Chapter Text
Jaster knew the last thing anyone had expected was their Mand’alor to return from his patrol with an ik’aad.
A tiny, shivering, soaking wet ik’aad, wrapped in his crimson cloak.
For him to land gracefully just a short distance from the camp, the little ik’aad cradled protectively in his arms.
This poor poor ik’aad that Jaster had to help, because he was Mando’ade and how could he not. They were only stopping on the planet for a few repairs, just for a night, but if there was one thing Mandalorians could do, it was find ade in need.
The little one shivered further into his grip, pressing his head into the cold beskar that Jaster wished was some more comfortable material for this tiny child that deserved far better than he’d suffered.
“Buir.”
Jango darted across camp towards him, stopping a hairs breadth of his legs to peer up at the child in his arms, who chose the perfect time to sneeze, and Jango’s eyes lit up.
Of course Jango would be excited to get a vod’ika.
The little one just needed to survive first.
No Ik'aad should ever be so cold.
“Buir?”
“Come on Jango, lets get this little one to the baar’ur.”
The reaction of B’r Qest was telling enough, almost stealing the boy from his arms to treat him. It wasn’t often anyone would see panic in her eyes, but here... she was scared for this child's life.
“Alor, I need to talk about this.” she nodded to Jango, and Jaster understood. His ad’ika was only 11, that was young for a conversation like this.
Fortunately, Jango was very smart, and had asked for nothing more than a proper hug, before he’d run off to find Myles or Silas or someone else.
“Alor, Jaster, where did you find this little one?”
“His... his dar’buire, kriff Auspa, they were holding him under the water in the river.”
It was too her credit that she didn’t still or falter as she removed all the wet clothes in favour of warmer blankets, except for the pause she took at the bruises, kriff the bruises.
He couldn’t be more than two surely.
He was so underweight, so small, so sick, and the bruises where the hands had been holding him under the frigid water...
“Jaster, I'll do the best I can, but it will be up to the Manda for him to make it. The demagolka?”
“Dead. I let them explain, because there was always the chance I'd read it wrong and it had been some sort of ceremony, but they were so angry I pulled him from under the water. They didn’t... I didn’t realise Stewjon saw people with the Manda so badly. They... it’s awful Auspa, he’s not even a child to them. As far as they were concerned he was a monster placed in their child's bed by a demon, that had stolen their real child, and was instead a harbinger of chaos and that the only way to free their society from the curse was to cleanse the monster in the river and kill the monster. It's legal to drown ade. Because they’re not ade as far as they’re concerned.”
Jaster knew his voice was sharp and harsh, but his hands were shaking and he wanted to break something, he really really did, but B’r Qest was professional, and didn’t let the story stop her motions, though her voice was tight.
“The river. In this weather?”
“I don’t know how long he was under, but he coughed up quite a bit of water when I got him out. He's been in and out of consciousness, shivering, sneezing.”
“This would be dangerous for an ad of healthy weight, but he looks as though he was being abused before they tried this, Alor. He's been starved, he’s far smaller than he should be.”
“They said they gave him time to prove himself, that some of the monsters their ade are replaced with can have control or help, but that all he brought was chaos. I think they tried to starve it out of him.”
“I’ll do what I can, go see Jango.”
“Vor entye.”
“Oh, Alor, does he have a name?”
“Obi-Wan.”
“Vor’e, I'll do everything I can.”
Jaster left the ik’aad in her care, and prayed to the Manda and the Ka’ra he’d pull through.
He left her tent and braced himself for the cold. There was only a thin layer of snow on the ground, but the air smelt of more snow and every buy’ce-less breath puffed out in a visible cloud.
“Buir!”
This time when Jango ran at him he scooped the boy up into his arms, spinning him round as his ad squealed.
One day he’d be too big for this, but not yet.
“Su’cuy Jan’ika. How was today?”
“You were only gone for a few hours, Buir, but I had history, we learnt about Mand’alor the Sturdy.”
“Oh, that’s a fascinating part of history, did you behave?”
