Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was twelve years old when the world ended. Not literally, of course. Around him the planets kept spinning, the ships kept flying, the stars kept burning themselves away. It was worse that way, almost. Everyone else shrugged and looked away and he was left behind. The last of his people. Alone.

Alone alone alone.

The news sites stopped playing footage of The Purge after a while. Maybe they grew a conscience. Maybe they realized they weren't getting the reaction they wanted from the masses. Maybe they got bored, and moved on to something more interesting. Cal didn't know if that was better or worse- not to see the destruction of his home and the massacre of his people played out over and over on big screens to draw the attention of passersby or to know that they probably quit because something newer had caught their eyes.

He'd stumbled out of his escape pod on Bracca and made for the only thing that passed for a city on the planet's surface. He'd been hiding from the acid rain underneath a doorway when he'd heard the couple talking. "It's not right, Aja!" a woman had yelled.

"Quiet, Ree," Aja hissed.

"The Jedi were innocent and the Empire wiped them from the face of the galaxy." Aja laughed, bitter and cold.

"So innocent they led an army of slaves?" she replied. "They were the ones who bought the damn clones in the first place. It's no wonder the things turned on them in the end. They got what was coming to them." Ree's voice was soft, so soft he almost didn't hear her over the pounding of his heart.

"You think you'll still feel like that when they decide we're the ones who have it coming?"

He scrambled out from underneath the steps and ran, ignoring the women's startled gasps and the stinging rain against his skin. Master Tapal's lightsaber bounced against his back, the shot off end clanking against the vambraces he'd stuffed in a stolen backpack.

Riot and Ruckus had given them to him when he'd made it through his first battle with the 13th. They'd been glowing with pride, in their eyes and in the Force, as they declared him no longer a shiny. They even showed him their favorite designs.

Ruckus had died on Abregado saving his life. Riot had burned a line across his neck as he and Master Tapal ran for the escape pods.

He didn't understand.

=-=-=-=-=

He was twelve years and one month old before he made it off of Bracca, crammed into a cargo box on a drug runner's shuttle. The smell left him sick for days and the echoes of misery that rang through the whole place made his head spin.

That was the excuse he gave himself for flubbing his escape when the ship landed somewhere in the Expansion Region. Besides, the handful of stolen food he'd had to keep him going had run out two days ago, and he hadn't moved beyond flexing his muscles since he'd shut himself into the box, so if anything, he reasoned, he was really being too hard on himself.

He hit the side of the shuttle with a thud that cleared his head quite effectively but did nothing for the urge to vomit. There were four sentients of various sizes (ranging from 'larger' to 'much, much larger' than him) doing their best to corner him, and by the look in their eyes he'd be lucky if he only ended up stuck back in the box by the time they were done.

"What happened to the goods?" one of them snarled. Cal had emptied them out into one of the sludgy rivers near the space port and watched them dissolve, but he wasn't about to say that.

"It was empty. The box, I mean. It was empty when I got inside. I checked." He was breathing too fast. "I just needed to get off Bracca, if you let me go you'll never see me again."

The man in front grinned, all teeth, spinning the long vibroblade in his hand. "That's what I'm worried about, kiddo." Cal glanced around, chuckled nervously, and ran for it. He hit the smallest man low enough that his shove with the Force could be passed off as good aim and broke through their blockade, heading for the scrubby forest in the distance.

He swerved to the side and felt a blaster bolt graze his ribs. He pushed his feet harder, gasping for breath. He'd almost made the trees when danger rippled through the Force and the stun bolt hit his back.

He woke up with his hands tied to a pole and his ankles bound. The grinning man sat in front of him, flipping Master Tapal's lightsaber around like he had the vibroblade. Too bad he didn't skewer himself. It was an uncharitable thought, but he ached from his hair to his heels and fear was pulsing through his veins.

"So, we caught us a little Jedi, huh?" Cal swallowed. His mouth was so dry he nearly choked.

"I found it, on Bracca. I was gonna sell it. It's not mine." The man smiled.

"That so? Say I believe you. I don't, but let's say I do. You still need to account for my missing crate of product. I can count, by the way. We didn't take on an extra box, we took on an empty one. And that means that you owe me a lot of money." He leaned forward and tapped Master Tapal's unlit saber against Cal's chest. "A Jedi's worth a lot more money than one crate of synthstim these days. I could sell you to the Empire and keep myself in style for a year." He let the silence stretch between them and then laughed. "Good thing you're not a Jedi, isn't it?"

"Sure is." He hated how faint his voice sounded. He hated how he was shaking from fear. He hated that he was too small and weak and untrained to find a way out of this.

"I'll let you choose how you want this to play out. Option one, I call up the local garrison and make myself a nice payday. Option two, you stay on until you've made up the money I lose by not turning you in and then I'll think about letting you go. I'm leaning towards option one, but I'll leave it up to you." The lightsaber was still there, and the man was still smiling, and he wasn't strong enough to fight.

"I'll stay."

=-=-=-=-=

He was twelve years and three months old when they landed on Zeffo to rob a tomb. Andras made him take point, because he liked to do that sometimes. He said it was because Cal was better at spotting traps, but Cal thought it was because he liked watching him jump.

The wind spoke to him. The others stumbled and swore their way up the mountain and hated every second of it but he felt the mad urge to run ahead and fly.

"You better do something about this storm, boy!" Andras yelled above the howling wind. Cal barely resisted the urge to glower at him, but held out his hands and complied. He breathed deep and the storm slowed. The wind pulsed with his breath. There was a cliff nearby, and if he ran fast enough he might make it. The wind would help him.

Andras grabbed him by the collar and pulled him along into the tomb. "Good job, kiddo," he grunted. Cal saw the fear hidden deep in his eyes. He felt a little bit sick.

It didn't take them long to realize that the tomb was an impossible puzzle. Worse, in the others' eyes, it contained almost nothing of value. The only upside was that since there was no way for him to sneak out past them, Andras gave him permission to look around out of their view.

He was as deep in the tunnels as he could go when he heard a metallic chirp. "Hello?" Another chirp, and then the skitter of rocks, and a BD-1 unit appeared, poking its head out cautiously. It trilled. Cal smiled.

"Hi! My name's Cal Kestis. It's nice to meet you. Do you wanna be friends?" BD-1 hopped out from its hiding place and waddled in his direction, looking him up and down and making an unhappy splatting noise.

'Too skinny,' it declared. Cal shrugged.

"Yeah. I only get food when I do good work." He worried a scab on his wrist. "So probably nothing today, since this whole job was a bust, even though I did my bit." BD-1 came closer and rested its eyepiece against Cal's leg consolingly. "'S okay. It's better than getting sold to the Empire. I'll be glad when I've earned the money back, though. Andras scares me sometimes."

As if on cue, he heard the man bellowing for him and jumped. "I gotta go. I wish I could keep you, but I don't want you to get scrapped and he won't let me take you back. I'm sorry." But the little droid only followed him down the hall, hopping along and chirping indignantly. Cal shushed him when they got to the main room and shook his head.

He was most of the way back over to the group when BD-1 bounded over and landed on his shoulder right in front of everybody. Andras scowled. "What's that?" Cal hunched in on himself.

"I found it in the tunnels and it followed me back. I think it wants to stay with us." If droids had feathers to ruffle, BD-1 would have been ruffling all of them at the implication that it wanted anything to do with the others, but they didn't need to know that.

"No."

"It doesn't eat, so it won't cost you anything," Cal protested. "It's an analysis droid, too. It can help with jobs. And I slowed the storm for you." That might have been a miscalculation. Andras' eyes narrowed and flashed between Cal and BD-1 for a long moment.

"That thing better be as useful as you or I'm slagging it. Understood?" Cal nodded. "Back to the ship. We're getting off this rock."

Cal got half a ration bar that night and went to sleep with BD-1 curled up against him. It was the closest to content he'd felt since the end of the war.

=-=-=-=-=

He was twelve years and six months old when he realized that Andras was never going to let him go. They had just wrapped up a job on some nameless moon on the edge of Hutt Space and nothing in particular precluded it. The knowledge simply came to him like a well-known but long-forgotten fact.

He was too useful. Too valuable. Even when he'd earned back what the Empire wanted for him (which was more than he had expected, as a simple Padawan, plus the finder's fee paid out for any Jedi) he would make them more besides if they kept using him on jobs. And when they got tired of him, or he stepped too far out of line? Well, the Empire would always be there.

He dared to be blunt that night. "What are you really going to do with me?" Andras didn't pretend to misunderstand. He laughed.

"Haven't decided yet, kiddo."

They took off for Mimban the next day. Cal, as usual, was banished to his pallet in the cargo hold. BD-1 curled up on his chest and chirped. "Yeah," he muttered. "I know. I'm in big trouble, aren't I? I guess I just gotta make him happy."

He didn't want to go to the Empire. Andras scared him, but he needed him too, and he could be nice when their jobs went well. The Empire would offer him a quick death if he was lucky, and a slow fall into the Darkness that haunted his nightmares if he was not.

