Scorn to Change My State With Kings - SomeoneToCarryYou - Star Wars (2024)

Chapter 1: I'm Swearing in the Rain...Just Swearing in the Rain

Chapter Text

“I am not a bad parent, I am not a bad parent, I am not a bad parent,” Jango chanted desperately to himself as he broke the speed limit rushing towards the public library. He’d had a fight tonight, a big one with a lot of money riding on it, and had completely forgotten the usual babysitter had said she’d be unavailable.

He’d left early in the evening to go warm up, expecting the sitter to arrive moments after he departed to keep an eye on his little gremlins. Cody, Rex, and Boba were the best things to have ever happened to him.

Cody was the eldest, all practical responsibility and dedication, a natural leader even though he was only nine years old. Rex was far more mischievous but bright and eager to help out. He was six years old and still struggling with reading, but kept at it with single-minded determination that rivaled Jango’s own. Boba was the baby at three years old, and a mix of both his older brothers and something unique to Boba. He’d managed to weaponize his puppy dog eyes with lethal precision.

Jango had been a professional MMA fighter for years, even before his sons had been born, and while they often extolled how proud they were of their ‘awesome superhero buir’, he had always worried he was setting a bad example for them by earning a living by punching people.

It didn’t help that it kept him away at night in addition to the hours he worked at his friend’s gym. He worked hard to provide for his beloved boys, but there was always a niggling concern he was neglecting them, with this incident seeming to prove this to be a very valid fear.

He’d won the fight: sweaty, a bit bloody, and feeling the adrenaline still when he checked his phone and noticed several missed calls and voice messages.

Most were from the house phone, primarily composed of a very calm Cody explaining that the sitter hadn’t come, and he would look after Rex and Boba. At one point he had mentioned there wasn’t much in the house he could make for dinner, still too young to use the microwave or stove alone.

Cody had decided, prompted by loud complaints by his brothers audible in the background, to walk them a few blocks over to the pizza place the family frequented. Rex helpfully chimed in that all three boys had popped the thick white plastic corks on their spaceship piggy banks and Rex had double checked they’d have enough for three plain slices.

However, what the boys didn’t realize was, about halfway through the fight a terrible rainstorm had hit the area,which meant the boys would have been alone and outside walking when the intense rain and winds started.

The next voice mail came from an unfamiliar number. A warm, soft spoken man’s voice with a crisp accent who introduced himself as Obi Wan Kenobi, the head children’s librarian at the public library.

“I was closing up for the night when your sons arrived at the front doors. I’ve met them before when the school brings the students over for trips. They explained the situation, and that you might be unavailable for a bit due to work. I don’t want to bring them somewhere else, wouldn’t want to be improper, so I am going to stay here with these fine young gentlemen.”

There was a cheer from Rex, ‘Mr. Kenobi called us GENTLEMEN!” he crowed proudly. Mr. Kenobi chuckled fondly.

“I’m going to keep the front doors locked, don’t want any other unexpected visitors, so please call when you arrive and I shall unlock them. Until then, I have promised the gentlemen a viewing of our finest dinosaur movies and the best that the vending machine in the student study lounge can offer. My phone number is….” Jango had tuned out briefly, even as his fingers instinctively added the phone number to his contacts.

“Here, let me put the gentlemen on for you,” Obi Wan had said kindly, the shuffling sound of a cell phone changing hands before Cody came on. ‘Hi Buir! I am really sorry I couldn’t get dinner for everyone but the rain got really, really bad and I was scared we’d get blown away. I saw the lights on in the library and remembered Mr. Kenobi worked here and was really, really, really nice. He’s gonna let us watch The Land Before Time. I’m sorry, Buri,’ Cody rambled, starting euphoric and ending in a voice that seemed to choke back tears.

“Now, now dear one. I am sure your parent is very proud that you knew to find shetler and went somewhere you knew and found a person you knew. You took good care of your brothers,” the librarian had comforted Cody, a bit distant from the speaker. Rex came on, repeating the same report, and Boba made pleased wordless sounds around a twinkie.

Jango’s car slid into the all but empty parking lot, save an aged but well cared for Volkswagen. He hit call for the stranger’s contact information and the call connected instantly. “Open the doors please,” Jango insisted, without bothering to greet the man, running through the heavy downpour for the sliding glass doors, ready to pry them apart if they didn’t open fast enough.

Thankfully they slid open easily, unlocked, and Jango, looking like a literal wet disaster, was face to face with the librarian who’d selflessly stayed hours past closing time to care for his sons.

Obi Wan Kenobi was about his age, with brilliant copper hair, a well groomed short beard, and thin wire-rimmed oval glasses. He had the face and posture of an aristocrat, breath-takingly handsome, and well-dressed on pressed trousers, a white button up collared shirt, and a thick white and blue sweater vest.

In short, he was gorgeous, well-dressed, and if Jango hadn’t already been panting a bit from running in the rain, he was quite sure the librarian would have taken his breath away.

The man tucked a cell phone into his pocket but made no move to show him where the boys were. “Excuse me, but I am going to have to see some ID before I let the boys go anywhere with you,” Mr. Kenobi said firmly but politely. Jango absently appreciated the protectiveness benign displayed to his kids as he struggled to yank his wallet out of his coat pocket. Laminated photos of the boys rolled out next to his driver’s license.

Obi Wan nodded with a smile and handed it back, gesturing to a corner of the children’s library section with a white screen for movies and several colorful pieces of child-sized furniture scattered about.

The boys were piled together in an enormous teal bean bag chair, with three colorful knit blankets over them and the credits of a movie quietly rolling on screen. The little low table nearby had a pile of plastic food wrappers, and several DVD cases. A rolling cart with a projector sat on the other side of the table, illuminating the otherwise dark room.

Jango felt a smile carve its way across his face at how adorable the boys looked all snuggled together. He kneeled down, fingers brushing through Cody and Rex’s short curls. Cody had inherited his dark curly hair, but Rex had somehow managed to have the exact same curls in shocking blond. “Ade…wake up, Ade….it’s Buir,’ he murmured softly.

Their eyes fluttered open and he was rewarded with two sleepy smiles and hugs as the older boys nuzzled into his shoulders. “Hi Buir, missed you,” Cody mumbled softly. Jango pressed a gentle kiss on both of their temples. “I issued you too. But it’s time to go home now ok. Do you think you two can walk to the truck so I can carry Boba?” he asked softly. Cody and Rex nodded, stretching and rubbing the sleep from their eyes as Jango scooped up the youngest.

“Thank you Mr. Kenobi,”Cody murmured, accepting the backpack he’d been wearing with him when they’d stumbled into the library. “My pleasure, young man. Do let me know what you think of the books,” Mr. Kenobi smiled. He got a hug on his legs from a sleepy Rex who said something that might have been a thank you into the slate gray trousers.

Obi Wan laughed quietly, running his fingers through blond curls. Jango’s mind raced for words to explain, to thank him, but had nothing now that the panic and adrenaline had given way to exhaustion and relief. He shook the librarian’s hand. “I swear there’s a good explanation, I’ll come back and explain, but thank you from the bottom of my heart. Vor entye.”

Obi Wan continued to smile as he walked them to the door. “It’s no trouble. You have lovely children. I hope you get home safely.” Jango nodded tiredly at the doors, “Vor entye,” he repeated, slipping back into his first tongue in his exhaustion.

“Ne’entye,” Obi Wan replied quietly, “Ret’urcye mhi”, and with a final wave to the exhausted family, the handsome man walked back into the mostly darkened library presumably to begin cleaning up.

Part of Jango, the part nurtured by his father Jaster, which spoke of duty, honor, and responsibility, was disappointed in himself for leaving Obi Wan to clean everything up alone. But Jango was a father first and foremost, and his sons needed proper sleep in their proper beds. They had the usual breakfast at his father’s house tomorrow, and Jango promised himself he’d find a way to thank Obi Wan later.

He lifted the boys into the truck after buckling Boba into his car seat, and headed home to their house, and tucked each boy in their bed. It wasn’t until Jango himself, showered and changed into sleep pants, climbed into his own bed that what the librarian said clicked in his head.

He popped up, wide awake for a moment, with a bolt of shock and arousal shooting up his spine as he replayed the conversation in his head. “Holy sh*t, he knows Mando’a!”

Chapter 2: Drama and Adoption

Chapter Text

Getting the boys up and dressed was no mean feat, but with the promise of sinfully sweet syrup amid mountains of pancakes, waffles, and bowls of fresh fruit, it was accomplishable.

Every weekend brought breakfast outside of town at the farmhouse Jaster had raised Jango and his siblings in, though the gathering often included aunts, uncles, cousins, family friends, and anyone walking too slowly nearby that Jaster could gently kidnap and feed. (Not kidding, that’s how the nice lady who ran a hobby store in town ended up their Aunt Phoebe, though the woman was not actually anyone’s aunt and funnily enough, was not actually named Phoebe, as they had discovered at her funeral.)

God, he missed Aunt Phoebe.

He unleashed his children upon the farm animals and his father, making his way inside to greet the man who’d adopted him as a surly nine year old alongside his older sister Arla. Jaster gave him an iron-strong hug before dashing back to add brown sugar to the bacon. He may or may not have been wearing a lavender ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron.

Arla offered a fist bump, clearly on at least her third cup of coffee since she appeared to be approaching functionality. Her boys were outside with his monsters,running around in the bright morning air. Kix, Fox, Wolffe, and Wooley were of staggered ages, each with dark curls and amber eyes. Trouble, just like their mother.

“You get in first?” he offered, stealing an apple off the massive wooden dining table that faced out to a big picture window of the backyard. He was at least attempting a little supervision of the chaos the cousins got up to together. Arla blinked slowly, not answering till she’d already refilled her mug.

Said mug proudly declared: “I <3 Me” and had served her all throughout high school and for each family breakfast.

“Nah, Alpha beat me,” Arla drawled, gesturing vaguely toward the staircase. Jaster had adopted Arla and Jango first, but Alpha had been older when he was adopted, and their youngest was Din, who was chronologically younger and had been adopted last.

As if summoned, their older brother made his way down the stairs, stealing the coffee pot to refill his own mug from the counter, which in a similarly accurate portrayal of the owner, declared: “I do not people well”. Alpha had always been introverted, and had a rough life from well before Jaster found him. He’d never been a talker, but showed his love in quiet easy-to-miss actions. Like Jaster, he’d enlisted right out of high school and ended up in some top secret military unit.

It had been hell on the family when he was taken as a prisoner of war for two years, and had come back even quieter and jumpier. He’d decided to move back in with Jaster while using his military time to pay for a college degree (no one was 100% sure what he was studying, the classes he chose all seemed random) and worked managing a gym catering to retired vets and fighters with an old unit friend.

Din, in contrast, had lost his parents when they’d been brutally murdered during a B and E, and had wound up in a cult until he’d broken a rule about showing his face and been thrown out. Jaster had gotten a call from an old friend in the system and had swooped in immediately, ink still wet on the papers.

Alpha was quiet like a predator, watching, waiting, and angry. Like some big jungle cat from the Discovery channel. Din was quiet like a shadow, like he was being hunted. Surprisingly, Alpha had taken to Din immediately, and become incredibly protective of the youngest.

It helped that the cult was very militaristic and Din had been learning various forms of arms and unarmed combat since the cult took him in, admittedly saving him that night. Alpha understood fighting and violence, and the two seemed to have whole conversations when sparring, without speaking a word, that left both feeling better.

Speaking of, Din came in the back door, his own adopted son Grogu grinning and gurgling in delight. He’d found the boy abandoned near the garage where he worked one night, and had felt completed to protect and love him. Jaster’s genes, it seemed, were infectious.

Alpha actually smiled, a rare occurrence, as he took Grogu in his arms and began rocking him, to the little one’s clear delight. He even endured the baby taking fistfuls of his beard and tugging. Miracles.

“Are we expecting the Havoc crew?” Din asked softly, still unused to speaking often. Arla frowned, glancing at the calendar. “Yeah. Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair, and little Omega should all be here.”

That was interesting, Jango sensed a bit of gossip. “No Echo?”

All four adopted brothers had a joint boyfriend named Echo, please don’t ask Jango how that all worked out, he had no clue. But they seemed very happy. Echo was former special ops, and had lost both legs and an arm in the war. He lived with the appropriately named Havocs and helped raise their adopted daughter Omega.

She was clearly adopted, because until her fathers (excluding Echo) she was capable of being polite and had at least basic table manners. Well, partially adopted. She was Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, and Crosshair’s half sister they’d rescued from a horrible home life after discovering her existence.

Really, if you needed to summarize Jango’s family in two words it would be: drama and adoption. The Fetts were big on it, though in fairness, most of the family was of Mando’ade descent, and both of those things were also very Mando.

“Nope, I think Echo is still gone. Apparently Crosshair, in usual Crosshair fashion, said something so damn mean that Echo temporarily moved out and back in with his twin brother Fives. He said he’d be gone at least two weeks, and no one but Omega had permission to contact him,” Arla dishes, eyeing the big truck that pulls up with aforementioned cousins in it.

Little blonde Omega bursts out and tackles the nearest cousin in glee, while her guardians and older brothers move toward the door more sedately, but making sure to shoulder check Crosshair as they do.

“But Echo knows how Crosshair is, and he knows he’s just an asshole,” Jango argued. He loved his cousins but seriously.

“Exactly, so how bad of a thing did he say to make Echo leave?” Alpha challenges, at some point having acquired a bottle to feed Grogu. Din worries his lip and secures his own mug of coffee, painted with the words “Be nice to the baby” which the mustachioed man often protested. “He’ll come back though, right?”

Din and Echo were both very mellow and laid back, as opposed to the assertive, argumentative, and downright loud chaos brought on by pretty much every other member of the family. They had a bond of being the only calm in the eyes of the storm, so to speak.

“If he does not,” Tech offered as he fixed his glasses and made his way into the big kitchen, “I shall be burying Crosshair in the yard, six feet deep,” the tech wizard declared primly and without holding the door for any of his brothers.

“Will he be alive or dead when you bury him?” Arla teased, as Jaster made his way in with the eggs and bacon. “Yes,” Tech nodded. “Alright, enough talk of murder at my table. At least no murder of family members anyway. Everyone, food time!” Jaster bellowed, summoning the kids and everyone still in the yard.

If Crosshair, who seemed more snarly than usual, got the one chair with uneven legs, then no one talked about it.

The family tore through the food, in between catching up. Jango hopped to avoid his fun Friday night but then poor Rex had to open his mouth and regale everyone with how amazing and wonderful Mr. Kenobi was, and how awesome it was they got to watch Land Before Time together in the library alone.

His siblings traded an evil glance that said they’d wait till the little ones were playing again and it was quieter before teasing him relentlessly. Ah, the joys of family. Sure enough as the adults took turns cleaning up the kitchen so Grandpa Jaster could chase his myriad of grandchildren about the yard, Arla brought it up.

“So, you forget the kids, and they stumble into the cashmere sweater arms of a hot librarian who adores and is protective of children. Where and when did you decide to live a romance novel? And is it by Nora Roberts?” she taunted, scrubbing at the glass serving platter.

“I did not forget the kids. I forgot the babysitter,” Jango snapped. “And I wasn’t expecting Captain Sweatervest to speak Mando’a, that’s all! I never said he was hot.”

“But he was hot, I mean, wasn’t he?” Hunter teased, wiping down the table. “That is entirely irrelevant!” Jango tried, only for Wrecker to ‘oooooh’ dramatically in response.

“Leave me alone, I already feel like a bad parent for the situation anyway. Gods know how much danger they could have been in the whole night, with me, stupidly unreachable the whole damned time,” Jango grumbled, surprised when Alpha was the one to speak up and reassure him.

“You said it was a librarian who knew Mando’a named Kenobi? That’s probably Obi Wan then. You had nothing to worry about, vod. Your kids were safer with him than pretty much anyone else on the planet,” Alpha chimed in.

“You know Jango’s librarian?” Din asked in surprise.

“He's NOT my librarian, dikut!” Jango muttered, elbowing his youngest brother. But gently. If anyone actually hurt Din they’d be dealing with Alpha, and he bites.

“Yeah I know Jango’s librarian,” Alpha nodded, and great, that was a thing now. “Obi Wan is my best friend,” he added simply, prompting everyone in the room to pause. “You…you have friends?” Wrecker asked, bluntly voicing the thought they’d all had. It was a fair question: Alpha never went out, never shared stories, never brought anyone by.

Thankfully Alpha wasn’t offended and shrugged. “Sure. Obi was in my unit with me, we go way back.” And that was one mental leap too far for Jango. “Captain Sweatervest, the children’s librarian, with the post accent, served in the same top secret ‘I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you’ special ops unit as you?!”

The rest of the room's occupants had stopped their own tasks, equally intrigued. “Nah,” Alpha began with a sharp smirk. “He didn’t serve alongside me. He commanded the whole unit.”

This did not compute. Jango was off line.

“So, he’s hot, he speaks Mando’a, he’s good with kids, he’s well dressed, has a good paying job, and he can kill a man with a hair brush,” Arla ticked off. “Conclusion…”

And for this, all the adults in the room were in chorus : “You’re f*cked!” they cackled. And Jango….Jango was still offline.

Chapter 3: Be Nice to Baby

Chapter Text

When Jaster had gotten calls from the school, it usually implied several parties would soon have or already had, splitting migraines. Usually it meant a school yard fight, which one of Jaster’s kids had clearly won, or someone had smarted off to the teacher, which was at least half of the time well deserved.

The school did not like to speak of what later came to be known as the Arla Fett Bra Strap Incident. There had been many, many casualties. Heads had rolled. To this day, thinking of it brought a sharp, proud smile to Jaster’s face.

Thankfully for Jango’s sake, his boys were either too young or too good at hiding their trouble at school. Maybe they even genuinely liked school, as little Din had. When the school called Jaster this afternoon, as Jango had made it clear he usually had training during the day and was unreachable, it was just to ask for a meeting about Rex’s reading difficulties.

Jaster promised a guardian would arrive at the end of the school day to discuss the matter with the lovely and serene-sounding Ms. Ti, before firing off a text to Jango explaining the situation, and calling the main phone number to the gym Alpha helped manage to have someone tell his son to check his texts.

It was a slightly complex system but for the most part it worked out well. Jaster would have preferred his son take up a less physically demanding, physically damaging profession, but getting that stubborn ad to change his mind was like drawing water from stone.

‘Thanks buir. I will be there.’

___________________________________________

Jango swung by the nursery school to get Boba, who was lightly dusted in glitter and happily munching on a multi-grain bar. When asked about his day, and whatever glittery mayhem it had entailed, the boy’s simple and solemn response had been : “Bubbles”.

He crossed the street with Boba to the elementary school and gathered Cody and Rex before heading inside to meet with Ms. Ti. Jango admired the teacher for the unflappable calm she exuded despite teaching a classroom of highly energized human tornados all day. Not only that, but her room was neat as a pin when his family arrived shortly after dismissal.

He encouraged the boys to head to the back of the room by the coat closet, where a proud Rex began explaining what he’d learned that day to his somewhat disinterested brothers, while he settled into an absurdly tiny plastic chair. The only consultation was Ms. Shaak Ti was also in a tiny chair.

“Good afternoon Mr. Fett, and thank you for coming in. I want to assure you, Rex is in no way in any kind of trouble. In fact, he is a very helpful and conscientious student,” Ms. Ti encouraged, pulling out a green folder with his son’s name on it.

She passed him several papers with scores noted on them, though the format didn’t make much sense to Jango and he was loath to admit it. He had a tough time of it at school when he was a student, and got a bit defensive and claustrophobic in situations like this, the urge to protect and defend his ade overwhelming.

“So what exactly does this all mean?” he asked, gruffer than intended. Ms. Ti thankfully took it in stride, offering only a smile. “We know Rex is challenged by reading, which is impacting his other scores. He’s seen the in-school specialist who does not think he shows any hallmarks of a learning disability, but I am worried. I wanted to recommend a reading program run by a dear friend at the local library.”

She slid him a colorful pamphlet with a program: Reader’s Circle!, highlighted alongside the days and times. “It’s free and most of the kids who go really enjoy it. Largely it’s just increased exposure to reading in a small group setting, and my friend has some tips he likes to share with the kids for overcoming difficulties.”

Exposure. sh*t. Jango himself had never fallen in love with reading, not like his buir Jaster, or vod Din. Even Alpha had developed a soft spot for historical works, usually something along the lines of ‘Killing Pablo Escobar: The True Story’ or ‘Legends of the French Forgien Legion”.

But Rex had probably never seen his buir pick up a book, and while he’d read them bedtime stories, the plot of Hungry, Hungry Caterpillar did not exactly qualify as stincilating youth literature.

“Has it worked before? For other kids, I mean?” he asked, thumbing the clipart smiling book at the bottom of the pamphlet page. His Rex was so smart, and so curious. He didn’t want him to hate school like Jango did, and he dreamed his boys would go much further in life than their buir.

“Absolutely. One of my former students, Ahsoka, actually volunteers in the program now as it meant so much to her. And my friend, Mr. Kenobi, well he is a wizard with troubled readers.”

Kenobi. sh*t.

Like a magic word, the boys scrambled over when they heard the name of their new favorite person. “Are we gonna see Mr. Kenobi, buir?!” Rex demanded, bouncing a bit in place.

“Yeah! I want more books! On space this time!” Cody added, and Boba just seemed content to match Rex’s bouncing. Surely the universe was laughing at him. But he’d endure more than teasing from his family and his own embarrassment if it meant it helped Rex.

He offered Ms. Ti a smile, and found her smiling fondly at Rex. His own teacher’s had never looked at him like that. He’d been scowled at and labeled a problem not worth anyone’s time or effort. Jaster was right, he needed to get better at leaving the past in the past and not allowing it to affect how he raised the boys. His teachers were not Rex’s teachers.

“Thank you for your support. I think we will be signing up for Mr. Kenobi’s reading circle, then,” the weary but hopeful father offered alongside a handshake. Ms. Ti happily shook her hand and offered him good luck and a good day.

______________________________________

While the boys were disappointed they weren’t going to the library right this minute, he mollified them with snacks and a little tv before homework. After all, he couldn’t see Captain Sweater Vest again empty handed, he still owed him for looking after the boys.

What did you get a librarian as a thank you?

The obvious answer seemed to be: a book. But that seemed awfully presumptuous. He didn’t know what Kenobi liked to read, and if he liked to read it, there was a good chance he already owned it.

To the usual Mando options of gift-giving then. Not booze, it felt somehow morally wrong to bring alcohol into a library. Like wearing a leather mini-skirt to church or something. Not weapons, he wasn’t proposing or anything. Offering manual labor also seemed odd in these circ*mstances. What was he going to do, reshelf books incorrectly? It’s not like he knew the Dewey Decibel or whatever system.

Food. The only option left was food. Something that could be wrapped up so as not to repopulate the library with crumbs and ants. General course now decided upon, the second nearly equally demanding task was figuring out what food to make.
“Alright boys, switch to homework!” he called out, digging around the counter for his cellphone. He got a chorus of groans, but since it was followed by the click of the tv turning off and the rustle of papers, it felt safe to say they were doing as told.

Even Boba had homework. Granted, it was coloring homework, but still. What a world.

Jango sent off a group text to his sibling chat and prayed under a healthy layer of them mocking his pain, he might get one or two actual suggestions.

To: Vod Talk / From: Jango : ‘Need to thank Cpt. Sweater Vest for impromptu babysitting and have settled on food. Suggestions?’

To Vod Talk/ From: Arla Evil : ‘Sure you aren’t just trying to court this librarian of yours??? HMMMMM??’

To Vod Talk/ From: Jango: ‘Be helpful or perish’

To Vod Talk/ From: Din-ner Bell: ‘Like food-food or like baked goods food?’

To Vod Talk/ From: Jango: ‘Thank you for an actually helpful contribution DIN. Either works’

To Vod Talk/ From: Din-ner Bell: ‘Grogu loves your blueberry cobbler’

To Vod Talk/ From: Arla Evil: ‘No offense Din, but ur kid has also tried to eat frogs. Like live frogs. From the pond in the park. Idk if you wanna trust his taste.’

To Vod Talk/ From: Din-ner Bell: ‘I’m sorry. I was trying to help but I guess you are right. Sorry’

To Vod Talk/ From Jango: ‘Now you’ve done it. You made the baby sad and now Alpha’s gonna kill you.’

To Vod Talk/ From: Arla Evil: ‘sh*t WAIT NO DIN IM SORRY’

To Vod Talk/From: Jango: ‘Looks like you got lucky and Alpha didn’t check his phone. Usually making Din sad is a death sentence.’

To Vod Talk/ From: Alpha : ‘Who made Din sad? Say goodbye to your knee caps, motherf*cker’

To Vod Talk/ From: Din-ner Bell: ‘No. It’s ok, I gave an unhelpful suggestion, it’s my fault. Sorry.’

To Vod Talk/ From: Jango: ‘Whelp nice knowing you vod.’

To Vod Talk/ From: Arla Evil: ‘sh*t IM SORRY’

To Vod Talk/ From: Alpha: ‘Too late. You know the rules. Be nice to the baby.’

To Vod Talk/ From: Din-ner Bell: ‘I’m not a baby you know. I’m a grown man. I vote. I pay taxes. I have a son.’

To Vod Talk/ From: Arla Evil: ‘I DIDNT MEAN TO UPSET BABY IT WA S A JOKEE’

To Vod Talk/ From: Arla Evil: ‘IS THAT YOU OUTSIDE MY WINDOW?!? IM ON THE FOURTH FLOOR?!’

To Vod Talk/ From: Din-ner Bell: ‘Wait did I pay my taxes this year?’

To Vod Talk/ From: Alpha: ‘Surprise motherf*cker’

To Vod Talk/ From Alpha: ‘Make your spiced rolls. Obi eats spice like a Mando.’

Well, a fairly productive conversation with his siblings, all things considered. He let the text tone ring out a few more times as he got out the ingredients to make spiced rolls and presumably missed Arla’s last words upon this earth. It was probably a meme of some sort.

Jango opened the chat to check quickly as he rummaged for the dried fruits he’d need to stuff the rolls with. Yep, her last words were a meme. Ah well.

He turned his thoughts to the strange and perhaps slightly attractive librarian again as he began to roll out the dough. He could admit, if only in the privacy of his own mind, that Kenobi was everything a good Mando looked for in a partner.

Granted, he didn’t know the man well yet, but what he did see was promising. An honest man, who adored children not even his own. A man who had protected his kids and kept them calm and happy in a frightening situation, who had not once offered judgment on Jango for allowing his boys to become lost, alone, in the rain.

He clearly ran reading workshops for struggling young readers, and was invested in helping more than just by recommending books. Not to mention the man was also apparently a veteran who’d served alongside Alpha. Manda only knew what kinds of missions he’d taken part in, the quiet heroism and terrible burdens he bore. Scars that ran deep into your soul, like fissures in the earth.

Jango had seen only the faint echoes of those scars in Alpha, Jaster, and Echo, but even in the silence around them they were deafening in their severity and left shadows in their minds and carved deep beneath their eyes.

A warrior. A protector. An educator. All dressed in soft fancy clothes and a posh accent. Kenobi was a terrifyingly complex and attractive enigma. And as Jango let the spiced buns cool atop the stove before he added the sugary icing on top, he could admit for the first time in years he was desperate to unravel a person and really understand them.

He was knocked out of his musings by a tug on his shirt. “Buir, are those for us? Or for Mr. Kenobi?” Cody inquired, a closed math workbook under his arm. “Some for us, but mostly for Mr. Kenobi,” Jango murmured as he separated three out for his ade and left the rest for the librarian. It was still pretty early, he noted, glancing at the time on the wall.

“Want to go give these to him to say thank you?”

_________________________________

Obi Wan had been having a pretty quiet day all things considered. Most of his days were quiet since he retired, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Anakin had been convinced he’d go mad without the constant adrenaline, but so far he’d proven his younger brother wildly incorrect.

Obi Wan had a garden now, carefully tended and bright with color. He had learned to knit and to crochet, not terribly well mind you, but it was a start. He spent his days happily listening to small children retell their favorite stories, to reshelf colorful books, and run after school programs that filled the room with loud laughter.
It was a good kind of quiet.

