumbles the sleepy Jetii on his side, the man's fingers are still between one stroke and the next.

"Ssh, try to sleep Obi'ika." The teen mumbles something unintelligible as Jango continues his petting.

He sighs, taking a moment to examine the thought he just had and take the fear away from it. He's a mandalorian, he will not be controlled by something as beneath him as fear.

Yes, he thinks – Jango looks down at the pained brow, the little mole that nests there, the faint freckles and the russet hair– this is what being a parent must feel like. The worry, the love, the infinite fondness.

A thought reaches him then. Certain and clear as he's ever had one before. He's never giving Red back to the Jetiise; they lost him so they don't deserve to keep him. Jango curls his fingers around a tuft of hair in a small burst of possessiveness. In sleep the boy looks troubled at the change so he loosens his grip and goes back to gentle strokes. Obi-wan's face looks better now, less pained.

Yes, the kid is his now. He just has to ask him… Not now though, but one day.

Mando'a:

Osik: Dung, shit.

Ka'ra: Stars

Kyr'tsad: Death Watch

Demagolka(ise): Someone who commits atrocities, a monster, a war criminal.

Abril: Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Now that we're right about the halfway point, I thought we might do a small activity. Here on my Tumblr the-red-butterfly you can leave in my ask box what your favorite scene of the fic has been so far and why. Whichever why I find more compelling, I will make an illustration of it (:

Also, please tell me your thoughts guys! I love hearing what your favorite parts are and what your thoughts are on what's happening. Also, also, is there anything you particularly want to see? Something you're curious about that you'd like for the story to have? Let me know! I might incorporate it into the story, who knows.

Have a great day wherever you currently are!