Cal could keep him happy. Andras might not have made up his mind, but Cal was useful. He brought in a lot of money. All he had to do was make himself worth more to them than he was to the Empire and Andras would keep him.

He could do that.

He threw himself into the job on Mimban and came out the other side with more than they'd expected him to retrieve and three broken fingers. He got a whole ration bar back on the ship and the crew's medic bound his fingers for him.

Andras smiled and patted his shoulder, and Cal smiled back.

=-=-=-=-=

He was twelve years and eight months old when he saw a clone again. BD-1 trilled a warning in his ear and he pulled back around the corner he was hiding behind, his heart pounding in his chest. He was so consumed that he missed the first signal to begin his part of the operation and didn't react until his ear comm crackled.

"Where the kriff are you, boy?!"

"I- the guard. He's a clone. I panicked. I'm sorry." Andras growled and Cal pressed himself further into the crumbling brickwork at his back.

"Not yet you're not. I don't give a shit if he's a wampa, get out there and do your bit or I'll leave you here for him in pieces!"

"Okay! Okay, I'm going." His stomach twisted so much he was glad it was empty and his skin prickled with the urge to turn and run, as far and as fast as he could to anywhere that wasn't here.

But Andras was mad. If Cal pulled this off he might be lenient, but if he had to chase him down on top of Cal blowing the job... He might very well end up wanting the Empire to come for him if that happened.

The street was almost empty in the pre-dawn hours. That meant, of course, that the clone on guard in front of the datacenter saw him almost immediately. He was playing bait today. He could do almost anything to get the trooper chasing him these days; they'd been getting jumpier and jumpier as the Empire encountered pockets of dissent and more of their clones went missing. He could have thrown a rock, or thrown a punch. Instead he marched right up to the gate.

"My name is Cal Kestis and I am a Jedi." And then he ran.

He was flat on his back on the ground staring down the barrel of a blaster when a shot rang out. It was oddly painless and he couldn't figure out why, until the clone fell to the ground. Andras smirked.

"That's two you owe me, kiddo." Cal stared at the trooper, his brain struggling to catch up with his eyes.

"You- you shot him." The smirk vanished.

"And you're damn lucky I did." He grabbed Cal by the front of his tunic and hauled him upright. "Back to the ship, boy. Now." Cal followed, feeling like his feet were made of lead. Andras shoved him into the hold and Cal went sprawling, BD-1 skidding across the floor. The door sealed shut and his stomach dropped.

"I'm sorry." He rolled over onto his back and found himself in the same position he'd been in earlier, but without the blaster. It felt more dangerous now.

"You know," Andras said, "I really do want to keep you, kiddo. But you make it hard sometimes." He could feel himself tremble.

"I won't freeze again, I promise."

"Hm. That remains to be seen." He stood there and studied Cal for a long moment, probably logging all his faults and errors and mistakes. Then he nodded and Cal's chest loosened. "Don't ever forget that I'm doing you a favor by keeping you around." He paused, raising an eyebrow. Cal hurried to nod.

"I know."

"Good. No rations for three days."

"But-" He should never have spoken, he should have kept his mouth shut- "it's already been two." Andras was silent. His eyes flickered over to BD-1, who was chittering angrily. Panic flooded Cal's senses, raw and wild. "No! Please, I'm sorry, please don't slag him, I won't talk back again, I promise!" Andras sighed.

"Promises aren't worth much, kiddo." He stunned the droid and scooped it up off the floor. "I won't slag him yet. You want him back, you better pull off our next job to perfection. You got me?" Cal nodded and he grinned.

"That's more like it. Now get some sleep. We're moving early tomorrow."

=-=-=-=-=

He was twelve years and nine months old when he earned BD-1 back. Cal had never heard of Ordo Eris before, but he knew about the Haxion Brood in passing- enough to know that if they were passing by, he'd better pass on somewhere else.

Apparently Andras was one of their steadiest runners, and a friend of their boss's besides, so when they found themselves nearby with some unexpected down time he decided to stop in for a visit.

The station was crowded, loud, and smelly, filled with rough-looking sentients drinking and gambling the night away. The air was thick with spice and tabac and everything he touched Echoed with misery. Every now and then someone they passed jeered at him from one of the tables and he pressed himself a little closer to Andras.

He didn't know why Andras had brought him along instead of leaving him in the cargo hold. Especially when they reached the nicest looking door in the dump and Andras pushed him down to sit on the floor and left him there while he went inside. Cal sighed and spent the next couple of hours fidgeting and trying to vanish into the wall. He'd rather be in the cargo hold, even if he still didn't have BD-1 to talk to.

He was in a light meditation when the door opened to a burst of laughter and Andras stumbled out, halfway to drunk. Maybe for the first time Cal could remember, his smile wasn't edged with something that made him shiver. "I got good news, kiddo!" He pulled Cal to his feet and tugged him into the office. It reminded Cal a bit of the circus that he had visited once back on Coruscant- busy, gaudy, and overstuffed.

"This is him, Tormo." Andras gave him a push toward the boss, a man as heavily cybernetically modified as all the other Brood members had been. Cal met his eyes and felt his instincts scream. His muscles went tight, ready to run even as he reminded himself of how much trouble he'd be in if he did that, and he forced himself to stand still as Tormo examined him.

"This is the Jedi, huh?" Tormo gripped Cal's chin and turned his head this way and that. His other hand ran through Cal's hair. "Cute little thing, but he doesn't look like he could kill a glowbug." Cal felt Andras shrug, suddenly hyperaware of everything in the room and how it would affect him if he tried to bolt. His skin itched and crawled.

"I wagered on him, didn't I? Even little Jedi are dangerous." Andras gripped Cal's shoulders and there were too many hands on him. "Better send him off to bed if he's on in the morning." There was a knife in his tone. Tormo rolled his eyes and sat back down, and Cal could breathe again.

Andras pushed Cal back to the door. "Back to the ship. You've got a busy day tomorrow."

"What am I doing?"

"Tormo runs the best fighting arena in this sector and you are tomorrow's star. You're gonna make us some big money." He poked Cal a couple of times in the chest and smiled. "I knew you were a worthwhile investment, kiddo. Now beat it."

Cal sprinted back to the ship, heedless of the laughter that followed him. He shut the cargo hold door and wished for the first time that he could lock it from the inside, and then curled up under his blanket and shook.

He got to hold his master's lightsaber for the first time since Bracca. People were gambling on a Jedi, after all, and he wouldn't be much of a Jedi if he didn't have a saber. The crowd loved him- so much that he ended up spending three days in the arena instead of one. He came out the other end, scraped and scuffed but undefeated, and Tormo offered to buy him.

"I'll pay off the rest of what he owes you plus some. It's a good deal, my friend." Andras smiled and said he'd think about it, but they flew off the next day and Cal went along.

Andras returned BD-1 that evening before he went to bed. Cal clutched the droid to his chest, looked him in the eye, and thanked him.

=-=-=-=-=

He was twelve years and eleven months old when he remembered why Andras scared him. He blew a job on purpose.

It wasn't even a job they were supposed to be doing. They weren't bounty hunters, they ran drugs and stole things. But Andras had heard that the money was good, and Cal knew him well enough by now to know that was all he needed to hear.

They hadn't expected her to be a child. Well, Cal hadn't expected her to be a child, at least. She was small, a tiny little Zeltron with ruby skin. Things had gone sideways, of course, and Cal had been left to guard her while the others tried to shoot their way out of trouble.

He had been so busy watching the doors that he was taken by surprise when the woman dropped from the ceiling. She had the same non-descript and slightly scruffy clothing as every other bounty hunter lurking around and Cal prepared for a fight, but she pulled her hit short when she saw him. Her hands came up in surrender. "Wait!" She took off her helmet, a pale blond woman with a crown of braids and worried eyes. "Easy kid. I'd rather not fight you if I have the chance."

"Boss wants her," Cal stuttered. He backed up against the corner, the little girl behind him. The woman didn't try to approach.

"So do her parents," she replied. "Enough that they paid me to find her and take her home. She was kidnapped. She's eight years old." Cal's ears burned.

"I'm sorry." The woman crouched down to his eyeline. Her eyes were soft.

"Is that what happened to you?" He was trembling. He stayed quiet. "Come with us. Wherever your home is I can get you back there." No one could bring him home anymore. He shook his head.

"Don't have one." The woman sighed.

"My home is gone too," she said gently. "I miss it very much. But the people we loved are still with us, and I always try to do what they would want me to do. What would your family want you to do for Talia?"

Talia. The Zeltron girl- he hadn't even asked her name. Master Tapal would have helped her. Cal would have helped her a year ago. It would have been scary, but a Jedi accepted their fear and let it go. They didn't let it bind them to someone they knew was cruel. He was so scared of making Andras mad that he was- what? Going to let a little girl be sold into slavery? Was he really going to let an innocent child suffer to avoid being hurt?