The most excitement he’d had was a few days ago when the storm had nearly blown the power out, and had blown three little boys into the lobby as he locked up for the night. He’d recognized Cody Fett right away, a bright young man who loved to learn, and had subsequently been introduced to his younger brothers.

He’d been a bit panicked about getting in contact with their parent, but otherwise had fun watching a classic movie with them and sneaking snacks from the vending machine. The evening had peaked with the incredibly handsome and fit Mando man who had rushed in to collect his boys.

Mr. Fett was a little older than Obi, maybe a couple of years, with striking hazel eyes, lovely dark curls, and a fighter’s physique. What had really proven attractive was how gentle and sweet he’d been with his sons. It didn’t matter that he’d been a touch short with Obi Wan, clearly the man was distraught.

In the back of his mind he entertained the fantasy that the lovely stranger would return and somehow be attracted to him. Nerdy, dorky, high strung Obi Wan, who blurted out random trivia when he got nervous, and crochet misshapen scarves behind his desk. Obi Wan who couldn’t touch bugs without falling into a flashback.

Yeah, real date-worthy material right there.

He let the fantasy of a stranger who understood him perfectly, and wanted to understand him, play out in his head, but when push comes to shove a fantasy was all it was. There wouldn’t ever be anyone to make pancakes with on Sunday morning and slow dance in the kitchen with.

It was getting into the evening and he was just going to finish one last row of a blue, yellow, white, and red scarf for his friend Plo when the doors opened and cool burst if air carried in a warm smell that made his mouth water.

He set the scarf down and looked up with a smile already on his face, only to be startled by the sight of Mr. Fett sheepishly offering a tin of what looked like spiced buns. “Oh my!” was all he could offer, before a pleased little grin made its way across his face.

“Mr. Kenobi! Mr. Kenobi! Buir made his special spiced buns for you!” Cody explained eagerly, pointing to the tin. “Buir makes the best buns!” Rex agreed, trying to lift Boba up so he too could see Obi Wan. “Best buns!” Boba echoed, clapping.
“I wanted to say thank you, for looking after the boys. There had been a miscommunication with their babysitter, and well - anyway- thank you,” Mr. Fett explained quietly, a bit of a blush darkening his face.

Obi Wan had to check himself to not shake when he accepted the tin, praying to the little gods near and far he wasn’t doing his best impression of a cherry tomato. Discreetly, he tried to pinch his wrist to make sure he hadn’t dozed off and let his fantasies get the best of him.

“Did you just pinch yourself?” Jango asked, then looked embarrassed, as though he hadn’t meant to verbalize the question. Well, if Obi hadn’t been blushing before he certainly was now.

“Oh..um..well. Yes. I just, uh, I really love spiced buns?” he offered lamely, hating the way his skin felt hot under his beard. For the love of the gods, he’d faced torture without cracking but a hot guy bringing him food left the special ops commander a flustered babbling fool?

“Oh, good. Uh…right. My brother said you liked spice. So they’re…you know. Spicy,” Mr. Fett offered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, my brother, his name is Alpha. He said you were friends. Best friends.” Mr. Fett rambled slightly.

“Oh! Yes, Al and I go way back. We just went to a sip and paint night last Tuesday,” Obi Wan offered, then winced slightly at the evil grin that temporarily curled across the other man’s face.

“Do all grown ups say ‘oh’ before they talk?” Rex loudly whispered to Cody, who could only shrug in reply. “Mr. Kenobi! My teacher said I should join your reader club thing-y,” Rex added, addressing the librarian again.

“We’d love to have you Rex,” he replied warmly. “We usually meet Mondays and Thursdays. You can bring a book from home, or you can use any of our books here.” Obi Wan relaxed and felt much more confident discussing things related to work than with his personal life.

He turned and smiled at Rex’s father and hoped the blush had faded at least a little. “I’ll see you Thursday afternoon then, Mr. Fett. And thank you for the buns, you didn’t need to make them but I am certain I will enjoy them.”

Mr. Fett offered his own smile, which hit Obi like a punch to the solar plexus, before agreeing and ushering the boys back out the front door.

‘He’s amazing,’Obi Wan thought to himself as he stole a bite from one of the sinfully delicious buns. ‘And I am an idiot’.

________________________________

‘He’s beautiful,’ Jango thought to himself as he buckled the boys in and drove out of the parking lot. ‘And I am f*cked’.

Chapter 4: Silent Understanding, Quiet Gratitude

Chapter Text

The call came at 11:30 pm on Wednesday night, while Obi Wan was soaking in his tub. He’d got his bath kit together, practically boiling himself till the buried aches and injuries of his past life and the newer strains of his job as the library faded to a dull hum.

He had a capped glass canister for his wildly colorful collection of bath bombs he’d purschased or been given over the years for holidays and birthdays, and as he settled further into the water, he plucked up a lovey flat bath bomb in royal purple and gold tones, shaped like a lantern. As soon as the bath bomb hit the water, the wonderful combination of pomegranates, jasmine, and rose filled the air and seeped into his well-scarred skin.

Quietly in the background a narrator from his audiobook app was continuing where Obi Wan had left off in the newest novel he’d picked up: ‘The Screw Tape Letters’ by C.S. Lewis. With a moist mask slapped over his face and two cooling pads over his eyes, the former general lounged peacefully in his little slice of heaven.

It lasted a grand total of 25 minutes

Gods damn it.

The narrator’s voice stuttered and stopped as his ringtone cut in and signaled a call incoming. Obi Wan was sorely tempted to ignore it, and nearly did, till he recognized the horrific horn sound, deliberately chosen to be as obnoxious as possible to ensure Obi Wan could never miss this particular caller reaching out.

He took off the cooling eye patches, and sat up despite the chill racing over his damp skin, slapping at the counter till he clutched his phone in his fingers, answering it immediately and with a forced calm.

“Alpha,” he greeted simply, skipping the small talk that so grated on his friend’s nerves. He could hear a distant panting sound and the sound of work boots on asphalt or pavement.

“General,” came the panicked reply, a stark contrast to the unflappable calm Alpha usually exuded at all times. “General, red saber. Red saber.”

And that told Obi Wan exactly what was going on. The code word had been established after it became clear Alpha’s recalcitrance was wildly exasperated by panic attacks and left him nearly non-verbal.

Obi Wan tried to gently get his friend’s location from him, and when that failed, defaulted to the tried and true method to get Alpha to snap back to reality. “Lieutenant Colonel Mereel, sitrep NOW!” Obi Wan demanded, forcing his voice to drop back down to a commanding growl.

Alpha inhaled and shakily rattled out the address of a gas station a bit a ways away from his father’s home, indicating he was around back behind stacks of tires. Alpha had a pattern of hiding when a panic attack hit, an unconscious instinct that had led to Obi Wan relocating his friend from a number of strange hiding places over the years.

“ETA 15 minutes. Do not leave your post,” Obi Wan snapped as he faulted out of the bath, not even bothering to drain it or grab a towel. What he really wanted was to reassure and comfort his friend, promise him everything would be ok, but that wasn’t what Alpha needed right now.

He needed the certainty and familiarity of his training and the military hierarchy to guide him. In a moment of honesty, Alpha had once confessed to Obi Wan that the sharp orders helped coming from Obi Wan because Obi Wan had guided them out of treacherous danger and home safe hundreds of times with those same direct clear orders.

Obi Wan barked at Alpha to stay on the phone with him, even as Obi Wan turned on speakerphone and threw his phone into the passenger seat of his car, threatening him with latrine duty if he dared hang up.

He didn’t expect Alpha to speak, but the slowly evening cadence of his breathing through the phone brought with it some reassurance. Obi Wan drove fast, rolling through stop signs and only distantly aware of the fact water droplets kept running down his face from his auburn hair.

At last he made it to the gas station and headed for the back by the tires. He lifted a hand to a spare sheet of metal leaned against the brick wall. He rapped his knuckles against the metal to the tune of the chorus to ‘Play that Funky Music, White Boy’.

For some gods' forsaken reason, Waxer had picked that tune as a way to communicate a friendly face was approaching. It was certainly distinctive, and despite not liking the song in the least, Obi Wan found himself humming the chorus.

The chorus echoed back, tapped on hollow tires, and a shaking hand emerged from behind them to grip the former general’s. Obi Wan hauled Alpha to his feet, giving him a quick check over, before locking the taller man in a quick embrace and practically stuffing him into the car so they could head back to Obi Wan’s apartment.

They didn’t speak the whole ride, half listening to whatever was playing quietly on the radio. He took Alpha’s hand as he led him up to the comfortable apartment and all but shoved his friend to his bedroom. Automatically Alpha found the drawer full of a mix of his old clothes and a few oversized pieces of Obi Wan’s.

He tugged on grey sweatpants and a clean undershirt, followed by ridiculously purple fuzzy socks and a sweatshirt that definitely was one of Obi Wan’s. It was insanely comfortable, a dark heather color with black typewriter text declaring: “You’ve never read Fitzgerlad? You Gatsby Kidding Me!”.

What a huge dork.

Alpha smiled briefly, returning to the living room and assuming the usual position in his corner of the soft green L- shaped couch. Obi Wan gave his shoulder a brief squeeze as he headed to change out of his more than a little damp pajamas. “Everything is on the counter!” his old friend called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Gathering himself took more energy than Alpha wanted to admit, he felt like a swarm of vicious bees was under his skin, stinging and tearing as they all tried to fly away in different directions and take bits of him with them.

But the reward was too great, so shuffling along the hardwood, he dragged himself into the kitchen and found his usual mug waiting, brimming with hot chocolate and an absurd amount of whipped cream.

He began to sip slowly and settled back into his skin and bones, sitting at the kitchen table and letting himself embrace the familiarity of his surroundings. He knew every smudge and nick in the kitchen like the back of his hand. There was an uneven bit of red paint where the microwave met the wall, from when he’d decided to poke Obi in the ribs while they were repainting.

Next to the door that led to the balcony, traced in delicate pencil and under two layers of primer and two layers of dark blue paint, Alpha had carefully helped Obi copy symbols of protection, love, and health from the old and almost lost religion the man quietly practiced.

Obi Wan had complained endlessly, having attempted to do the lines over the top of the sliding glass doors from atop a wheeled bucket shaped step stool. Well, okay, he had been mostly complaining about the fact Alpha would wait till he was about to draw and then kick the stool back so Obi Wan went careerning back toward the living room.

Repeatedly.

Obi Wan re-emerged in flannel blue-green pajama bottoms, and a shirt he’d nicked from Alpha with the name of his gym on it. He’d also remembered his glasses, rectangular frames dipping slightly down his nose as he read something on his phone.

After he retrieved his own hot chocolate, Obi Wan began humming and digging ingredients and bowls out to lay them on the countertops. “I didn’t realize the father from the library was your brother Jango,” he murmured absently as he examined several lemons in the produce drawer.

“He’s bringing one of his sons, Rex, to Readers Circle tomorrow. His teacher is Shaak Ti, you remember her. She threw a softball straight through Mace’s wooden back fence on a dare and left a perfectly circular hole. Anyway, she’s concerned about his reading skills. Jango mentioned it when he came by the library with the most delectable spiced buns.”

Obi tossed the lemons at Alpha, passing along three small bowls and a peeler. “I need those lemons zested, the peeler gets bigger chunks for more flavor. When their done, squeeze out the juice please.”

Alpha happily set to work, calming further with clear instructions and the familiar flow of Obi Wan’s voice. Obi Wan was a veritable expert at respecting Alpha when he went nonverbal while still engaging him.

“I wonder what little bird told him I love spice? Hmm? But anyway, they were fantastic, and you can’t return a tray empty, so we’re making lemon cookies for him and the boys. It’s simple, and if I wasn’t so exhausted I’d try my hand at one of the Mando recipes you got me, but with Padme’s due date getting closer, poor Anakin is a wreck. He’s called every night this week sometime between two am and five am.”

While he spoke, Obi combined the butter, flour, sugar and salt. A single egg was cracked and mixed in, while Alpha rose to dump the little bright curls of lemon skin. He collected a knife to cut the lemons into large slices before squeezing them out and adding them to the bowl and taking over mixing.

“I understand you know, he’s a first time parent and neither of them were expecting twins, but he’s so cool and collected in front of everyone then becomes a blithering fool for three hours each night to me. They’ve been debating names, and Anakin hates to say no to Padme, but all the names she likes are Nabooian. Very lofty and flowery. Anakin wants to ask if they can use names from Tatooine.”

The bowl was covered in saran wrap and tucked into the fridge with a timer on the stove for an hour, and without verbal direction, both men made their way to the couch and their usual respective corners.

“The issue is, he doesn’t just want Tatooine names. He wants names to honor his mother and their ancestors. And his ancestors had been slaves on Tatooine. He’s terrified Padme will hate the idea of slave names for their kids. Or that her parents will disapprove. But that’s what happens when the son of a slave turned human rights activist marries a duch*ess and senator. Very different family backgrounds.”

Alpha nodded sagely. He could see why that would be problematic on multiple levels. Anakin was proud of his mother and their people, fiercely so. But a family of Naboo royalty might not want names connected to slavery. For them it was a harsh reminder of the dangers others faced.

There was a debate over last names as well. Padme needed her last name as part of her professional reputation. Everyone knew and feared the soft spoken Senator Padme Amidala. It would take a long time for the same regard to be instantaneously connected to the new Padme Skywalker. And Anakin had completely understood, wanting to keep his last name as a connection to the family he’d lost before his birth in the desert nation to the far south.

So what last name did the kids take?

When the timer went off, both men rose and set about baking the dough, churning out plenty of buttery golden cookies packed with lemon flavor. It wasn’t spicy, but what many didn’t know was that any powerful kind of taste was favorable.

Obi packed most of them away in Jango’s container with a slice of bread to keep them soft overnight, while loading most of the others into a gallon sized ziplock and another piece of bread. He wrote Alpha’s name in big, bold letters and left it on the counter.

‘Staying here tonight?’ Obi Wan signed to Alpha, noting the late hour on the clock over the stove. ‘Yes’, Alpha signed back. ‘Tired’. With a nod, Obi Wan opened the large black leather ottoman and unearthed freshly laundered blankets and pillows. Alpha got comfortable on the couch and began to drift off.

Safe. Obi Wan was safe. And no matter how unsafe Alpha felt, with memories from the war and his captivity clawing at his mind, his general was safe and brought understanding and comfort to any dark place Alpha found himself in.

Gratitude simmered warmly in his heart, this was his best friend.

Chapter 5: Lemon Cookies and Finger Guns

Chapter Text

When the morning dawned it found the two friends enjoying pancakes for breakfast before Obi Wan drove Alpha back to Jaster’s house. Alpha wasn’t totally back to himself yet, somewhat cocooned in his silence still. In his pocket burned a letter he’d written after breakfast with Obi Wan’s help, addressed to his father.

Without even hesitating, Obi Wan parked the car and waited on the front steps until an annoyingly awake Jaster opened the door. He smiled gently at the other man, bowing his head slightly and extending his arm for the more traditional Mandalorian forearm grasp.

“Su cuy’gar, sir. I’m Obi Wan Kenobi, a friend of Alpha’s,” Obi Wan greeted. Jaster had a smirk curling his lip but his eyes were soft on his son’s face. He gripped Obi Wan back and offered his own greeting.

“May we come in sir? Alpha has something he wants to share with you, and I promised to be here to help and support him,” Obi Wan continued, placing his hand gently on Alpha’s shoulder.

Jaster seemed to size him up a moment, before a more genuine and bright smile crossed his face and he nodded, gesturing them in. “Sit, eat, It’s breakfast time,” he commanded not unkindly, shoving both younger men towards the dining table.

“Oh that’s very kind of you, sir. I had something already and after this I have to be getting to work-” Obi Wan began, sentence halting when a plate was immediately set in front of him laden with scrambled eggs, bacon, a fluffy warm biscuit, and chopped fruit.

“That’s very generous sir-” Obi Wan tried again, interrupted by Jaster setting an excessively large glass of juice next to the plate, humming as he returned to the kitchen. When he caught Alpha’s eyes and tried to express his confusion, Alpha found himself chuckling despite the nerves and shrugging.

Obi Wan was a fighter, always had been. But only a fool tries to resist a Mandalorian intent on feeding you. He’d have more luck getting blood from a stone. With a soft sigh, Obi Wan dug into his admittedly delicious breakfast.

“So Obi Wan, Alpha tells me you served together,” Jaster began after a forkful of eggs. Obi Wan nodded cautiously, unsure how much his friend and former squadmate had shared with his family.

‘All clear. Dad was military too,’ Alpha signed to Obi Wan. Jaster raised a brow at his son not speaking out loud, but seemed far too delighted at the chance to interrogate this young man to address his confusion immediately.

“Yes sir, we belonged to a special ops group that operated somewhat independently of the standard command structure. We saw alot of action on alot of fronts,” the copper haired man agreed.

“I’ve heard my son refer to you as ‘general’. That a nickname or a title?” Jaster inquired, nudging the plate closer to Obi Wan when too much time had passed between bites taken.

“First as a nickname, our unit didn’t have standard ranks due to its …uniqueness. I was the commander though, and fairly bossy to boot. Later, when we had to leave, for administrative reasons, Alpha and I needed actual named positions. I found myself a general for real, to the delight of the troops.”

Jaster didn’t ask about why he’d been discharged. He didn’t know all the details, but the little he knew explained well enough. After those years as a prisoner of war, Alpha’s body and mind had been left scarred and in the eyes of command, ‘damaged’. They’d forced an honorable discharge on Alpha, and Jaster was willing to bet they’d done the same to Obi Wan.

“And you decided the next logical step was a children's librarian?” Jaster teased, prompting a laugh from his guest. “In a sense, yes. I had planned to be a soldier till the day I died, truth be told. I was adrift, and I fell back into reading the books I’d found comfort in when I was younger. I already knew I wanted something peaceful to do, and found a program in library sciences I could enroll in. And here I am,” Obi Wan laughed.

“Well enlighten me, what kind of books did you fall back into?”

“Hmm, there were so many. I re-read most of Walt Whitman’s work, then Robert Frost’s after that. I re-read the Deltora Quest series and all its offshoots. A wonderful series, has all the good stuff: adventure, magic gems, plot twists, dragons, riddles, you name it. Then came The Cry of the Icemark,” Obi Wan recalled fondly, picturing precisely where each well-worn book sat in his bookshelves.

Alpha sat up straighter and signed to Obi Wan: ‘You need to go to work. Let’s do this now’. With a wince, Obi Wan noticed this excursion was in fact going to make him late. But, he reasoned, there was nothing more important than supporting a friend.

‘Sir, thank you for the wonderful breakfast. I need to be going to make my shift, but before I depart, your son wrote a short letter and would like you to read it. I’ll stay for a few minutes afterward to help explain anything not covered in the note,” he explained, nodding to Alpha, who took the folded paper from his pocket with wildly shaking hands.

When he met his adopted father’s eyes, Jaster was transported back to the day he met Alpha, all dirty and bruised, a mix of wild anger and terrified vulnerability in his young face. A child who had grown up too fast, who had come to accept pain as a daily promise. The sun will rise in the morning, water is wet, and each day someone would hurt Alpha.
Jaster clasped Alpha’s outstretched hand in both of his, a meeting of warmed calloused hands. “Son, regardless of what this says, I love you and I am proud of you. Each day you make me prouder.”

Alpha nodded, eyes dropping to the table and gently releasing his grasp on the note. Carefully, Jaster pulled it closer and unfolded the crumpled bit of looseleaf, reading silently the bold straight strokes that proved this had been written by Alpha’s hand.

“Buir,

Last night I had a panic attack, or a flashback, or whatever it’s called, while I was out running. I had to call Obi to come get me. Obi has always taken care of me when this happens. All I have to do is say ‘Red Saber’ and he comes and helps me calm down. When I get overwhelmed like that I shut down. My therapist calls it going ‘nonverbal’. Oh and I have a therapist. I never told you that, I don’t know why. She’s nice. She and Obi say I need to stop hiding my panic attacks from you and to tell you about the nonverbal stuff so I can be with you and be at home but not be forced to talk. I thought I should be stronger, better, than this. But it makes me comfortable, and my comfort is important. Can I be nonverbal with you?

-Alpha”

Jaster inhaled deeply, reading the note twice before abandoning it on the table and circling to face Alpha. He fell to his old, protesting knees on the hardwood and gripped his son’s trembling hands in one palm, cupping Alpha’s chin in the other and turning his son to face him gently.

“Ner kotepla ad…Ner dral kotepla ad,” he whispered, eyes tearing up even as a smile burned bright on his face. “You make me so proud, ad. Thank you for telling me this, for being so brave. I will honor your trust in me, and I will respect your needs. Haat, Ijaa, Haa’it.”

Alpha let his own tears fall and slumped out of his chair and into his father’s waiting arms. He breathed in the familiar smell of sawdust, greenery from the garden, and leather that never truly left his father. They said nothing else for what felt like hours, Alpha reveling in the acceptance he felt so strongly from the first adult to really care about him.

Alpha nodded, settled back into the chair, and signed to Obi Wan, who had averted his eyes to grant the father and son some privacy. “Alpha says he wants to be around you and his family, but doesn’t want to talk. Will this be ok?” the librarian translated.

“Of course,” Jaster reassured, carding a hand through Alpha’s short hair. “Of course my son, whatever you need.” Obi Wan rose to his feet with a bright smile of his own and inclined his head in a brief bow, “In that case I am afraid I must be going. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Alpha nodded, gratitude plain in his face, and Jaster came back around the table. Obi Wan expected another handshake, but was instead bundled into a rib-crushing embrace by the well-muscled older man. “Vor entye, Obi Wan,” Jaster whispered, voice still wet with tears.

Obi Wan embraced him back for a moment, debating if he should say ‘no problem’ before deciding it too glib for so important a moment, and made his way back to his car and headed toward the library. The grey and white slate exterior cut with wide glass windows was a welcome sight, and some of the flowers they’d had planted were even beginning to unfurl in bright color as a sign the winter was finally gone.

He hustled in to sign in with a swipe of his ID card, and left his coat and bag in the back. Today he was supposed to pick a theme for next month’s reading display. Then he’d ask for Ashoka’s help designing and creating decorations for the table display that greeted children and their parents as they turned into the children’s section.

The current theme of dinosaurs had been a big hit, with several dinosaur books on display along with palm fronds, stuffed dinosaurs, a 3D printed dino bone, and an enormous inflatable brontosaurus. He’d even let Ashoka put the DVD cases for a few dinosaur movies in the display, one of which was tucked into an adorable stuffed T-Rex’s felt tooth-lined jaws.

There was a comet that was supposed to be visible later in the month, Obi Wan mused, fingers lightly tapping at the keys in distraction. Perhaps a space theme, or an alien theme? Could combine them both…

“Obi Wan!” his adopted younger sister Ahsoka whisper-shouted as she ran over to his desk, after one too many lectures on yelling in the library. She skidded to a stop, palms slapping excitedly on the kiosk desk. She’d managed to turn her blue and white braids into two buns on either side of her hair with a few braids left free on either side to neatly contrast her dark skin and bright sleeveless red tank top.
‘At least she didn’t try to wear another tube top to work’ he thought with a sigh. “Yes, my dear? What has you in such a hurry?”

“Why am I finding out from Mona at the front desk you have a ruggedly handsome DILF who brought you baked goods!? Sibling privileges, Obi! I should have known first!” Ahsoka demanded.

“Well. First of all, he is not a ‘dilf’ or whatever you just said. Second, this is a recent development. I helped watch his kids when they got lost, and he brought me spiced buns to say thank you. A simple, pleasant interaction between strangers, not the start of one of Anakin’s romance novels,” he corrected somewhat curtly. He needed to kill this train of thought before the reader’s circle this evening.

“Uh huh, sure. And did you bake him something in return?” she inquired, eyes drilling holes into his face, waiting for a sign of a blush or a twitch. Ah ha! A slight flash of pink across his cheeks, quickly beaten back down.

“Yes, to be polite, I have made him some lemon cookies. Now stall the Spanish Inquisition and come help me decide on next month’s display theme. Space or aliens?” he insisted. Deciding to gather more information later, his sister slipped into the little kiosk area to look over his computer screen.

“Why not both?” she offered, snagging a notepad and pencil to begin sketching decoration ideas. Cute little aliens, swirling colorful planets, obviously a rocketship or two. And stars, Obi Wan loved stars.

With an agreeing hum, Obi Wan began searching through their catalog for the best space and alien theme books for the display. Both had to pause several times in their work to answer a parent’s question or direct a young reader in search of a book, but Obi Wan took joy in that as well.

Five o’clock neared, and Obi Wan needed to prepare for Reader’s Circle. He gathered up a few books he’d pre-selected along with the papers he’d printed and a few fresh sets of crayons. Privately, Obi Wan could admit he was excited to see Rex again, along with his brothers.

Okay, and maybe Rex’s dad too.

His usual Reader’s Circle guests began filtering in just as the other library volunteers led by Ahsoka made their way over. “Ahsoka, I have a new friend for you today, so please don’t pair up with anyone yet,” he called over his shoulder, making sure he had everything arranged just right.

“Mr. Kenobi!” an excited voice called, just as a fast moving little body ran into him and nearly took him out by his knees. Glancing down, Obi Wan laughed and smiled at Rex, bouncing with eagerness on the balls of his feet.

“Hello there, Rex. Ready to read?” he asked, glancing up to see a weary Jango Fett making his way over with Boba holding one hand and guiding Cody forward with the other on the boy’s shoulder. Cody had an impressive armful of books to return.

“Rex! I told you no running. And no tackling either, this isn’t your martial arts class,” the Mandalorian lectured tiredly. “Sorry, Buir!” little Rex offered, not looking the least bit sorry. “Mr. Kenobi! I’m so happy to read today!” the continuously bouncing ball of energy declared.

“Perfect, because I have the best reading partner for you. I know you have the lovely Ms. Ti as your teacher, and your partner for today also had Ms. Ti!” Obi Wan waved to Ashoka who came over eagerly, eyeing the Fett family with a terribly gleeful grin that meant she’d figured out Mr. Fett was the alleged ‘DILF’ and provider of spiced buns.

“Rex, this is my little sister, Ahsoka. Ahsoka, this a very promising young reader new to our circle, one Mr. Rex Fett!”

Ashoka bent down to be on Rex’s eye level and offered him a handshake. “Hiya Rex! I had Ms. Ti too, isn’t she the best? You and I are going to read an awesome book together today! Have you heard of ‘ The Pigeon HAS to Go To School’?” Rex, with stars in his eyes, shook his head and eagerly took Ashoka’s hand to go sit at the low table with the other kids.

Meanwhile, Mona from the front desk had scooped up Cody’s armful of books to scan and return, leaving him casting his dark curious eyes around the rest of the children’s section. “Mr. Kenobi, do you have any space books?” he inquired.

Obi Wan offered him a sneaky grin and leaned down. “Can you keep a secret? That’s actually next month’s reading theme!” Cody gasped in delight. “Did you hear that Buir!? Did you!? It’s space!” Cody whisper-shouted, tugging insistently on his father’s hand.

“I heard, Cod’ika. But remember, it’s a secret,” Mr. Fett said, smiling fondly down at Cody. Obi Wan fought back the urge to blush at what a sweet and good father the Mandalorian was, and how stupidly attractive Obi Wan found that. Perhaps due to his own issues with his less-than-stellar father.

Whoops, ok, let’s bottle THAT trauma right back up for now.

“I have some recommendations for you Cody, perhaps a nice mix of fiction and nonfiction? And how about you, Boba? Any requests?” the librarian offered, bending down much like Ahsoka had done earlier but with greater effort required.

Boba stared deeply into Obi Wan’s eyes for a moment, before blinking and with as much severity and gravitas as possible declared: “Colors!”. Biting back a laugh, Obi Wan nodded back equally seriously.

“Yes sir. Space and colors,” Obi Wan stumbled forward a bit as he tried to stand, only for a warm hand to brace his shoulder and slide helpfully down to his elbow as he rose. It was Mr. Fett’s hand, calloused and warm, and Obi Wan would not blush and faint like a Victorian maiden, he REFUSED.

“Ah..thank you,” Obi Wan murmured, aware he was blushing but hoping the father didn’t notice. “No..uhm…no problem,” Mr. Fett replied, not yet taking away his hand. Steel blue eyes met caramel dark, and for a moment everything fell away and the world held its breath.