“Buir, I always behave.”
Despite the rest of the situation, Jaster laughed. That statement was debatable at best. Jango was never malicious in his misbehaviour, but his ad wasn’t always the best at focusing and that had led to one or two incidents over the years.
“Have you been bothering Montross?”
“Just a little, but he was being a grump. I swear Buir, he doesn’t like me.”
That might not be so wrong. Jaster didn’t know what his second’s issue with his ad was, but sometimes people didn’t gel, and that happened with adults and ade. And Jango had pulled a prank or two on Montross, usually with the help of Myles or Silas, and Montross was the serious type who didn’t love that sort of thing.
“Oh, but Buir Buir Buir, who was the ik’aad?”
“A little foundling who needed our help. We're going to do everything we can to help him too.”
“Will he be my vod’ika?”
That wasn’t an easy question to answer. Jango was unfortunate enough to have been exposed to death, but that didn’t make the conversation any easier.
“I hope so, Jan’ika. I hope so.”
.
.
.
Repairs were finished just before sun-up, and Jaster had no issue in leaving that haran of a planet, though he was definitely sending a squad to make sure there were no more ade in Ob’ika’s position.
Ob'ika.
The ik’aad had made it through the night, though he did not look much better, painfully underweight and painfully cold and just as sick, sicker, in fact.
But B’r Qest had hope, and that was enough for Jaster.
He wasn’t particularly fond of going out without his armour, not outside of his home or a few select other safe places. The med bay on their largest troop carrier wasn’t typically one of them, but Auspa had allowed him into the side room she was giving Ob’ika, and Jaster knew the ik’aad needed body het if he was going to recover, and it was well-proven that ik’aad settled best when they could sleep to a heartbeat, and if that meant sitting with his newest ad’ika tucked against his chest.
Jango joined him when he was out of his classes or training, desperate to get to know his vod’ika, even if this sickness that had been brought on by the cold was making him... unresponsive. He slept most of the day and night, and he wasn’t particularly with it when he was awake, but between the cot they’d laid out for him and Jaster’s hold, Qest assured him that Ob’ika was getting better.
Little by little.
Sometimes the boy would stare up at him, blue eyes wide, like he was studying his new Buir’s face, and the first time he’d been awake when Jango had joined them, he’d given Jango the first smile any of them had seen on him and reached out weakly for Jango instead.
Jango had been overjoyed and decided it was a sign from the Manda that Obi-Wan was meant to be part of their aliit.
Jaster couldn’t help but agree.
The first nightmare had been tough. Jaster wasn’t sure what it’s cause had been, Ka’ra knew this Ik'aad had far too many reasons for them already, but it had made half the loose objects in the room float about before he’d woken with a scream and they’d all dropped with a clatter.
It was no matter, not really. All sorts of Mando’ade had the Manda’s gift, and given how little they thought of the Jetiise, of course they had their own ways to deal with it. Ob’ika was strong, yes, stronger than most he’d seen and oh so young for it, but he’d be fine and he’d learn control. They didn’t need the child-stealers, and if Jaster had his way, they’d never get near his ad. He could understand why Buire might worry or panic on entering a room to that, and clearly Stewjon was very superstitious, but that just didn’t justify such demagolka action.
It didn’t matter though, Obi-Wan was Jaster’s ad’ika now, and Jaster wasn’t ever going to let anyone hurt him again.
Neither was Jango, from the looks of it.
Auspa thought he should live, but even as he was slowly getting better, Jaster knew she was worried. It was only as they got back to Manda’yaim, to Keldabe and their home and their state-of-the-art clinic, that Jaster finally relaxed with the knowledge that if anyone could save his ik’aad, it would be B’r Laana and her people.
He was right.
Once Ob’ika was receiving proper medical care that managed a standard far higher than any field or ship med bay could manage, he started to improve dramatically, started to talk, though shy and reserved.