He dropped his hands and stepped away, letting Talia come out from behind him. He bowed his head. "I'm sorry," he told her. She hugged him.

"Thank you."

There was a commotion outside the room, shouting and crashing and Cal felt a too-familiar presence in the Force. Andras banged on the door, demanding to be let in. Cal turned to the woman. "Go!"

"Come with us." He wanted to. He wanted to so badly now.

"I can't. If I come with you he'll come after me." They were trying to break down the door now. The woman's fingers twitched. Somehow, it held against the onslaught.

"I can handle that."

"Not with Talia," Cal said bluntly. Her expression flickered. "You need to get her home. They won't chase you if I keep him distracted long enough." The door cracked. The woman didn't have the time to argue and she knew it. She put on her helmet and grabbed Talia's hand. They were gone by the time the others finally got in.

Cal hit the wall hard and cried out when his arm was wrenched nearly out of place. "Where is she, boy?" He was dizzy with fear. It was worth it.

"Gone."

They had to carry him back to the cargo hold. Andras crouched over him and the next thing Cal was aware of was screaming, fire burning a line across his nose. He came back to his senses while Andras was cleaning his vibroblade. For once he didn't have a parting shot to deliver. He looked at Cal, colder than space, and left him there alone.

=-=-=-=-=

He was thirteen years old when the world changed. He passed his birthday on his pallet, hissing as BD-1 tried to attend to his face with blanket scraps. It would scar, probably. That was certainly what Andras intended. Little buddy was, as usual, upset about his health. He could see the outline of his ribs.

'Too sick won't heal,' he chittered. Cal shrugged.

"Nothing I can do about that. I knew I was gonna be in trouble. At least he didn't take you away again." BD-1 made it quite clear what he thought of those comparative punishments.

They were headed for a new job, something to try and make up what Cal had cost them with Talia, and he knew it was a bad idea from the start. Trying to rob people was risky to begin with. Trying to rob Mandalorians was stupid. Trying to rob Mandalorians of beskar was downright suicidal.

They'd made it halfway through the deposit in Enceri when Cal was proven right by a hand grabbing his collar and lifting him into the air. "You're not supposed to be here." He knew that voice. If he'd been less distracted by hunger and pain and bad memories he might have noticed that the clone sounded amused more than anything. As it was, he panicked and the world blurred.

He scrambled loose and ran as fast as his legs would carry him, only to slam hard into another one, who pinned him against his chest. Cal bucked and flailed, barely hearing as the one holding him swore and summoned his brother for backup. The first clone grabbed his legs. He screamed and heard something heavy crash against the wall and then they were both swearing and there was a blaster pistol against his temple and this was how he was going to die-

"Stop!" The absolute authority in his tone cut through Cal's blind panic and he went limp. They hadn't shot him yet. Maybe they wanted something from him first. "Now, my vod's going to put your legs down and you're going to walk, understood?" Cal nodded. "Good lad. Jaing, cuff him."

The first clone- Jaing- pulled his hands behind his back, more gently than Cal had expected for the trouble he had caused them. Once he was secure, the second clone gave him a light shove. "Follow him, and don't try anything."

Cal followed, and felt like he was watching from outside his body. They went down to the security control room, where three more clones were waiting, along with a stocky man in goldish armor, in some kind of standoff with Andras and the others.

"This yours?" Jaing asked him. Cal flinched. Andras smiled and even Cal could tell it was mean.

"Matter of fact."

"That so?" The armored man's voice was flat.

"Here's the thing," said the one holding him, "I'd prefer not to slot a kid, so how about you put those guns down and this stays clean?" If they thought Andras cared about Cal's safety more than he cared about getting out of there alive, they were about to be disappointed. Andras laughed.

"I'd prefer you didn't slot the kid either. He's worth some credits." He was outnumbered and he knew it. Cal saw him glance around and do the math. His stomach dropped.

"Let's not try anything stupid, now," the armored man said.

"I'd never. I suppose you won't let us walk out of here if we leave the stuff?"

"You suppose correctly," Jaing said. "So about this valuable kid. What happened to his face?" Andras raised an eyebrow.

"He blew a job. Shit happens." Jaing grunted and nudged Cal's head up. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to pull away.

"Nice clean cut for an accident."

"He didn't say it was an accident, vod," the one holding him said.

"He didn't, did he?"

"No business of yours, is it?" Andras snarled.

"Maybe we're nosy," Jaing said, tapping his finger rhythmically against his blaster. The Force thrummed with tension, so sharp it almost smelled like blood. Something was about to crack, and Cal was afraid it might be himself.

"I think you fellows ought to reevaluate your situation," the armored man said pleasantly. "You're outnumbered, outgunned, in enemy territory, and we have a hostage."

Cal had spent the better part of a year with these men, learning to read their every tell. It was how he knew when to approach and when to make himself scarce. When to stay quiet and when to stay quieter. When, exactly, Andras would tip over the edge.

Only one of these groups was walking away alive if it came to a fight, and whichever one it was, Cal wasn't going to be in it. But maybe, if he played his cards right, he'd be the only one that died.

Andras shifted. Tilted one of his shoulders back.

The clones and the armored man tensed.

Cal breathed in and thought of peace.

"Wait!" No one moved, but the grip the second clone had on the back of his shirt tightened. He looked at the armored man. "He was telling the truth. I'm worth a lot of money. If you keep me and let them walk out you can sell me to the Empire." He didn't want to sacrifice himself for Andras. He didn't want to sacrifice himself for these people. He was just so tired of death.

The armored man's hand tightened. He tilted his head and observed Cal for a long moment. "Mereel."

"On it, Sarge" The clone holding him heaved him over his shoulder and ran. The door they had come through slammed shut behind him to the sound of blaster fire.

He'd had one shot and he'd missed it. He wasn't even paying attention as Mereel dumped him on the ground and started swearing at him in Mando'a. He was too busy trying to get his lungs to work. He should have known better than to think that would work when they could kill the others and keep him for the trouble. Better deal for them. And he'd just told them all what he was worth.

"-shab'la idiotic self-sacrificing bastards, the lot of you. Breathe, kid! In and out, like you always have." They wanted him alive? That was a shame, he was pretty sure he might be dying. The Empire would still pay out, though. "Don't make me sedate you. You're making the kriffing room shake."

Huh? There was a hand coming toward him. He scrambled away. His strained shoulder thudded into the wall but his feet kept trying to go further. Distantly he heard himself saying something, over and over, but he couldn't tell what.

"Kriff!"

He felt a sharp pain in his neck and had enough time to look Mereel in the eyes, betrayed, before the world faded and went black.

Chapter Text

"Do you want to hear a story about an idiot?" Kal gave the tiny Rav Bralor projecting from his comm unit a flat stare.

"I woke up to take this call." Bralor shrugged.

"I said hear the story, not tell it. Now, story time, yes or no? I can always pass this job off to somebody else."

"You know I don't need money any more than you do, Bralor."

"I do, but I was thinking you and your boys would like a chance to distract yourselves from the upcoming festivities by bashing some heads in." Well. The lads that hadn't run off on their "special projects" already had been getting a bit antsy about the whole Empire Day thing, and Kal did prefer his house in one, unburnt piece.

"Tell me more about this idiot."

"Caiso Andras. Drug runner, small-time thief, well known moron. About to become a problem for Enceri, which the Lord Mayor is not pleased about. He has decided, since he can, that it should be my problem, and I have decided, since I can, to foist it off onto you. Or Vau, if I wanted Andras rotting in a hole somewhere, but I prefer a man with tact and self-restraint." Kal cocked an eyebrow.

"So you commed me?" Bralor's expression didn't so much as flicker.

"You have a degree of self-restraint. I can work with one out of two. The Lord Mayor doesn't want too much blood. Gets the people stirred up."

"Bad time for that," he agreed. "How do we know he's coming to Enceri anyway?"

"Apparently some years ago he made an enemy of Clan Ven'kora. They've been gunning for him ever since, but being part of the more pacifist crowd they didn't want to take that too literally. So they came up with an offer too good for him to refuse."

"It's a setup."

"Precisely. An opportunity to rob the beskar deposit." Kal whistled.

"He really is an idiot. And the Mayor agreed to this?"

"He's a cousin of Clan Ven'Kora on his mother's side. And a second cousin of mine on his grandfather's side, which is how I ended up with this on my plate. I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with stupid shit on behalf of a distant relative, and I suspect your boys are bored and restless right about now. So. Job, or no job?"

"I'll run it by them, but you can probably consider it done."

"Good. I'll comm you the details." She hung up. Ever gracious, was Bralor. Kal tried to go back to sleep. Kal failed to go back to sleep, cursed loudly, and got up. He opened the door to Jaing directly in his face and cursed again.

"Job?"

"I'm putting a bell on you," Kal grumbled. "And yes, if your brothers feel like it. Scout's not back?"

"Not 'til Centaxday. Don't think she wants to be around people right now. Not around us at least." Jaing didn't attach any particular feeling to that statement like some of the others might. Kal hummed.