“Buir is being weird again,” Boba said loudly to his older brother, seeking some kind of clarification or guidance from his oldest brother. This prompted Obi Wan and Mr. Fett to spring apart, both coughing and blushing, and refusing to make eye contact.

“Right! Books!” Obi Wan chirped, a touch high-pitched as he led the little parade of Mandalorians into the shelves. He settled both boys and their father in bean bag chairs off to the side with a stack of books before circling back to check on the Reader’s circle.

Each volunteer and child pair had their own book, plus a worksheet to fill in and color. This worksheet aimed at building words with similar suffixes, with blanks for the start of the words left to be filled in. The volunteers, after having read the books with the kids, were now prompting them to use the book to help them think of words with suffixes that matched the page.

Ahsoka and Rex were diligently looking for words that ended in ‘all’. It was a tough balance between encouraging and helping the kids and not doing the work for them. Rex had written ‘ball, call, doll (which he had crossed out and Ashoka had written the correct spelling of) and small”. Obi Wan gently knocked over the empty box of crayons next to Rex. The boy glanced up at him with a slight frown. Obi Wan set the box upright again, before giving the boy a wink and knocking it down again. It took a third setting up and knocking down routine before Rex grinned widely and carefully wrote: ‘fall’ in the last blank space.

“I did it Soka! I did it! Did you see me, I did it!” Rex cheered, bouncing in his seat. Ahsoka wrapped him in a quick warm hug “I saw it! Way to go Rex!”. Obi Wan offered a high five, before deciding how to mime ‘big’ to help Cal at the other end of the table.

The rest of Reader’s Circle finished quickly, and Obi Wan popped into the backroom to grab the tin full of lemon cookies as everyone was released to their parents. Ahsoka had led Rex to his family, waiting at the front desk while Mona checked out a large collection of books for the Fett brothers. One of them had grabbed ‘The Pigeon HAS to Go to School’ from Rex’s spot at the table and added that to the pile as well.

Rex was loudly explaining how he’d filled in his worksheet to his mildly unimpressed brothers but suitably impressed father. “Rex did a wonderful job,” Obi Wan began, “and since you are taking home the book he and Ahsoka read together, maybe he can read it to Boba or to you Mr. Fett,” the librarian recommended.

“You can call me Jango,” the Mandalorian offered with a nod.

“Jango. Well in that case, please call me Obi Wan. And thank you again for the spiced buns, they were exquisite. I was raised that it is rude to return a plate empty, so please enjoy some of my lemon cookies,” Obi Wan offered the tin back to the startled father.

“Oh…oh uh that’s- well I- …thanks,” Jango replied, shooting finger guns at Obi Wan, before accepting the tin in a loose grip. Charmed, Obi Wan offered a smile and a wave as Cody and Rex collected the books, and Boba, before departing.

“Total DILF!” Ashoka shouted from the children’s section, to the horror of every librarian in the building, and Obi Wan slumped into hiding behind the front desk.

_____________________________

“Hey Buir?” Cody inquired innocently once they’d all buckled in and were sitting in the car, “Why’d you do finger guns at Mr. Kenobi?”

Jango, forehead buried against the steering wheel, groaned deeply. “I do not know, Cod’ika. I do not know.”

Chapter 6: Use Your Head

Chapter Text

Jango was not a bad parent. Or so he hoped. The usual babysitter canceled for tonight, she’d gotten a horrid case of food poisoning. The issue was that Jango had a fight later in the evening, and no one to watch the boys.

Arla was four towns over for one of Kix’s soccer tournaments. Jaster was an honored guest at a charity ball for the Center of Mandalorian Cultural and Linguistic Preservation Society, which he had helped create. Alpha had some kind of doctor’s appointment he didn’t disclose information on. Grogu was sick after apparently chasing frogs into a pond and catching a chill so Din was out. His friends all had plans as well. Jango could not afford to miss the fight, there was big money riding on it, money they needed for rent, food, and gas.

Strangely enough it was Alpha who made the best suggestion. “Ask Obi Wan,” his older brother suggested over the phone. “He doesn’t have the afternoon or evening shift at the library, and he likes kids.”

Jango startled a bit, he didn’t really know the librarian enough yet, though he did work with kids for a living and had taken care of the boys during their monsoon escapades. He cast a critical eye around the house, and determined even by his standards it was a mess. If he was still 15 and Jaster saw the state of things he’d get slapped upside the back of his head and grounded.

Hell, Jango was in his late thirties and Jaster still might smack him and ground him if he dropped by unexpectedly. Being a single parent to three chaos entities took a toll, and between practice and the fights, Jango was often sore and physically exhausted.

“I don’t have his number,” Jango protested, attempting to stack a pile of bills to look somewhat purposeful and respectable as opposed to ‘chucked into a pile’. “And he’s all cultured and sh*t. Surely he’s got like fancy intellectual stuff to be doing.”There was a moment of silence on the other side of the phone, and Jango’s instincts prickled in warning.

“Done. Just texted him and he said yes, so I gave him your address and told him to be there at 6 pm,” Alpha said with an audible smirk. “You’re welcome. Simp.” And with that loving remark, Alpha hung up and left Jango staring in horror at his darkening phone screen.

In a flurry he ran around trying to straighten up. Then he remembered wisdom he’d gleaned from his own father. When in doubt, employ the children. “Ade! Front and center! Mr. Kenobi is coming to babysit but if the house is gross he won’t stay!” Jango hollered.

The boys’ cry of elation dropped into despair at the idea of their new favorite person refusing to stay because the house was a mess, and the two older boys rushed around to help: loading the dishwasher with the dirty dishes from the sink, tossing toys into bins, and so forth, while Boba toddled behind them both solemn and important and frantic at the same time. At some point someone handed him a roll of paper towels to carry about and feel important.

The house wasn’t ‘clean’ per say when they were done but it was a lesser degree of disaster, which would have to do because there was the sound of a tentative knock against the dark green front door.

Jango checked his admittedly slightly sweaty appearance in the reflection of the microwave. He was in workout clothes, a black nylon short sleeve exercise shirt tight across his chest and old basketball shorts. At least they helped emphasize that he was in shape and had muscle. Oh small gods, now he sounded like a preening peaco*ck! A mental image hit Jango hard: a version of himself in his ratty workout clothes for his warm ups but complemented by enormous fluorescent peaco*ck feathers puffed behind his back as he chased a terrified well-dressed librarian around the room, squawking.

The boys trailed behind him to the door and he inhaled deeply before turning to Cody. “Cod’ika, if your buir even looks like he might do finger gun or anything like that, you are tasked with stopping me and I do not care how. Kick me in the shin, step on my foot, grab my hands, you can even tackle me. But please, do this for your buir.” His son nodded solemnly, not entirely understanding the importance of his task, but dutifully accepting nonetheless.

He opened the door, and had to pick his jaw up off the welcome mat. Obi Wan, with his red-gold hair perfectly styled and blue bright eyes behind glasses would have been enough to stun him, not to mention the shy little smile that nearly blinded him. But then he happened to be wearing a soft cream cashmere sweater with grey very well tailored slacks and polished dress shoes. He had a handmade red and purple scarf tucked under his chin and neatly trimmed beard and a grey well-tailored petticoat and brown and black leather gloves. He carried a satchel over one shoulder, and was a vision of everything Jango could ever want. He was a stunning combination of soft-home-comfort and sharp-clean cut-academic. Jango had died. Murdered by a librarian, what a way to go.

He felt his hands twitch, and then a bruising sharp kick to the ankle delivered by his eldest knocked him back to earth and seemingly prevented the finger guns from making a reappearance. So far so good. Now to speak actual coherent words.

“f*ck, I mean hi, hello, f*ck…” Jango rambled. Cody kicked his ankle again, looking both stern and disappointed,with Rex sighing far too deeply on his other side. “Buir you owe soooo much money to the swear jar,” Rex reminded.

“f*ck!” Boba cheered, bouncing up and down in delight at his new word. “Oh my gods,” Jango groaned, burying his head in his hands, praying for a swift death. He jerked his head out of his worn hands at the sudden, loud, and lovely laugh that rang out from the librarian still standing on his doorstep. In between came little snorts, and a flush took over his face to match his hair.

Jango was helpless to keep a smile off his face, and found himself laughing too. Rex joined in, confused but just happy to be here. Cody, deciding someone had to be an adult if the adults were going to be incapable, took Boba aside and informed him that was a Bad Word and saying it cost you dessert.

At last, both men caught their breath and Jango actually let Obi Wan into the house. The other man divested himself of his shoes and outer layers before following Jango into the kitchen. “Emergency numbers are on the fridge, the boys need to be in bed by 9:30 at the latest, and they know that,” Jango aimed at the boys who had the decency to look a little guilty.

“I left money in the envelope on the counter, and everything else is fair game. Once they're in bed feel free to do whatever and relax. I have to drive a bit to get to the location, so I might be home closer to 11:30, and I won’t be able to see my phone, but my coach’s number is on the fridge and he does have it just in case,” Jango ran through his usual spiel, gesturing when appropriate like a grumpy tour guide with Obi Wan taking careful note of all the information.

Jango ducked to kiss Cody, Rex, and Boba goodbye with a reminder to be good, and thanked Obi Wan again before grabbing his duffle bag from the floor and sprinting out to his car. His ‘Oya, Motherf*ckers’ playlist, name courtesy of Arla, began pumping through the old speakers. With the GPS chirping directions in between lyrics and beats, Jango let himself sink deep into his pre-match feelings. For a moment, he was a Mando’ade warrior of old, clothed in beskar and fighting for his people.

He spared a thought that he hoped his little terrors could behave for their new favorite person, but decided that as long as no one was dead and the house didn’t burn down, he’d be content. “You move your feet to this phenomenon!” he sang along, taking the next turn.

__________________________________

Obi Wan had a fair amount of experience with kids, between work and helping raise his adopted siblings alongside their family friend Plo Koon, but time had softened some memories and he was abruptly reminded how difficult it could be to keep three little supernovas of energy entertained and not destroying things out of well-meaning but destructive curiosity.

He started with the classics, playdough and coloring, grinning ear to ear as he reshaped the playdough into a little star. Small gods he’d forgotten how fun it could be.When that had been cleaned up and packed away, mainly by a very responsible Cody and Rex, (Boba took it upon himself to put all the lids back on, but he mismatched each one and it had to be quietly and discreetly corrected), Obi Wan had been expecting to be coloring in coloring books or blank computer paper.

Instead, the boys had one section of original drawings with dozens of different images outlined in black, and the other section had numerous photocopies of the images. “Did your buir draw these for you?” he asked quietly, incredibly fond of a contented little Tooka outline.

“Nope, these are from Uncle Din. He’s a super good artist, and whenever we see him he gives us more pages to copy,” Cody said with a grin, offering Obi Wan a small box of crayons. Rex was coloring in a sketch of one of the queens of Naboo with their intricate and detailed gowns, head pieces, and make up. Boba had picked a spaceship hurtling through space, with little shooting stars racing around it, and Cody was painstakingly careful in coloring in an image of ancient Mando warrior in beskar’gam with their cape whipped behind him in an invisible wind.

Obi Wan contented himself with coloring inthe sleepy little Tooka cat and his mound of pillows. “I always wanted a Tooka cat growing up,” he mused to the boys,half wondering if they’d even hear him with how focused each one was. “My adoptive father would bring home snakes, toads, skunks, birds, you name it, but he absolutely refused to get a Tooka cat. I must have put it on every Life Day list and birthday list since I was four years old. Never got one though. I’m sure father had his reasons,” Obi Wan remarked.

He startled when a tiny hand came to rest on his own, and when he glanced up he met Boba’s sad dark eyes. He looked far too mature in that moment for the bubbly little toddler Obi Wan knew him to be. Boba tugged Obi Wan’s arms out of the way and forcibly settled himself in the librarian’s lap to cuddle close. He nuzzled his face against Obi Wan’s soft sweater, mumbling sadly: “I’m sorry you didn’t get your Tooka kitty,”

Suddenly Rex and Cody were also pressed close, one at each side of him and wrapping around his arms. “What would you have named your Tooka?” Rex inquired softly. Obi Wan paused, wondering if he should admit to the somewhat lame name he’d fallen in love with for his fictional Tooka as a small boy. Ah, what was the harm?

“Well, Tookas like to eat fish,” he began softly, “and the first time I got to pet one was at the fish market when I was slipping a stray Tooka pieces of our intended dinner for that night. I remember just how thrilled I was. So I decided one day I’d get a Tooka and name them Fish.”

The boys all laughed and the atmosphere lightened again. They all went back to coloring, though Boba categorically refused to leave Obi Wan’s lap, citing the softness of Obi Wan’s sweater to be far superior to his own pillow.

Once coloring time had concluded, he showed the boys how to make rainsticks with beads and rice, cardboard tubes, cellophane, and tape. They flipped the sealed tubes back and forth and back and forth to listen to how the beads and rice running down the inside of the tube sounded so oddly like rainfall.

Things slowed down a bit after a dinner of pizza and cheesy bread while watching Disney classics, Boba had recommended The Aristocats, and all three boys exchanged a heavy look before immediately agreeing and prompting Obi Wan to start the movie. It’d be a cold day in hell before any set of siblings agreed so quickly and seamlessly on what movie to watch. All four of them piled on the couch under several blankets and pillows with limbs carelessly and lazily dipped around each other in warmth and comfort.

During the apparently mandated bathroom break after The Aristocats but before Cody’s requested viewing of several Magic School Bus episodes (the originals, further proof Jango was raising them right), Obi Wan followed an impulse and switched back to cable and DVR-ed Jango’s fight to watch later.

If pressed, he’d claim the impulse came from curiosity about this new person in his life, a possible new friend, and a lack of understanding about the sport. Secretly he’d admit part of his motivation was the idea of seeing those thick corded muscles that had been everywhere when Jango answered the door earlier in the evening in action.

After popcorn and juice, the boys dutifully went to brush their teeth and settled into Rex’s bed for stories, to Obi Wan’s endless delight. Rex went first, propped against the pillows in his navy colored bedroom, and Boba sitting in his big brother’s lap. As Rex read one of the Black Lagoon books, Boba helpfully tried to tap below each word, even reading one or two out loud himself, and earning a proud squeeze from Rex.

Cody took his turn to read, and to host Boba in his lap, to read a beautifully illustrated copy of the fairy tale ‘The Wizard’s Daughter. Boba was enraptured by the drawing of the wizard’s daughter in her scaly dress trapped in a glittering glass palace on the ocean floor.

They all struggled a bit, brows furrowing adorably, but tried their best to work out everything on their own before needing to turn to Obi Wan for help. He would explain what something meant or how to say a word, and the reader, be that Cody or Rex carefully repeated it before moving on.

Even Boba wanted a turn, sitting in Obi Wan’s lap for his version of Brown Bear, Brown Bear What Do You See?. Obi Wan would read much of the text, with Boba proudly blurting out the color and animal that came next. More than happy to take a turn, Obi searched through the stacks of books before a familiar and well-loved title caught his eye. ‘Fairytopia’ was not a book he’d anticipated the very manly Jango having in the house for his sons to read, but it was a pleasant surprise to see how open and accepting the other man could be.

It was a familiar story of a young fairy who lived in a peony flower with her adorable fuzzy bug friend, but she lacked what was every fairy’s pride and joy: she had no wings. He pulled out all his best voices for the characters, letting his voice dip into what Ahsoka had dubbed ‘soothing rumbling’ as they followed the fairy through mermaid lagoons, enchanted woods, and finally to the dark fairy’s palace to save the guardians and their verdant fairy world from destruction, thanks to her lack of wings.

Cody traced her beaming face as the Fairy Queen granted the little fairy the most lovely wings ever seen in gratitude, “I’m happy she’s happy,” he mumbled into Obi Wan’s shoulder with a yawn. “Me too. It’s a good feeling when you see someone be really, truly happy,” Obi Wan whispered back.

He snagged Boba, who had completely passed out and was snoring and drooling, to bring him into his forest green bedroom room and tuck him gently into his bed with a stuffed bantha slipped into his arms. He ducked back into Rex’s room to tuck him in with a goodnight kiss, and then slipped into Cody’s sunshine yellow bedroom to do the same for him.

He left all their bedroom doors slightly ajar and ventured downstairs again. Out of habit, he double check all the windows and doors were locked, and made sure he’d remembered to put the pizza they’d saved for Jango into tinfoil to leave out for him later.

Obi Wan began to watch the recording fight and dug out the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies to keep his hands busy. MMA fighting seemed horribly brutal, and even the winner’s didn’t look like they’d really won: a mess of multicolored bruises and drips of blood on their chests and stomachs, and a feral glint in their eyes.

The first batch was already when Jango’s fight began. He really was like an ancient Mando warrior, and after watching him take a brutal hit to the ribs, Obi Wan found himself wishing that Jango was a Mando warrior: at least then he’d be wrapped in beskar. Watching Jango get hurt put a pit in Obi Wan’s stomach, but he had to admire Jango’s skill and strength.

He was a firestorm, overwhelming and destructive, burning up all the victims caught in his thrall till nothing but ash and the memory of a challenge remained. Obi Wan boxed up his cookies with bread and tucked the tinfoiled pizza into the stove with the light on. Jango won, grinning savage and wild like the exact right kind of dangerous. Obi wan felt a blush burn his face strawberry red, and decided to take a break from watching Jango’s powerful…everything, at work.

He dug out his brown leather satchel and finished Plo Koon’s scarf while half watching the news. Thankfully he had his next project lined up, gloves that switched between being fingerless and becoming mittens for Alpha. He’d chosen a lovely mixed color skein of yarn dyed to mimic a sunset with deep oranges, blooming purples, fading pinks, and gradually deepening tones of red.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep.He heard the door click and instinct kicked in. Half away and burning with a need to protect those sweet little boys, Obi Wan had flung himself at the figure who came in the door, jabbing for his carotid artery with the crochet hook.

The figure shouted, and panicking, managed to get a hold of Obi Wan’s shoulder and neck and flung him into the kitchen, where Obi Wan, still not really awake, cracked his head on the hard kitchen tile. Pain burned and bloomed all along his head, like his skull had been used as a drum in a rock concert, and he gasped in pain.

“Oh f*ck, oh sh*t, oh kriff, oh no, oh no, oh no!” a frantic voice was shouting. Obi Wan struggled to see through tear blurred eyes, hands skated across him, afraid to touch as the voice began calling his name in between swear words borrowed from Mando’a, Huttese, and possibly even Genosian.

There was more noise with the loud slap of three sets of tiny bare feet down the stairs. “Buir! What happened to Obi Wan!?” a terrified voice called. What child would call him Obi Wan? All the kids at the library called him Mr. Kenobi. Faintly he recalled he had just given permission for three little cuties to call him Obi Wan.

Recognition dawned even through the pain.Right, he was babysitting the Fett boys. He’d been asleep when someone came in the door, and fell back on his military instincts, weaponizing a crochet hook. The person, likely Jango, he rationalized, had panicked and far more awake than Obi Wan, had tossed him into the kitchen and introduced his head to the tiles accidentally.

“Jango? Boys?” he grunted, struggling to sit up. A pair of warm hands helped him sit up, then circled around his waist to keep him up and against a faintly sweaty and fantastically warm chest.

“Oh ka’ra, Obi Wan I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, f*ck me, I am so so sorry,” Jango rushed to explain. Rex was standing next to the open freeze door, dumping handfuls of ice into a large plastic bag Boba held open for him. Cody had at some point absconded with Jango’s discarded cellphone, and returned Facetiming with another handsome Mando man with a skull tattooed over half his face.

“Then Buir threw him and Obi Wan’s head hit the kitchen floor super hard,” Cody explained, passing the phone to Jango. “I called Uncle Hunter, cuz he’s the one with the best medic training besides Ba’buir,” Cody reported.

“So, you concussed Captain Sweater Vest, huh vod?” Hunter inquired with a raised eyebrow and a bit of a smirk. He settled into a slightly more professional mode when Jango angled the camera toward Obi Wan.

“Hey there, cabur. I’m Hunter, a cousin of Jango’s. Oh, you got a bit of blood there,” Hunter gestured toward his own hair line, and when Obi Wan mirrored the move his fingertips came back smudged with scarlet.

The librarian shrugged at Hunter through the phone, unimpressed or concerned. “Typical of a head wound,” Obi Wan agreed. “I’ve had worse.”

Hunter hummed in reply, trying to peer closer at his unwitting patient. “Now granted, it’s a bit hard to tell anything over the phone, and you still wanna see a real doctor, but there’s a real risk here of a concussion,” Hunter began.

“Warning signs will include things like being dizzy, vomiting, ringing in the ears, lack of coordination, confusion, slurred or slightly off speech, and so on. Either way, it’s best to stay awake till you see a doctor.”

Jango was nodding tightly, even off camera. “I’ll take him to the emergency room right now,” he agreed, already trying to figure out where the nearest one would be, tensing to get up and bundle Obi Wan into the car.

“Now, there’s no need to rush,” Obi Wan began, offering Boba and Rex a thank you and a smile as he accepted the improvised ice pack. Cody tsked and snagged a dish towel, wrapping the ice pack and then returning it to Obi Wan. “It’s late, you had a long night and the boys can’t be left alone. So, you all go to bed, I’ll stay up, and in the morning I’ll call an Uber or something,” he offered pleasantly, sighing in relief as the ice pack chilled his skin.

It was very disconcerting to see the same frowned and furrowed brows repeated across five different faces, and all directed to him. “Absolutely not. Over my dead body and I just kicking you out, abandoning you to look after yourself, after I’m the dikut who concussed you! I am going to make sure you are properly taken care of and that’s final!” Jango growled, and Obi Wan felt the rumbling where his back was still held protectively to Jango’s chest.

Obi Wan gulped nervously, growling like that and the sentiment he expressed should not be as hot as it was. Not to mention all those muscles on his back. He wiggled a bit out of nerves and nervous arousal, but Jango seemed to take that as a sign he was trying to get up, and tightened the grip of his arm around Obi Wan’s waist, hauling him in tighter and closer.

“Compromise,” Hunter offered, eyes darting between Jango (oblivious to the situation, blinded by guilt and protective instincts) and Obi Wan (blushing and nervous and definitely concussed) as if memorizing them both.

“Obi Wan stays there tonight and stays awake. In the morning, have Uncle Jaster, Alpha, Din, or Arla take the boys for a bit, and Jango will drive to the ER. Treatment will likely be rest, hydration, and avoiding strenuous physical tasks, so waiting a few hours shouldn’t hurt.”

Jango breathed out a sigh of relief at having a real solid plan to fall back on, some of his tension and panic beginning to fade. “Really, that’s far too much trouble-” Obi Wan began to protest, only to be cut off by Hunter. “Listen cabur’ika, this is the best deal you are gonna get. Keep pushing back and my vod there will have you tightly swaddled in a seven layer blanket burrito, hand feeding you fruit, and carrying you everywhere you need to go,” Hunter explained.

Somehow, Obi Wan completely believed him. He didn’t know much about Jango, not as much as he would like, but it fit with the Mando traditional values, and devoted paternal instincts that Obi Wan had consistently shine through all Jango’s words and actions.

“Very well,” the librarian agreed dryly and with great reluctance. “Thanks vod, I owe you,” Jango murmured, getting a salute and a wink in return, before the video call ended. Jango carried Obi Wan to the couch and viciously tucked him in with tight precisions the drill sergeants at boot camp would have dreamed of, effectively trapping Obi Wan. “I’ll be right back,’ he promised, nudging the boys to the stairs. They all looked terribly worried and terribly exhausted.

Jango went off to tuck them in again, with praise for their quick thinking and effective response times, and reassurances he’d make sure Obi Wan was alright. He jumped in for a quick shower and changed into pajamas, grabbing a spare tee shirt and pair of sleep pants for Obi Wan.

He sent a text to Jaster about taking the boys, very briefly outlining the disastrous conclusion to the night, and agreeing to have his dad swing by at 7 am to collect his grandsons. Jango knew his siblings would soon find out, and the mocking would last for a millennium.Deservedly so, he thought. Invite the kind, hot librarian in to babysit. Let your kids fall in love with him, then concuss him.

Groaning, he made his way back downstairs and shepherded Obi Wan into the bathroom to change. At his guest/victim’s direction, Jango went into the kitchen to scarf down three cold slices of pepperoni pizza before scooping up Obi Wan again and bundling him up on the couch.

“I am so, so sorry, Obi Wan,” he began, only for the librarian to gently shush him and cover his mouth with one hand. “It’s my fault,” Obi Wan began. “I wasn’t really awake and thought you were a burglar. With the kids upstairs, muscle memory kicked in and I ambushed you after a long day in your own home. You just reacted, that’s all,” Obi Wan whispered.

Jango took the hand off his mouth and cradled it in one of his own. “Not your fault either. You were also just reacting, and thinking of my ade first before anything else. I am grateful they are so safe with you,”Jango protested.

Obi Wan sighed fondly, turning to examine the ceiling to break eye contact. Jango had no right looking at someone like that, all hard edges and soft concern painted chocolate and hazel brown. “I guess we just have to both forgive each other then,” Obi Wan chuckled, wincing when a spike of pain went through his head.

“You don’t have to stay up with me,” Obi Wan said after a few quiet minutes, pressed side to side with the man of his dreams on the comfy couch. Jango’s look of disdain at his comment spoke well enough for the likelihood he’d convince Jango to go rest.

“How do you want to try to stay awake?” the Mando asked instead. Obi Wan thought back to his evening with the boys, and nudged Jango’s ankle, eyes turning to his satchel. “Grab me my book?” he asked softly. Jango rushed to comply, fishing a well-loved, spine-cracked copy of ‘The Princess Bride’.

“Do you mind if I read to you?” Obi Wan asked softly, unearthing his arms from the blanket prison to stroke over the cover. “I’d love nothing more,” came Jango’s reply. Perhaps it was stress, or the odd secretive nature of the late hour, but inhibitions were lowered for them both. Jango turned and shuffled, laying his head in Obi Wan’s lap and purring when surprisingly calloused fingers began to run through his hair and play with the strands.

“This is my favorite book in all the world, though I have not read it,” Obi Wan began to read the first page.

‘ I think our story, whatever it will be, will be my favorite,’ Obi Wan mused in the safety of his own, cracked head. ‘Even though we’ve barely begun’,

Chapter 7: Talk Medical to Me

Chapter Text

The night passed slowly, peppered with Obi Wan’s insistence he was perfectly fine, which was usually followed by him needing to run out of the room to throw up, or his brows furrowing in pain.

Obi Wan finished The Princess Bride, and they began to talk about other things. Obi Wan told stories about his two adopted younger siblings and his difficult relationship with his father.

“Nothing I did was ever good enough. I was actually the third kid he adopted, Xan, the one before me, was my father’s pride and joy, and was also a raging asshole. He became a big career criminal and ended up in prison. He was still the golden child somehow and I couldn’t measure up,” Obi Wan murmured, eyes cast to the ceiling.

“I followed him all over the world for his job as a diplomatic envoy without complaint. Got straight As in school and a full ride to the University of Jedha. While I was there I got recruited by the military to work in specialized intelligence. Father did not approve of violence or the military and it was just one more strike against me. The final straw was when I came out as bisexual. He threw me out of the house and told me not to contact my younger siblings.”

Jango felt a surge of righteous fury at the idea a buir could treat their child that way. Could belittle and break them, only to cast them aside. Dar’buir, that’s what this Jinn fellow had been, unworthy of the title of father. Amid the anger there was a recurring feeling of gratitude toward Jaster for not only adopting him and Arla, but offering unwavering support and love.

“I joined the military, obviously, and I got letters and secret calls from Anakin and Ahsoka, but nothing from Jinn. Not till my best friend Quinlan called to tell me Jinn had been killed in a bank robbery gone wrong and had evidently listed me as my siblings’ guardian in the event of his death. I was only 22 years old, still actively serving. I wanted to look after them, but I couldn’t be what they needed. They needed stability. I asked a family friend Plo Koon to share guardianship with me.”

There was guilt deep in Obi Wan still for ‘abandoning’ Anakin and Ahsoka. Ahsoka had understood why Obi Wan couldn’t come home and take care of them, but Anakin had not. He’d raged and screamed and snarled. His younger brother, feeling horrifically betrayed and abandoned, had barely spoken to Obi Wan (except to hurl insults) for two years.

