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English
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Part 1 of The Kenobi Chronicles
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Published:
2025-07-13
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2025-09-06
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5/?
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Epar Ner Ade

Summary:

He’s running.

 

Running as fast as the Force wills him to.

 

He can’t stop. Deathwatch is still after him; he knows it

Notes:

Hello! dont look at how many unfinished fics i have, and yes this is another one. Blame my fiancé for getting me into starwars.

Hope you guys enjoy!

I messed up the timeline a bit which youll see as the fic goes on but basics are; jango and obi are 17 and 15 respectively. and this is obis first mission since melida/daan

title means Eat Your Young, inspired by hozier

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Beginnings

Chapter Text

It's supposed to be a nice day. Nicely clouded and not so hot as for Kal to have to put the aircon on in his beskar while traveling on a speedster.

Or, it would be, if there wasn’t a body laying in the wastelands between Shuror and Sundari.

Kal’s stepping off of his speedster without a second thought as he nears them.

They’re half covered with sand as it slows and gently rests on them with the light breeze.

They look past their vergotem– if just slightly. Copper hair that shines in the sun makes them stand out even more against the white sand when it's clearly a stewjoni ade he’s looking at by his feet.

Their gauntlets are equipped to the brim with weapons; a flamethrower, whipcord launcher, rockets and a poison ejector. Not to mention all the blaster rifles and pistols stashed all over their body. The armour is both slightly too big and too small in all the wrong places. Clearly second hand and not retailored by a goran.

Stewjoni’ade were not known to wander off of their planet since the Mandalorian Empire fell. Least of all to Manda’yam. Which Kal doesn’t blame them for. So it's curious as to how one ended up in the very heart of Mandalorian Space.

The kid’s clearly injured, they're covered in bruises and scrapes, there's a head wound above the kids forehead and by the touch of the kids vambrace they've been laying there a while.

He checks the kid's vitals through his HUD and finds nothing immediately life threatening enough that the kid would die before he reached Keldable with them. He heaves them up onto the speedster in a fireman's carry before settling them down onto the back.

The ride feels longer with a verd’ika on the back of his vehicle.

Bringing the kid to the fortress is a hassle.

First he gets stopped by a few of Kamin’s scouts on the wastelands an hour away from reaching Keldabe only for them to coo at the verd’ika on his back and call ahead to the med bay which he is a bit thankful for if not for Mij calling him with concern for his health right afterwards since the verde forgot to specify that it's not him in need of the med bay but the teenager now unwillingly strapped up and unconscious on the back of his speedster.

Which really doesn’t sound all that good either if Kal is being completely honest.

….

 

Something’s wrong.

Obi-wan stills as the Force around him swirls with anxiety that is so heavy it makes his chest hurt with it.

….

There's a stewjoni ade in the hospital ward of the fortress and Jaster doesn’t know what to do.

There’s not been a case of any stewjoni migration onto Manda’yam in decades now, and, with the beskar the teenager is wearing, it's clear they've been with Kyr’tsad for some time.

“Report?” He asks the adolescent head medic, Dzija.

“Not great, Manda'lor. They have metal and glass shards grown into their liver and spleen that seem at least a few years old. It’ll need surgery.” She grimaces, “ There's signs of old bone fractures and torn muscles. They’re malnourished. The good news is that their head wound is superficial and their shoulder is sprained and not broken but it's really not looking great, Jas'alor.”

Jaster grimaces in sympathy at the teenager lying on the hospital bed.

“And, I think– I know what a slave collar scar looks like.” Her brows furrow at the verd’ika.

…

There’s a presence guarding him in his dreams.

Every time Obi-Wan tries to reach out to them the faintest flicker of mirith-warmth-safe floats through the dreamscape and leads him back to full awakeness before the sun starts peaking over the horizon of the desert.

The Force tugs him in the direction it wants him to follow as he comes awake and disappears right after consciousness returns to him.