"Best for all of you, I think. So, eavesdropper, what do you think about Bralor's proposition?" Jaing shrugged and followed Kal into the kitchen.

"I'm always up for a brawl. Mereel's fit to burst if he doesn't do something soon, so he'll be up for it. The others will come along because they're bored."

"Come along where because we're bored?" Ordo asked, popping his head around the pantry door. "Not that I'm not, mind you, but there is a middle ground between bored and overly excited."

"How do you feel about punching some dipshits in the face?" Jaing asked him. Ordo hummed.

"You've won me over."

The others trickled in over the next half hour and proved at least as agreeable as Ordo, if not more. Despite his initial reluctance, Kal was pleased. Getting out and stretching their legs would be good for all of them. Better than sitting around and brooding their way into unplanned violence.

Four jumped up lowlifes walking into what should have been an obvious trap. Plotting out this little expedition was something the boys could have managed when they were three, so Kal decided to sit back and let them have their fun.

A few days later found Kal loitering around Enceri near the deposit for a while, having drawn the short straw and been put on lookout duty. He had protested that his presence was entirely unnecessary, the whole encounter being comically mismatched from the start, but the boys would have none of it. They liked being able to ignore him now that they weren't in the Army. Bunch of bullies.

Bralor had provided pictures of their targets and Kal tapped his comm discreetly every time he saw one of them. To their credit (words he hadn't expected to think) if he hadn't been looking out for them they would have done a decent job of not standing out.

Once all four were inside Kal put down the cheap caf he'd been nursing and followed them in. The others were waiting in the security control room, except for Mereel and Jaing who, Darman informed him, were tracking down a stray alarm they hadn't expected to be triggered.

"Have you already lined them up?" Darman nodded.

"Ordo's having fun letting them get most of the way through a door and then killing the power on them," he said, nodding to where his brother was smirking at a monitor. "We've got them more or less tunneled by now, barring whatever it is that Jaing and Mereel are scoping out. All we've got left is waiting for them to get frustrated."

"That shouldn't take long," Ordo interjected, pressing another button. "Wonder if they've caught on yet?" Given that they were making a straight line for the control room now, they probably had.

Exactly as they had intended, the group burst into the control room- one Nautolan, two Humans, and a Trandoshan- and were met with enough firepower that even they had the good sense to pull up short and find some cover.

"Good morning," Kal said. "We're here to arrest you. I suggest that you surrender now." One of them answered by sending a shot past his ear. Atin replied by sending one back, and by the sound of it his was a little closer to the ear than the gangster's had been. "I'll take that as a no, then. Shame. I don't think you fully comprehend how kriffed you are."

Jaing and Mereel chose that moment to return, visibly tense, escorting between them- a child? All Kal could see of him was the top of his vibrantly red head, having apparently decided that his boots were the most interesting thing in the room. His clothing was cheap, dirty, and made for someone much larger than him, showing off too-sharp collarbones and slumped shoulders. His hands had been cuffed behind him.

"This yours?" Jaing asked, in a tone that promised slow death. The boy flinched and glanced up for the first time. He was looking at Andras. The man grinned and Kal felt the urge to bust his teeth in.

"Matter of fact."

"That so?" Poor self-preservation instincts, this one. His cadets would have known to run for the hills by now.

"Here's the thing," Mereel said, prodding the boy with his blaster. "I'd prefer not to slot a kid, so how about you put those guns down and this stays clean." Not that Mereel would actually slot the kid, but they didn't need to know that. The boy slumped back down with a small sigh and the bastard across the room laughed.

"I'd prefer you didn't slot the kid either. He's worth some credits." If he was trying to talk his way out of this he was doing a mighty poor job of it. He was also doing a mighty poor job of being discreet about eyeing up his targets. Kal suspected one of his first might be the boy.

"Let's not do anything stupid, now," he remarked. Andras looked at him keenly.

"I'd never. I suppose you won't let us walk out of here if we leave the stuff?" Given recent developments they'd probably be leaving feet first no matter what they did, so Kal didn't even grace that with a response. Jaing had it handled anyway.

"You suppose correctly. So about this valuable kid. What happened to his face?" His face? The boy hadn't looked up long enough for Kal to notice anything odd.

"He blew a job." So the boy was a member of their crew. "Shit happens." Jaing grunted and tilted the boy's head up gently, eyes flickering when the boy didn't even try to pull away, and Kal saw the fresh knife wound running from the edge of his cheek to the bridge of his nose.

"Nice clean cut for an accident," Jaing remarked. Mereel never looked away from Andras.

"He didn't say it was an accident, vod."

"He didn't, did he?"

"No business of yours, is it?" their target snarled. Under his bravado Kal could hear fear.

Good.

"Maybe we're nosy." Jaing was tapping against the side of his blaster in dadita, just confirming what they all knew- slave. Kal glanced at Mereel, who nodded microscopically. He already knew what Kal was thinking. He would get the child out of here, and these four men would die.

The boy's eyes were flickering between him, the lads, and Andras like he couldn't quite decide who was the most dangerous. Time to remove him from the equation. He plastered on his fakest smile.

"I think you fellows ought to reevaluate your situation. You're outnumbered, outgunned, in enemy territory, and we have a hostage." A hostage they had no intention of returning, of course, but that was irrelevant.

The roil of tension in the room was reaching its peak, and Kal was ready to give Mereel the signal to split when the boy spoke up, sounding nearly frantic. "Wait!" All eyes turned to him, but he was looking at Kal as he spoke. "He was telling the truth. I'm worth a lot of money. If you keep me and let them walk out you can sell me to the Empire."

There was too much wrong with that declaration for Kal to focus on at the moment. He felt his fist clench and saw the boy glance at it. He took a long breath to control the rage boiling in his guts. "Mereel."

"On it, Sarge." He hadn't even made it all the way out the door when the lads went off. The ensuing fight was swift and brutal, and ended with all four of the robbers dead on the floor. Atin had taken particular pleasure in putting one or two more blaster bolts than strictly necessary into Andras and was being talked down by Darman when the building began to vibrate.

"Excuse me?" Ordo said. Jaing jumped.

"Ah shit!" He opened the door Mereel had left through and bolted, the others hot on his heels. The shaking had subsided by the time they caught up with them.

The boy was uncuffed and deeply asleep. Mereel glanced at them as he stuffed a used hypo into one of his empty belt pouches. "Hit him with the good stuff," he said shortly. "He'll be asleep for a while. Gilamar needs to check him over when we get back."

"Did you feel that earthquake just now?" Ordo asked. Mereel and Jaing glanced at each other.

"That wasn't an earthquake," Jaing said.

"Then what was it?"

"That," Mereel said, "was what happens when a Jedi has a panic attack." The others jerked.

"A Jedi?" Darman kept his voice steady.

"We caught him most of the way into the vault," Jaing said. "Freaked out as soon as he heard me speak, then threw half the furniture across the room when Mereel grabbed him." Mereel frowned.

"He lost it after his stupid little stunt didn't work. I tried to talk him down but he couldn't hear me and I didn't feel like having the roof brought down on our heads." They could all hear the shake hiding underneath his anger, and they all politely ignored it, like they ignored the shake in Darman's hands.

Kal crouched down next to Mereel and gave the little Jedi a more thorough examination. If the boy was old enough for his verd'goten Kal would eat his armor, although it was possible that he looked younger than he was from deprivation. He obviously hadn't eaten enough in a while. His wrists and collarbones jutted out against his skin and Kal was willing to bet that the rest of him probably looked about the same. He was pale, paler than even someone with his natural coloring should have been, almost greyish under the layer of dirt clinging to him. New and old bruises and smaller cuts than the stark one on his face dotted his visible skin and disappeared beneath his clothing.

"How long do you reckon they had him?" Atin asked.

"State he's in?" Kal said. "Probably since the Purge, or close to it. Atin, comm ahead and tell Gilamar to be ready for us. Ordo, get him back to the speeder." They hustled off, followed closely by Jaing and Darman. Mereel lingered behind with Kal.

"Talk to me," Kal said.

"Kid tried to sacrifice himself for them." Kal sighed.

"I know. And I'm as thrilled about that as you are, but that's a problem for when he wakes up." He waited patiently until Mereel snapped.

"He kept fucking apologizing. Like he had a reason to."

"He's been a slave for a year, Mereel," Kal reminded him. "That does things to you, especially at his age. He's probably used to being blamed for everything." Mereel frowned, but shook his head and strode out after the others. Kal allowed himself one minute to pause until he followed.

The trip back to Kyrimorut was blessedly uneventful. The Jett'ika slept the whole way through and didn't so much as stir when he was transferred to a stretcher and carried into the medbay. He must have been kriffing exhausted even before Mereel hit him with a sedative.