Plo Koon’s steady hand and insistence on therapy for both children had been a godsend, and now Obi Wan shared a very open and close bond with both younger siblings.

“I did my best, parented them best I could. Ahsoka used to laugh that some students’ parents didn’t bother to come to parent teacher conferences, but I made almost every single one, video calling from some desert or jungle. Luckily I didn’t damage them too badly it seems,”Obi Wan chucked, only half joking. He should have been better for them, they deserved better.

He startled when a warm rough hand took hold of one of his, and turned his gaze to meet Jango’s burning sincerity. “Obi Wan. You were a kid, with no good example for how to be a buir, serving your country and managing to help raise your vode, You were and are enough. You’re f*cking incredible,” Jango insisted.

Warmth curled through each synapse in Obi Wan’s body, familiar to the way it felt to step into a heated home after being caught out in a snowstorm. Like his nerves were coming alive again. He wanted to argue, and he was sure between his guilt, crippling anxiety, and a lifetime of self doubt, he could list plenty of reasons Jango was wrong about him.

But facing the raw honesty and conviction in every line of Jango’s body, in the steady grip he maintained on Obi Wan’s hand, and the piercing gold of his eyes, all Obi Wan’s protestations dried up and scattered to the wind like flecks of ash, without weight or power, at least for the moment.

Some secret and hopeful part of Obi Wan had been praying for someone, anyone, to grant him absolution of his failures, and in the face of his prayers being answered all he could do was squeeze Jango’s hand tightly and slump forward, letting his head rest in the crook of the fighter’s neck and shoulder.

“Vor entye,” he breathed into his neck, the words more felt then heard as the vibrated between the two men. The relief of it all was heady.

“You were a lot nicer to your adopted buir than I was. After our parents were killed, we were bitter little demons. We ran away from Jaster, started fights at school, broke his stuff and his rules. He wasn’t a pushover or anything, but somehow everytime we lashed out we were met with patience and understanding. If I can be half the buir Jaster is, I will be satisfied,” came Jango’s equally quiet confession.

He raised his free hand to the soft looking copper locks of the librarian and debated for just a moment before letting his fingers card through Obi Wan’s hair. Obi Wan sighed, and Jango felt some perpetually tense part of himself relax, soothing himself as well as Obi Wan with each stroke.

Just a few hours ago those same fingers had curled into fists, had delivered devastating palm strikes, brought his opponents’ blood to their lips and pooling into what would be terrible bruises come tomorrow. But for now, they gently combed through fire colored locks and brought peace.

“Name four poems you like,” Jango asked suddenly, recalling that he was meant to be keeping Obi Wan awake. Obi Wan thankfully left his head where it was as he answered, to Jango’s resounding joy.

“Hmm that’s tough. The Old Astronomer to His Pupil by Sarah Wlliams is lovely. It’s where we get the quote: ‘I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night’. Robert Frost has some excellent poems, I am particularly partial to his work The Rose Family, I used to recite it for Ahsoka.”

Jango could feel the curve of the librarian’s smile against his skin, fond memories coloring Obi Wan’s once sleepy voice with joy. There was such pride and love Obi Wan exuded whenever discussing his siblings. Obi Wan would make a good buir, Jango mused.

“Oh, there’s I Could Not Stop for Death by Emily Dickinson, I’ve always liked that. And one cannot neglect Shakespeare’s sonnets of course. I am particularly partial to Sonnet 29, from the moment I first read it I was struck by it.”

“Oh? And how does it go?” Jango inquired, his knowledge of poetry limited to Dr. Seuss books, but desperate to bear witness to more of the passion of the man before him.

Obi Wan leaned back, laughing and eyes bright, “What, you think I have all of Shakespeare’s sonnets memorized?”.

Jango felt a matching grin steal across his face, reveling in the ease of talking to this mesh’la man. “Well, do you?” he teased back. He tried to memorize the feel of Obi Wan’s hand in his, that smile sent just for Jango, in case this was the first and last blessed moment between them.

Obi Wan rolled his eyes and shifted, one hand in Jango’s and the other coming to rest on Jango’s shoulder where his head had been moments before, sliding his whole body closer. He could blame his boldness on the secretive nature of the late hour or his concussion later.

He met Jango’s eyes, staring into them and holding his total focus as he whispered the words he’d penned to his heart:

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

The whispered words hit Jango like a kick in the chest. It was a momentous pressure, as the ideas presented swirled about in his head. It was like a page torn from a journal
he never wrote.

How much anger and sorrow and loneliness had he carried since the day he’d curled in Arla’s trembling arms as they hid from their parents’ murderers in the hall closet? How many times had he cursed the ka’ra or wished for a day in another’s life just to catch a break?

But he had love. He had Jaster, a wonderful buir, his older sister Arla, and and two new brothers in Din and Alpha. He had his insane cousins and their joint boyfriend, his
nephews, his beloved most precious sons. And now he felt the first blooms of what could be love for his librarian.

It was too soon, but Mando’ade had historically always fallen hard and fast, and carried that devoted love the rest of their lives.

“It’s beautiful,” Jango said into the heavy silence. “It made me feel.” Obi Wan’s smile went soft, and he took a chance, taking his hand from Jango’s shoulder to cup the side of Jango’s face, thumb slowly brushing against a small silvery scar at the corner of Jango's mouth.

Jango closed his eyes and leaned into the comforting touch. It had been so long since he’d felt safe in the hands of another. He let his eyes flutter open and began to lean forward. It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn Obi Wan began to lean in as well.

Suddenly the click of the front door unlocking shattered the moment, both men springing apart as if shocked. It was then they noticed the morning light illuminating the room from
the window and the time on the clock.

Obi Wan rubbed at his temples at the throbbing pain moving so fast had brought to his rattled head. Jaster closed the front door behind him, setting a paper bag with breakfast
sandwiches on the table. “Ad’ika, when trying to sweep someone off their feet it’s meant to be metaphorical. Or at the least catch them before they hit the floor,” the older man
teased.

Nevermind any kind thoughts Jango had been thinking about his father. Jango forced down a blush and rose to greet his father with a hug and an elbow to the ribs. This did nothing but prompt Jaster to laugh more, turning to rummage in the fridge for drinks and emerging with cans of Ginger Ale. He passed Obi Wan a sandwich and drink, nodding to the cold can. “That’ll help with the nausea.”

Obi Wan tried to accept, but with the growing light he found himself squinting to avoid the lancing pain it brought. Jaster nodded, setting everything down on the coffee table before digging into the pocket of his jean jacket and offering a pair of big chunky dark sunglasses and a sleep eye mask.

Obi Wan gratefully took both, sliding the sun glasses on for now but hanging on to the mask for later. He bit into the sandwich full of scrambled eggs, bacon, and cheese, not realizing how hungry he was until the first flavors hit his tongue. “Thank you, Mr. Fett. I really appreciate this,” he began, only for Jaster to wave him off.

“It’s Jaster, son, not Mr. Fett. And this is the least I could do after my son concussed you so rudely,” Jaster gently chastised. He set a hand on Obi Wan’s shoulder to give a reassuring squeeze. “I know you aren’t feeling great, but Jango will see you sorted after the ER. I’ll wake the boys up in a bit and have them spend the day at my place.”

Jango rolled his eyes fondly, wandering out of the room scarfing down his breakfast and grabbing a sweatshirt and his keys. Obi Wan slipped his coat and shoes on, shouldering his satchel and meeting him at the door.

There was a bit of awkward energy lingering between them after their maybe-almost-kiss. Both somewhat anxious and uncertain, they let the quiet sound of Top Hits from the 90s and some overly exuberant morning radio hosts fill up the air between them as Jango drove to the closest emergency room.

The fluorescent lights against the white walls and off white tile floors had Obi Wan groaning, head firmly held in his hands and barely a single thing filled out in his admittance paperwork. With a worried but fond sigh, Jango tugged the sleep mask out of Obi Wan’s pocket and slipped it over his eyes.

Jango pressed close to Obi Wan so he could keep his volume low and not make his headache worse. “Okay Obi Wan. Let’s start with your age…” he murmured gently. Together they got everything filled in and turned in. Jango kept close, taking one of Obi Wan’s hands again, certain the other man felt uncomfortable being totally blind.

It had been at most two hours, but Jango had missed the feeling of Obi Wan’s hand in his own. He decided to distract the librarian with stories from growing up with Arla, Alpha, and Din.

“And that wasn’t even the first microwave we set on fire accidentally. Din panicking and throwing a towel over it to hide the evidence also resulted in the flames hitting well over five feet. You can still sort of see the off color patch on the ceiling. Arla had the bright idea to try to cover that up by using spray paint and well, gravity is a thing so you can imagine how well that went. Jaster came home to Din panicking and hiding in the cupboard, Arla covered in spray paint and trying to wash it out of her mouth and eyes, Alpha who broke a tooth trying to get the pin in the fire extinguisher out the way he saw in a movie, and me, still covered in burned melted chocolate.”

Obi Wan was laughing loudly, face tucked into Jango’s shoulder to muffle the sound, when his name was called. Jango led him into the exam room, and immediately asked the nurse to turn the lights down, allowing Obi Wan to switch back to sunglasses.

Obi Wan was reluctant to let go of Jango’s hand but was happy he had when he saw what doctor had come into the room. Bant was already glaring at him, and he was somewhat relieved that neither she nor Quin knew about Jango and Obi Wan’s silly crush just yet. The teasing and mockery would be endless.

“Heyyy Bant, I know what you are thinking-” he began, hands up in a placating gesture only to be silenced by her glare intensifying. “Obi Wan Kenobi. What have I told you about being more careful! You are a walking pile of formerly broken bones, torn muscles, and shrapnel! If all the places you’ve been stitched up suddenly came undone you’d be in pieces on a pile on the floor!”

Obi Wan had the good grace to look a little embarrassed and duck his head. “I am sorry my dear, I don’t mean to worry you, this was just an accident. I was running about half asleep and fell. My friend, Jango, was kind enough to give me a lift here,” Obi Wan edited carefully.

If Bant had even the slightest suspicion Jango had concussed him on purpose, which he most certainly had not, she’d end up demonstrating exactly what a scalpel could do in talented hands.

Bant eyed Jango critically, no doubt already formulating questions to badger Obi Wan with later about the well-built handsome Mando who she’d never met before, and shook Jango’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. I am Dr. Bant Eerin, long-suffering childhood friend of this fool here. Eventually you’ll meet Quinlan, another dear childhood friend of ours, and I would like to apologize in advance for him.”

Bemused, Jango inclined his head with a smile just a shy more genuine then his default smirk. “Well met, Dr. Eerin. I am Jango Fett, he/him. And I must confess to some guilt in Obi Wan’s injury, as I was the one to startle him.” Jango figured there was probably a good reason Obi Wan had danced around the truth and he trusted the librarian enough to go along with it.

He jolted a bit, realizing the truth of that statement. He really did trust Obi Wan, this man who had been a stranger a week ago. He trusted him with his most precious children, with pieces of himself and his childhood he hesitated to share with even fond friends. But it felt right, somewhere deep in his bones, and a Mando always trusts their instincts.

Bant sighed and began examining Obi Wan, apologizing when she needed to turn up the lights and take his glasses off to check his pupils. After a few more tests and some grumbling from Obi Wan, she nodded and made a few notes, sending off two documents to print from her Ipad.

“Well you are definitely concussed,” she began with a frown. “It’s a mild concussion thankfully, nothing too serious. Treatment will need to include alot of rest, avoiding stress and physical labor, lots of fluids, Avoid looking at any sources of blue light : videos games, tv, etc. But the key here, you stubborn ass, is to REST. Something you are chronically and abysmally bad at.”

There was a knock at the door, and one of the interns passed over the documents Bant had printed with a wave and a smile. One page, listing how to treat his concussion went to Obi Wan, who seemed to only glance it over. Making a command decision, Bant turned to address the Mando in the room, who’d been very silent uptill now.

“Mr. Fett, how involved do you intend to be in Obi Wan’s recovery? Will you just be dropping him off back at home, or will there be a more active participation on your part?” Bant approved of the determined glint in his hazel eyes, and he stood a bit straighter. This was a man with a mission, one whose purpose would likely align quite nicely with her’s, at least for now.

“Dr. Eerin, I have already informed Obi Wan that I will be ensuring his safe recovery to good health. I will be an extremely active participant in his recovery, far more so than he’d likely prefer. I will see him properly taken care of,” Jango offered with a smirk.

“I am a full grown adult you two realize,” Obi Wan complained with a pout. “And I am sitting right here while you discuss what to do with me. Quite rude.” Jango privately thought the usually composed man pouting with his arms crossed was unfairly adorable.

“A full grown adult with a gift for caring for others matched only by the neglect you levy yourself with,” Bant added primly. “Now hush. My new ally and I are scheming.” Bant passed the first document to Jango, the same list of rules for Obi Wan’s recovery that the man himself held. This way it could not be ‘lost’.

The second document was significantly longer and entitled: “The Care and Keeping of the Universes Sweetest Idiot” and featured a picture of a smiling Obi Wan beneath it. There was a subheading, he noted, that simply said : “Part 1”.

“Our gathered wisdom for caring for our beloved fool, gathered by several friends and loved ones over the years. We are still adding to it, I’ll take your email and add you to the Google Doc. Oh and we will need to exchange numbers,” Bant explained to Obi Wan’s growing horror.

“I am going to burn that blasted little book if it is the last thing I do,” he growled, swiping for it only for Jango to lift it over his head defensively. “No way, this is gold and it’s going into a vault,” the Mando teased. Obi Wan made a second attempt, more feebly than he usually could courtesy of the head pain.

“You don’t even have a vault!” Obi Wan grunted, debating if he should try kicking Jango in the shins. Jango merely quirked an eyebrow at him with a wicked smirk that made him, in Obi Wan’s opinion, rather devilishly handsome. Stupidly, devilishly handsome. “You don’t know that for sure. It could be in the basem*nt,” he teased.

“You don’t have a basem*nt!” Obi Wan protested, heaving a sigh and electing to choose tactical retreat for the moment. “Wise,” Bant nodded. “Every horror movie has a basem*nt scene. Anyway, Jango, I leave you to your task.”

Bant gave Obi Wan a warm hug and a peck on the cheek before dismissing them both. Obi Wan immediately winced, and Jango stopped them right in the middle of the hallway, concerned.

“You wanna switch to the eye mask?” he offered, digging it out for Obi Wan. “I can get you to the car.” Obi Wan had his own little epiphany as he realized he actually did trust Jango, more than most people outside his family. He swapped out eye protection, and Jango encouraged him to curl his arm around Jango’s bicep and hook his hand on the man’s forearm, like a dainty Victorian lady being escorted around the promenade.

He murmured little instructions as they went: “Turning left in a second … doorway up ahead, I’ll go first… nurse’s station on your left…” all the way out to the parking lot and into the car. He went so far as to buckle Obi Wan in, leaving the man in question praying that his blush looked less noticeable than it felt. ‘Probably not though,’ he morosely groaned in the privacy of his head.

“Okay, how about we swing by your place and you get some stuff. Then we’ll head home. I’ve got blackout curtains in my room, so that should help. And when the boys come back I’ll make sure they’re calm around you and not too noisy,” Jango offered as he pulled the car into traffic.

“Actually, could we go to my place in a bit? I’d really like to lay down,” Obi Wan sighed, the lack of sleep, headache, and adrenaline drop hitting him all at once. “Sure thing,” his host agreed, letting them fall back into silence.

Getting into the house was much like leaving the hospital. Obi Wan sat on Jango’s bed, forcing himself not to think too hard on that, and listened as Jango rustled about in the drawers, pulled the curtains, and vanished into the kitchen to return with crackers and more ginger ale cans.

“I left you some clothes on the bed,” he offered. “Some sweatpants and a tee shirt. There’s some snacks and soda on the bedside table, the sun’s been slayed by my bravery and the blackout curtains, there’s a bucket by the bed…” Jango hummed, double checking everything. “Oh!” he pressed some kind of wire into one of Obi Wan’s hands and something bulkier in the other.

“Phone charger and soundproof wireless headphones. That way you could listen to an audio book or a movie or something,” Jango explained. “I’ll be in the other room cleaning up a bit. Holler if you need me, and I’ll check back in a bit.” Obi Wan briefly wondered if it was true every Mando was genetically predisposed to motherhenning, before immediately concluding yes, yes they were. He fumbled, hand flapping uselessly in Jango’s general direction before he caught on and took Obi Wan’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you, Jango. This is all totally and absurdly unnecessary, but thank you.” It really had been ages since he let someone take care of him. Jinn hadn’t really been terribly good at it. Something about Jango made him want to listen though, if only to be nearer to him a little longer.

“Rest and get well soon,” Jango murmured, lifting their joined hands to press a quick and daring kiss to Obi Wan’s knuckles, giving his hand a final squeeze, before Obi Wan heard the click of the bedroom door shutting and gingerly removed the eye mask. It was blessedly dark in the room, with just enough light to get by.

He hoped it hid his blush, then hurried to get changed into the soft well-worn clothes that smelled faintly of their owner: something spiced and warm and earthy. He brushed his own lips against his knuckles, a giddy jittery feeling filling him up and leaving him ready to pop. He nibbled a cracker, took a sip of ginger ale and settled in the comfortable bed to listen to an old favorite of his through the soundproof headphones: ‘The Screwtape Letters’ by C.S. Lewis.

If he snuggled into the warm dark blue blankets and sheets and pressed his face into the pillows that smelled even more like Jango than the clothes did, smiling like a fool, then nobody needed to know.

Chapter 8: The Fish Conspiracy and Sweet Dreams

Chapter Text

They had a plan.

It was a multistep plan, with several moving parts, but as Ba’buir (grandparent) always said, a Mando can fight any battle. Gathered around Jaster’s big dining room table and armed with an assortment of arts and crafts, the boys made get well cards for Obi Wan.

As luck would have it, the next co-conspirator they needed to recruit knocked twice on the backdoor before shuffling in, with a sleepy bundle of green tucked in the crook of his arm. Uncle Din gave the boys a quiet smile - he was always so quiet, and came over to say hello.

“Who isn’t feeling well?” he murmured, taking in the glitter pen atrocity before him. Cody, the only one with vaguely legible handwriting, had scrawled “ Feel Better Soon!” in blue marker on his card. Rex and Boba had taken a slightly more….abstract approach.

“Obi Wan babysat us last night. Buir threw him over his shoulder and banged his head on the kitchen floor,” came Cody’s succinct report. Din blinked slowly, trying to piece together the missing details. He knew Jango had a crush on the librarian, and trusted him enough to watch the boys…so where exactly did the over the shoulder Judo flip come in?

“Now Obi Wan has a con-..concush-...conscushion?” Rex attempted, face screwed up in thought. Cody sighed and shook his head, “Concussion,” he corrected, reaching over to stop Boba from upending the entire jar of silver glitter over his head.

“Boba…why?” Cody said in exasperation that far surpassed a grade schooler in Din’s opinion. Boba met his eyes with a solemn expression, as though about to impart great wisdom. “Elsa,” the toddler deadpanned. “Sparkly like Elsa.”

Jaster returned from upstairs and embraced Din quick, too much touch still overwhelmed him, and scooped up his sleeping grandson. “Uh…why did Jango concuss his librarian?”

His question prompted the mother of all eye rolls from his adopted father. “He came home late and startled awake the former special forces commander. Said former special forces commander had fallen asleep while crocheting, and half awake charged at the would be intruder with his crochet hooks, startling your fool brother into introducing the sleepy commander’s head to the kitchen tile. What are you doing on your phone?” he inquired, surprised to see Din texting furiously.

“I’m texting Arla. I think this will make her day,” Din smirked. Jaster sighed fondly, running his fingers through Din’s dark curls. ‘Ner chaos ade, all of you.”

“Uncle Din,” Rex called, waving him back over. Din settled down at the table and snagged a blank piece of construction paper to sketch on. “We need your help with a special mission,” Rex whispered. Of course Rex’s whisper was closer to the average person’s normal volume.

Together they laid out briefly some of Obi Wan’s somewhat neglectful childhood and his wish for a Tooka cat that had gone unanswered. This injustice could not stand, according to the Fett boys.
They planned to present their unwitting father with the World’s Most Compelling Argument for a Tooka, with a script edited by a gleeful Arla (who as usual thrived on any and all chaos and disruption) and visual aids by Din. Boba handed him a torn bit of pink construction paper with a list of necessary images for Din to illustrate.

-Obi Wan as a kid dreaming of a Tooka cat

-Obi Wan’s mean dad surrounded by his pets saying ‘No Tooka cat!’ to little kid Obi Wan

-Sad little kid Obi Wan

-An adorable Tooka kitten (like, super duper cute)

-Jango and the boys giving the kitten to Obi Wan

-Obi Wan full of happiness cuddling the Tooka kitten

- Obi Wan and his happy kitten embraced by Jango and his sons

He had to admire their thorough planning if nothing else. He’d gone on jobs in the Cov- er…cult, (it felt weird still to think of the family he’d once had as a cult) with less planning. Granted, those jobs usually ended in an excessive use of C4, new scars, and lots and lots of bullets. Oh and fire. Lots of fire.

He kinda missed the C4. It wasn’t THAT dissimilar to play dough, despite what Jaster and the others said, and reshaping it for missions had been the closest any of the children in the Covert got to play dough and toys anyway.

Din was also very aware resistance to the boys was utterly futile. Cody carried himself like a military commander and had a disturbingly complex grasp of logic and persuasion for a kid. Rex was a mix of adorable and I-am-ready-willing-and-able-to-annoy-you-to- death. Not to mention Boba’s damned puppy dog eyes.

No, Din had been taught military strategy at a young age and could quote ‘The Art of War’ from cover to cover, and he could see this wasn’t a battle he’d win, so surrender was the best option.

“Going along with this, huh?” Jaster chuckled, still rocking a sleeping Grogu in his arms. “The wise warrior avoids the battle,” Din intoned, quoting ’The Art of War’ and beginning to sketch Tooka cats in various poses. They were unfairly adorable, and Grogu did love animals. When the boys managed to pull this off, because it was when and not if, he’d seen how Grogu responded to the kitten.

He had no particular desire for a pet but Din would do absolutely anything to give Grogu the very best childhood possible. He’d hand painted Grogu’s room into the image of a pond full of frogs, he’d found the materials that he found soothing instead of irritating and learned to stitch together toys and blankets, and there was a poorly balanced stack of parenting books beside his own bed that would give the Leaning Tower of Pisa a run for its money.

“Move not unless you see an advantage; use not your troops unless there is something to be gained; fight not unless the position is critical,” Jaster agreed with another quote from the same text.

It was easy to forget, Din mused as he turned back to his sketches, that the man before him cooing to a little baby who had a box of fun crafts set aside for his grandkids, was the terrifying man who’d challenged one of the Cov- cult leaders.

He recalled one of the older soldier's bruising grip on his arm as he shook him and snarled at him for daring to break the sacred Creed and let another living being see his face. Din didn’t recall the name of the fellow Mando who’d stormed into the dingy little office the social worker had brought Din to when she noticed him on the street.

“Traitor! Dar’manda hut’uun shabir! (No-longer-Mandalorian coward bastard) ” spat the voice heavily modulated by the helmet. He drew his armored fist back and slammed it into Din’s face, blood spurting from his nose and running like twin rivers down his chin. The next few hits were to his ribs, and at one point he’d dislocated Din’s shoulder.

It was a quick fight, Followers of the Way were rigorously trained from a young age to be deadly and efficient. The blows halted when the door opened and the social worker returned from the lobby with an older man in tow. He had short shorn dark hair, burnished hazel eyes, and under a soft flannel and jeans seemed to be entirely made of wiry muscle.

“Who are you and just what in the hell do you think you are doing!?” snapped the social worker, even as her hand retrieved her keys from her pocket and her thumb held down a red button on a key fob.

“Stay out of it aruetii (outsider), this is Mando business,” Din’s abuser had dismissed, turning back to Din, who watched through bloodshot eyes as the other man squared his shoulders and stepped forward.

“Mando business huh? Says the demagolka (war criminal/child abuser) who beats a child? I see two Mandos in the room and you aren’t one of them hut’uun (coward),” Jaster drawled as he continued forward, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. Despite his age, he moved with a smooth deadly grace akin to the stalking dance of panther.

“Ne’shab’rud’ni jare (Don’t mess with me/threat of violence …reckless fool who throws their life away), I’ll end you,” Din’s captor raged, throwing the boy behind him to charge Jaster. Winded, Din could only lay on the floor against a stack of boxes trying to remember to breathe as he watched what he feared would be a bloody one-sided battle. And it was, but not in the way he’d expected.

Jaster was power and grace, he moved faster than anything Din had ever seen. Even with his opponent in full beskar’gam (beskar armor) Jaster devastated him and laid he younger man out on the floor unconscious in under ten minutes, when the security guards brought up by the alarm the social worker had triggered all but kicked in the door and dragged the high ranking member of the Covert away.

Then like a switch had flipped, Jaster had kneeled a distance away from Din with his hands raised in a clear gesture of promising no harm.”Shh..it’s okay ad’ika (child), no one is going to hurt you anymore. My name is Jaster Mereel.”

Din scanned the man over, checking for hidden weapons, for signs of deception in his body language, and finding none he slumped forward with a pained gasp into the man’s arms in a rare moment of vulnerability.

“K’uur, k’uur (hush, hush), I am here. I am here and I will protect you, Din’ika. I swear it by my blood and bones, and by the ka’ra (stars/ancestors) themselves. I swear it. Haat, Ijaa, Haa’it (Truth, Honor, Vision),” Jaster swore, brushing his fingers through Din’s hair in comfort as they waited for the paramedics.

Jaster had kept his word, he’d adopted Din before Din had even checked out of the hospital, adopting him with all the paperwork and legalese and in the Mando way with a simple vow. He’d shown Din another way to be Mando, had given him loud grumpy siblings who’d taken one look at the too-skinny skittish boy and immediately and ferociously adopted him as well, declaring him ‘the baby brother’, which had still stuck all these years later.

Din rose up, shaking his head as if to dispel the memories cluttering it, and went to Jaster to give him a soft hug, minding Grogu as he did. “Vor entye, Buir. I hope I am half the buir you are to us,” Din whispered.

Jaster’s eyes were a bit shiny when Din pulled away, and he snaked one arm up to loop around his youngest ad’s neck and draw him forward into a kedable kiss, forehead to forehead. “Ne’entye, ad’ika You make me very proud”.

The soft moment was broken by a triumphant yell as Boba reclaimed the large bottle of silver sparkles, popped the top, and spun in circles holding the open glitter to the floor. “ELSA! SNOW!” he howled joyfully as Cody put his head in his hands and groaned.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” Din began, only to be softly pelted with what had for a moment been a snowball of glitter courtesy of Rex. After that it was on, and the clean up effort turned into an all out glitter war, including a delighted Grogu one he woke from his name.

Din might not be a Follower of the Way anymore, or a member of the family that had saved him, but as he shook his hair out and rained glitter down on Grogu’s giggling face, he decided he liked this family better anyway.

-----

Jango heard the thump of car doors closing, and checked the stove one last time before rushing over to head the boys off at the door. He needed to warn the rambunctious ade about how important it was that everyone was quiet for Obi Wan’s sake.

Cody would undoubtedly have no problem with this, Boba was hit and miss, but Rex had been born with a megaphone where his vocal cords should be. He gave his warning about noise, exchanged pleasantries with his teasing father, and gently ordered the boys to set the table.

Once the fried rice was done, he dolled out a portion for everyone, and collected another can of Ginger Ale and a few over the counter painkillers to bring Obi Wan with his dinner. Rex obligingly turned off the hallway lights while Jango knocked.

“Come in,” Obi Wan called, and the silent parade of Mandos shuffled in, closing the door behind them. “Dinner time, Obi Wan,” Jango softly declared, passing the warm bowl and a spoon to the vague shape he assumed was his houseguest and victim.

“It’s chicken fried rice, one of Cody’s favorites,” the man explained. “I’m also leaving a drink and some painkillers on the nightstand. The boys made you a card at their ba’buir’s house and they wanted to show you.” He gently nudged Rex forward, who groped at the bed covers a bit before finding Obi Wan’s lap and depositing the cards there.