…..

Obi-wan wakes up wrong. He’s not greeted with the sun blazing its rays into his eyes or his armour overheating from the aircon having broken the first few weeks on the run.

He’s in a bed, a lumpy medical bed that feels like heaven compared to the desert sand he's been sleeping on the last while. The sound of a heart monitor wakes him and he finds himself panicking before he realises that no, he’s not being held hostage. There's no Force Suppressors on his wrists or neck and he's still in Tor’s armour. Darksaber strapped to the inside lining of his kute and buzzing with excitement.

The Force feels laid back and at ease when he feels for it.

There's a few cots scattered around the room. All with their curtains drawn open. There’s a youngling a few years younger than him drawing on the other side of the room. She’s not strapped to a heart monitor unlike him and is sitting with her legs crossed on top of her cot.

She waves at him which he returns with a smile before going back to her drawing.

“Oh! You’re awake! I’ll get a medic for you.” Speaks up a voice in Mando’a to his right, peaking through the doorway, their accent different from what he’s used to. They’re in armour. All silver with streaks and parallel lines of blues and greens that cover the vambraces and knee pads in swirling patterns.

Satine used to exaggerate her o’s and use hard g’s even when speaking Basic while the Mandalorian has a more mellow tone with fast o’s and longer sh-sounds.

The medic comes by with a data pad on her arm and her buy’ce in her other arm. She’s radiating concern, and quite frankly her thoughts are loud.

Clearly, Obi-Wan needs to work more on his shields if a medic’s concern is enough to give him a headache.

“Hello. My name's Dzija. House and Clan Mareel. I’ll be your primary doctor for the length of your stay.” She starts off before looking at her datapad.

“Would you mind telling me your name?”

“Ben.”

“Allit?”

He shakes his head. “None.”

“Okay. I know this is a sensitive and a bit stupid question, but I have to ask; are you aware you’re stewjoni?”

“Yes, I do.” He keeps the grimace at bay. He releases his fear into the Force. Most people assume him to be human if not near human. And those that can tell him apart from them are usually slavers and pirates wanting to sell him for a high price.

This is bad.

“I assumed so but I just wanted to double check with you since you’re still going through puberty.” She smiles and then writes something on her pad. “Any allergies to be aware of?”

“Hoi broth.” He speaks in Basic.

“Okay, that's you nearly done. I can’t discharge you just yet as I’m still monitoring your vitals but if all goes well you’ll be out of here tomorrow.” She says, “Would you like a datapad to keep some boredom away while I update your file?”
….

The pad is in Mando’a.

Mando’a that Obi-Wan can’t read.

Chapter 2: Keldable

Notes:

Hello! Thank you all so much for the warm welcome into this little niche corner of sw fics. Here's a new chapter for you're guyses enjoyment <3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan doesn’t see the House Head till the following morning.

From what bits and pieces he's been able to gather from his few months on the run with Satine this is supposedly typical of Houses.

Clan Rodarch which took them in for a few weeks while on the run was small even by Mandalorian standards, with only sixteen members total, it didn’t have a Clan Head as much as it had an Armourer and three Clan Elders that passed the responsibilities between each other depending on the task, out of which Obi-Wan met two of while the other two were off world.

He’s still in the hospital ward when he meets them.

“Su cuy’gar Ben.” The Alor greets him, helmet clipped onto their belt. He’s a stout man with broad shoulders and strong thighs, their hair is cut short but longer than standard for what he expects of someone wearing a helmet, peppered with silver streaks and worry lines covering his brow and forehead.

“Su cuy.” He nods back at them.

“Dzija has probably already told you this but you are in the Keldabe fortress. And you’re with the Haat’ade now. I’m Jaster, Clan and House Mareel.”

“How long will I be staying here?”

There’s a pause at the question as the Alor’s brow furrows before he speaks. “As long as you want verd’ika. I’d prefer you stayed here till you’re fully healed however.”

