Chapter Text
Silas keyed open the door to the Draluram's brig and walked down the narrow flight of stairs to the cells.
The guard looked up as Silas entered and grinned at him.
“Feral little thing you brought back with you,” He told Silas, clearly amused. “Tried to bite off my finger when I went to feed him.”
“You took off your gauntlets?” Silas asked, raising an eyebrow at him. The man barked out a laugh.
“No! He went for the leather around the joints! Didn't hurt, but I admit it spooked me.”
Silas snorted. “Well, I need to have a talk with him. Mind giving us some privacy?”
“He’s all yours. Just be careful. Now that he knows he can't get the hands, he'll probably go for the face next.”
Still chuckling to himself, the guard exited the way Silas had come, and Silas took a moment to reflect on just how weird his people could be.
If the ad - Maul - was any older, or hell, a foot taller, there'd be scores of Mandalorians howling for his blood. But instead, because he was small, it didn't matter that he was some kind of dar’jetti , or that he'd tried to assassinate the Mand’alor . They just thought the little bastard was cute.
He walked over to stand in front of the would-be assassin.
“Maul,” He said by way of greeting, and wondered not for the first time if it was a fake name, or if whomever had named him had just had a good sense of how he'd grow up.
Maul glared up at him, hatred etched in every line of his face, but he said nothing. Silas decided to poke again.
“You’re really charming the guard. Planning to sweet-talk your way out of here? Give him a big smile and ask to please open the door?”
Maul spat on the floor of his cell.
“What, you think we won't make you clean that up?”
“You people are fools,” Maul said.
“Because we haven't killed you, or just in general?” Silas asked dryly. “Can't really argue with you on either count.”
“What do you want?” Maul was evidently not in the mood to joke, and Silas shrugged slightly to himself.
“You've been given a lot of leeway, on account of being an ad .” Silas said. “You've probably noticed that we're pretty manipulatable when it comes to kids. I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to manipulate us even more.”
He crouched down in front of the cell, so that he was roughly on eye-level with Maul, and smirked.
“I have an offer for you.”
Obi-wan was comfortable.
It was frustrating, because it meant that he didn't want to move. And he probably should. Somewhere beyond the haze of sleep and comfort, he could feel the Force nudging at him, reminding him that there was still something important to do.
But the bed was so soft .
He had been right not to lie down on the bed on The Legacy . Because he had no idea how soft this bed actually was. He just knew it was the softest thing he had laid down on in months.
He wasn't sure how long he lay there, basking in the comfort, before he forced himself to open his eyes and sit up.
He was covered in fresh bandages, but his injuries didn't hurt - painkillers, probably, which would work their way out of his system soon.
He was in the middle of a large bed in a dimly lit room. The only sources of light were from a lamp at the far end of the room, and what was visible through the door across from him. He couldn't make out much else, save for the curtains to his left.
After a moment’s hesitation, he hopped off the bed and padded over to them, pulling one back to reveal the blue light of hyperspace speeding by. The curtains were good at blocking light.
So he was on a ship then. One traveling toward, he assumed, Mandalore. And as he walked back over to the bed and looked at the door, he didn't need the Force to tell him that Jaster was probably on the other side of it.
He had two choices. He could go out and talk to the man, or he could crawl back into the big comfy bed and go right back to sleep.
The latter choice was incredibly tempting.
But Obi-wan was a Jedi, or had been. Rest could wait. So after taking a deep, steadying breath, he walked over to the door and hit the pad to open it.
The room beyond was similarly dark, the only light coming from a lamp on an end table and a gap in the curtains letting the bright blue of hyperspace bathe part of what, based on their size, had to be high-ranking officers quarters.
Mand’alor. Right.
Jaster was working on a datapad next to the lamp, but he set it aside as Obi-wan stepped through the door.
“Morning,” Jaster said, smiling at him as Obi-wan walked over.
“Is it?” Obi-wan asked, and Jaster shrugged.