“Feel better spoon Obi Wan,” Rex encouraged in what was genuinely his best effort at whispering. “Thank you all, I appreciate your kindness,” Obi Wan smiled in the dark. He reached forward and ruffled Rex’s hair, before slapping about for Jango’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

‘Once these mighty warriors and card crafters of yours are in bed,'' Obi Wan began in a slightly teasing tone, “would you mind joining me in here? I could use a bit of company, even if it's quiet,” the librarian asked hesitantly.

Jango got the feeling Obi Wan was not a man who asked for things very often. Jango gave a squeeze back, and nodded before forgetting the darkness. “Sure thing. I’ll come back soon,” he promised, ushering his boys out to their own dinner.

He grew concerned when his sons stayed fairly quiet throughout dinner, trading sneaky glances. There was most definitely a scheme afoot. He looked forlornly at the traces of silver glitter lingering in their curls. Knowing he wouldn’t get anything from them tonight, he decided to let it be. As long as Arla wasn’t involved everything would probably be fine.

He ran the bath and showers for his increasingly exhausted ade before wrestling them into pajamas. They desperately wanted to see Obi Wan, and had been so good about keeping down the volume, that he let them in to say a quick goodnight and give their librarian tight hugs.

It was rather adorable, even with the room almost entirely dark, to watch Obi Wan be gently overwhelmed by a living, cuddly, weighted blanket. “Alright boys, time for bed,” he whispered when he noticed his sons getting a bit too comfortable and starting to drift off. Minding their sharp little elbows and cold feet for once, they shimmied to the edge of the bed and retreated with yawns and whispered goodnights.

The boys wanted to read before bed, the chosen book being the beloved ‘If You Give a Mouse a Cookie’, but they insisted their father go check on Obi Wan. Torn between actual disappointment at missing their reading time, and okay MAYBE he liked that story too, and a warm burst of happiness at the thought of spending time with the man who’d taken up residence in his head and refused to leave his thoughts for more than a handful of minutes at a time.

“If you give a mouse a cookie,” Cody began, with both younger brothers pressed to either side of him eagerly. “He’s going to ask for a glass of milk…” Boba giggled and pointed to the tiny mouse atop the counter.

With a little smile, Jango left reading time in Cody’s capable little hands and took a few blessed moments of quiet and solitude to shower in peace. Luckily he’d been so busy and distracted early he’d forgotten to empty and fold the clothes in the dryer, so he had clean pajamas he could grab without rummaging around his darkened bedroom and disturbing Obi Wan.

The danger of a pleasantly warm and quiet shower of course is that it allows the mind to wander, and the brain begins spitting out shards of thoughts that had previously been repressed by immediate tasks and responsibilities to work on. He regretted so sincerely harming Obi Wan.

He also couldn’t believe his boldness in demanding Obi Wan stay with them for a few days. It really had come from a place of duty, he’d harmed someone when he shouldn’t have and he had to take responsibility for his actions and make amends. Plus this was the way of his people: you care for the sick and injured. Aggressively.

But secretly, secretly he was thrilled to have stolen a bit more time with this brilliant person. He had no idea what Obi Wan thought of him, or if he felt anything for him beyond the general kindness and concern Obi Wan held for all living things.

But when he’d hold Jango’s hand…when he’d trust him to help… even the tiny gasp when Jango had boldly kissed his hand, it was a rush of adrenaline and joy incomparable to any other experience. It felt so right,surely Obi Wan felt some shadow of this unexpected devotion.

Jango had lived a life of heart break and struggle, buoyed by his adoptive family and beautiful boys, but it would be too terrible a cruelty to give the healing man someone as beautiful and lovely as Obi Wan, just to hold him forever out of reach. Surely the gods could not be so malicious and terrible to one they’d broken so soundly.
“For thy love remembered such wealth brings, that I scorn to change my state with kings,” Jango murmured aloud as he toweled off. It was love, at least the start of it, that he felt for Obi Wan.

He knocked on his bedroom door, coming in when urged.Obi Wan flipped up the bed covers and gestured for Jango to join him under the blanket. Swallowing his nerves, Jango gingerly climbed onto the bed and slipped beneath the time softened comforter. Obi Wan’s body was a warm line three or so inches to his side, and the conflicting urges to grab hold of his librarian and never let him go and to flee out the door, out the window, and out of town went to war in his heart and head.

Obi Wan brought peace to the conflict by reaching out beneath the comforter and gently taking hold of Jango’s hand. He tugged at Jango, not harsh and roughly but with a certain insistence, until Jango obliged and shifted closer.

The dark and the quiet seemed to amplify every noise, and brought a vulnerable kind of sacredness to every act. Obi Wan, he realized, was hiding his own nerves behind a veneer of serenity, but he was far better at it than Jango. He let Obi Wan arrange them as he pleased, and found himself laying on his back with Obi Wan’s cheek resting above his heart and body turned into Jango’s side. He wrapped one arm against Obi Wan’s back and shoulder to keep the other man close.

At this sign of active approval, a relieved sort of stuttering sound left his bed partner’s mouth, lines of tension throughout his body beginning to fall limp and relaxed. “Would you like to listen to a book with me?” Obi Wan asked into the quiet dark. His breath puffed against Jango’s sleep shirt and left lingering warmth in their wake.

“We can talk too, about the book or anything else. Whatever you’d prefer. Or we could be quiet. Oh! You probably need some serious sleep, you’ve been up so long and after such a challenging fight. I can be quiet, we can just sleep-” Obi Wan nervously rambled, praying something would hit him in the head and make him stop talking. He’d even let his skull kiss the kitchen tiles again.

“Book and talking sounds good to me, but the final decision is yours,” Jango rumbled and Obi Wan felt the words as much as he heard them, bringing that terrible internal heat back to the surface of his flushed skin.

Obi Wan took a few deep breaths and poured out his intense feelings into the universe before settling down again. Right, which book to read with Jango? He knew the man professed no love of either books or reading, but he’d seemed to enjoy The Princess Bride, and Rex had confirmed his dad has a few favorites in their shelves that he always liked to see in nighttime reading rotation. He appreciated the company, almost as much as he appreciated the wonderful comforting heat he gave off, and he didn’t want to scare him away with a book the other man would find dull or uninteresting.

“This is the first book in a series,” Obi Wan explained as he swiped through his audiobook options on a darkened phone screen. “The series is called Deltora Quest by Emily Rodda. It has plenty of magic, bravery, riddles, betrayal, revenge and so on. It’s meant for a young audience but I think you will still enjoy it,” Obi Wan offered as he clicked on the book title: The Forests of Silence.

“Sounds good to me. Always liked adventure stories. Buir would tell us stories of the Manda’lors (rulers of Mandalore) and their quests when he had long car rides, the big nerd,” Jango murmured, folding his free arm up behind his head on the pillows and subtly tugging Obi Wan closer with the other. It felt electrifying, having the copper haired man so relaxed and leaning his weight and warmth on Jango.

The fact they were in his bed, under his comforter… the intimacy was mind boggling. Jango knew more than most that intimacy didn’t just mean sex, and that there was plenty of sex that one could have without intimacy at all. This quiet comfort and trust, the certainty the other would not abuse their vulnerability, this was real intimacy.

Obi Wan threw his arm over Jango’s chest and let the phone fall to the otherside of the bed as the narrator began his tale of an empire uniting to forge a belt of power with a sacred magic stone from each territory which together was the only chance the people had of chasing the evil inhuman Shadow Lord from their lands.

His legs tangled with Jango’s and both men closed their eyes and took easy lazy breaths. The Shadow Lord was driven out of Deltora, but now his shapeshifting spies had made their way into the palace as advisors and begun to break the country from within, something only the prince’s companion seemed to notice.

Jango felt himself become invested in the story, even as sleep tugged at his mind. He gasped when the belt was broken, and the Shadow Lord’s minions carried off the stones to secret and dangerous guardians so that the belt could never be forged anew.

“Lief? What kind of name is Leif?” Jango joked. The companion turned blacksmith had apparently named his mischievous and danger-prone son after shrubbery. When he said as much, Obi Wan began to chuckle. “We are the Knights Who Say Ni,” Obi Wan squeaked in a high falsetto. “And we demand…a shrubbery!”

The book had to be paused as they devolved into more Monty Python and the Holy Grail references. “There are some who call me….Tim,” Jango pronounced with dramatic gravitas, countered by Obi Wan reciting the rules of the Holy Hand Grenade.

By the time they got their laughter under control, they agreed to one more chapter before bed, trading whispered questions and comments, or reveling in the story. When the time came to sleep, Obi Wan merely clicked the phone off and remained in exactly the same position as before, surrendering to sleep after murmuring a quiet: “Jate vercopa cabur.” (Good night protector/guardian).

Jango pressed a small lingering kiss to Obi Wan’s soft hair, taking a few minutes to brush his fingers through the red-gold strands before he too let his eyes close and a whisper of “Jate vercopa, mesh’la,” (Good night beautiful) exhaled into the hair of the insane librarian who had so effortlessly conquered his heart.

Chapter 9: Stars are Born

Chapter Text

When Obi Wan woke he was alone and the other side of the bed had long gone cold. Jango had tucked the blanket snuggly around him. He huffed a fond sigh as he untangled himself, and was confused for a moment at the lack of sun before recalling the blackout curtains. His phone declared the time to be a bit after 10:30, far later than he usually slept.

Though something told Obi Wan that as a person who’d recently been concussed, he probably shouldn’t follow his usual morning routine of yoga in the sun and a long jog. He laid in bed a few minutes, sorting through the rather exciting recent events and how he felt about them.

It felt a little ridiculous to say as a grown man, but he was fairly certain he had a crush on Jango. A draw-our-initials-in-a-heart, blush-when-you-look-at-me kind of crush that filled him up with butterflies and warmth. For gods’ sakes he was a decorated military commander, not a teenager, but even as a teen he hadn’t felt so strongly for someone. Jango was a devoted father and a brilliant vicious fighter, which was annoyingly attractive. Despite what Alpha insisted, Obi Wan was not Mando’ade by association, and therefore had no reason to be so absurdly attracted to a skilled fighter and loving parent.

The closest to this feeling had been his time with Satine, at least in the beginning, and that didn’t even hold a candle to the rapidly deepening attraction Obi Wan held for the handsome and kind man who’d dashed into the library that rainy evening seemingly so long ago.

So, he accepted, he liked Jango. He wanted to kiss his stupidly handsome face, and hold his stupidly warm hands. He wanted to cuddle in this soft lovely bed listening to books on tape, to watch him fight, to tend to any bruises he came home with. He wanted to know everything about him, the good and the bad. He wanted to make pancakes with Jango on Sunday mornings and slow dance around the kitchen table in the sunlight.

He also adored Jango’s boys. Each was delightfully different, yet equally kind, clever, and bright. Cody, so serious and protective of his brothers, and with such a thirst for knowledge. Rex who was all heart and so intune with the emotions of those around him, and worked so hard. Little Boba, so full of energy, so determined to impress his brothers and father, yet full of that innocent childish mischief.

Gods, he was in deep. Though it was a little early to say, it seemed like Jango felt some affection for Obi Wan. The gentle touches and easy laughter seemed to indicate positive feelings, though he wouldn’t be foolish enough to assume the depth of his ardor had been matched by Jango. The man he’d known but a few days made him feel like he could fly when he looked at him with that roguish smile, happiness reflecting outward from amber eyes. He made Obi Wan feel young and unbroken, untouched by anxiety.

Unbidden, words Kamand Kojuri scrolled through his head:

“I do not write about love as though I have invented it.

I write about love because thoughts of you inspire self-forgetfulness.

And because writing about you gives birth to a star.

These stars sit inside me where there once was darkness.”

The bedroom door opened to a darkened hallway, and Alpha stuck his head in, eyebrow arched critically. “You made it through multiple war zones and veritable suicide missions, but babysitting duty lands your stupid ass in the hospital concussed, huh?” his dear, so very supportive, friend mocked openly.

“You’re bedside manner is sh*t,” Kenobi retorted snippily, turning up his nose. “K’atini,” (suck it up) grumbled Alpha, coming into the room and forcing Obi Wan to shuffle over as he planted himself on his brother’s bed.

“Jango took the kids to Arla’s place and then went to the gym. He called your boss, some lady name Ms. Yaddle, and filled her in on you braining yourself on the tiles. She said you aren’t allowed to step foot in the library for a week, and then light duty only till she gets a signed doctor’s note otherwise.” Alpha chuckled at the offended look on his former commander’s face.

“Sorry, General. Folks around here don’t trust you when it comes to taking care of yourself. For a damned good reason too. I’ll pop over and keep water the plans and getting the mail and what not. Give me a list of anything you want me to bring over from your place, as it doesn’t seem like my little brother is letting you go anywhere anytime soon. Bit…attached to you, it seems,” Alpha punctuated his teasing with a ridiculous eyebrow wiggle that had Obi Wan whacking him with a pillow.

“Do me a favor. Call him Jang’ika at least once when I can see and hear it. I’d pay a million dollars to watch him turn that shade of red. C’mon General, it's my older brother privilege!” Alpha snickered to himself.

“I’ll not help you harass poor Jango,” his bedmate informed him primly, leaning his head against Alpha’s shoulder. “Why not? I’ve helped you harass Anakin?” Alpha demanded, still chuckling. Obi Wan hummed. “Well…that is true. I don’t want to risk offending Jango though. I don’t know that we are familiar enough for me to be using a Mando nickname.”

“Oh, yes, total strangers. That’s why he cooked for you, trusted you with the boys, stayed up with you, kept you company in the hospital, and snuggled you all night long. Totally just acquaintances. Colleagues at best,” Alpha rolled his eyes.

“He told you about the snuggling!?” Obi Wan gasped.

“Nope! Just an educated guess! HA!” cackled Alpha, who nearly rolled himself out of bed laughing. Obi Wan helpfully pushed him the rest of the way, satisfied by the ‘Oomph!’ Alpha involuntarily let out when he hit the floor.

While on said floor, a terribly cruel idea struck the eldest brother, and he embraced cruelty thoroughly when it came to his siblings, so he dug out his phone and made a group chat with just Arla and Din.

ALPHA: Hey, wanna mess with Jango?

The responses were naturally immediate. Even Din, who rarely answered his phone for anything not Grogu-related during work hours at the garage.

DIN: Absolutely

ARLA: f*ck yeah!

ALPHA: Jango has kidnapped his librarian for the next few days to nurse him back to health after concussing him. I’m here keeping the moron from running off and doing something stupid. Wanna stop by for dinner ‘spontaneously’ tonight and meet the librarian all at once?

DIN: This will give Jango an aneurysm

ARLA: Which means I most absolutely will be there and bring the boys!!!

DIN: I mean, I’m definitely going to do it, and I’ll bring the kid, but let’s just acknowledge you’re killing your brother

ARLA: I always thought I’d be the one to do him in

ALPHA: This is doubly good for me, since this will double as me harassing Obi Wan as is my gods-given right as his friend. Someone tell Buir too so he doesn’t feel left out.

DIN: Done

ARLA: I can be there around 6:30

DIN: I’ll be a little later, I promised Grogu a ride by the beach. He likes the sunset on the water.

ALPHA: Sounds good. See you both.

“Are you going to leave the floor at any point?” Obi Wan questioned dryly, leaning over the edge of the bed. “You didn’t stay down this long the last time you got shot. I don’t imagine a fall of less than two feet finally did you in.”

Alpha groaned dramatically, slumping back into bed beside his friend. “Says the man who can defuse a bomb in less than three minutes but nearly died slipping on kitchen floors,” he taunted back,

“That is not what happened and you know it!” Obi Wan insisted hotly, digging an elbow into Alpha’s ribs. They lapsed into comfortable silence. “If we keep the lights low, do you wanna watch a movie?” Alpha asked at last.

“Mhmm. Sounds good. Did you have anything in mind?” Obi Wan yawned, adjusting himself against the pillows to sit up straighter. Alpha drifted through movie’s he’d seen lately. Obi Wan, unlike his siblings, wouldn’t mock him about his taste in movies.

“You mind watching ‘Chocolat’ again?” he asked softly. It was one of his favorites. The way the nomadic chocolatier and her daughter roamed around according to the wishes of the mysterious urn of ashes she carried, the community they built together in their little town, her ephemeral love with the equally nomadic man who traveled by boat, and the way mother and daughter finally fearlessly found a home.

“Get me a drink and my crackers first, then put it on,” Obi Wan demanded with a smile, Exaggerating a put-upon sigh, Alpha did just that, hiding a little grin from his friend as he hummed part of the movie soundtrack. It sucked the General was hurt, but Alpha for one was going to have a very pleasant day.

______________

Jango had a hard time focusing during his work-out and spar. His mind kept drifting back to the beautiful red-haired man who’d spent the night in his arms, and who he’d left warm and sleep-soft in the bed that morning.

It had taken herculean strength to leave Obi Wan alone in bed and shuffle the boys over to Arla’s, and even now his thoughts filled with Obi Wan. Mandos fell in love hard and fast, Jaster had warned, but Jango had never expected love to hit him out of the blue and leave him gasping on his back like a sudden kick to the solar plexus.

But it was pointless to deny it. He loved Obi Wan. He craved the music of his laugh, the way his smiles struck Jango like a bolt and filled his chest with sunlight. Watching him with the boys, so gentle and attentive, was enough to bring Jango to his knees. He dreamed of a thousand evenings like the last, laid together tangled as one with a book playing in the background.

Jango knew it was absurd to believe the other man felt as strongly as he did, but the start of an attraction seemed to be there. Jango would do everything in his power to fan those embers into a flame to match his own, and keep it burning. He had little allies in his sons, who practically worshiped Obi Wan.

A leader, a capable fighter, a protector, a devoted and intelligent man who was good with his kids, the man was the Mando version of catnip. Nevermind how beautiful he was. Ugh, he was meant to be practicing!

Still, he couldn’t be too mad. After all Obi Wan would still be there when he collected the boys, assuming Alpha could keep the stubborn man from trying to go to work, as his boss Ms. Yaddle had foretold he very well might.

The day passed simultaneously too quickly and agonizingly slowly until he picked up the boys from Arla’s place. He gave each a big hug and a kiss before he strapped him into the car, listening to stories of all the games they’d played with their cousins and ba’vodu (aunt/uncle) Arla.

Apparently she’d had them all doing sports most of the day to tire them out, everything from lacrosse to field hockey to freeze tag and croquet. It was hardly surprising, Arla had been just as competitive as Jango and a very skilled athlete herself. She’d gone to Naboo University full ride on an athletic scholarship, and between that and her cut-throat brilliance had left with high honors and fielding dozens of job offers.

His difficulties at school as a kid had left a sour taste in Jango’s mouth as far as academics went, so Jango had gone only long enough for an associate’s degree, and had only done that for Jaster who’d begged him to. Sometimes he worried he should have done more schooling, set a better example for his boys. After all now that he was a father himself, he entirely understood why Jaster had pushed for either a bit of college or a trade school.

Jango’s body was a wreck from years of training and fighting, and he couldn’t keep doing this forever. The older he got the slower his reaction time and the harder it was to bounce back from injuries. He’d eventually need something else. If Jango had it his way, none of the boys would work in such physically demanding jobs. They’d be healthier long than him, and wouldn’t be on a first name basis with every physical therapist in a ten mile radius like he was unless they worked with them.

Shaking the melancholy off, he asked the boys what they should make for dinner. “I think we should have tiingilar!” Rex insisted immediately. It was a traditional Mando dish, incredibly spicy. Jango knew Obi Wan liked a bit of spice, but that was too much to ask unless he knew better how much heat Obi Wan could take. Oh no, bad phrasing. Bad brain. No more thinking, shhh.

“What about your homemade pizza bagels?” Cody offered, finally looking up from his newest library book on the moons of Jupiter. Now that was a possibility. But did he have the pepperoni and other toppings?

Boba frowned, clearly deep in thought, before tipping his little head back and bellowing at the top of his lungs: “NUGGLETS!!!!!!!!!!”. He paused in the silence that followed, looking thoughtful again. “I mean, nuggets. Chicken nuggets. Please,” he self-corrected.

The rest of the car erupted into laughter. “All right, all right. Chicken nuggets it is. Next time I go grocery shopping I’ll make sure to get the toppings for pizza bagels so we can have those next. And we’ll have to ask Obi Wan about his spice tolerance,” he decided.

“Obi Wan can eat spicy food, because Obi Wan is awesome,” Rex informed him with the total certainty only children and ignorant jerks on the internet have mastered. It was much more palpable when it came from kids.

When the family paraded in the door, they found Alpha waiting for them at the kitchen table doing the crossword. He was quickly tackle-hugged by his nephews who quietly crept into Jango’s room and closed the door, undoubtedly demanding hello hugs from Obi Wan, hopefully more gently than they had with their ba’vodu (aunt/uncle) Alpha.

“Do me a favor,” Alpha said suddenly, a look of pure unadulterated mischief on his face. “Call Obi Wan ‘General’ as a nickname while I’m here. I need to see the blushing dumb-struck face he makes. When I say it, it doesn’t have that effect, but coming from you…” his older brother trailed off suggestively.

Well, he did say he wanted to get Obi Wan to be just as in love with Jango as Jango was with him, and Alpha had known him forever. Obi Wan shuffled into the kitchen, Boba in his arms and snuggled to his chest, and Cody and Rex as loving dutiful sentries at his side.

He looked amazing in a clean set of Jango’s clothes, hair sleep-ruffled, and expression adoring as he listened to the boy recount their day with patience and interest. f*ck it, in for a dime, in for a dollar.

He let his eyes rake up Obi Wan in a very obvious manner, before turning on the charm with a smirk and a teasing, flirtatious tone as he said: “Hello there, General.” Obi Wan’s jaw did drop open a bit, and he nearly dropped Boba before tightening his grip on the little boy.

His face flushed a bright red to rival his hair and beard, making the stormy blue grey of his eyes stand out that much more. With remarkable speed, Obi Wan collected himself, narrowing his eyes at Jango and Alpha in turn. When he turned his gaze back to Jango there was a heat there that hadn’t been present earlier, and he gave his own sophisticated kind of smirk

“Hello to you too, Jang’ika,” the commander turned librarian practically purred. Jango gasped, his own face burning red as he literally stumbled back, cut down at the knees, and fell into a box of children’s toys. His mouth was open, gaping like a fool no doubt, but he only had eyes for Obi Wan and that little smirk.

It was into this scene, Jango trapped in the toy box with his face neon red and mouth open, that Arla and her brood burst into, with Jaster, Din and Grogu at their heels, which prompted Alpha to collapse to the floor laughing himself, and Obi Wan to flip from seductive to shy and polite, waving at the unexpected house guests with his free hand.

There were several rapid clicks of photos being taken in response.

“Haran,” (Hell) Jango cursed.

Chapter 10: Attack of the Kids

Chapter Text

“Hello family, none of whom I invited here,” Jango drawled, as deadpan as possible for a man who’d just done his best impression of a cherry tomato and was still trapped in a wooden toy chest designed to look like a pirate’s treasure chest.

Kix and Cody came forward and dutifully took one of Jango’s hands each and began tugging until he staggeringly popped forward and out. “Ba’vodu Jango, I don’t think that at your age you should be trying to climb in toy chests,” Kix lectured, biting back a smile and full of all the wisdom of his thirteen years in this chaotic family.

So. Humiliated in front of his family. Gaping like a fool, red-faced. Picture evidence secured by said family. Trapped in a toy box. Freed by children. And then called old. f*cking fantastic.

“Thanks Kix. And thank you for volunteering to catch Boba and force him to wash up before dinner, how generous of you,” Jango snarked back at his nephew. Boba howled his refusal and sprinted for the backyard like a bat out of hell. Kix swore very quietly before charging out after his young cousin.

Arla meanwhile was eyeing Obi Wan speculatively, setting down a wrapped tin container of what smelled like lemon chicken. “You must be my brother’s librarian,” she purred, turning to shake Obi Wan’s hand too hard and for too long.

Obi Wan’s eyes flicked to Alpha and back, smiling politely at Arla like she wasn’t trying to jimmy his arm out of its socket with the world’s most vigorous greeting. “Indeed, Alpha is a dear friend from our shared days together in the military.”

The joy that stole over her face was alarming, but Jango was kept from interfering by his father who gamely guided his son into the kitchen to help gather plates and cutlery. Alpha shakingly lifted himself from where he’d collapsed onto the floor, still heaving oxygen into his lungs and wiping at the tears streaming from his face.

“Actually, I meant my brother Jango,” Arla corrected. Obi Wan blushed and Jango attempted to throw himself over the island in the kitchen to strangle his only sister. Din shoulder checked Jango away, under the guise of going to the fridge to pour drinks. The tiny sh*t-eating grin curling beneath his mustache negated his innocent act.

“Oh well…I mean. Jango has become a dear friend as well, and out of a sense of misplaced guilt has taken to seeing to my recovery from my concussion. It is quite generous and kind of him,” Obi Wan offered diplomatically. He skirted the kitchen island to help Jaster open the tupperware he’d come laden with and begin microwaving selections of spiced pasta, sliced and seasoned vegetables, garlic and cheese mashed potatoes, and some kind of sauce the color of blood that smelled like every spice ever had gone into it in massive quantities.

“Well it’s the least he could do after being the one to injure you,” Jaster teased, elbowing Jango. “It.was.an.accident,” Jango bit out, nearly cracking the plates with how hard he slammed them down. “Kids, dinner!” he called, sending them racing to wash their hands and race back. With how much the people in this family ate, it was a defensive response.

A panting Kix emerged from the yard, twigs in his hair and grass stains on his palms and knees. He had Boba over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry, who pouted fiercely as he was marched into the bathroom to wash up. Wolffe and Fox got back first,and piled their plates high. Wolffe doubled back with a smaller plate for Wooley. Cody and Rex followed, with Rex also making a plate for Boba heavy on the chicken and mashed potatoes. Poor Kix was left to fend for himself, and slathered everything in the spiced sauce.

At least the adults helped themselves, with Din offering Grogu chicken to gum at while he served himself. “It looks delicious,” Obi Wan offered as he liberally applied the sauce to the vegetables. “Why thank you,” Arla preened. “Please. We all know you bought the chicken at the Italian grocer and caterer place on Forsythe Street,” Jango snarked, disturbing glasses to the kids.

“Snitch,” his sister grumbled good-naturedly. “Sure you can handle the sauce, librarian? That’s proper Mando stuff,” she teased, also drowning her food in it like her son had. Obi Wan looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but maintained his well-mannered smile.

“Thank you for your concern, but I actually spent a while in Mandalore in my youth. My father, Jinn, was a botany specialist who was working in the area near the chemical spills on solutions to remove the toxins from the soil and groundwater. Interestingly enough one of his solutions was a particular kind of strawberry that absorbed toxins out of the soil. Of course the strawberries themselves became toxic, but once their work is done they can be safely removed.”

As if to punctuate his point, Obi Wan looked Arla in the eye and took a significant amount of vegetables and sauce into his mouth, and winked as he ate them. Arla threw back her head and laughed.

“I’d have liked to feed that Jinn some of those strawberries,” Alpha whispered, only loud enough for Jango and Jaster on either side of him to hear. The two glanced at each other and Alpha briefly before deliberately focusing back on their food and the conversation.

“I didn’t know you’d been to Manda’yaim (Mandalore home), Obi Wan. I haven’t been back since the chemical disasters, but I run an organization for the preservation and promotion of our culture. You should come by sometime to one of our events,” Jaster offered.

“That’s very kind, but I am not Mando’ade ( a child of Mandalore, a Mandaolorian),” Obi Wan digressed. Jaster laughed and shook his head. “I disagree. You clearly have mandokarla (the right stuff) down to the bone. It is not only those born of Mando blood that are Mando’ade, but those who live the Way of Mandalore. And I’d say you fit the bill.”

Obi Wan gave a small, touched smile that carved its place onto Jango’s heart. “Yeah! Obi Wan is awesome, jatnese be te jatnese! (the best of the best)” Rex called, defending his mashed potatoes from an avaricious Boba’s spoon. “He doesn’t seem that impressive,” Fox snarked, finishing his chicken.

Boba, Cody, and Rex froze, glancing at each other before their eyes narrowed as they turned back to fox. Rex slowly ate the last of his food before stacking his brothers’ plates. Boba shuffled closer to Fox while Cody took the plates to the sink, the adults all watching in curiosity.