It’s not like Obi-Wan has anywhere to go.

Satine’s somewhere off planet with his Master protecting her now and there isn’t really a way to contact the Jedi without blowing off his cover.

“Okay.” He breaths, “But I can’t stay here forever. I have people to go back to.”

“Kyr’tsad?” He asks.

“No. My family.” If only Cerasi was still alive. He still considers her, Mawat and Neild his family.

The Jedi.

He misses Bant’s obnoxious laugh and Quin’s horrible pranks. He misses his lightsaber classes and his small bed in his Master’s apartment. He even misses Master’s dying plants invading the apartment to the brink.

“I can get you in contact with them if you’d like.” Jaster says earnestly. He’s projecting so many caring emotions it's all bleeding into one.

“No. Thank you,” He swallows, “But they'll come back to get me themselves.”

He hopes.

There’s been a few instances of Master forgetting him all the way till he reached the temple.

At which point, Obi-Wan had hopped on a ship to get back home himself only to meet his Master at the temple. It's not been fun trying to travel under the radar as a refugee, a brown wig on his head since his hair was pure copper. Metallic and oxidised the longer he left it under the wig.

“Come then Ben, I’ll get someone to show you around Keldabe.”

….

Jango doesn’t know what to think about the teenager Kal brought back from the desert with him.

He seems skittish, closed off even, as the two of them wander around the city Jango does his best to fill in the silence with funny little quips and general knowledge around the place but it doesn’t seem to be going to the teens head.

He seems more interested in looking at the architecture than he is talking to Jango.

Keldable is a pretty place. Especially compared to a Kyr’tsad camp, with tapestries hanging from peoples windows and gray and silver cobblestone buildings, which, Jango would know something about after going on expeditions with his Buir.

The teens bes’marbur proudly shows the sigil of.

In a way it's surprising to him how such a lanky and skittish thing could be Kyr’tsad. He doesn’t carry himself with the arrogance he’s seen most Kyr’tsad recruits exude. Nor does he seem hostile towards the Haat’ade all around him.

He knows they’re staring, cautious and ready for the unexpected.

“Come Ben, let's get some food and I’ll show you around the South-East market.”

He hums and Jango does his best not to roll his eyes at the non-answer. Thankfully his buy’ce is firmly on his head and any irritation shown on his face is hidden by the helmet.

Jango leads him through the market, there's a few embroidery, knitting, armour paint and tapestry stands on their right while the food and weapon stands are further along on their left.

Ben mills around a few of the stands, looking quite longingly at the weapons on display before shaking his head, only for the Mandalorian managing the stand to call him over.

“What’s catching your eye verd’ika?” They ask.

“Oh, I’m not– I was just...” Ben wavers.

“It’s alright. I’m Noac, Clan Awaud, House Bevin.The weapons aren’t going to bite you, you know.”

Ben nods shakily back at them.

His eyes linger on an old sniper rifle model. It's clearly well taken care of for what it's worth.

To Jango it looks janky and at least two decades too old, definitely older than his own model which is laying on Jas’buir’s weapon rack.

The rifle has orange detailing on its foregrip and red accents on its refill valve. It’s definitely a collectors piece if not made to be bought as a gift for someone. It’s pretty in the way all older weapons are. Thick and dilapidated.

“Jango! Don’t tell me the Kryst’ika is scared of testing out a little rifle." A voice comes behind him.

It’s one of Kamin’s scout team, Kara, if Jango is right. She's a few years older than him, but if Jango has anything to say about it he’s the more mature one out of the two.

“That’s not up to me to decide, is it?” He rolls his eyes under his helmet.

“Why don’t you try it out verd’ika?” Noac’s buy’ce tilts in Ben’s direction.

“I– If that's okay.”

Noac hands him the rifle.

It’s too big for him, yet Ben hoisters it up in such a way that it looks practiced, the shoulderstock positioned closer to his chest than standard, made to absorb the aftershocks better for his smaller body type.