He made a few displeased mumbles when Gilamar shifted him around to remove his clothing, which was promptly carried off to the incinerator and given an ignominious disposal. Gilamar had booted everyone but Kal and Ordo, so they were the only audience for the impressive riot of profanity he released once the med droid had handed him the initial notes. "That good, huh?" Ordo muttered. If he were a lesser man he would have quailed before the medic's glare.

"Severely underweight, suffering from several untreated lacerations, was beaten bloody sometime within the last month, multiple poorly healed bone breaks, wrenched shoulder, cracked wrist, and he's doing his best to develop pneumonia. That good enough for you?" Ordo held up his hands. "He'll need at least a twelve hour swim in the bacta tank, and then an IV when he's out to help with the malnutrition. Given the circumstances I want to put him fully under for the tank. Best not to have a frightened psychic wake up in there with no way to tell him what's going on."

On cue, the boy's eyelids flickered and Kal remembered that Force-sensitives burned through drugs faster than the average population. Gilamar hit him with the second dose before he could do more than stir. Once he'd gotten the IV in they helped him maneuver the boy into the bacta tank.

Kal's comm started ringing halfway through. He ignored it until they were finished and then, with no small measure of reluctance, checked the caller. "Bralor." Ordo saluted and beat a hasty retreat.

"Have fun, buir."

"Coward!" He shook his head and accepted the call.

"I thought I told you I didn't want them rotting in a hole somewhere, Skirata." She looked precisely as happy as he'd expected her to be. "The Mayor is crawling up my ass trying to find out why what should have been a simple arrest turned into a quadruple homicide right in the middle of town, and I have to admit I'm curious myself."

"They chose to make it difficult, not us," Kal snapped. "And you didn't tell us everything." Bralor's eyes narrowed.

"I told you everything I knew. What happened? You've got that look on your face."

"There were five of them, Rav, not four. Want to guess who the fifth one was? A child." Bralor frowned.

"How bad?"

"He weighs half of what he should, he's mostly poorly healed injuries, and he tried to sell himself to us so we'd let the rest of that crew walk away. Said he was worth money and we could have it if we turned him in to the Empire."

"What do the Imps want with a kid?" She'd known him long enough to read his expression even over comm. "Shit. Not a normal sort of a kid, is he?"

"He's as special as some of the others," Kal confirmed. "Neither of whom are around at the moment, until Scout gets back from her little campout. Bardan's off with some of the boys on their 'special project' and they're radio silent for who knows how long. In the meantime Mij has him drugged to the gills and taking a bacta bath. We just have to hope that he won't attack us when he wakes up."

"Maybe don't put a jumpy abuse victim in the room with the people who look like the ones that tried to murder him?" It sounded so reasonable when she said it like that.

"Gilamar it is, then." She nodded.

"I'll square it away with the mayor, don't worry. He knows better than to ask your lot questions by now anyway." She shook her head and sighed. "What is it with you and Jettiise? You're like aiwha bait to them or something." Kal rolled his eyes.

"Just my luck, eh? Give the Lord Mayor my insincere apologies."

"I don't think I'll even waste my time," she replied, dry as the desert. "See you around, Skirata." She hung up on him again. One day he was going to beat her to it, purely for a change of pace.

The boy was floating peacefully in the tank, and according to Mij he'd be there for the next half-day at least. And then he'd wake up, and they'd take it from there.

"One day at a time, my lad," he muttered. "One day at a time."

Gilamar ended up keeping him under for an extra six hours before they pulled him out and transferred him to a cot. Kal ordered the lads to clear off and leave the boy alone until they'd explained the situation to him, so they'd made themselves scarce by the time Mij called him in to update him. "He's doing better after the bacta, but he still hasn't woken."

"Is that a problem?" Kal asked.

"It could be. With a Jedi's metabolism I'd expected him to be up by now. It could mean he's more injured than I'd thought. Or it could mean he hasn't slept in so long that even the sedation wearing off didn't wake him. I'm going to run another scan to be safe, but I'd bet he just needs to sleep it off. The IV is working, though. His numbers are already improving, but he'll need to be on it for another day or two to get them back up to normal. After that we can start refeeding him. I'm sure Laseema will enjoy the challenge."

"Laseema will be on him like a shadow," Kal retorted dryly. "She's not had anyone to fuss over in days since everybody left. I'm surprised she hasn't come barging in here already." The boy sighed, shifted around, and sighed again. They watched him cautiously, but he didn't move. "Better make myself scarce too. Seems like he's waking up. Comm me if you need backup." Mij raised an eyebrow.

"Or if everything goes well?" Kal laughed and left it at that. He was most of the way to the door when a crashing sound echoed through the hallway outside.

"What the kriff was that?" The two men raced out and stared at the mess of supplies that had toppled over, boxes burst open and contents scattered across the floor.

"Oh. How convenient. Hope there was nothing breakable in there," Gilamar complained. "Everything we taught those boys and nobody taught them how to stack things?" Kal squinted at the boxes he knew had been sitting pretty for days and frowned.

"Does this feel suspicious to you?" They looked at each other, cursed in tandem, and ran back into the empty medical wing.

"That karking little brat!" Gilamar looked, torn between annoyance and grudging respect, at the bed that had previously held one small Jedi. "I can't believe we fell for that." Kal sighed heavily and commed the lads.

"Kid's on the loose. Don't let him make it past the perimeter, but try not to engage. Comm me when you find him." A thorough search of the house commenced, a search which turned up absolutely nothing. They had every inch of the building surrounded by cameras and he appeared on none of them. They searched every room and didn't find him. Hell, some of them went into the emergency tunnels and rooted around down there, and turned up nothing. "No camera glitches?" Kal asked Jaing a few hours later.

"None. And Bardan showed me what to look for if they were manipulated by the Force too. Kid's somewhere in the house."

"We looked in every room," Atin grumbled. Ordo hummed and tapped his chin.

"Every room except the one we all assume he left." They all looked at each other.

"You're kidding," Mereel said.

"We're all assuming this kid had a plan," Ordo retorted. "He woke up surrounded by people he thinks either want to kill him or sell him back into slavery. He's weak and sick, and he knows he doesn't stand a chance against us in a fight. So he ran, but he can only go so far in his state. If he was anywhere else we would have found him by now." Kal nodded slowly.

"You might have it there, Ordo. Mij, come with me. Boys, wait here." He and Gilamar went back to the medical wing. Gilamar stopped outside the door and started stripping his armor. Kal eyed him. "What are you doing?"

"Going in visibly unarmed."

"To talk to a kid who can throw you across the room with his mind?"

"It's a show of faith, Kal. We have to show him that he can trust us, and going in there armed to the teeth isn't the way to do it." He had a point, despite Kal's natural disinclination toward removing his armor. He sighed and started putting his down next to Mij's. Once they were down to their bodysuits they opened the door and went back in. The boy was nowhere to be seen, but the air was still. Too still. They glanced at each other before Kal shrugged for Mij to take the lead. The doctor sighed. "Look kid, we know you're in here. We're unarmed, and we have no armor on. We're not here to fight you. We only want to talk."

Nothing. He glanced at Kal.

"You're not in trouble," Kal said, "and no one's going to hurt you. Or sell you off to the Empire, for that matter. If it's the lads you're scared of they're all outside. I've told them not to come in." Still nothing. Gilamar tried again.

"You can read minds, right? You'll know if we're telling the truth. And you'll have to come down eventually." Something shifted, barely noticeable.

"It's not- we can't read minds." Kal felt honest relief.

"Oh? Sorry about that."

"We sense your intentions. We can tell if you're being honest." His voice was coming from somewhere up in the rafters, but every time Kal tried to pin him down he felt his eyes blur and slip. The kid had to be doing it on purpose. Karking Force osik.

"Are we?" Gilamar asked. There was another long pause.

"Yes. But-"

"But what?" Kal prompted.

"The clones were being honest too," the boy whispered. "I thought we were friends. And then they killed Master Tapal, and Reyna and Hallie and all the others, even the babies, and now they want to kill me because I survived. I don't want to die. But I don't want to go to the Empire either."

"On my honor, kid, you're not going to die, and you're not going to the Empire. The clones out there are my sons. They don't want to hurt you. It's a long story, but we can explain it if you'll come down and listen to us." Kal couldn't feel the Force but he didn't need it to feel the boy's anxiety.

"You promise?"

"As Leader of my Clan and Head of my House. And do take into account that you can't stay up there forever."

He didn't leap out of his bodysuit when the boy jumped from the rafters and landed directly in front of him without warning. He was too experienced for that. But damned if he didn't think about it. Gilamar laughed.

The boy stared at Kal like he was trying to peer into his soul- hell, knowing Jedi nonsense he probably was. He did his best to relax and... feel non-threatening, he supposed. The kid's mouth twitched.

"You don't have to be that loud." Little brat. At least he was talking.

"You believe us now?" Kal asked. The boy's face sobered again, something dark overtaking his eyes.

"I believe you believe yourself. There's a difference." What a galaxy they lived in, Kal thought, where a boy so young could know that so well.