Their first conversations had been tricky, because the Manda had cursed Ob’ika with the ability to feel other people, to feel all the hatred and fear his demagolka dar’buire had felt towards him, and Jaster did his best to make sure he was letting Ob’ika feel all the love and protectiveness he was deserving of. All those years training to shield from Force sensitives had really paid off, or else he wouldn’t have known how to broadcast an emotion. Sure, he’d been taught how to stop himself broadcasting, but what was the difference really?
Well, he sent another wave of love towards Jango and Obi as Jango helped him with a puzzle and couldn’t keep the smile off his face at the way Obi perked up just a little at it. The kid was so receptive to all types of affection, touch starved as well as just starved, desperate for affection, and Jaster hoped young enough that he’d never have to remember the haran his dar’buire had forced on him.
But Ob’ika had responded well to finding out he was going to be living with Jaster and Jango, that he was going to be part of their aliit now, that he was going to be safe and loved.
That he was going to be Obi-Wan Mereel.
He was very picky about who he let near him, fine with Jaster and Jango and Myles and Qest and Laana and Silas and a lot of his aran’e and Headhunters, but there were many people he shied away from, flinched away or tucked himself into Jaster as best he could when they came close. A few verde, like Rosa Vexen or Talooso Peuyf or Montross, though the last of those might have been Jango’s influence.
Ob'ika clearly adored his ori’vod, and it warmed Jaster’s heart.
Within a few weeks Obi had put on a substantial amount on weight, so much so that he was close to healthy again, his skin had brightened from it’s pallor and he was so much stronger. Seeing him tearing down the halls after Jango when only weeks before he’d been falling asleep every few minutes, shaking and sick, coughing and barely able to lift his head, had raised Jaster’s spirits through the roof.
They had to be careful, Laana had warned him, because ade needed to be cared for when they were very young, and Obi hadn’t been. Certainly he was getting enough food and care now, but he had missed too much for too long, he would never grow as big or as strong as he should have and while he would likely be more than capable of knocking a seasoned verd on their shebs when he was healthy he would always be more prone to tiredness and sickness, he’d just been so ill.
That haunted him, and probably would for a long time. And it haunted Obi too, the boy was terrified of water, refused baths with pure panic, even when Jaster was there holding him close and projecting as much safety and calm as he could on him, and even then it was hell to see his ik’aad so scared when he should be safe, when he knew he was safe and was just too young to rationalise where the panic was coming from and the panic that came from the panic he couldn’t understand.
But Jaster had his ade, and they were safe and sound.
And they had to stay that way, because Jaster couldn’t lose either of them, and as the war with Kyr’tsad worsened, his fears that he’d return from a mission and someone would be waiting to tell him that they’d been attacked and his ade were taken or dead... it had him shooting up in the middle of the night, which was usually followed by a subtle check on both his ade, though sometimes his youngest was already in the room, having either curled up and fallen asleep on Jaster’s floor, a habit it was desperately trying to break, or had worked up the courage to haul himself into Jaster’s bed and cuddle up with his Buir. After all, Buir kept the nightmares away.
It would be worse once Jango had passed his verd’goten, once he could come on missions. Sure, he could ask for Jango to stay behind, to look after his vod’ika, but Jango had suffered at Death Watch’s hands already, he wouldn’t be kept from the fight. To have even one of his ade on the front lines was going to be hard. He didn’t know what he was going to do once they’d both passed their verd’goten...
Kyr'tsad weren’t above using one or both of his ade to get to him, and Ka’ra knew Obi wouldn’t be able to last long in the conditions of Death Watch prisoner camps, and that he might rescue his ad only to be too late because something like pneumonia had taken hold, the thought made Jaster shake, and worse, it was a fear Jango had admitted had burdened his own nightmares, just as they had Jaster’s.
It didn’t matter, because he wasn’t letting anyone touch his ade while there was breath in his body.
You didn’t touch a Mandalorian’s child.
And you didn’t touch the Mand’alor’s children.
The battle their enemies would face just to get close to either of them, forget getting them out of the compound or the city or off the planet.
They were Haat’ad Alor’ade.
Kyr’tsad didn’t stand a chance.