He adjusts the lens on the scope and takes a deep breath in before relaxing his stance into something rehearsed.

He hands the rifle back. Shoulders tense and a far away look on his face. “Thank you.”

….

“Stop being such a pessimist, Ben.” Satine rolles her eyes. “My father’s going to find us and your Jedi teacher will come back. There’s no need to think as hard as you do, you know.”

Notes:

I'm kinda writing this on the fly so do tell if you spot any mistakes or if youse want clarification on anything <3

Chapter 3: Interlude One

Notes:

Hello hello! its me again! Thank you all for all the kind comments its really kept me motivated to write, thank you! this is quite a slow chapter, more jango coming soon, obi still needs to heal a bit <3

Chapter Text

Jango leads him past the market after that.

Pointing out different shops and buildings as they go.

There’s a few armourers working on beskar in the sun. Their work stations have been moved outside their forge due to the blazing temperatures of today's weather, wielding hammers and tools while the clank of beskar is heard throughout the streets.

Jango wasn’t one to visit the Keble library often, but the spark that lit up in Ben’s eyes when he mentioned the library was enough to pull him towards it while Ben followed behind him.

It was a bit unsettling how he slotted himself seamlessly behind his shoulder and to the left like one might find a dog shadowing its owner.

It makes Jango uneasy.

Ben should be walking beside him.

…

The library is huge.

It's nearly the size of the Archives back in the temple. Holopads filling out every nook and cranny of the tall shelves around him.

….

“Satine, your idea of a better society is that of the downfall of Mandalore.”

“No it's not! It's a civilised society! Nothing as barbaric as the brutality other Mandalorians want the world to be!”
….

It takes great effort to say: “I can’t read Mando’a.” When Dzija asks if he’s up for doing some training modules on his pad when he gets back to check where they should start his schooling.

He knows it’ll only lead to more questions than answers but it's the best course of action.

He can bluff being anything but a Jedi but he can’t bluff his way into magically reading a language he passively knows.

He needs a sonic, his hair is slowly oxidising and his skin is sticky with sweat that smells like iron.

Any other day he’d be happy with just calling it a night back on the hospital bed. He’s exhausted.

Instead, before the day is over he’s gotten his own quarters, it's more of an apartment than it is a room, which is not what he expected to get.

There's a weapon rack by the door that leads into a kitchenette-living space, it's bare of any personality except a few stools, a coffee table and an orange futon, behind it is an empty bookshelf that hides a double bed from the door’s view in the back.

An armour stand stands by a big window looking into the courtyard, where he can see a few sparring matches commencing down below.

There’s also a shooting range in the far corner of the courtyard that makes Obi-Wan’s fingers twitch at the thought of putting a blaster through the training dummies.

The dark saber hums with excitement at the thought.

Obi-Wan needs to meditate with it soon. Last time he meditated with it was right after gaining it from Death Watch.

The saber is quite impatient and opinionated, he’s never had a lightsaber with such a strong personality as the one now in his hands, which hums with restless energy wanting to be used.

Obi-Wan sighs before moving the futon further back against the wall and starting on his katas with the lightsaber unlit in his hand instead of a shower.

He falls into a moving meditation as the Force swirls around him in a comforting way. The saber content to let him move slowly through the katas even if it begs to be turned on and put to use. It feels like a presence of a person rather than an object. Obi-Wan feels the Force correct his stances with a brush of a hand on his knee and shoulder something that it hasn’t done before he won the saber.

He’s sweaty afterwards. Worse off than he was before, with sweat drops running down his chin and damp tunic and armour.

….

Obi-Wan heads to breakfast with a mandalorian called Salias.

The man knocks on his door around seven standard and leads him through the fortress to a cantina where mandalorians were eating and chatting happily.