“I think those were fighting words, ad’ika,” Arla cautioned with a smile, doing absolutely nothing to mitigate whatever was going to happen next. Afterall, this was part of being Mando’ade, you had to be ready to face the consequences of your actions.

“I don’t disagree with you Fox,” Obi Wan agreed calmly, ever the negotiator, “and everyone has the right to their own opinions.” Now Jango’s eyes narrowed in a glare at his house guest and crush, displeased at the self-deprecation he was hearing. He needed to ask Bant about this and consult the Obi-Wan caretaking manual he’d been sent.

“See, even he agrees. He’s just an aruetti (outsider) librarian,” Fox sniffed snidely, folding his arms. He missed Boba sliding under the table, or Rex tensing slightly in preparation. Fox got a sudden feeling of dread as a shadow was cast over him from behind.

Cody gave his cousin a solemn fearsome glare, looking every inch like a commander of old leading troops on the battlefield. “Ba’vodu Arla is right, vod (sibling),” Cody growled. “Those are fighting words. Cuun Obi Wan cuyir nayc aruetti. Val cuyir mhor cabuor utreekov. (Our Obi Wan is no outsider. He/they are ours to protect, fool.)”

Jango’s chest puffed with pride at his Mando son. Protective, proud, strong-willed, and stubborn. He had gotten very lucky with a wonderful son like Cody. Maybe he wasn’t completely screwing these kids up.

Fox flushed with anger and rose to his feet to face Cody, looking out toward the living room. “What was that, vod?” he snarled.

“I called you a fool, fool,” Cody drawled in reply, settling back on his heels. He looked back at Rex and nodded, a sharp shark-like grin curling across his young face. “Ram’or! (Attack)” Cody called. Boba snagged Fox’s legs at the ankles, arms popping out from under his hiding place under the table.

“What the-” Fox began, knocked off balance. Rex surged up and tackled his cousin the rest of the way to the floor, sitting astride his back. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and covered them in spit before jamming them into Fox’s ears. Fox cursed, face curled into disgust, as he tried to get into his feet.

“Boba, tickle him,” Cody ordered, and his youngest brother gleefully jumped to the task, aiming for behind Fox’s knees. He shrieked in terrified laughter, struggling to free himself as Cody continued to look down, as immovable and unflappable as stone. “Yield and apologize to Obi-Wan,” Cody demanded calmly.

“Hell no!” Fox grit out, finally freeing himself, but only long enough for Cody to tackle him. The two boys rolled around on the floor play wrestling. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but think the sight reminded him of two crocodiles rolling in death-throes as they fought in muddy murky waters.

“Should…should we stop them?” he began hesitantly, though none of the other adults looked concerned. Even Fox’s siblings made no move to assist their brother. “Nah. Fox should know better,” Wolffe mumbled, pouring himself more of the pink lemonade that had been set out.

“Is that why you aren’t providing back up support?” teased Jaster, eyes still on the fight. He and the other adults would intervene if it moved from play fighting to anything more serious, but for now they were fine. Rex threw himself into the fray alongside Cody, and Boba was back at going for the knees and ankles.

“Well I don’t have an issue with Obi-Wan,” Kix shrugged. His brothers nodded. “In fact, does your library have any good books on being a doctor? I want to be a doctor when I’m grown up,” Kix declared. Arla gave a small proud smile and brushed a hand through her son’s short hair. He had striking lightning bolts shaved into his undercut on either side of his head, and her fingertips lingered at one.

“Whatever you decide to be, I know you will be a good one, ad’ika,” Arla praised, bringing a proud flush to Kix’s face. “Thanks, buir,” he murmured back, leaning against her side. Din offered his own son a smile, and Grogu gurgled happily in reply, holding one of his father’s fingers tight in his little hand.
“Well General, at least you know you're wanted around,” Alpha remarked as Jango decided to break up the fight, snagging Fox and Cody by the back of the shirt and hauling the boys physically apart.

The three brothers escorted the defeated Fox to the adults. Fox angrily muttered something under his breath, refusing to look at Obi-Wan. He got an elbow to the ribs, his foot stomped on, and a tiny but hard kick to the shin for his reluctance. “Sorry, Obi-Wan,” he repeated louder.

Cody, Rex, and Boba nodded in satisfaction, and Boba decided it was time for Obi-Wan to hold him again, scrambling up to his lap. “Vor entye, brave warriors,” Obi-Wan said sincerely, and the three boys puffed up in pride, crowding close to their favorite grown-up, besides their buir and retelling the battle in detail as though Obi-Wan hadn’t been a firsthand witness.

Obi-Wan listened attentively, nodding and gasping in all the right places while holding Boba close to his chest. Eventually Boba fell asleep, tucked in and warm in the librarian’s arms. Din and Arla rounded up their children and said goodbye, with Jaster right behind them, pressing his forehead to Jango’s before hugging Obi-Wan. “You’ll have to come to next week’s breakfast, I insist,” Jaster declared, giving Obi-Wan no time to refuse before departing in a flourish.

Alpha gave his surprised younger brother a hug, rustling both awake boys’ hair, and dragging Obi-Wan in for a bone-crushing hug. “I’ll be back tomorrow, you still need rest, General,” Alpha warned, before taking his leave.

Obi-Wan turned and smiled at Jango, a sleeping Boba still in his arms. “You have a wonderful family,” he murmured. Jango blushed and smiled back, tugging Cody and Rex into his arms. “Yes. I really do. Now boys, brush your teeth and get ready for bed. It’s late, so just one story before bed. If we do this with minimal whining we can stop for Italian ices after dinner tomorrow.”

Excited about sweet treats and eager for a story, the two boys thundered down the hall to the bathroom. Obi-Wan helped Jango change the limp and snoring Boba into pajamas and tucked him into bed. Jango pressed a kiss to his head and flicked on the silicone puffed up bunny night light as they departed.

They settled into Cody’s room, with Cody showing off the plastic moon that lit up when plugged in and rested on angled wood that made up a minimalist stand. Obi-Wan praised it accordingly, eyes turned away from the bright light as he subtly tried to rub at his temples.

Jango’s amber eyes caught the motion and noted it for later, even as Rex clambered up onto the bed, book in hand. It was a worn copy of Dr. Seuss’s ‘The Lorax’, a hardcover book with a strained spine and bits of crayon marking the pages.

“This was actually my book growing up,” Jango explained to Obi-Wan as he settled in to read to the boys. Obi-Wan let his eyes close, both for relief from the throbbing in his skull and to focus on Jango’s deep voice.

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better, it’s not,” Jango read calmly to his enraptured audience. Obi-Wan could remember reading the same book to Anakin, curled up in Anakin’s bed. He’d read it later to Ahsoka over Facetime from a desert far away. She’d been there turning the pages on her copy of the book, while he read the text from his phone huddled in empty barracks.

He’d always liked that quote, tried to live by it and carried it with him each day, the idea that by caring he could help people, that by giving of himself he could make positive changes. He hoped he could anyway.

Cody was tucked into bed, then Rex, and Obi-Wan found himself being herded into Jango’s room and then to the bathroom to change into another warm and well-worn set of pajamas with a loose t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, emerging to an empty room.

It didn’t stay empty for long, Jango bustled in with apple juice in a glass, a bottle of Advil rattling in his hand and a still frozen ice pack wrapped in a dish towel held in the crook of his elbow. He set the drink and painkillers aside on the night table, and tugged Obi-Wan gently to sit on the bed.

“Go on, I saw you rubbing at your head. Take the painkillers,” Jango chided, staring directly at the librarian until he acquiesced with a small grin. He knocked back the painkillers with a few big sips of juice, startling slightly when he felt callused hands behind softly rubbing at his temples.

He sighed in relief and leaned back, letting Jango take his weight. A thrill went through Jango, like a warmth suffusing through his veins at the sign of trust. He guided Obi-Wan to lean back, copper hair bright in contrast against his pale gray shirts he settled the other man’s head on his shoulder, shuffling to lay back against the headboard and dragging him back with him. Obi-Wan laughed and went willingly, laying back against Jango’s chest.

Jango gingerly set the ice pack over Obi-Wan’s eyes and fumbled for Obi-Wan’s phone. “Could you play the next chapter for us?” he murmured. Happily the redhead set the audiobook up, and reached over to turn off the lights and settled back against Jango as the narrator’s voice began to read the book.

“I’ll take care of you,” Jango whispered in between chapters, into the quiet calm of the night, into Obi-Wan’s ear. “As long as you’ll let me, I’ll care for you. My boys too. We want you, we value you, Obi-Wan.”

The narrator continued but was temporarily ignored. Softly, as though only breathed outward, Obi-Wan whispered “Thank you,” and nuzzled back. “Thank you.”

Chapter 11: Recognition of Danger

Chapter Text

The next few days passed in a similar fashion. Obi Wan was accompanied during the day by a rotation of usually well-meaning babysitters. It was most often Alpha, come to indulge in his weakness for rom coms and judging his younger brother’s kitchen organization methods.

“Why in the name of all the fallen kings is the SALT with the cups?! Who does that!?” the former soldier had grumbled loudly and angrily around a mouthful of salt-less popcorn.

“You could just go get it now that I told you where it is,” Obi Wan had tried to point out, only to be scoffed at. “ It’s too late now,” Alpha snipped, slapping Obi Wan’s hand away from the remote. “Don’t you dare lower the volume during her big monologue, General! I’ll steal your pancreas!”

Arla took a turn as well, splitting her time between telling embarrassing stories about her brothers, primarily Jango, and poking Obi Wan into sharing some of his own stories. She got quiet, an odd reaction he thought, after a few of them.

“I was in the back of a Humvee getting shot at, and in fairness, shooting back, on Facetime with Ahsoka’s teacher for parent teacher conferences, trying to explain my concerns about her spelling grades. Ahsoka emailed me the next day that the teacher, poor Ms. Ti, had shamed all the parents who’d skipped the conferences using me as an example. ‘If Mr. Kenobi can spare a few minutes under fire in a war zone to discuss his sister’s progress, you in your comfortable suburban homes less than thirty minutes away can most certainly do the same!’ Poor Ahsoka couldn’t stop laughing!”

Arla chuckled, but there was a more somber look across her face in the moments afterwards. She eyed the picture of their family Obi Wan had pulled up on his phone screen as a prop to support his stories. He noticed her gaze and passed it over.

“Go ahead and scroll to either side, it's my album for family pictures,” he nodded, climbing up to make a run to the kitchen. The first photo showed Anakin now, an arm around Padme and a hand carefully around her pregnant stomach, both of them beaming with thrilled smiles and holding up an ultrasound of twin blobs. Anakin’s sandy blond hair was pinned back the way he wore it when he was working on the car, displaying the long thin scar that ran through his elbow and down close to his jaw.

The next was Ahsoka, her blue and white braids swinging as she belted out a song into a wooden spoon while a pile of cooling cookies was stacked behind her, Anakin clearly providing back up vocals into a whisk, and a dark skinned man with braids played the air guitar.

There were several dozen more of them at various ages. Baby Ahsoka with a gap-tooth grin wearing overalls to her first day of school, Anakin at the beach in a wet suit and flippers to avoid the sand, photos from his wedding to Padme, Ahsoka’s dance recitals, every lovely moment both domestic and formal.

Obi Wan featured in several, with his arms around his younger siblings, Ahsoka riding on his shoulders, tutoring one or both of them at a rounded wooden kitchen table, and so on.

The man with braids featured in many, often close to Obi Wan, along with others like a woman with blue eyes and a dark headdress, or a man dressed like a bad Jack Sparrow impersonator. There was the man, Mr. Plo Koon from more of Obi Wan’s stories, who was often pictured with Ahsoka or Anakin. Ms. Ti was even in a few. A woman with Anakin, likely his mother Shmi who he’d been separated from with each thinking the other was dead.

Obi Wan had shared the story of his work to reunite them, and after hearing it she resolved that someone in the family needed to marry this man. She’d take one for the team and marry him herself if she had to. He was that kind, and brave, and downright Mandalorian.

The last photo caught her the most. It was an old traditional family portrait. There was a very tall and slender older man with his hair to his shoulders and gathered into a top knot dressed in a brown suit with a quiet smile on his face not hidden by his goatee. One hand rested on a young Anakin’s shoulder, who wore his brighter blond hair short around his face and had no scar, grinning easy and bright at the camera. His other hand held a toddler Ahsoka on his lap dressed in a frilly lacy gown, which she seemed put off by.

Arla’s eyes narrowed at a young Obi Wan. He wore his formal military uniform, pressed clean and sharp, and the pins on his chest gleamed with polished pride. He was ramrod straight, with a clipped beard and shorter auburn hair, and he held onto one of Anakin’s hands.

Most noticeable to Arla was the space left between the older man and Obi Wan. The man, this Jinn, she presumed, clutched his two youngest children close but almost imperceptibly leaned away from Obi Wan.

Arla knows Alpha has something against the man who had adopted Obi Wan and his siblings. She knows at the moment, Alpha knows the most about Obi Wan and his past, though surely Jango will try to make a bid for the title at some point. And Arla also knows a bit about body language, and the distance between father and son, the tightness both carry in their shoulders and corners of their eyes speaks to trouble.

Arla doesn’t know Jinn, but she does know she doesn’t like him. As Obi Wan settles back next to her on the couch, she notices he’s collected a few balls of yarn, metal and plastic hooks, and two glasses of iced tea.

Carefully she flips back to a better picture, Ahsoka holding a little paper sign that says ‘Anakin’s Emo Phase’ and pointing innocently to her brother, hair wild and long, dressed in black, spikes, and pleather, and coloring in racoon like black eyeshadow circles around his eyes.

“Ohhh boy, that’s a favorite of mine,” Obi Wan laughs as he notices what photo she’s stopped on. “If I had a nickel for every time I heard ‘You just don’t GET ME’ or heard him slam a door I would own a mansion on every continent and my bathtub would be made of gold and sapphires,” the librarian cackles, hooking the yarn to make a starting knot and settling in to crochet his next project.

Whatever it was he was making, it involved soft lovely yarn in silver and two shades of lighter and darker blue. Arla admired his form, and they sat in companionable silence for a while as he worked until Arla finally broke it with a request to learn a little.

Obi Wan was a natural teacher, that much was obvious, even if Arla was not a natural at crochet. By the time she needed to head out, Obi Wan had written down suggested YouTube crochet channels to check out, and several book recommendations for Kix.

“And remember, Buir is expecting you at Sunday brunch! And there is no escape! Buh-bye!” Arla trilled as she skipped out the door. She waited till she was in the car before sending a quick voice message to an old acquaintance from Mandalore with some less than legal contacts.

Obi Wan was quickly becoming family, and threats to her family needed to be taken care of, even if it was their memory doing the harm.

“What can you tell me about a botanist by the name Qui-Gon Jinn?”

Chapter 12: In Our Bedroom After the War

Chapter Text

Jango was sweaty. This was actually a vast understatement considering he’d put himself through a ridiculously hard day of training, with Alpha’s loud and often acerbic ‘encouragement’ as a soundtrack.

The irritating thing was, Alpha’s words always worked, always made Jango angry enough to push through whatever exercise or practice he was ready to quit. So yes, very, very sweaty and downright smelly Jango, trapped in his own car while he remembered how to breathe regularly and convince his muscles to cooperate enough to drive home.

God he stank. Maybe he could summon the energy to at least turn on the AC or open a window? Nope. Damn.

His mind drifted to what waited for him at home. The boys would have been picked up by Din today and left with Obi Wan. Despite the fact he must surely have lost the fascination that anything or anyone new brought with them, the boys still adored the librarian, maybe even more than when they first met him that rainy night.

Cody liked that he spoke to them like intelligent and capable people, and while he did simplify some explanations, he never patronized or spoke down to them. Jango had returned home more than once to find Cody having tucked himself under Obi Wan’s arm and curled up to the other man as they discussed politics and history and space exploration.

Obi Wan had lit a fire for reading in Rex, who devoured books and everything in them. He had more of a taste for fiction than Cody, and was currently working his way through the Magic Treehouse series. He still needed help, and Obi Wan would often read with Rex, taking turns on who read what page aloud while gently emphasizing things Rex had struggled with. He would stop for a moment and model a suggestion, able to in his own charming way, identify an issue and recommend tools to fix it without the hot flush of embarrassment stealing its way across Rex’s face as it once did.

Boba was less literature inclined, understandable for his age, and preferred to have Obi Wan color with him, or play with his toys in complicated games that usually ended with one of the plastic mythosaurs eating the bad guy, two old fashioned Mando knights kissing, or Boba declaring ‘Done!’ and leaving mid scene.

The latter usually left Obi Wan looking startled and sad, mumbling about needing to know if Mand’alor the Cranky would defeat the evil sock monster and if the Mando princess would follow through on her revenge for her sister’s murder.

Maybe he should have been more hesitant to trust the librarian with his precious boys, but time and time again Obi Wan proved himself worthy of that trust and dug his way unknowingly deeper and deeper into his heart. It was too soon for most people, but not necessarily for Mando culture, to admit it, but Jango was in love with Obi Wan Kenobi. Former special ops. Current librarian and crochet master.

Having him around the house was a blessing, and neither Jango nor his boys had laughed and smiled as often before him. They’d been happy of course, perfectly happy, they were just happier now.

The problem was this wouldn’t last forever. Obi Wan’s concussion was healing slowly but surely, and he had a life and an apartment, and according to Alpha (who’d been diligently tending to them) an assortment of plants. Letting him go would be heartbreaking for them all.

Not to mention they weren’t even dating! Whispered promises of worthiness and care, and sleeping side by side in Jango’s bed had been meaningful of course, but he’d never actually asked Obi Wan out formally or even taken him on a date!

What if when he left and went home, and everything shifted back to Obi Wan being a beautiful but distant acquaintance who was helping his son practice reading instead of the kind, dry humored, passionate, and brilliant man who baked cookies with Jango and laughed at his terrible Dad jokes while watching Scooby-Doo movie marathons with the boys?

He couldn’t let that happen. His whole family loved Obi Wan, his boys loved Obi Wan and hell, Jango himself loved Obi Wan. He’d summon the beskar his buir insisted flowed through his veins and demand the universe let Obi Wan be theirs (and belong to Obi Wan themselves) or the universe itself would taste beskar and blood.

Tap Tap Tap.

Jango jerked out of his musings, nearly hitting his head on the glass of the window and groaning when his muscles protested. Alpha rolled his eyes and gestured for Jango to lower the window.

“Hey dikut. Weather says we’re in for a bad storm tonight. Get home safe and make something warm for the General and the boys, after a shower. Manda, you need a shower, you smell like an old gym sock,” Alpha pretended to gag and pinched his nose.

Jango grumbled insults about Alpha and Alpha’s hypothetical mother, which only made the bastard laugh. “Oh and make enough for Din and his brat too. Buir and I are trying to convince them to see you or Buir tonight. Din’s sh*tty apartment is likely to lose power.”

Jango nodded, not even remotely annoyed his house was being volunteered. It’s what you did for family, especially your baby brother and his baby. Arla had been pressuring Din to let her help him find a better place to live for ages but he had gotten stubborn and dug his heels in.

Din liked his job at the garage well enough, though he’d been slowly taking a few college classes as well, and now that he was a father himself he was determined to be a provider to his son and stand on his own. When he got too stubborn about accepting his family’s help they usually stuck him in a sparring ring with Alpha for a few hours and he came out more ready to take assistance.

It was about time to try that method for the housing issue. If Arla couldn’t argue you down, Alpha could beat sense into you. With love, of course.

Jango was going to roll up the window, but Alpha looked thoughtfully at the date on his phone and frowned, giving Jango reason to pause. “Be good to Obi Wan,” Alpha said almost softly. “Today was his next appointment for the concussion. I’m sure the doctor told him to stay slowed down, and he’s an independent, stubborn f*cker. He won’t take that well.”

Jango had completely forgotten that Buir had volunteered to drive Obi Wan to his doctor’s appointment today for a check in. All his thoughts today had been about his big fight coming up, if Alpha hadn’t reminded Jango, he would have completely forgotten. It was a bad habit of his, going so far into his own head that he forgot about other people and their problems.

“I promise I will. Any recommendations for cheering him up?” Jango asked, a bit jealous his ori’vod knew Obi Wan so well. Obi Wan was a beautiful story Jango had only just begun to learn.

Alpha showed his love in quiet little ways, like paying careful attention to what people liked and disliked. He knew everyone’s little habits and pet peeves.

Admittedly he sometimes used his powers for evil and knew exactly how to irritate you because he would only raise the TV volume by 4 numbers instead of 5 just to make you twitch, or have the pot handles face left instead of right so he could watch Arla physically restrain herself from immediately rising to fix it, but still.

Alpha hummed, mentally sorting through his files on black mail and quirks.

“Make tiingilar for dinner. If you have something with caramel or strawberries for dessert he loves that, but in a pinch hot chocolate will do. Warm soft things, like oversized sweatshirts and blanket piles. If you feel bold, rub his feet or his back since those always hurt. And watch a silly but sweet kids movie,” Alpha declared authoritatively before turning back to walk into the gym and finish his shift.

“Drive safe, dikut!” was his parting call, before pulling the side door shut behind him with a loud metallic clang.

Jango rolled his eyes, but was grinning when he finally summoned the strength to reverse out of his parking spot. He’d have to add a trip to the grocery store before going home, but it would be worth it for one of Obi Wan’s painfully sincere little smiles.

Not to mention this was as good an excuse as any to let Obi Wan wear more of his clothes. He had an old and worn-to-comfort sweatshirt that made Jango physically relax just by wearing it, and it would be perfect for Obi Wan.

Today was going to be a good day.

- - - -

Today had not been a good day.

Jaster had thoughtfully offered to drive Obi Wan to his follow up doctor’s appointment to see how his recovery was coming along. And Obi Wan felt fine! Sure he got a little dizzy doing things like standing up, or standing still for too long, or reading, or watching tv.

And sure, his head would pound reminiscent of the way Hondo had whaled on his steel drums when he drunkenly set out to ruin his neighbor’s fancy dinner party.

But he was fine! And he had been expecting the doctor to agree with him after a round of testing and chatting. Dr. Vokara Che, whom Obi Wan had seen when he was younger for migraines and had always been kind but no nonsense had not, in fact, agreed.

She’d informed him he needed to be taking it more easy. More easy! Impossible, incomprehensible. He was already barely doing anything like some lazy overly indulgent slug.

When he’d expressed that to Dr. Che, she had informed him he sounded like his father and to “knock that sh*t off” before smacking his shoulder with her clipboard. She’d probably have slapped him upside the head if not for the concussion.

She’d even asked if she could inform Jaster, and she’d said it in a way that implied even if he said no she’d find a loophole in doctor patient confidentiality to inform Jaster. Trying to save them all the headache, he’d reluctantly agreed.

Jaster had volunteer to contact Ms. Yaddle at the library and request more time off for Obi Wan, and really how the gods’ names did those two know each other? He’d also told Dr. Che that Obi Wan was staying with Jango and being babysat (though he used much kinder and much more diplomatic terms) by a rotating cast of his children and grandchildren, which seemed to thrill Dr. Che.

“Finally, you have some good people looking after you. If you hadn’t had someone to keep an eye on you, I would have had to call Bant, or gods forbid, even that rascal Quinlan,” the doctor who’d adopted him forcibly all those years ago announced.

“I could have called Anakin,” Obi Wan halfheartedly protested, prompting a snort from the good doctor. “That boy couldn’t keep a houseplant alive. The fact he’s going to be responsible for babies soon terrifies me.”

Dr. Che put a comforting hand on Obi Wan’s shoulder and ignored Jaster for a bit, drawing close. “I know you can take care of yourself, Obi Wan. I know you’ve had to take care of yourself for all your life, and then your siblings too. But this is a good thing, having people taking care of you. I know its frustrating for you, but please give them a chance.”

In the face of her kindness and sincerity, all Obi Wan could do was sigh and nod. Jaster then drove Obi Wan to pick up a new prescription for painkillers and a renewed prescription for his migraines just in case.

Then had come a trip to the store for a few odds and ends Dr. Che recommended for headache relief. Jaster had even agreed to a trip to the yarn store for more yarn and a set of fine circle knitting needles.

Jaster had perhaps sensed the poor mood Obi Wan had found himself in, both at the news he couldn’t get back to work (though secretly he was pleased at the continued excuse to spend more time with the boys and with Jango) and the reminder of the ghost of his adoptive father that hung over him.

He insisted that he and Obi Wan stop for ice cream, which they ate in the park on a little green metal bench by a pond of ducks. Pistachio for Jaster, and cherry vanilla for Obi Wan.

“Families are funny things, aren’t they?” Jaster began casually, eyes not on Obi Wan, but on the ducks. “Mandalorians, as I am sure you know, value family and children above all else. Or at least they should. But Mandalorians also know family isn’t just blood or who chooses you. It’s also who you choose.”

They pause to watch two little ducks swim in joyful little circles away from the others. “I have a friend, Walon Vau. He declared his parents dar’buire. No longer parents. It is a title for those unworthy of being parents, who fail to act as family should. We don’t have dar’ade, no longer children. There isn’t a word for it.”

The ducks drift further and further away from their siblings and mother. Obi Wan wants to gently nudge them back to their mother. Has to physically restrain himself from clambering into the water to do so.

“Walon’s birth parents died. Then his adoptive parents he declared dar’buire for reasons that are not mine to share. He adopted a couple of kids of his own, and eventually met a woman named Ruusan with her own kids. They fell in love, and they said the riduurok to each other, and the gai bal manda for each others’ ade.”

The mother duck and the rest of the ducklings are gone, and the two ducklings left behind begin to cry. Obi Wan’s heart is breaking for these cute little ducklings left alone and sad in the middle of the pond.

There’s a frantic kind of honk and the mother duck returns, dashing into the water and scooping the babies up to herd them away to their family, the ducklings chirping happily at the sight of her.

“Ruusan’s parents adore Walon. They finally asked him if they could adopt him, even though he’s a grown man, because they love him and want to show him how much they love him being in their family. He was back and forth on it for a long time, but he agreed and he’s never been happier.”

The water in the pond is quiet and calm. Obi Wan crunches on the last of his ice cream cone as quietly as he can. In the distance he can almost hear the happy ducklings still.

“We make are our own families. And we don’t need to keep anyone that doesn’t act the way a family should. It is an interesting thought, yes?” Jaster finishes his own cone, and offers Obi Wan a smile.

“Yes,” Obi Wan says after several minutes of quietly staring at the pond. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

He feels a little lighter, and somehow very emotionally drained by the time Jaster drops him off at Jango’s house. Alone for the first time in a while, Obi decides to clean up a bit. He puts away toys, does a few loads of laundry, and vacuums.

He’s sitting on the couch folding clothes to keep busy when the boys arrive, dropped off by Arla, who is rushing off because Kix has boy scouts, Fox has martial arts, Wolffe has junior hockey, and Wooley has junior soccer.

He is tackled in a hug by Cody, Rex, and Boba, and regaled by three separate accounts of school simultaneously. Obi Wan laughs, listens as best he can, and asks clarifying questions as he herds the boys to the kitchen for a snack.

Cody and Rex settle at the kitchen table, with Cody pausing to help Boba climb into his own chair, to start homework. Boba doesn’t have homework but likes to be included, so he drags over some construction paper and an impressively large collection of crayons.

Snack today is iced tea and a mix of apple slices and baby carrots. Obi Wan settles down with the boys to help with their homework and steal some of their snack for himself. When they seem to not need his help for a bit, he settles for filling the dishwasher.

The door sticks a bit then slams open, to a sweaty Jango with his arms - gods Obi Wan stop staring at those muscular arms, stop noticing how defined they are, how lovely they’d feel around you …bad brain! Bad! - full of grocery bags.

The boys jump to hug him with a shout of “Buir!” and again begin to discuss their different days at school all at once. They hang around Jango’s waist as he walks forward, smiling and listening as best as he can, to deposit the groceries on the counter. Obi Wan begins unpacking them so Jango can take a moment to breathe.

He scoops each boy up for a hug and a kiss, despite their laughing protests at how gross he is after the gym. “Should you be doing all this after what Dr. Che said?” Jango asks, only half-teasing as he takes over putting away the groceries.