“No idea. Couldn't even tell what time of day it was on that planet half the time.” He patted the couch next him, and Obi-wan accepted his invitation, sitting next to him.
“How are you feeling?” Jaster asked.
“Fine,” Obi-wan said automatically. Jaster arched an eyebrow down at him, and Obi-wan could feel himself blushing. “Really, I am!” He insisted. He held out his arms, covered in bandages. “I'm sure it'll hurt more later, but right now they're not bothering me.”
“You let me know the moment they start hurting,” Jaster told him sternly. “The only reason you're not in the med-bay is because the baar’ur’e are swamped.”
“ Baar’ur’e ?” Obi-wan asked, and Jaster cracked a small smile.
“ Baar’ur is doctor, or healer. Baar’ur’e is plural.” He explained.
“How many doctors are on this ship? And what ship are we…” Obi-wan trailed off as Jaster smiled down at him.
Before he said anything, the man reached out and ruffled his hair. Obi-wan ducked on instinct and could feel the blood rushing to his face as he heard Jaster chuckle above him.
“I'm glad you're feeling alright,” Jaster said quietly. Some warm feeling Obi-wan couldn't describe spread through him as the man's words, and he smiled back up at him.
“We’re on a cruiser, called the Draluram .” Jaster said. “My Flagship is called the Mythosaur , but I didn’t want to draw too much attention to this little trip of ours. And there are way more Baar’ur’e on board than usual, because I ordered them to grab as many as they could before heading out, so we’d be able to take care of everyone. They triaged everyone as they got on-board and have been working their way through the Young based on how badly they need medical care.”
Obi-wan nodded, grateful for the explanation, and unconsciously leaned into Jaster, not noticing until he felt the man’s arm wrap around his shoulders. The urge to apologize seized him, but the more rational part of his brain pointed out that Jaster clearly didn’t mind.
“How long until we're at Mandalore?” Obi-wan asked.
“Couple days. You've been out for a few hours.” Jaster answered. “It's bound to be a bit of a mess when we get there. We only just informed them what was going on before we made the jump to hyperspace. Now they have less than a week to prep for a few hundred ad .”
“They didn't know before?”
“My councilors did. But we didn't want to draw attention to my presence on the planet before the Young were safe. Fat lot of good that did, in hindsight, but the idea was to keep it quiet.”
“What happened to the assassins?”
Jaster sighed. “The dar’jetti’ad , the one you fought, is in the brig. I told Silas he's staying there for this trip no matter what. We counted 17 dead, all told, during the fighting with the Melida and Daan. But we don't know what casualties they took at the tower, or how many there were to start with. And I wouldn't trust any numbers the dar’jetti gives us.”
Obi-wan digested that in silence, enjoying the dark and quiet in the room. Jaster's arm slipped from his shoulders.
“I should take a shower,” he said suddenly, and Jaster laughed.
“Not the worst idea. But you don't smell, if that's what you were worried about. The baar'ur cleaned you up a little while you were under.”
Obi-wan self-consciously ran a hand through his hair to find that yes, there were fewer tangles and knots then he remembered.
“You'll probably need a proper makeover on Mandalore, shower or no shower,” Jaster mused. “But it still wouldn't hurt.”
Obi-wan didn't respond.
They sat in silence for a few more minutes, Jaster apparently content to let Obi-wan be as he worked on his pad in companionable silence.
Obi-wan gradually became aware that he was effectively cuddling with one of the most powerful men in the galaxy. He should probably move.
He didn't really want to.
“Sorry,” He said, breaking the silence.
“What for?” Jaster asked mildly.
“I… I don't know.” Obi-wan admitted after a few seconds. “I just… am.”
“Still blaming yourself for all of the galaxy’s evils?”
“Guess so.”
“Would it help if I told you to knock it off?”
“Probably not.”
Another pause.
“I… don't know what I should do next,” Obi-wan admitted.