He leads him to a table where four mandalorians sit together, he can easily spot the Alor with his red shoulder pads and Jango on his right. The two others are unknown to him.

All of them have their helmets off and situated either in their laps or besides them on the bench they’re sitting on.

Salias meets them all with a forearm clasp until he gets to Jango who he ruffles the hair of, which he gets a goose like squawk at in return before sitting down and patting the seat beside him for Obi-Wan to join.

“Well met.” Obi-Wan greets them all with a nod. He has a new dark grey kute on, which he had found in a built-in wardrobe beside the bed after taking a shower. His hair no longer has a blueish tint to it, but still shaggy and uneven with a strand longer than the others from growing out of a buzz cut with a Padawan braid.

“Would you like some caff? Or shig?” Jaster asks. “This is Myles, Jango’s second, and Kal, the one that found you in the desert.”

“Nice to meet you both.” He says, before adding on, "Some shig, please.”

Obi-Wan’s had it twice before. Its spiciness refreshing with its sweetness, it reminded him a bit of hot cocoa with the texture of tea and less bitterness.

“Come on then, I'll show you to the hot plate as well.” Says the Alor, already standing up with his own dirty plate and mug.

Obi-Wan scampers up beside and a bit behind them.

….
His next meeting with Dzija is in the late morning.

“I’ll be honest with you, you’ll need surgery, Ben. You have shards of metal in your spleen and gut. I'm honestly surprised you're still alive and without internal bleeding.” She sighs.

“Ill schedule you for the day after tomorrow, in the meantime no training or anything strenuous, okay?”

“Yes, Medic.” He sighs.

“In the meantime would you like a bacta patch and ointment for your neck? I can’t promise the scar will disappear completely but it'll turn it a lighter colour if that's something you’d want.”

“No bacta.”

Chapter 4: Feral

Summary:

Obiwan spars and jango watches

Notes:

Welcome back!!! this is a bit of a shorter chapter, sorry about that but i couldn't write the next scene in this due to a continuity issue

Chapter Text

It takes him two weeks to fully recover from the surgery, the shards taken out and on display in a small petri dish on his bedside table in the hospital ward when he wakes up.

Dzija proudly shows them off to him and tells him which places which piece was in.

When he gets discharged the first place he heads to is the training area. While he can’t exactly spar with somebody since he hasn’t really interacted with anyone outside of Jango and the Alor, moving meditation has gotten quite boring and the light saber keeps on impatiently buzzing, waiting for something he can’t figure out.

It makes him need to release his and the saber’s feelings into the Force with how strong the sabers' will is.

It's quite uncanny really, Obi-Wan never heard of such an opinionated crystal.

The training area is big, dry dirt and packed sand encompasses the grounds with sparse vegetation in between.

Trolleys with mats are stacked in one corner in the overhang while some are already pulled down onto the ground and have mandalorians fighting hand to hand with spectators present.

There's a shooting range in the back besides an archery, and knife throwing area. Obi-Wan can’t go anywhere without a weapon rack being within arms reach of him. A few of the mandalorians plainly stare at him with their T-visors turned his way but he chooses to ignore them and goes to put a mat down onto the ground before starting with a few simple stretches.

He’s looking at a weapon rack to see what to practice with when he hears a voice address him.

“Oi Kryst’ika, do you want to spar?” Asks a mandalorian in red and orange armour.

She’s about the same size and build as him if not for the broader shoulders and two inches of height on her they’d be identical. She's a perfect sparring partner for getting back into the swing of things.

“Sure, why not?” After all, he is itching to get some of the pent up energy out, and Force willing she did just volunteer.

“Hand to hand? Or with weapons?” She asks.

“Hand to hand. First to tap out losses.” He nods in agreement with her before taking his weapons off of him, which she mirrors in turn on the other side off the mat.

He thinks that might be the mandalorian for the market but he decides it doesn’t really matter all that much, so he decides not to dwell on it.