"So there is," Gilamar agreed, "but we have reasons for believing ourselves. Are you willing to hear us out?" The boy's face stayed stoic, but his hands worried the hem of his tunic into a crumpled ball.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Yes," Kal said. "If you want, we'll keep you here until you're medically fit and then you can go on your way. We won't like it, but we won't stop you. It's up to you to decide." The boy did his peer-into-your-soul stare again, cocking his head like a little bird, before he nodded and settled himself back on his cot. He was still and wary, and Kal knew that he would bolt again at the first sign of trouble, so he stayed back and let Gilamar get the boy's monitors set back up.

"You didn't pull the port," Gilamar said, sounding pleasantly surprised as he reconnected the IV line.

"Didn't want to leave a blood trail," the kid mumbled. Gilamar, who had spent ten years hearing children say disturbing things on Kamino, took it in stride.

"Clever. Good thing you didn't take it out, too, because you'll need to be on it for a while longer to get your bloodwork back to normal." He kept talking softly, explaining everything he was doing, and Kal watched the boy relax by millimeters, at least around the medic.

And then Kal started talking, telling him the story they had been told by Captain Rex, and the boy curled back in on himself, anguish in his eyes. Gilamar kept a steadying hand on his shoulder as what little color had returned to the boy's face drained away. "They didn't want to?" he whispered.

"They didn't," Kal replied gently. "They didn't have a choice once the command went out." He'd hoped that might have made something better, but while it may have alleviated some of the fear he didn't need the Force to sense the guilt that wracked the kid's frame.

"No," he muttered, over and over, burying his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He clearly wasn't talking to them.

"What are you sorry for?" Gilamar asked him.

"We killed them," the boy moaned. "Master Tapal and I. We were trying to escape and we thought they hated us and we didn't know why but they didn't want to-" He cut off with a gasp and curled up even tighter. That subtle tension Kal had felt in the air earlier, the one that had dissipated as Gilamar talked the boy down, returned. Kal, who had it on good authority that he was about as Force-sensitive as a blade of grass (Scout's exact words had been "a daisy" but there was no way he was using that and she'd known it) felt the hair stand up on his arms and a shiver run down his spine.

"You had no choice, son," Gilamar said, squeezing the kid's shoulder. "It was that or die. No one expects you to have chosen different."

They understood that, and the lads would too, but Kal suspected that the boy would take a bit longer to come around. He was rocking back and forth now, shaking his head. Something rumbled, and it took Kal a second to realize that the floor was vibrating, like it had in the deposit. He met Mij's eyed and flicked his gaze toward the tranqs, asking an unspoken question. Gilamar frowned uncertainly.

Out of seemingly nowhere (a testament to how distracted he'd been that he hadn't heard the commotion following in her wake) the medbay door flew open and Scout came skidding to a halt, looking from him to Mij to the boy and back with a shocked, hopeful expression on her face. The lads piled into the doorway behind her, in various states of confusion. Scout didn't even seem to notice them. Her eyes were locked on the boy.

"Kal?!"

Chapter Text

She had not been intending to come back early. Centaxday was still the better part of a week away, there was a nearby mountain that was begging to be climbed, and she was neither mentally nor emotionally prepared to be around people with Empire Day looming in the immediate future. Running was not the Jedi way of handling problems, but at the precise moment she had decided to leave, Scout couldn't really bring herself to care.

The Temple had once been full of clones. The Jedi had let it be known that they were always welcome in the common areas, and had taught the younglings to treat them with the same respect they showed each other. Temple-bound, with her master dead, Scout had spent most of her free time making friends with them, training with them, showing them around. She had never been afraid of them. And then-

And then.

She had been able to control her fear when she'd first come to Kyrimorut. The Nulls and the commandos were still so vibrantly there, so different from the muffled automatons who had marched through the Temple that it was easy to remind herself they didn't mean her any harm. Before long her leftover fear had faded away.

And then Empire Day was coming around.

She knew, intellectually, that her reactions were normal- the boys weren't the men who had invaded her home and slaughtered her family, but they looked like them and they sounded like them and it had been almost a year and the closer the day got the more she felt like crawling out of her skin or hiding in the emergency tunnels. The more she kept hearing screaming at the edges of her ears, flashes of bodies (her friends, her family) smoking on the ground.

Mereel had fired off his blaster too close to her during a training session and she had smelled the sharp stench of the discharge and the next thing she was aware of was being curled up on the roof, hiding behind the chimney. Gilamar was beside her, one hand on her knee and chattering on about the weather, and Scout had been mortified.

"I'm sorry," she'd muttered once she was back on the ground, pushing awkwardly past everyone. "It was. I need to meditate." Instead, she had packed a bag, picked a destination at random, and announced to Kal that she was going on a trip the next day. She hadn't tried to explain why, and he hadn't asked.

She'd left without a word to the others, except for Jaing, who had caught her in the garage and reminded her to check in with him at least once a cycle. There was no judgement in his eyes, but she'd still felt the need to explain herself. "It's not- it isn't you guys. You know?"

He'd squeezed her shoulder. "Nothing to feel bad about." And then he'd nodded to her and left.

Now, several days later, she had reached the mountain and camped out near the tree line. She had finished her evening meditation and was getting ready to go to sleep when the Force suddenly rang with change. Scout blinked, looking back in the direction of Kyrimorut. But change, it seemed, was all she was going to get, because the ringing quieted and nothing else followed.

She huffed and finished setting up her bedroll. Well, the Force could be as cryptic as it wanted, but if it expected her to quit her trip early it would have to give her more than that. She punched her pillow into shape and settled down for the night.

She woke up in her quarters, back in the Temple, in the middle of the night, and she had an awful headache. "Ugh." She rubbed her temples and ran her hands through her hair. The strands tangled in her bracers and she winced.

Bracers?

Had she fallen asleep with her armor on? She couldn't have, she never wore her armor in the Temple. There was no need. The war hadn't spread to Coruscant, and the only people left here these days were non-coms. Besides, with all the vode hanging around it would take an army to make it through the door.

"Scout!" She nearly leaped out of her skin at the sudden pounding on the door. "Scout, come out here!" She scrambled out of bed and opened the door. It was one of Kal's sons. Jaing. No, Dar. Or Prudii, or Ordo, or-

Why couldn't she tell them apart? She'd always been able to tell them apart. "This way," the clone ordered. She followed. The hallway stretched endless before them as they ran, but the clone finally came to a halt in front of a door. Her old creche. He gestured with his blaster. "Inside, quick."

She could hear blasters firing in the distance, coming closer. The floor rumbled to the repeating sounds of artillery, dust raining down from the ceiling. What was going on? There was sobbing echoing from behind the door- the younglings. They were trapped. She charged past the clone with a shout, burst into the creche, and came skidding to a halt.

They were all dead.

All of them, from the oldest Initiates to the smallest babies. Slumped where they had fallen, charred holes in their heads, their guts, their hearts, no blood because plasma bolts didn't bleed but she could smell them burning. Master Sula lay at her feet, surrounded by the bodies of the clones, and Scout screamed.

"Scout." The Nulls were there, and he still hadn't settled on anyone, but now his face was blank and neutral and she reached for her 'saber as he advanced, scrambling backward over the corpses, tripping over little Kita and hitting the ground hard. Her 'saber. Her 'saber was gone. Kal's sons gave her an odd little smile and pulled it off of his belt.

"Don't you remember?" He lit it. "You gave this to me." And then he swung.

She woke up screaming for real, and if anyone had been unfortunate enough to be nearby they would have been caught in a Force wave strong enough to put them through a tree. And then, once she had woken enough to remember her surroundings, she burst into tears.

She sobbed for a while, burying her face in her bedroll to muffle the sound. Once she had finally run out of tears she sat up and got angry.

"Why?!" she yelled. The forest didn't answer. "Why did- none of us deserved that!" If she were in the Temple there would be a Master she could turn to, or a group that she could meditate with, or a friend to help her. But she was alone. Bardan shied away from every mention she made of the Jedi, and Master Zey was somewhere else, and Etain had died before Scout had ever met her.

She had grown up in a Temple of thousands and now, when she needed them so badly, she had no one.

She slumped against a tree and pictured the wave of her emotions, cresting and breaking on a rock, sinking back into the sea, and breathed herself into meditation. The Force had promised change. Time to find out what it was.

She reached out towards Kyrimorut, letting her senses stretch across the distance and reach for anyone who might reach back. It was a risky move- there was always the chance she'd pick up someone she didn't want to reach. Whispers had been reaching their ears lately, of a group of Force users dedicated to the Emperor's service, hunting down surviving Jedi. Better to die than be taken, they'd said.

This far from home base and still shaken by her terrible memories, Scout was willing to play those odds. There was Kad, just old enough to recognize her and begin reaching back, and she brushed over him fondly before moving on. The little flames, all unique, of the others, flaring at her touch but isolated by their lack of sensitivity. Vau, who existed in that nebulous zone between Force-null and Force-sensitive, was still off planet with the Deltas.