“That's normal,” Jaster hummed. “Right now? Shower, maybe. Sleep, definitely. Deal with tomorrow when it comes.”
“I wish it was that easy,” Obi-wan murmured.
Jaster's arm slipped around his shoulders again.
“It can be, if you let it,” he said quietly. “The weight of the galaxy isn't on your shoulders, Ob’ika. You're just a kid.”
Jaster cleared his throat.
“Do you want to go back to the Jedi?” He asked softly.
Obi-wan shrugged, as much as he could. “I don't know.”
“I don't want to pressure you,” Jaster said awkwardly. “But I wanted to… I want to…” he cleared his throat again, and Obi-wan looked up at him in wonder. He'd never seen Jaster at such a loss for words.
Catching sight of his expression, Jaster's face turned red and he shoved at Obi-wan a little, causing them both to laugh.
“Alright, alright, let me try again,” Jaster said, chuckling. He took a deep breath, before fixing Obi-wan with a serious expression. “If you want to stay on Mandalore, I want you to stay with us.”
“Oh,” Was the only response Obi-wan could think of.
Jaster shook his head. “No, I mean…” He sighed. “I'd like to adopt you.”
Obi-wan had no response to that, staring at Jaster in slack-jawed amazement.
Some connection in his brain wasn't working, because he wasn't able to make sense of anything Jaster had just said.
He scrambled, thinking back on the conversations he'd had with the Mandalorians, trying to understand what Jaster was offering.
“You… you want to…” Obi-wan began, struggling to find the right words. “You mean like with Arla? Or Jango? Or-”
Jaster put a hand on both of his shoulders and squeezed.
“This is about you. You don't need to compare yourself to anyone else.”
“But I don't… why?” Obi-wan asked.
“Why?”
Jaster said it like he was crazy.
“I'd have a harder time coming up with reasons why not. You're brave, smart, resourceful - but I don't need a resume, ad’ika . I care about you. I want to protect you, help you, take care of you in any way that I can. The idea of sending you out into the universe alone terrifies me. The idea of letting you go back to the jetii , when I don't know if they'll care for you like they should, terrifies me.
“I don't want to smother you or restrict you or make you feel like you're being forced to do anything. But I do want you. I want you in my life, in my clan, in my home. As my son. So long as that's something you want, too.”
Obi-wan stared at Jaster for what seemed like a long, long time. No conscious thought passed through his head. Eventually, he was aware of water dripping down his face.
“Really?” He croaked.
Something sad flickered across Jaster's expression, there and gone before Obi-wan could process it.
“Really, ad’ika . I'll support whatever you want. But there's a home for you on Mandalore if you want it.”
A home. With Jaster, and Jango, and Arla. On the same planet where Cerasi, and Nield, and everyone else would begin building their new lives.
Jaster had saved them. And now he was telling Obi-wan that he didn’t even have to say goodbye.
It would mean leaving the Jedi behind completely. This would effectively make him a prince of Mandalore. Whatever the Jedi thought of that, the Republic would never tolerate such split loyalties.
Bant. Garen. Quin. And Master Yoda, and Master Windu, and even Qui-gon, despite his own complicated feelings about the man. He'd have to say goodbye to them.
He already had, when he had been sure it was the right thing to do. Could he do it again?
“My friends… from the Temple,” He said, voice a little hoarse. “Could I still call them?”
“Of course you can!” Jaster said it like it was obvious, like he was shocked Obi-wan had even asked. And Obi-wan realized that no part of him had expected Jaster to say no.
“Ok.” It came out of him in a whisper, but Jaster clearly heard, jerking upright and staring at Obi-wan apprehensively.
“Ok?” He repeated, watching Obi-wan closely.
“Yes. Um, I mean, if you really want to - that is, I would-” He was spared any further rambling by Jaster pulling him into a bear hug.
“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad,” Jaster, His - buir ? Dad? - rumbled, “I know your name as my child, Obi-wan Kenobi. And I welcome you into my home.”