When the fight officially starts Obi-Wan goes. He charges with an uppercut only to faint the next punch and ducking the moment she tries to kick him into the mats.

She faints another kick before full body slamming into him. They fall onto the ground and Obi-Wan does his best not to bite even as his teeth itch for blood.

The two of them wrestle, grappling to take each other lower than where they are on their knees struggling to get the better grip and pin the other down, but Obi-Wan fights dirty as he faints losing his grip on her and using her weight to throw her behind him. Her back slamming into the floor while Obi-Wan jumps on her and pins her in his grip.

When the mandalorian taps out Obi-Wan loses his grip on her and extends a hand which she grips hard.

“Want to go again?” He bears his teeth into a grin.

The fight didn't help his restlessness at all. It's actually made it worse. He wants to deflect bullets firing at him with the saber. He wants to run till his lungs hurt and he can’t catch his breath. He wants to fight till he can’t stand.

“No, thanks. I’m sure someone else would like to though.” She points behind her where more mandalorians are looking at him. Some are already weaponless and ready to fight.

Obi-wan smiles.

“Oh. He’s feral.” He hears a familiar voice behind him, which leads him to Jango. Jango who is leaning on Myles with his helmet on so Obi-Wan can’t tell what he's feeling.

….

 

There's a knock on Jaster’s door.

“Yes?” He calls to whoever's behind his door.

"Hey, uh…” Myles starts as he cracks the thing ajar. “There's an issue involving Jango, and I was told to get you." He says, head poking through the office door.

"What issue?" Jaster sighs.

It’s always Jango.

"The– his arm– It's stuck in a dummy kind? The rookies shadowing Ben are laughing their asses off because he decided to oversee Ben’s spars only to get riled up and punched a dummy to show off how strong he is. No way is he ever living this down.” He grins.

"… Yes, I'll be there in a second." Jaster groans into his hands before leaving the office behind.

….

The armourer finds him the following afternoon in the smaller library in the palace since Obi-Wan has yet to venture out by himself outside of the fortress and the few mandalorians he’s befriended have yet to show their faces for the day.

“Come.” They say, “You have yet to paint and fit your armour.” They don’t wait for him to follow as they go, Obi-Wan has to jog to keep up with their long legs and fast pace.

“But– I’m not–” He chokes out.

“Hush verd’ika. It is your right.” They wave him off, their pace speeding up even more only for Obi-Wan to have to catch up.

Chapter 5: Cats in the bag

Notes:

Hello! Sorry for the radio silence, but turns out law school hurts my brain on top of a 40-hour job

Anyways enjoy!!!

Chapter Text

“Raise your arm, verd’ika.” They hold out a tape measure, Obi-Wan does as they say and lets the armourer raise his arms this way and that, till Obi-Wan’s muscles strain with effort.

Obi-Wan doesn’t really know why he's here. His armour works well enough. He can comfortably sleep and fight in it. While the aircon is broken and he has no ammo left in his pouches the suit of armour still works well.

The armourer hums, taking Obi-Wan out of his thoughts as he zones out.

“Where did you get the armour from, verd’ika? Other than from Kyr’stad.”

“I slayed the wearer.” He admits to them.

The armourer makes a noise, something small and chocked.

“And did they deserve to march on?” It's a convoluted question.

After all, Obi-Wan doesn’t think a person like Tor would deserve to march on and not rot in hell like he expects of mandalorian views on those no longer mandalorian..

“I’m not mandalorian. It's not up to me to decide that.” He says instead.

“And yet you have mandokar. That makes you mando’ad.” They pick out tubs of paint from a drawer unit. There's different shades of pinks and purples while they gather even more colours till the table is filled with all kinds of shades and hues of paint.

“I don’t know what the colours even mean.” He admits to them.

To him, the colours help him differentiate the mandalorians with their buckets on and nothing else.

“Then it is my duty to teach you.”

 

…

Ben looks good in his new paint.