Obi Wan let’s out a sigh, and wants to cross his arms and protest he’s not an invalid, when he gets hit with a dizzy spell and a headache that slams into his skull like a shovel.

His knees shake a bit and he wonders if he’s about to taste Jango’s kitchen tile again when he hears Jango shout “Woah there!” and suddenly there are very strong arms wrapped around his waist and a broad warm chest at Obi Wan’s back.

Jango does smell sweaty, but Obi Wan doesn’t really mind. And his arms really are just as lovely as he imagined. Not that he’s imagined it. Damn it.

Jango pauses a moment, then gently but firmly guides Obi Wan to the couch and nudges him to sit down. Jango sits on the coffee table in front of the couch and puts a calloused warm hand - gods why is this man so delightfully warm all over!? - on Obi Wan’s forehead, searching his eyes like he can find answers in grey-blue depths.

“Careful,” Jango admonishes gently, his hand sliding down to cup Obi Wan’s face. “I appreciate all you do, and all you’ve done for us. But speaking from experience, as annoying as a long slow recovery is, the injuries I let actually recover despite the frustration healed worlds better than the ones I rushed.”

It doesn’t feel condescending or patronizing coming from Jango, who legitimately has likely had to endure several serious injuries and been told to take it easy for extended periods of time as well.

Obi Wan settles back a bit into the couch and tries not to blush when Jango offers him a small, sweet smile. His thumb is moving gently over the skin close to Obi Wan’s lips. For a moment he dreams of leaning close, of tugging Jango to him and tasting a kiss from Jango’s lips.

Undoubtedly, just like everything about Jango, his kisses would be deliciously warm.

“I’m gonna go shower. Stay put for a little bit please, and when I’m done I’ll get to work on dinner. I thought I’d treat us to some of Buir’s recipe for tiingilar.” Jango pauses, savoring how good this moment feels, before rising to do just that.

Obi Wan debates getting up to finish with the dishwasher, when Jango’s voice calls out from his bedroom. “Boys! Sit on Obi Wan!”. Once again, Obi Wan is tackled by three adorable Mando boys. Boba settles in Obi Wan’s lap, with Rex and Cody wedge close to either side of him.

“What Scooby Doo movie should we watch tonight!?” Rex says eagerly, practically bouncing in place. “I like the one when they go to Mexico! With the monster!”. Boba shakes his head, “Knights!” the youngest one insists.

“I think we should watch the samurai one!” Cody chimes in, eyes lit up at the idea of discussing both history and weaponry. A true Mando.

Before the fighting can begin in earnest, Cody turns to Obi Wan and tugs on his arm. “Which one do you wanna watch Obi?”

The other two boys fall silent, waiting patiently for Obi Wan’s verdict. “I would actually like to watch Scooby Doo and the Loch Ness monster. It’s one of my favorites. Would that be okay?” he suggests gently.

The three boys glance at each other, having some kind of silent conversation, before nodding in unison. “That sounds good to us, Obi!” Rex declares, nodding. Obi Wan feel his heart full to bursting with fondness for these three lovely children, and he hugs Boba, before looping one arm around both Cody and Rex and giving them one big hug.

Rain begins to fall then, pinging against the window glass softly then loudly. Thunder rumbled and lightning clapped. The storm roared in strong, and seemed like it was going to last a while.

“Alright, I’d say with that storm outside we should all put on some pajamas and show off your pillow fort building skills to Obi Wan,” Jango announced, shaking his wet curls a bit and shuffling into the kitchen.

The boys ran into their rooms to put on their pajamas so they could get started on the pillow fort. The linen closet had some excellent offerings of extra pillows, sheets, and blankets to build with.

“That means you too, Obi Wan” Jango teased. “I left some warm pajamas on the bed for you.” With a soft chuckle, Obi Wan stood and wandered into the bedroom. On the comforter sat thick dark socks and dark blue and grey flannel sleep pants. Settled above that was a dark t-shirt and an incredibly comfortable looking sweatshirt.

It would be too big on Obi Wan, sleeves down past his wrists and the hem lower than usual due to how muscular and broad Jango was.

It was age worn to a particular kind of softness and comfort, also a deep blue and grey with mando’a letters across the back and down the sleeve. It had a little pocket in the front for both hands with a stylized darksaber on the pocket, and grey slightly frayed drawstring.

Perfection.

Obi Wan changes quickly, and shuffled back out to the living room unable to keep the slightly dopey grin off his face.

The boys were industriously working away on a truly massive pillow fort supported by someone’s mattress on the ground, several chairs, sheets, a jump rope or two, a bath robe belt, a dozen clothes pins, presumably every pillow in the house, and a shocking number of blankets.

They seemed to have a system, so to avoid being in the way, Obi Wan went to stand by Jango. The purple potatoes were chopped and added to the stew. The garlic and chicken thighs were simmering away already, alongside the carrots, tomato paste, curry powder, chicken broth, and everything else.

Jango herded him to sit up on the counter since the boys had absconded with the chairs, but he let Obi Wan pass over spices and slice the onions. So that was something.

Jango paused periodically in stirring the stew to yell at someone via voice message, with the increasingly heavy rainfall in the background. “Don’t make me call Alpha!” Jango snaps into his phone, frustration coloring his tone.

Obi Wan arches a brow and waits for an explanation.

Jango puts his head in his hands and sighs deeply, refusing to look up when his phone buzzes again. “Din is insisting he can ride out the storm in his crappy little apartment with Grogu but he’s already lost power. Arla, Buir, and I are trying to convince him to come here or go to Buir’s. He’s being a stubborn you-know-what.”

The phone buzzes again twice. There’s a long silent pause before it buzzes thrice more, prompting a groan from Jango. “What does it say?” he asks from where he is hiding in his hands.

Obi Wan rubs the back of Jango’s neck in comfort with one hand and grabs Jango’s phone with the other, reading out the messages still displayed on the lock screen.

‘Din said : ‘Don’t tell me what to do, I’m not a child. My apartment is fine.’ And then Arla wrote: ‘You and your apartment suck and we aren’t letting you freeze to death because you have something to prove’. Din replied ‘We will be just fine, leave it alone. Wait, are one of you knocking on my door!!?’, and the next two are from Alpha.”

Obi Wan looks at the most recent messages, both from Alpha. “I have Din and Grogu in my car. I told them to pick Jango’s or Buir’s. He picked Jango’s because it’s closer to his place. Will drop them off shortly. P.S He’s a grumpy wet cat right now,” Obi Wan dutifully dictates.

Jango is snickering, grinning wide when he raises his head. “Alpha absolutely kicked in the door, dragged Din out by the shirt and shoved him into his car with Grogu in the booster seat and just started driving.”

Obi Wan laughs, imagining the scene playing out perfectly clearly. Even Alpha’s fondest affections were unsurprisingly slightly aggressive. Din pulls out two extra bowls, before heading over to open the door when he hears a car honk outside.

A heavily frowning Din and giggling baby Grogu stand soaking wet at the threshold, and Jango cranes his head to see Alpha salute and drive off, abandoning Din to his ori’vod’s tender mercies and chuckling. The boys rush over to all but steal their baby cousin away into the pillow fort.

“Hello there,” Obi Wan greets casually, managing to carefully ladle tiingilar into the bowls while still seated on the counter. Jango rolls his eyes at Obi Wan’s loophole in continuing to work, and everyone settles into the pillow fort to watch Scooby Doo and the Loch Ness Monster and enjoy their spicy and hearty meal.

It is peaceful. Jango feels content down to his bones, crammed into the pillow fort with his baby brother, nephew, sons, and the man dressed beautifully in Jango’s clothes who is minute by minute stealing more of Jango’s heart.

They stay like that a while, transitioning to Sword and the Scoob (the ‘Knights’ Scooby Doo movie Boba loves) and then a few others after. Rex escapes the fort to return with picture books he thinks Grogu would like, and read a few before switching to asking Obi Wan to read a few stories.

Obi Wan begins with “The Librarian from the Black Lagoon” by Mike Thaler, from a funny series for kids in which an anxious child imagines crazy and terrifying experiences and people who wind up being perfectly fine and normal.

Grogu whines a bit at a loud bolt of thunder, and Obi Wan digs ‘The Lorax’ out of the pile of retrieved books, a Dr. Seuss classic. He follows it up with another couple of Dr. Seuss books and Grogu is back to sleepily smiling.

The boys ask to sleep in the fort, and it’s not a school night, so Jango agrees. Grogu wants to cuddle with his Dad and cousins, so Din decides to snuggle in with the kids in the surprisingly comfortable fort, smiling softly.

Jango steals two pillows and his comforter back and delivers goodnight kisses to sleepy faces, yes, Din included, and drags a very tired Obi Wan back to the bedroom. He brings Obi Wan a glass of water and the medicine for his headache, and all but herds the other man into bed and under the covers.

Eagerly, Jango cuddles in close, one arm under his head and an arm around Obi Wan’s waist. “You look good in my clothes,” he murmurs faintly into soft auburn hair. He is warmer than he’s even been, happier than he’s ever been.

Distantly, words from a long forgotten poem, probably something from Jaster’s personal library, drifts into his mind: “Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because- because, I don’t know how to say it: a day is long, and I will be waiting for you…”

Obi Wan plays with his phone, sets the next chapter of their audiobook playing, and turns to face Jango. His fear tells him to put distance between them. But he’s been cold for so long, alone for so long, alone on the pond. And now there is warmth. Someone had claimed him and come back for him.

He moves closer, further burrowing into Jango’s embrace, and places a single kiss on Jango’s cheek, then his chin, and then his neck. It feels like he’s finally coming home from the war, in the dark, safe bedroom, in this beautiful person’s arms.

Safe at last.

Chapter 13: Ink and Surprises

Chapter Text

Morning came too early, and with it an elbow buried sharply into Obi Wan's kidneys. With a low groan, he rolled over and felt confusion wash over him. There were far too many limbs in this bed.

Memory rose to the forefront of his brain with each slow breath he drew into his lungs. A remarkably intricate pillow fort. Din and his son Grogu. The turn of sticky, slightly scribbled on pages as stories filled the night. The comforting, too hot feeling of people sleeping too close, that tugged on a few golden memories of Obi-Wan's own childhood.

It didn't happen often, Qui-Gon prefered to be out on his own and away from the comfort of the temples, but once in a while Obi-Wan would fall asleep wrapped in his friend's arms piled together in foraged blankets.

Quinlan would take Obi-Wan's back, tug him close and fold his arms around Obi-Wan's chest and mumble sleepily in Kiffari in his ear. Bant would nuzzle close to Obi-Wan's front, always shifting closer and away again like she was swimming even in her dreams.

Garren liked to lock his arms around Obi's knees and snore loudly, while Luminara would gingerly tuck her hand into his, all the contact the reserved young Mirialan really wanted. And Siri - ...no. Best not to think of that.

In the present, Obi Wan noticed he was pressed against Jango's chest, breathing into the hollow of Jango's collarbones. Boba, owner of the pointy aggressive elbows in question, was practically slumped like a tiny drooling blanket on Obi Wan's lower back. Din was curled around Grogu, back pressed to Jango's ribs, while Rex was curled between his father and uncle's legs. Cody was on Obi Wan's other side, practically spread eagle.

He'd have been happy going right back to sleep, but they had Sunday brunch at Jaster's and he had a funny feeling that if they came too late Jaster would arrive and drag them off into the trunk of the car.

He gently rose, let Boba slowly slide down his legs to snuggle down beside Rex, and then continued to try to detangle himself. Jango grumbled, arms tightening briefly around Obi Wan's waist before falling back down to the bedding.

Jango rolled and latched to his little brother's back protectively, mumbling half sentences in mando'a. It brought a smile to his face. 'Skin-hunger' he'd heard Mandos during his stay in Mandalore with Qui-Gon call it. The inherent Mandolorian need for physical contact with loved ones.

Alpha had needed that from him during the war, skin-touch. Obi Wan had been happy to provide it, maybe it even fed him too. Others in the unit had at first struggled to understand the intense need for touch that never left the realm of platonic. Most had shrugged it off, it wasn't any of their business. Others had slowly integrated themselves into cuddle piles and hugs.

He still recalled after a particularly hairy mission, Fordo who was always at Alpha's throat, full body tackling Alpha and Obi-Wan into a medical cot and refusing to let go for at least an hour. They'd laid there on a too tiny bed, covered in sand, blood, and rubble, just breathing. He hadn't set a word until he got up, called them both stupid lousy bastards, and never spoke of it again.

Gods, he was getting lost in memories today. Tea. Tea would fix this.

He wandered into the kitchen and started his tea and set the keurig bubbling with coffee. By the time Jango and Din stumbled into the kitchen, blurry eyes affixed to the coffee machine, Obi Wan was dressed in slacks and a sweater with two cups of tea behind him.

They grumbled thanks and set about corralling the children into proper clothes and packing away the fort. With the vigor of youth, the kids were shrieking and running about within a handful of minutes of their little eyes opening.

They piled into Jango's car and drove off for the farm outside of town with a playlist full of The Score and Panic at the Disco blasting from the speakers. The kids were excitedly regaling Obi Wan with everything he could ever want to know about Ba'buir Jaster's farm. Every plant, board, animal, and bug was accounted for and described in exacting (though at times slightly contradictory) detail.

Obi Wan felt his excitement growing, perhaps as a holdover from being raised by Qui-Gon, he loved to be in nature. The warmth of sunshine on his face, clean air in his lungs, green grass all around, there was nothing better.

Quin had often joked Obi Wan was born with green skin and people had to sneak in at night and paint him cream colored to hide 'the horrifying truth'.

They parked in front of a lovely farmhouse, rustic but taken care of, that Obi Wan had only briefly taken in when dropping off Alpha after his panic attack. Ignoring the front door, the pack of Mandos led him along the unpaved driveway to the back of the house.

Obi Wan paused while everyone headed into the house to take in the beautiful gardens of vegetables and flowers, the tall trees that scattered dappled sunlight, a far off barn that sounded (and smelled) like it was full of animals, a lovely porch swing and outdoor fireplace, and more.

This was a place of life, and it was absolutely beautiful.

--------------

Jango unleashed his hoard on Jaster and Alpha, only to notice he'd lost Obi Wan somewhere along the way. While the roar of Arla's car distracted the kids, Jango doubled back to find the other man looking like the definition of tranquility in the middle of the yard.

He was taking slow measured breaths, eyes closed and face tilted to the sun. The light turned his copper hair and lashes to fire against porcelain skin. He looked like a lost forest god.

'I wouldn't mind worshipping him..' a sly voice whispered in the back of his head, bringing a blush to Jango's face that he prayed his own darker skin tone hid.

"You look happy," he said instead, speaking softly so as to not startle him. A gentle smile curled across the gorgeous ginger man's face.

"I am happy. I'm happiest around living things, away from cities. It always feels like coming home," Obi Wan offered, letting his eyes open and meeting Jango's gaze. The physical weight of his eyes on Jango felt like a kick to the solar plexus.

It ached.

He wanted more.

"I...I am happy you are happy," was all Jango could offer, higher brain function silenced by the ethereal fairytale come to life. Somehow this was deemed adequate, as Obi Wan's smile only grew bigger with a flash of white teeth.

Another set of car doors slamming startled them both out of the moment as the Havoc siblings emerged from their car like their usual tornado of chaos, and Omega became a pale blonde streak of motion as she tackled Jaster into the dirt with a shout of "Grandpa!".

"More family for me to meet?" Obi Wan teased, turning toward the new guest, laughing lightly at Jango's response of : 'Unfortunately".

"Oi, Jango! Whose this then!?!" Wrecker boomed, hustling over and leaning most of his incredibly muscular weight onto Jango, and startling several small woodland animals back into the trees. Jango rolled his eyes and shoved Wrecker off.

"This is a ...friend. This is Obi Wan," he began, wrongfooted when trying to label the unspoken relationship between them. There were tender touches, there was intimacy, but neither man had put words to what was blooming between them. A shadow touched Jango's heart. He prayed that despite this flaw in their communication, Obi Wan felt the same way Jango did.

Well, maybe he wasn't thinking of Jango as his destined one, Mandolorian culture did hold the corner market on love at first sight, but he sent a short silent prayer to the ka'ra that this bond went both ways.

"A friend, huh??" Wrecker teased, trying to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively. This effort was hampered somewhat by the fact Wrecker only had one eyebrow left, the other lost under the impressive scarring that webbed out over the side of his face and around his clouded eye.

Most people might feel a bit self conscious of having half your face, and under the old fraying t-shirt featuring a T-Rex doodle and the words: "Conqueror of Dino Nuggets!" in childlike script across the chest, the scaring continued and deepened in several places. Wrecker couldn't care less, wore his scars proudly like a true Mandolorian.

While the Mandolorian culture was not necessarily warlike overall, with the exception of the conquering periods in ancient history. They were a warrior culture.

They prized people who did what was right no matter the consequences, who stood for what they believed in with bravery, integrity, honesty, and determination. People who protected others, who loved their family and friends and people enough to fight for them.

Wrecker wore his scars like a badge of honor. Jango couldn't help admiring his brash and often obnoxiously loud cousin for that.

"Pleasure to meet you, Wrecker," Obi Wan smiled, reaching to shake the giant's hand. "Nice ta meet you too! Bout time Jango brought somebody around!" Wrecker grinned back, voice practically echoing through the yard.

Speaking of which, Jango took a quick look around and noticed: "Still no Echo?". The happy-go-lucky grin dropped from his cousin's face and he slumped a bit.

"No. Echo's still with his brother Fives. Still don't know what happened, truth be told. Just know Crosshair ran his mouth and said somethin' dumb and hurtful," Wrecker explained, rubbing the back of his neck in what seemed like a nervous habit.

"I don't mean to interrupt, but by Echo you don't happen to mean a gentleman by the name of Soren Ofirst would you?" Obi Wan inquired, rubbing thoughtfully at his beard.

Why, why, why did he find that so damnably attractive?! Jango cursed internally and fought the urge to stomp his foot in frustration like Boba would when encouraged to try salad.

"Yeah! That's his real name! You know him?" Wrecker was bright and smiling again, living up to Tech's repeated claim that Wrecker was a giant puppy.

"Oh yes, Echo and I served together overseas. I was with Alpha in a specialist unit, and Echo and some of his friends were often called in for support. He is a very skilled fighter with a brilliant strategic mind and excellent with technology. He is also a very kind man," Obi Wan offered.

A dopey lovesick expression covered Wrecker's face as he looped a massive arm around Obi Wan and tugged him to his chest in a hug. Jango couldn't help but worry about the integrity of Obi Wan's ribs after that.

"Yeah..he's the best boyfriend ever," Wrecker all but mumbled, before finally straightening up and shepherding Obi Wan to the house, chatting nonstop about how Obi Wan needed to meet his brothers.

With a scowl at being left behind AND having his Obi Wan stolen, Jango grumbled and jogged after them into the dining room and kitchen space. Sure enough, Wrecker was shouting introductions to Obi Wan, in between Arla, Alpha, and Jaster stealing quick hugs.

"And this is Hunter! Hunter is bossy but he has great ideas! He's an awesome tattoo artist! You got any ink?!" Wrecker called.

It was absolutely not jealousy that burned through Jango's veins, hot and bitter, at the appraising look Hunter gave Obi Wan, as if picturing the red-haired man without clothes and with plenty of ink.

Tattoos were also pretty common on Mandos, likely a holdover from their warrior past along with the value of scars. As far as he knew, everyone in his family above drinking age had at least one.

And in true Mando (practically synonymous with 'competitive') nature, they all suddenly started tugging clothing aside to show off different pieces of work. Much of which was done by a shyly beaming Hunter who genuinely was incredibly talented.

Wrecker's entire back was a mythosaur charging, mostly in shades of grey and black but tiny little bits of color here and there for contrast. "Stop flexing in my kitchen, dikut!" Jaster muttered, flapping his oven mitt covered hands as Wrecker as he set down a tray of hashbrowns on the table.

He had to dodge Arla on his way back for juice, who had hiked up her leggings to just above her knee to show off a smaller piece of her's. Four little paper cranes, each with an exactingly detailed, colorful, and unique 'paper' pattern on soft blue waves rested on her skin there, to symbolize her little household of troublemakers.

Wrecker ' helpfully' tugged up one of Tech's sleeves to show off a stylized circuit tattoo with two bands around his bicep and the rest of the circuit flowing down his upper arm. If you looked closely you could see other hidden patterns in the circuit, forming little leaves and stars.

Tech, not looking up from his Ipad, merely slapped at Wrecker till he let go, then reached out in Obi Wan's general direction to shake his hand and hum a greeting.

It would have gone on, but Jaster put his foot down and ordered everyone to the table, fully dressed and not shoving each other. Jango slid in the curved wooden seat next to Obi Wan, perhaps a touch possessively, but felt the tension from earlier drift away at the sight of his family happy and all together.

He couldn't help but think Obi Wan looked right, squished between Alpha and Jango, throwing his head back laughing at an exaggerated story from Wrecker and Tech's snippy interjections and corrections.

--------------

"You never did answer my question," Hunter redirected, eyeing Obi Wan speculatively Obi Wan just shrugged, sipping at his orange juice. "I've thought about it, but never found the time. I have some general ideas, but everytime someone tries to sketch them out they never feel quite right," he offered.

Hunter nodded, rubbing at his chin in a way that reminded Obi Wan of his own version of the contemplative gesture. He was usually rubbing at his beard, but Hunter had no beard. Instead the man sat across from him at the quickly being demolished table of food had half his face tattooed in the outline of a skull.

"If you ever want, I'd be happy to sit down with you and try to sketch one out. Any... 'friend' of Jango's is part of the family, and get's the family discount," he offered, biting back a chuckle at the term "friend".

Obi Wan valiantly fought back a blush and nodded his assent, "Thank you, that sounds like a fine idea. And I must complement the vormur flower on your arm," he noted, chin tipping toward arguably the most vibrant visible piece of ink on display.

Much of Hunter's skin was tattooed, but he tended to favor black and greyscale work. However, his right inner forearm was a burst of unexpected color. Delicate crimson and bright blue petals curled outward from a spring green stalk, with golden and yellow pollen rods at the center that gave the impression of taking their inspiration from something celestial.

Hidden along the stem was the name : "Omega" in a slightly darker green.

"Thanks, did it myself when the paperwork to adopt Omega finally went through," Hunter half-whispered, eyes distant as he trailed two fingers against his own skin. "Was a real proud moment for me and the boys. She's the world to us."

Obi Wan felt warm at the genuine love and devotion in the father in front of him's voice as he spoke of his child. It was so far from his own childhood, and he was glad for it, and for the family young Omega had found herself a part of.

"I'm surprised you recognize it though," he coughed and continued, voice back to its usual husky sound. "They usually only grow in Mandalorian soil."

The memory of spice and shig filled Obi Wan's mouth for a moment, before he washed it down with more juice and took the time to eat a bit of biscuit and bacon.

"I spent a fair amount of time in Mandalore after the disaster. My adoptive father was a specialist, a kind of a genius botanist, who was working on using plants to clean up chemical spills and nuclear waste. We spent over a year there when I was a boy. Not too many people were left, but the Mandalorians still there working with the government, or military, or relief efforts, were very welcoming and gave me a glimpse into their culture that I have always treasured."

Obi Wan sifted through his memories till he found what he was looking for. A tall, broad shouldered and well-muscled Mandalorian with gleaming dark green eyes and long red braids she often pinned back into one larger braid, with a sharp quick smile, and a scar through the corner of her lower lip.

"One in particular really took care of me. My father was often busy with his work, but she always made sure I was fed and looked after. It was her idea to enroll me in the little school for a few Mandalorian kids present at the site," Obi Wan paused to laugh a bit, unaware he had the entire table's full attention.

"She actually did that without his permission. I must have gained twenty pounds with her constantly feeding me. She'd taught me a bit of combat fighting too, just basic things really. Kept trying to adopt me, but Qui-Gon wouldn't have that,' he remarked wistfully.

"What was her name?" Jaster asks quietly, worried about breaking the spell that has the young man before him speaking so freely.

"Vhonte, I believe it was. Clan Tervho. She was part of the military attachment there. I recall she wore real beskar armor, mostly painted black, but with a vormur flower on one vambrace."

Jaster nodded, a calculating look in his eyes as a plan formed silently in his mind. Out loud all he said was : "I am glad you had someone to take care of you, when your guardian was unwilling."

Normally, Obi Wan would have corrected it to "unable", giving more credit than due to his absentee father of his, but he seemed a bit lost still in happy memories.

How strange and sad it was, Jaster thought, that one of the happiest times in his young life, when he was finally given the proper attention and love all children deserved, was in the wake of a disaster that had all but destroyed a nation.

Obi Wan shook off his haze and attempted polite small talk with Crosshair, who glared, scoffed, and ignored him in that order.

"Don't mind him," Alpha rumbled, "got a vibro blade shoved so far up his ass that if he coughs it'll come flying out."

Crosshair hissed, but said nothing. He'd learned many times over the years he wasn't able to win a fight with Alpha no matter how hard he tried. This left Alpha and Jaster the only ones able to really put the surly man in his place when his jackass-ery got too out of control.

Obi Wan glanced over and noted the kids were eagerly looking to the back door, and Jaster must have noticed as well. He ordered all hands on deck for cleaning up the picked clean brunch table, and after ferrying a suitable amount of cups, plates, and dishes, they were freed to go get up to proper nonsense outside in the sun.

Everything seemed to be settling in and normal when there was a loud pounding knock on the door. "Buir, did you invite someone?" Arla called, hip checking Din out of the way to head for the seldom used front door.

Jaster had a secretive smile and opened his mouth to reply when his expression changed rapidly to confusion and surprise at the kiffari man in slim fit dark wash jeans, a pale green undershirt, and a loose crochet dark green vest.

Brown braids framed a handsome face that was bisected by a golden yellow band tattooed from ear to ear across his face, and like many of the brunch attendees, was far more muscular than average. He stood tall and proud, with a kind of military precision that told Jaster how this stranger may have come to be here.

"Quin!?" Obi Wan shouted, composure dead and gone in the face of his childhood friend who was supposed to be oceans away right now. He shoved past the still surprised Fett family and etc. and checked up and down for visible signs of an injury traumatic enough to have gotten Quinlan sent back.

"What is the name of the Force are you doing here!? You're meant to be in Malaysia!" was all he got out of his mouth before being yanked into a bone crushing embrace.

"You missed 10 phone calls, Obi Wan!" the Kiffari Jedi lectured, refusing to let go. "You have never, ever, ever missed 10 of my phone calls in a row. And that INCLUDES when the womp rat ate your communication device and you had to hunt it down and cut it out. You scared me to DEATH, Obes! As soon as the mission was clear I bailed and got back here and tracked your phone."

Obi Wan felt himself soften, feeling guilt pool in his chest. He'd been so busy with Jango, and the boys, and he'd limited his time with his phone in deference to Dr. Che's orders (he didn't actively have a death wish afterall), and had forgotten their usual scheduled calls together.

As overdramatic as Quinlan Vos could be, he could feel real fear, desperation, and relief in his oldest friend. And while it felt terrible to think it, part of him felt relieved at the reminder Quinlan really would do anything for Obi Wan.

After all, that's how he and Alpha got out of the enemy's hands during their time as prisoners or war.

Obi Wan hugged Quin back, looser and without the intention of lovingly inflicting physical damage, and after a few moments Quin loosened his hold.

He did keep one arm around Obi Wan's shoulder, even as he apologized to Jaster for bursting in on them like this. Jaster just seemed to laugh, and remark on what good friends Obi Wan had.

He thought he caught a flash of annoyance and perhaps a kind of possessiveness on Jango's face at the sight of his old friend clinging to him, but chalked it up to wishful thinking.

Not about the annoyance part, everyone at some point was genuinely annoyed by Quinlan Vos, but at the possessiveness.

As a Jedi he had been taught possessiveness was a bad thing which led to greed, fear, and hate. But a small part of him thrilled at the idea of Jango desiring him, not just physically, but with the all encompassing passion practically bred into Mandalorian DNA.

They hadn't named this strange thing between them, Obi Wan was frankly scared too, but he hoped that whatever was growing was felt in equal part and with the same intention. It felt like an enchantment, something magical he didn't deserve to keep but would fight to anyway.

Brunch resumed, Quinlan the social butterfly happy to meet everyone, compare tattoos and trade stories, several rather embarrassing ones of Obi Wan's which made even Din throw his head back laughing, and playing with the kids.