And then... Scout was briefly knocked out of her meditation, eyes flying open as she picked up on a presence she hadn't felt for over a year. Surely it couldn't be- but no, it could, she'd seen his face on the wanted posters papering the galaxy, even though she'd thought he'd died with the 13th.

She re-centered herself and reached back out, and the familiar aura of Cal Kestis was still there. He felt faint and sluggish, none of the airy quickness she was used to, and he didn't quite reach back. Likely unconscious, and somehow at Kyrimorut. She thought back to the sense of change she had felt and couldn't help a snort.

"Alright. I get it." It was still a few hours until dawn and descending a mountain in the dark was a terrible idea, so Scout broke camp and paced until the sun rose. Then she was off.

She hadn't traveled too far. Mandalore was safer than most of the galaxy these days- an ironic twist on how things had been at the end of the war- but even here it didn't do to venture out alone further than you had to. What little remained of Maul's invading mob had turned to simple highway robbery, and the only ones that were still around after a year were the ones that were dangerous enough to cause real trouble.

None of them had ventured as far out as Enceri, though- knowing like as not that they'd be hunted for sport out here- and after a day to get down the mountain and one more night spent camped out at the base she was able to leap into her speeder and make it back to Kyrimorut unmolested.

She was sure she looked the absolute lunatic once she arrived. She didn't even turn the speeder off, simply threw it in park and left her things sitting in the back.

Atin, Jaing, Darman, Ordo, and Mereel were all loitering around the karyai looking edgy, which wasn't entirely abnormal for any of them, but they didn't usually do it all together and they didn't usually stare intensely at the medical wing. As she stumbled to a halt, though, they turned to stare intensely at her and she shook off the reflexive spike of fear that lingered from her nightmare. "Scout?"

"Is he actually here?" she blurted.

"Slippery ginger boy?" Ordo asked. Before she could even nod she felt Cal explode with panic and misery. She gasped. Ordo frowned and moved toward her. "What's wrong?"

"Cal!" She slipped past him, dodged around the others, and ran to the medbay. The boys followed her down the hall, asking what was wrong with him, swearing when the floor began to tremble. She came to a graceless halt inside the doorway and took in the scene- Gilamar and Skirata having a silent conversation over the tranquilizers that was interrupted by their abrupt arrival and Cal curled up in a ball on the bed, hyperventilating. She felt her heart leap. He was really there. "Cal?!"

"What?" Skirata asked.

She slipped past him and Gilamar and crawled up onto the cot, pulling Cal's hands away from his head. "Breathe," she whispered. "Just breathe. Let it pass on by. Let it go." She rested her forehead against his and reached out in the Force for the tiny, long-neglected link of their friendship, repeating her mantra over and over. It took Cal maybe fifteen minutes to come down from his panic. It felt like it took forever.

"Scout?" She pulled back and looked at him. His voice was rough. "Is it really you?" She smiled.

"Yeah. I got out."

"I thought I was the only one left." And didn't she know what that felt like? She shook her head.

"Not anymore." He stared at her like she had hung the moon. Before it could register he flung himself forward and grabbed her in a hug that should have been tighter (what had happened to him, where had he been to make him so ill?) and started sobbing.

Scout thought for sure she had done her fill of crying back on the mountain, but it seemed she had grossly underestimated her emotional reserves. Before too long she was sobbing right back, clinging to Cal as hard as he was clinging to her.

When they finally stopped she didn't know, but it had been a while and the medbay was entirely empty save for Mij, who was giving the far wall's brickwork a very thorough and up-close examination. "Sorry," Cal whispered.

"Don't," Scout whispered back. She wiped away a few stray tears with a chuckle. "It's been a long year." Cal glanced at Mij and lowered his voice even further.

"Is it true? I mean, about the chips. Is it true?" Oh no. They probably shouldn't have lead with that, but she understood why they had.

"Yes. Every clone here- well, some of them, they didn't even have it to begin with- but all the others have had them removed for a long time. They have complete control of themselves. We're safe here."

He wouldn't believe her, not at first, because he had always been too cautious for his own good and because safe, to them, was a feeling that only other people could have. But Kyrimorut was as close to safe as they could be in the galaxy, and Cal would figure that out eventually. Cal sighed and rested his head on her shoulder.

"Promise?" he said, so soft that she almost missed it.

"On my 'saber," she replied. She hugged him one more time. "Now, you should let Mij finish taking a look at you. I'll stay if you like." Cal nodded. Scout gave him a squeeze and called Gilamar over.

He made short work of the rest of the exam and gave them both the rundown. "The good news is your swim in the tank took care of most of your problems," he declared. "The bruising's gone, and your shoulder and wrist are mostly fixed. You were trying to catch pneumonia, but I think we've cut that off at the knees." His mouth pinched.

"The cut on your face is going to scar. It went untreated too long, but we can minimize it." Cal only nodded, staring at his lap. "The IV needs to be in for a day or two, but after that you'll be as back to new as I can make you. Sound okay?" Cal finally ventured to look up at him, if only for a second.

"Yessir. Thank you." Gilamar smiled.

"Just doing my job, lad. I'm going to call Skirata back in. He needs to ask you a few things, and then we'll leave you be." Probably to fall asleep, if the way Cal's eyes were drooping was any indication, but he rallied himself and nodded. Mij tapped his comm. Kal must have been waiting because he appeared in the doorway almost immediately. He gave Scout a brief smile and then sat down next to Cal's bed.

Scout glanced between them, struck by a sudden thought, and snorted. "Oh no." Kal shot her a sidelong look.

"What's so funny?" Suddenly and irrationally, she found herself overcome by giggles.

"Nothing," she managed. "It's not even that funny, I just hadn't realized til now- hey, Cal."

"What?" they asked, in perfect unison. She couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. She held out her hands.

"Cal, meet Kal. Or I guess Kal, meet Cal."

"Oh." Kal glanced at Cal. "You spell it with a krill?"

"Cresh." Kal nodded.

"Won't make a difference, will it?" Cal (goodness but that would get confusing fast) shook his head. "Didn't think so. Kal Skirata, lad, at your service."

"Cal Kestis."

"Pleasure." Kal gave him his most paternal smile, but it was wasted on the top of Cal's head. He was still watching their clasped hands. "Now, I'll try to make this quick, because you look like you need to sleep until this time tomorrow. The others are all dead."

Kal, Scout had always thought, meant well, but he could stand to work on his delivery. Cal seemed to accept it though, only nodding.

"Not suprised," he muttered. "I told him this was a bad idea."

"Who?" Scout asked. In her haste, it occurred to her now that she had no idea how Cal had come to be on Mandalore, or why, or with whom. Or, for that matter, how he had ended up at Kyrimorut at all.

"Andras," Cal replied. She wasn't familiar with the name. Kal (who was going to be relegated to Skirata until she had figured something else out) seemed to recognize it though.

"He was the leader?" Cal nodded. "Was it just the four of them?" Another nod. "Alright. How did you come to be tangled up with them?"

"I owed him money," Cal said. "He said I could either work it off or he'd sell me to the Empire. So I went with him."

"When was this?" Skirata asked. Cal shrugged.

"About a month after." He didn't specify what. Didn't need to.

"And how'd you end up in debt to a drug runner?"

"A what now?" Scout yelped. "What are you talking about?"

"I was trying to get off Bracca," Cal said. "Only I didn't have a chain code, and I didn't know how to get one, so I snuck onto his ship and dumped one of the boxes and hid in it. Except I messed up when I was trying to escape and they caught me."

"You've been with them ever since?" Cal nodded.

"He said I had to make him back what he lost on the box, but then he said I owed him for not selling me to the Empire and then every time I messed up a job he added that to it and I was trying to make it all back but I couldn't."

"Well. Can't owe debt to a corpse," Skirata said, arms crossed and face thunderous. Whoever Andras was, Scout thought, he was lucky he was already dead. "One last thing, and then I'll leave you to rest. Do you remember how to get back to their ship?" Cal nodded.

"It's in a clearing two klicks southeast of Enceri. A VCX-100-C. I can take you to it tomorrow." Skirata shook his head.

"Gilamar's got you on bedrest until your IV's out. Only place you're going tomorrow is the 'fresher." Cal pursed his lips.

"You don't have to wait on me. I'll be fine."

"So will the ship, lad. I, on the other hand, won't be if Gilamar hears that I took you tramping through the woods when he's told you not to. It'll keep." Cal went back to staring at his lap and silence fell, awkward and stilted. Finally Skirata cleared his throat and beat a tactical retreat. "Get some sleep. We'll concern ourselves with everything else later."

He gave Scout a nod and a small smile, half-heartedly returned, and left. Some of the tension left Cal's shoulders when the door shut and they were alone. "Oh, Cal," Scout sighed. "I'm so sorry." She pulled him into a hug. He relaxed into her shoulder.

"It was my fault." She frowned.

"No it wasn't. He never should have done that to you." Cal shrugged. Scout, unhappy about it, let the matter drop. They sat quietly for a while, leaning on each other, before Cal roused himself, worry in his eyes.