The vibrant orange of his bes’marbur and shar’tas makes the blue of his eyes stand out even more than it did before. Its coppery tones merge into one with his long hair while the green hal’cabur and ka’rta beskar make his shoulders seem broader than before. Where before he looked malnourished, now he just looks like one of the acrobats performing in the square on festivals, leathe and skinny but not to the point of unhealthyness that Ben used to exude.

Ben looks like he fits into his own skin now, and it makes Jango smile with comfort knowing the Haat’ade were able to do that for him.

“You know, if you work out you might stop being so skinny.” Jango says. There's a plethora of emotions in his chest but all that comes out of his mouth are quips and teases.

“I do work out.” Obi-Wan grumbles with a smile matching Jango’s.

They're on their way to the shooting range for once instead of the fighting mats as they travel through the fortress and onto the courtyard yard they pass the some mandalorians sparing as well as the archery bit of the yard, heading straight for the shooting range.

This side of the courtyard is quite bare, with a few droid dummies and a few shooting ranges; it's not much compared to the amount of space Obi-Wan had on Melida/Daan to practice.

But it's enough.

Jango’s the one to pick up a weapon first; it's a pistol on the bigger side. He steadies himself and shoots.

He shoots at a few dummy droids as they do a basic rotation around the course. He scrapes a few of them with only hitting the middle of their targets twice.

Jango curses.

“What's that look for? You think you can do better?” Jango jabs when he sees the smile on Obi-Wan's face.

“I bet I can, dear.” He grins; it's feral.

Obi-Wan picks up a sniper rifle; it's slightly too big on him, but most weapons are, so it's not a surprise when this one is as well. It's black with red accents but Obi-Wan tries to pay the colour meanings no mind as he settles into a comfortable position and shoots.

The droid dummies all light up with perfect shots, yellow lights blinking in Obi-Wan’s success.

Jango might be in love.
…

"Aren't you supposed to be busy?" Asks Kal, catching up to walk beside Jaster as they walk in the direction of the library. "I'm busy avoiding what I'm supposed to be doing." Jaster nods back to him in acknowledgement. “Which is?” “Paperwork.” Jaster groans as they hear a commotion coming from inside the library. “--If you punch someone for being rude to me again, I swear—” Comes out a young voice.

“—they deserved it.” Comes out a voice that Jaster would know anywhere.

Jango.

“No, they didn’t, you dikut.”

He and Kal speed up to reach the library only to witness Jango sulking while lying down on the ground with Ben sitting on top of his back and bashing a fist into Jango's helmet any time he disagreed with Ben’s verdict.

“Boys. What's going on here?”

“Nothing.” Ben gets up as if his shebs were on fire, caught doing something he shouldn’t have been while Jango lazes around on the ground as if nothing happened.

“Ben’s too kind, Jas’buir.” Jango moans. “Hi, Kal.” He adds as an afterthought.

…

It starts with shoulder-friendly bumps. Similar to what Quin would do on the occasion, the two of them were walking side by side. Annoying in that friendly way of his. But unlike with Quin, Jango does it constantly.

T-visor caught staring at Obi-Wan as they walked from one place to another or eating in the cantina.

"Why do you look so... lumpy?" Obi-Wan asks. They’re on their way back from the city, Obi-Wan having gone to the city’s library while Jango and Miles have wandered the streets like the hooligans they were, finally meeting up later in the evening to head back to the fortress.

"I don't think you can ask that kind of thing.” He says while Myles snorts in the background.

"You know what I mean."

"Are you calling me fat--" Jango makes an offended gasp as ammunition falls out from under his chest plate.

They all stop as hundreds of bullets start falling in different directions from under his armour. Jango curses his luck and bends down to pick them up only for the riffle hes been hiding to become visible from under his chest plate.

"I might have gained some weight." He stresses.

Notes:

Thank you for reading!

Comments are greatly appreciated they give me life <3

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