"That was quite enough surprises for me," Obi Wan whispered to Jango as they sat outside watching the little ones band together to defeat the evil monster (Quin) and his accomplices (Wrecker and Hunter).

Jango moved closer, resting a hand on Obi Wan's and giving a reassuring squeeze. "Do you feel okay? Do we need to head home so you can rest?" he inquired softly but urgently, his whole being focused on Obi Wan's safety and comfort.

"I am okay, Jang'ika, as long as everything stays calm," he teased gently back, admiring the soft blush he noticed on the other man's face.

Unconsciously, both men slowly felt themselves drawing even closer, eyes on each other and the rest of the world melting away. They shared the very same air, about to move closer, about to share that first, sweetest kiss...

Until an enormous black and red motorcycle pulled to a stop at the end of the dirt driveway.

"Now, who is it!?" Alpha groaned from his reading spot on a comfortable lawn chair, angled to be between the drive and the children playing.

"Now, THIS is my surprise," Jaster offered, looking up from inspecting his geraniums. The figure on the motorcycle climbed off the bike and tugged off the helmet, turning to survey the yard.

Obi Wan began to shake, tried to stand and collapsed back down next to a confused and concerned Jango. He tried to explain, when Jango tilted his head to face him and begged for answers, but all Obi Wan could say was the name of the familiar face in the driveway, a ghost from a beautiful place far away and decades ago.

"Vhonte?"

Chapter 14: Like a Phil Collins Soundtrack

Chapter Text

Vhonte Tervho had been born to be an ori'ramikad, a supercommando, and she'd die an ori'ramikad. That had been her thinking when the government, in shambles after the Dral'Han, needed people to stay behind in the rapidly becoming more lethal hellscape that had been her home and pride.

Damn those fools in Death Watch. Blowing the nuclear power plant had devastated the entire country and left millions fleeing for their lives.

She had stayed behind, practically living in her helmet with its built-in oxygen rebreather. Some scientists had remained behind with the military personnel to begin the effort to save their home. People waiting to evacuate had also remained behind, including a handful of extremely carefully protected children and orphans.

Vhonte felt the blood deep impulse to protect children inherent in all Mandos, born here or who gained citizenship later in life via swearing of the Creed, but had never felt a particular impulse to claim one for her own.

That was until some fancy world renowned biologist or something had been called in and brought with him a tiny little red-haired ad.

The ad was named Obi Wan Kenobi, adopted ward of Dr. Jinn, and he was at most, six or seven years old. He was polite and sweet, eyes bright with a particular kind of wild curiosity.

She'd seen him once when they arrived and she'd escorted Jinn and Obi Wan to their 'rooms' (a glorified tent) but had seen little of the ad after that. Jinn was easy to spot, he practically lived in his lab. The lanky long haired man rode the somewhat frightening edge between maniac glee and table-flipping frustration when presented with the state of Mandalore's environment post disaster.

He seemed thrilled by the challenge, though it seemed to stump him for the moment, and needed to be reminded to eat and sleep, which he also seemed to do in his lab. Vhonte wasn't the only one displeased that he seemed to have completely forgotten he had a child depending on him, especially one so young.

She wandered by the lab, watched Jinn flap his hand and dismissed Ruusan Fenn's concern about the ad, and with a snarl went on the hunt.

First step was the tent she'd brought them to. And thankfully, poking her head in revealed the ad, sitting cross-legged on the little cot doing some kind of lesson assessment on a datapad. There was a canteen at his feet and a couple of sealed ration packs, giving Vhonte the impression of a strill left behind while the family went on vacation.

The ad was too skinny and too pale, with a cheaper plastic rebreather mask on his face. Not nearly high quality enough for the dangerous environment he found himself in. Vhonte was pretty sure even the most orthodox followers of the Mandalorian Way, who never took off their helmets unless they were alone with clan, would be ripping them off to stuff on the child's head.

This was nonsense, and Vhonte Tervho had no time for nonsense.

She stepped fully into the tent, letting the magnetic flap seal behind her automatically, arms crossed and staring right at him until the ad looked up with a little smile and a wave.

"Su cuy'gar ad. I am Vhonte, clan Tervho, house Mereel. She/Her pronouns."

The happy little ad set aside the datapad and sprung to his feet to give a bow. Vhonte momentarily recoiled, but remembered in the briefing it had said the fancy scientist and his ad were followers of the Jedi way. She was pretty sure bowing was part of that.

"Su cuy'gar, Miss Tervho," the ad chirped, struggling over the strange sounds. "I am Obi Wan Kenobi. Dr. Jinn is my adopted father. He actually just adopted me two years ago. Mostly because Master Yoda made him. But still, it is nice to meet you!"

He paused for a moment and rubbed at his chin, giving her a chance to notice the little freckles all over the bridge of his nose in the internal light hooked to the tent roof. "I guess my pronouns are he/him. But I've never really thought about it. I kinda like they/them, like my Jedi friend Katiin uses. I guess he/him for now," the little child nodded solemnly.

Okay. She'd known Obi Wan Kenobi, and wasn't that a mouthful?, for about hmm....four minutes.

She would absolutely kill and die for this copikla ad'ika.

"Can I call you Ben? It's an older Mando name. Bit shorter. And you can call me Ba'vodu Vhonte, or Vhonte if you like," she offered, crouching down to be at his height. No mean feat considering she was weighed down with her beskar skin.

"Sure!" Ben grinned, rocking back on his heels. "I am happy to meet you Ba'vodu Vhonte! It's been a little boring. Dr. Jinn has me read and analyze all these scientific and historical texts, but it's hard to do for hours a day. I am trying though, I promise!" Ben'ika added a bit frantically at the end.

He scuffed his shoe against the ground and hid his face away by looking down, whispering "I just miss my friends and school, and getting to be with people."

Break her heart why don't you. Vhonte gently put one hand on his shoulder, and used the other to slowly tilt his head up to face her helmet again. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with that, ad'ika. Everyone needs to be around others, be part of a community."

There was so much to do to fix this. It was hard to find a place to begin. Then the little ad's stomach rumbled and he stammered an apology. Well that settled that.

She took the ad's hand in her own, standing with a groan. "C'mon Ben'ika. Let's take you to the mess hall. After that we'll get you a proper helmet to filter the air, and we'll see about enrolling you in the little school we've got going on."

Ben jumped around cheering in celebration, bright as the brightest star, and something warm and almost familiar settled into Vhonte's chest at the sight. Oh yes, this was her ad.

____________________

"Vhonte?" her ad'ika called weakly, with one of Jaster's sons looking like he was going to have a heart attack if someone didn't either explain what was happening. It had been at least two decades since she'd seen Ben'ika last. He still had that shock of ginger hair and freckles, but he was broader now, stronger but also more weary. His eyes held it too, he'd always had old eyes to match an old soul, but this was different. Now he had soldier's eyes.

When he stood, though shaky for a moment, she could see it in his gait, in the straightening of his shoulders. He held himself proud and tall, a leader and warrior both. Manda, Jinn must have hated that. The so-called genius scientist pacifist and his warrior son. A flash burn of fury sizzled deep in her stomach. She knew, she just knew, that loud old braggart had given Ben'ika hell for it too.

She wished she'd been there then, could have pulled her ad into a keldable kiss and told him how proud she was of him. Of his bravery, of his strength, and his mind. To hear the stories behind the scars, to weep with him for the losses and embrace him with pride and joy. Instead he'd probably limped back, the weeping victorious warrior in need of care only to find the cold distance and disapproval that had been so characteristic of his dar'buir (no longer parent).

That shabuir (bastard).

But what made her heart beat even louder, made her even prouder, was the kindness and sincerity he still wore about him. War made many kind, gentle things bitter and hard, beat the summer sunlight from them, but with just a glance she could feel it, see it, still in him. The sheer willpower it took not to lose that, she knew first hand, took a greater strength still.

Ner atin kotep dral verde, ner ad'ika. (My enduring brave bright warrior, my child)

Ben'ika stood and though tears silently dripped down both eyes, hovered at the cut of his jaw, and disappeared down into his shirt, a wide bright smile curved his mouth. He rushed forward, and Vhonte began her own rapid march, and they met hard together, like a crash of thunder, like a meeting of planets. One of her arms went around his shoulders, hauling him tight as she could to her chest, and the other arm went up so she could bury a hand in the back of his copper hair and tug him into the crook of her neck.

Both his arms answered by holding fast about her waist, and she could feel the muscle of them and of his chest. He laughed, bright even through the tears, and she let her own smile rise and tears fall.

"Ner ad'ika, ner dral atin ad'ika. Ner Kotep, kotep, ad'ika," Vhonte crooned, prompting her boy to both laugh and cry harder. (My child, my bright enduring child, my brave, brave child)

"You don't even know what I've done," he protested wetly.

"I do, I do just by looking at you," was her immediate answer.

Ben'ika could only laugh again, and squeeze tighter. Vhonte fought to pull back, just a tiny bit, just for a keldabe kiss, a sharing of the soul and breath.

"Ben'ika," she said softly. "Ni kry'tayl gai sa'ad Obi Wan Kenobi, ner Ben'ika."

His eyes flew wide in shock, mouth gaping and surprise written across every inch of him. "Did...did you just-" her precious ad gasped, shaking a little in her arms. "Did I just adopt you? Why yes, I did," Vhonte teased back, pressing her lips to his cheek and forehead. She hauled his head back into the crook of her neck again to hide the tears and quiet, broken little sobs that fell from him.

Gravity overcame them, and they fell to their knees in the warm grass, still locked close in an embrace. "I've wanted to do that since the moment I met you, Ben'ika. When we parted, I gave you my oath I'd find you again, and I will not risk losing you again. You are Obi Wan Kenobi, Clan Tervho, House Mereel. You are my beloved, precious child. And I am so, so proud of you," Vhonte declared firmly.

Some thought niggled in the back of his head, something odd about his new title, but flushed with the almost painful level of joy that came from not only finding one of the closest things he'd ever had to a mother again, but having her claim him immediately when he'd spent a lifetime unwanted. He felt broken and remade. He wanted to run away and he never wanted to let go.

He hauled in a deep breath, and softly said as loud as he dared without his heart collapsing: "Buir..."

Most who knew Vhonte firmly believed the rumor she'd been born without tear ducts or had her's surgically removed at a young age. She was a fierce warrior, cold and competent at work, immovable as a mountain, dangerous as a vibro blade in expert hands, fast as a shot from a blaster. Behind closed doors with select vode she let some of that warmth and kindness that burned in her out, but her reputation was largely that of a terrifying force of nature in black and red beskar skin.

But the one word, being called parent by her long lost ad, sent loud bright tears pouring out her eyes, joy flooding out her and filling the air, rising off her skin like heat. Jaster was not the only one who needed to brush away tears from his own face at the sight. Alpha resolutely turned away and squinted into the sun as if trying to gain plausible deniability about any crying.

Arla and Jango each found themselves rubbing at their faces, with Din hiding his face by rocking Grogu in his arms and turning his face down to him, perhaps reflecting on the love he felt for his own little foundling. Grogu seemed to sense his buir's distress and patted helpfully at Din's face, cooing happily. The kids were mostly confused, both about the stranger and what had just happened.

"....did that lady just adopt Obi!?" Rex shouted, gesturing wildly at the adults crying in the grass. It broke the stillness and sacredness of the moment, and soon everyone was laughing, Wrecker and Hunter falling over into the dirt, holding their stomachs. Cody rolled his eyes but snorted, and the other kids laughed, more at how ridiculous the adults looked than understanding of the situation.

Arla rolled side to side, gasping for air around hysterical cackling, also having collapsed into the dirt. Jango grinned, ear to ear, and tugged Rex into a hug. "Oh ad'ika, Never change," he murmured, happily, ruffling his middle son's curls. That was the moment Quinlan Vos chose to speak up, waving wildly with an absolute sh*t-eating grin across his face: "Hiiiiiiiii Obes' new Mom! Did anyone tell you yet that Obes is seriously concussed?!"

'Kriff,' Obi Wan though, along side variously enjoyable images of his best friend suffering. 'Kriffing Quin Vos'.

Chapter 15: I Dream of Tookas

Chapter Text

Vhonte's eyes narrowed, and the start of a growl rumbled from her chest as she wrapped Obi Wan tighter in her arms.

Obi Wan was torn between fondness and exasperation. "It was an accident, and it's just a concussion. I feel the need to remind everyone present I was special ops. I've been shot, stabbed, singed, kept as a prisoner of war, and more. I'm no delicate petal," he huffed.

This only seemed to prompt Vhonte to squeeze tighter, and several sets of concerned eyes turned to Obi Wan, serious despite his lighthearted tone.

"Yeah, General," Alpha drawled, crossing his arms. "But we aren't on the run from madmen and hiding in caves with only a couple bacta bandages and off brand headache medicine anymore. So shut up and be loved, dikut."

Obi Wan gently but firmly tugged free of his new buir's arms and walked over to Alpha, whose muscles gone so tense that you'd think he was carved from stone if not for his slightly shallow breathing.

He slowly lifted his hands, clearly telegraphing his movements so as to not startle Alpha, and cupped the other man's face. He tugged softly, pulling until Alpha's forehead met his in a comforting keldabe kiss.

Though it was a form of a kiss, it was not an inherently romantic one. Born of a history in armor, it could be a gesture of love between friends, family, or lovers, depending on the intention.

In the war, Obi Wan had served with many Mandalorians. A passion for justice, the presence of deep seated protective instincts, and a concerning love of adrenaline made them perfect for military service. They had shared many keldabe kisses between each other as a gesture of comfort and survival.

He could still recall pulling two of the fighters under his command, Ryis Wren and Echo Mino, from a burning truck that had been hit during an escort mission. He'd dragged them away before the whole car went up in gold and scarlet flames, the only sounds he could hear being the crackle of the fire and the hacking coughs all three of them let out.

Ryis was bleeding from a head wound somewhere under her dark hair, and Echo definitely had burst ear drums and a nasty bruise already darkening on his face. Still, both had dragged Obi Wan to join them on their knees and all but slammed their foreheads into his, too rough to be called nuzzling.

They'd started laughing, just relieved to be alive, a painful tangle of singed limbs and too hard plastoid armor. That was how the rest of the frantic unit found them, their medics who had been fondly nicknamed Bones and Helix, already swearing at them as they dug through their medical bags.

Afterward it had become more common for Obi Wan to share this gesture among Mandalorian and non-Mandalorians under his command. He and Alpha, usually gruff and recalcitrant to hide a tender heart, had communicated their care and concern for each other almost exclusively through keldabe kisses during much of the war.

Obi Wan kept up the pressure, his head on Alpha's, apologetic for the reminder of their shared captivity and the unimaginable and life altering pain they had endured, and so happy they had made it here to this place in the warm sun surrounded by Alpha's family.

At last Alpha heaved a sigh and pressed firmly back, frown caving into a slight smile. He lifted his hand to hold Obi Wan's shoulder and tapped out a brief message in dadita: "All clear, General".

"For the last damn time, I wasn't technically a general," Obi Wan complained.

"Technically," Alpha emphasized, finally pulling back, while Obi Wan huffed in false annoyance.

Obi Wan caught Jango's eyes, half worried he'd see jealousy in the eyes of his... something, someone important, force he needed a label for how he felt about Jango...

Instead, he found only fondness and warmth. After all, Mandalorians valued little else above family and the caretaking of family members.

The soft moment was broken by Rex colliding into Obi Wan's knees and nearly taking him out. "Okay everyone! Into the karyai! We have a pres..present...uh..we have stuff to show you!" he declared, bouncing in place and looking up at Obi Wan with some of the best tooka eyes he'd seen in years.

Jaster laughed, loud and pleased, noting Cody already beginning to herd the adults into the house, firm and sure with a furrowed brow.

Boba was assisting of course by snapping up the hands of some of the stragglers and physically dragging them with him.

Hunter and his companions had to get going as Omega had an art class at the local community center they did not want to be late for, but everyone else dutifully settled into the karyai.

Obi Wan knew the karyai was part of any traditional Mandalorian home, as it was meant for family to gather. Historically, many had chosen to sleep all together in the karyai, even if they had their own bedrooms for storage.

It was usually recessed flooring in a large circle or square, with low couches and cushions on a soft rug or carpeted floor and a fireplace in or near it.

In Jaster's house, it was square shaped, with plush red couches lining three of the four walls, a dark, beautiful thick woven carpet depicting the Taung people riding mythosaurs, and the farthest wall had a built-in fireplace and a flat screen mounted over it. The wall around the fireplace was stone, with photographs and trinkets all over the walls, and overhead shelves on another wall full of board games and decks of cards.

There were small cherry wood end tables in the corners, with piles of brightly colored and overstuffed pillows all over the carpeted floor.

It was the very definition of warmth and welcome. In a parade, everyone left their shoes by the door and shuffled onto the couches and floor.

Cody, Rex, and Boba clambered up on the grey stone lip in front of the empty fireplace, Cody in parade rest, Rex, nervously twisting his hands, and Boba holding a stack of papers.

"Thank you all for coming," Cody said simply, meeting every adults' gaze with confidence, every bit an old soul suffering in indignity of a child's high voice and adorable face.

"We are gathered here to present our argument for why one of the legal adults in the room, preferable Buir, needs to buy Obi Wan a pet tooka."

The admittedly still concussed librarian in question let out a loud snort, and descended into giggling at the open mouthed look of confusion and shock on Jango's face.

Everyone else seemed similarly amused, besides Din who was really more smug than anything, and Grogu who had discovered his feet again and began a futile attempt to eat them.

Cody nodded sharply to Rex, who in turn nodded to Boba, who rummaged through his papers before he presented the first to Rex.

Rex held his prize aloft and upside down, high over his head until a sharp elbow from Cody had him flipping the paper right side up.

Din, a talented artist in his own right, had sketched Obi Wan reading to Cody, Boba, and Rex, happy smiles on all their faces.

"Obi Wan is kind and intelligent. He helps kids with their reading, and he protected us when we got stuck in the rain. He is a good person. Good people deserve the pet tooka their mentor," Cody's derision was audible, and his choice of 'mentor' over ' parent' was noted by all present, "would not let them get."

Boba handed another image to Rex, this time a sketch of Obi Wan in some kind of armor, a traditional Mandalorian beskad held aloft.

"Obi Wan's also a hero! He saved people and fought bad guys and helped bring Ba'vodu Alpha home! Heroes deserve pet tookas they always wanted!" Rex declares proudly.

Obi Wan begins to protest the label of hero, only for Vhonte to put a hand over his mouth. He licked her palm in retaliation, which she decided to then wipe all over his face.

Next came an image of a doctor with Obi Wan, listening to his heart and giving a thumbs up. "Having a pet can improve your mental and physical health, studies have proven. And since we all like Obi Wan, we want him to be healthy," Cody said, making an awful lot of judgemental eye contact with his father.

'Really, a guilt trip about the concussion thing from his own child?'Jango thought ruefully. He refused to meet the hard gaze of Vhonte Tervho who had let the concussion thing go for now, but he knew he'd be paying for it later.

The next drawing was the boys holding brushes and food bowls around the image of an adorable tooka. "We can help take care of the tooka while Obi Wan is recovering since he lives with us now!" Rex chirped.

Both Jango and Obi Wan felt a little uneasy at the reminder they'd never set a time for how long Obi Wan would stay with the Fett family. Jango set aside that particular tangle of emotions to deal with later in order to turn his attention to the much more comforting thoughts of planning revenge on Din for his assistance in his endeavor.

The last image was everyone in the family smiling, with a heart drawn around the family and the tooka kit in Obi Wan's arms. Boba held it up instead of passing it along.

The finer details of negotiation and bargaining were rather lost on the youngest of Jango's children, who shouted as loud as his little lungs could go: "SO GIVE OBI A TOOKA!"

Everyone laughed, clapping proudly, while Jango buried his head in his hands. The only thing preventing spontaneous combustion from embarrassment was the happy little chuckling from Obi Wan, who was gazing with adoration at the three boys.

"Kids, Obi Wan is a grown adult. If he wanted a tooka he could get one for himself. Why would we buy him one? Especially since the tooka would go with Obi Wan when he wants to leave?" Jango argued weakly.

"So you don't think Obi Wan is good and kind?" Cody snapped, folding his arms. "You don't think Obi is a hero?" Rex added, hands on his hips and pictures in his hands.

"You don't want Obi to be healthy?" Boba demanded, pointing accusingly at his Buir.

"I..I mean of course...yes I want...I do.." Jango stumbled, flummoxed. Absolutely none of the adults jumped in to help him, Manda damn them all.

"It sounds like a watertight argument to me," Arla says thoughtfully, rubbing at her chin and eyes practically sparkling with mischief.

"I concur. They provided some excellent reasons and I haven't heard a strong rebuttal yet," Jaster agrees, mimicking Arla and rubbing at his chin.

Jango feels a tooka-shaped migraine coming on. He turns to Obi Wan, who is the picture of joy. The source of joy, Jango suspects, has less to do with the topic and more to do with the effort Cody, Rex, and Boba have put forth.

"Do you even want a tooka?" he asks the beautiful nerd to his right, voice weaker than he'd like.

"I mean... I wouldn't say no to one, but I can't ask for you to pay for something so expensive no matter how cute," Obi Wan teases, and Jango desperately wishes for a camera. The sun from the windows has turned his hair burnished bronze, eyes bright with laughter, and a happy grin across his face.

He's almost angelic, and he reaches a calloused hand out to grip Jango's own and he's burning and blessed, helpless against the smile stealing across his own face.

He presses a soft and short keldabe kiss to Obi Wan's head, sighing fondly at his boys. "Alright, looks like we need to stop by the shelter on the way home," he concedes.

The room erupts into victorious cheering and shouting, even Arla's boys jumping up and joining in. You'd think they'd defeated an enemy in a glorious battle.

Boba has thrown himself into his uncle Din's arms, thanking him for his 'awesome drawing skills'. Rex and Cody are high fiving and Jaster scoops them up and onto his shoulders to do a triumphant march around the karyai, dodging his other grandkids underfoot.

Obi Wan squeezes Jango's hand again, laughing loudly, and turning to grin at Vhonte and Quin, who has decided to start howling like a wolf, for reasons known only to Quinlan.

This delights the children, who join him, much to the consternation of the adults.

"I'll get you for this," Jango promises, the threat aimed largely at his littlest brother, but can also be applied to everyone else in the room. It isn't very intimidating, as he's still caught up in the happiness flooding the room.

Once everyone settles down, people start getting ready to depart, Arla's brood all have sports and clubs to get to, and after a round of jubilant goodbyes she herds them into the car and drives off.

Jango can still hear the howling by the time she hits the end of the driveway, and it makes him cackle a bit vengefully.

Din and Grogu will be spending the rest of the day with Alpha and Jaster, so they settle into the couches more firmly, discussing the work that has to get done today around the house, and how Din will be moving somewhere else whether he likes it or not,

Vhonte is chatting with Jaster by the door as she dons her boots again, asking about places for sale around here.

"Are you moving?"Obi Wan asks, surprised. He has been dogpiled by the joyful kids and cannot get up to join the conversation.

"Of course I am moving! My ad lives here now, I can't be living hours away from my ad'ika," she huffs, as if offended he'd even ask.

She blows him a kiss, kindly ignoring the wetness in his eyes. "I have to finish the job I am on, then I'll be moving out here. I'm sure Jaster knows a few places."

She departs, with the roaring of her motorcycle behind her. Obi Wan is sad to see her go, but he can find peace with it knowing she'll be back soon. After all, nothing kept a Mando from their kid.

Quinlan is next. He and Obi Wan agree that Quin will stay at Obi Wan's apartment for now, so after an exchange of keys and a promise not to kill the houseplants, the Kiffari man is off rumbling down the road in his car.

Jango takes the opportunity to pile his kids plus the man he's absolutely in love with into the car. Jaster had recommended a shetler, since the nosy old man knows everyone and everything.

Most of the car's occupants, sans Jango, spend the ride into town singing along to the radio. It's some kind of love song, Jango thinks, humming a bit as they hit the chorus, turning onto Muja Fruit Lane.

"But she said where you wanna go? How much you wanna risk? I'm not lookin' for somebody with some superhuman gifts, some superhero, some fairytale bliss, just someone I can turn to, somebody I can kiss..." his lovely maniacs sing, at various levels of skill.

The shelter is red brick and dark blue glass, surrounded by low trees and grass. According to Jaster, the couple that run it are from Lothal, the Bridgers, who also run a community radio show. They'd started as investigative journalists, and taken a break as their son got older.

They'd decided to start the shelter after a story they'd run jointly on how some local shelters were illegally selling animals for experimentation and animal fighting rings.

"Remember," Jango reminds, holding Boba's hand to prevent him from running off, "we don't run around, we don't shout, and we don't stick our fingers in cages," he warns all his boys.

There's a young man, no older than 15 manning the front desk. His dark hair is somewhere between blue and black and falls loosely about his face. His bright blue eyes stand out against healthy tanned skin, and he offers the group of them a crooked grin.

It is at this point, Jango also realizes there is a white tooka cat poking its rounded head out of a large pocket in the young man's sweatshirt.

Obi Wan immediately begins to coo at the sleepy looking tooka, cementing that Jango is doing the right thing, no matter how insane this all feels.

"Hey! I'm Ezra! Welcome to 'You Tooka My Heart Shelter and Rescue'! What can I do for you?" Ezra chirps.

"We're looking to adopt a tooka. My father probably called a minute ago to let you know we were coming," Jango explains dryly, fully aware his buir is the most meddlesome man the ka'ra ever made.

Ezra hums and checks a paper near the landline phone, grinning at the most recent note. "Oh yeah! Actually he called about ten minutes ago to vouch for you. Mom said to take you right back to the tookas!"

Ezra practically bounced out of his seat, unlocking a door to his left and leading them down the hall.

"Do you have more than tookas?" Rex asks, eyes wide and darting around the rooms they pass. "Oh yeah," Ezra agrees, walking backwards to chat with Rex.

"We've got lots of animals here, though the big ones stay at the shelter out further in the countryside so they have more room. We've got fathiers, porgs, vulptex, even some rancors and purrgils that will be released into the wild soon. I really like working with the loth wolves we have been building a sanctuary for!'

Oh ka'ra, Rex is going to decide their next pet needs to be a rancor or a loth wolf, Jango just knows it, deep in his marrow.

Thankfully, before any of the boys can probe further, Ezra unlocks a wood door with a rectangular glass window. It opens to a room covered in cat toys, climbing trees, and fluffy beds. Tooka cats of all different ages and colors dart about in the sunlight, playing adorably or snoring in hammocks.

He hears a gasp from his boys and his librarian, chuckling when he notices even serious no-nonsense Cody's eyes are big as dinner plates.

Boba slips free of Jango's grip and plops himself down next to a bunch of kittens who immediately swarm the new friend-shaped person and demand cuddles.

Rex has found a little plastic fishing rod with a string of felt fish and little golden bells to it and waves it about as if conducting the world's most chaotic orchestra. Several older tookas jump up to chase the little fish around in circles.

Cody has shuffled closer to Obi Wan, little hand tucked into his new favorite person's. Obi Wan is gently pointing out different tookas and what behaviors they are exhibiting.

His heart warms at the sight of his two little nerds. Jango is grateful that something about the kind man relaxes something in Cody that helps him be more his age.

'Can I keep him?' Jango silently calls to his ancestors and the stars. 'Please let us keep him. He's so wonderful. The boys love him. And he's just so beautiful.'

"Gonna keep him?" Ezra asks, startling Jango back to the present. He stammers a bit, uncertain how the teenager has read his mind, before he realizes he's talking about the little tooka kit purring loudly in Obi Wan's arms.

Cody is reverently stroking the tooka's ears, and the other two boys have joined them, awestruck little faces pressed as close as they can be to the kitten without startling it.

"That's the plan," Jango says about both the sweet little dappled brown tooka kit and the beautifully complicated man holding him.

Jango digs out his cellphone to snap a photo, grateful he can do so without being overly obvious.

"Behold, the tooka named Fish!" Rex declares, to the resurging joy of his compatriots and Obi Wan.

This, Jango thinks to himself, helpless against another smile curling across his face, is a dream. And Jango will fight like a proper Mandalorian warrior to keep it.