"Scout- they don't- I mean, you said they don't have chips but. Do they ever hurt you?" She felt her stomach drop.

"No, Cal. No one here has ever hurt me."

"Not even when they get angry?" The cut on his face was livid. Fresh. Purposeful, her mind whispered.

"Never," she told him firmly. "And if anyone ever did, the others would want me to hit them right back. Probably give me tips while they're at it."

She let him scrutinize her carefully, searching her face and her presence for truth. Finally he nodded. "Good. That's good." He was starting to droop like an untended flower. She smiled.

"Go to sleep, Cal. You need more rest, like Kal- er, Skirata said." They giggled.

"Can you stay for a while?" Cal asked.

"Sure." She had already been planning to. She had a feeling that she would be as reluctant to lose sight of him as he would be of her for a while. Cal hummed.

"Night, Scout." A few deep breaths and he was asleep. She lay next to him, relaxing into the presence of another Jedi, until her own breathing slowed and deepened and carried her away to a better time.

She woke once or twice to Mij coming in and out, but he was careful to stay quiet and she drifted back off. She finally woke to him nudging her shoulder. "Dinner time, Scout. Up with you." She yawned and extracted herself from Cal, who grumbled something in Lasat and went back to snoring.

The sun was starting to set. "I didn't realize I'd slept so long," Scout said. Gilamar grinned.

"Sometimes a good five hour nap is what a body needs. Especially when you've been off-kilter for a while." He slanted her a look. "You cut your trip off early." She grimaced, feeling a somewhat unexpected flare of defensiveness.

"Wondering if I'm about to crack?"

"Worried about your mental health," he corrected her gently. The flare passed and she blushed.

"Sorry. You're right, I am off-kilter. I just... can't stop thinking about it. Not like I ever have, but it's worse now." She stopped by one of the windows, watching the sun dip behind the mountains, and hugged herself. "And the others. Jaing gets it, or at least it doesn't bother him. But the others don't understand that I can't separate them right now, and I feel horrible because they've never been anything but nice to me and now I'm acting like they're the ones... But all I can think about is being back at the Temple and it doesn't make a difference."

It had all come out a tangled mess, but that was no more than it felt like in her head when she tried to think it through so it was no surprise. Mij sighed. "Come here, girl." She came over and stepped into his hold, wrapping her arms around him. His armor was cool. "First off, you know you don't need to justify yourself to them or me or anyone else. Second, frankly, I'd be more worried if you weren't a little squirrely around the boys right now after what you went through. And third, you know we can't always control what we get from our minds, we can only work with it, and all things considered you're doing well."

Scout sighed. "I know." Her stomach grumbled. Right, she had skipped breakfast and slept through lunch. Not her best ideas. Mij snorted.

"Come on, it's chili tonight. Better get there before you start chewing on me instead." Scout laughed.

"You're too stringy."

"Happens when you get old, sassy." He tugged on her braid. "I still have more meat on my bones than you." She stuck her nose in the air.

"I'm going through a growth spurt."

"Right."

Dinner might have been awkward if Scout had been the only one trying desperately to avoid eye contact and civilized conversation, but luckily for her every soul at the table wanted nothing more than to eat and be elsewhere, so the moment their bowls were empty they scattered to the four winds.

Cal was up and slowly working his way through a bowl of cinnamon oat paste when she got back to the medbay, seeming more awake and more relaxed than he had been before. He even gave her a small, unsolicited smile.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Better, I guess," he replied. "Somehow still tired." She huffed.

"Well, when's the last time you got proper sleep?" Cal's expression dropped and Scout's brain caught up with her mouth. Ah. A dumb question, since they probably had the same answer.

"About a year ago," he muttered, poking at his meal. "It's coming up soon, isn't it?"

"Day after tomorrow," she muttered back, fidgeting with her hands. "I'm not ready," she confessed.

"Me neither," he said quietly. They were silent for a while. "Do you remember any of the funeral songs?" She swallowed.

"Maybe. But I haven't sung them in a year. I don't think I remember all the words."

"Wouldn't it be better than nothing?" Cal asked.

"I guess. I'll think about it. Let's talk about something else." It came out more snappish than she wanted. Cal shrank in on himself.

"Sorry."

"No! No, Cal, you don't have to apologize. I didn't mean to sound like that, I'm sorry. I will think about it, I promise." Cal met her eyes and mustered up a half-smile.

"Okay. Maybe you can tell me more about the people who live here instead?" Scout smiled back.

"Sure. They're an interesting bunch. Eat your dinner and I'll tell you all about them." She and Cal chatted until Gilamar came in and ordered them both to go to sleep. Scout retreated to her room and did her best.

No doubt her lengthy nap had thrown her off, but her thoughts weren't helping either. Cal's idea was good. It wasn't like she had ever been able to hold a funeral for the others, or even take the time to properly mourn them.

At first her days had been dedicated to survival, and as soon as she had arrived at Kyrimorut and decided to stay she had been thrown headfirst into their developing plans for Grand Theft Army. It didn't suit any of the boys- Commandos or otherwise- to not have something to do, so they made sure that they were always busy, and Scout was busy right along with them. They wouldn't slow down; couldn't slow down, she thought, for fear of everything chasing them catching up.

And. Well, it wasn't that they didn't care about her. They did, and she would have known it even without the Force to back her up. They cared about her like a little sister, and they respected her as an individual, but she'd heard the way they talked about the Jedi. They knew so little about the Order, and they understood less, but they didn't particularly want to either, and that... that hurt. That they cared for and respected her in spite of who she was. That her heritage and religion were less like differences and more like flaws they were willing to overlook.

So she didn't bring it up. She let them talk, and they didn't say it to her face, and she didn't mention when the Holy Days passed her by or something reminded her of home or she overheard a misconception and thought of correcting it. She didn't bring it up, because bringing it up would lead to a fight and she was really, very tired of fighting.

But all that meant in the end was that she did the same thing as the others- she kept moving so that her grief couldn't catch up and her unwelcome thoughts wouldn't bubble to the surface.

Maybe her no longer being the sole Jedi at Kyrimorut wasn't the only change the Force was telling her about. Maybe it was time for more to change.

Cal was right. It was time to grieve, for all that she hardly remembered how to do it properly.

She spent most of the next day preparing. A quick trip to the artists' row in Enceri and she had a pack of actual paper and a pen to write on it with. Then it was a small bundle of firewood and a large square of linen cloth and back to Kyrimorut and Cal, who was growing increasingly antsy in his confinement.

"You're making good time on your recovery, but it's bed rest until tomorrow all the same," Gilamar told him as he removed the IV. "I know how you lot are. Let you off the cot and you're back to climbing the walls in an hour."

"What if I promise not to?" Cal tried. Scout had never seen a man look like he believed someone less.

"Don't worry," she told them, "I have a project to keep us busy." She waved her stack of paper at Cal and eyed him meaningfully.

"Oh." He cracked a smile. "That's a good idea." Mij raised an eyebrow, realized he wasn't getting an explanation, and left them be with instructions for Scout to sit on Cal if he tried to get up. Together, for the rest of the afternoon, they wrote down the name of every other Jedi they could remember.

It wasn't unheard of, even before the war had made it more likely, for a Jedi to die and the Order be unable to properly cremate them. Sometimes they couldn't get to the body, or there wasn't a body left to be found, but something still needed to be burned and so the Order had come up with an alternative. The name was supposed to be carved on wood, not written on paper, but Scout didn't have the time, the money, or the skill for that. She and Cal would have to do their best and hope the Force understood.

The first Empire Day, in fitting style, dawned grey, overcast, and miserable all around. By unspoken agreement everyone seemed to avoid each other. Cal had technically been released from the medbay but spent the whole day vanishing from one unoccupied room to another like a phantom. Even Scout had a hard time keeping a tab on him. Instead she focused on fighting off the growing twist of anxiety in her stomach.

She took refuge on the rear porch before dinner, unable to face the tense and snappish atmosphere of the kitchen, bundled up against the cold breeze in one of Master Maruk's old cloaks. She wasn't surprised when Cal slipped out to join her, wrapped in a blanket and holding a pair of bowls. When they were done they leaned against each other and waited for sunset.

Cal wrapped the pages in the cloth while Scout struck up the fire. They had only managed a couple hundred names between the two of them- their crechemates, fellow Padawans, the Masters and Elders whose names they could recall. So few, in the grand scheme of things.

The whole thing was a fraction of what it should have been. What it would have been if they had been back at the Temple, with ten thousand fewer names to burn and enough chanters to sing the songs with all the words and every prayer being led by someone who remembered it.

But they didn't have that. They had Scout and Cal, and a bundle of papers wrapped in a tablecloth. They had most of the words to most of the prayers and one voice to sing a half-remembered song without the harmonies. They had a little fire, sputtering away on a rainy porch on Mandalore as they watched it burn to ash.

It was the best that they could do, but it didn't seem like enough.