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lamaenthel · 5 months

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Tivaevae | Chapter One: Ripped At The Seams

Still struggling to emotionally recover from Master Obi-Wan's deception, Ahsoka discovers in the aftermath that twelve-year-old Boba Fett has been locked up among adults in the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center. After convincing Chancellor Palpatine to grant him a pardon, she manages to secure his release on the condition that she serve as his legal guardian. Now, with the help of Master Plo and the Wolfpack, she vows to help him track down what family he has left.

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Fandom: Star Wars Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, Plo Koon, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu, Kanan Jarrus, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CC-1119 | Appo, Dexter Jettster, FLO | WA-7 (Star Wars), Shaak Ti, ARC Commander Blitz (Star Wars), CT-6922 | Dogma, Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars), CC-3636 | Wolffe, Clone Trooper Sinker (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Comet (Star Wars), CC-2224 | Cody, CT-5597 | Jesse, CT-4860 | Boost, Aurra Sing, Tobias Beckett, Null-11 | Ordo Skirata, Kal Skirata, Original Mandalorian Characters (Star Wars), Original Droid Characters (Star Wars), Original Jedi Character(s) (Star Wars) Total Word Count: 123,000 Chapter Word Count: 6,751

"And then Grey was like skoosh skoosh skoosh–" Caleb held up an imaginary carbine and let loose a series of blasts, so enthusiastic about his reenactment that he nearly fell off of the courtyard bench. " –and the SBD just exploded! He got him right in the power core! And then-and then-and then I did a backflip off of his shoulder, and I cut three B1's in half! It was so wizard."

"You did?" Mace gasped, theatrically placing a hand on his chest in feigned shock. He had a reputation for being overly stoic, cold even, but there was nothing that defrosted the Master like his Padawans. Depa had dropped off young Caleb to have lunch with his Grand-Master with a weary gratitude that Obi-Wan remembered well; ironically, it had usually been Mace that would give him a break from Anakin more often than not, back then.

"Sure did," Caleb raised his chin proudly. "Have you ever done that with your commander, Master Obi-Wan?" he asked eagerly, looking at him from the other side of Mace with bright turquoise eyes.

Obi-Wan swallowed his mouthful of salad. "Unfortunately, no," he said with a smile. "I think I might squash poor Cody if I tried, though, I weigh a bit more than you."

"Is that why you're watching your figure?" Mace asked wryly, looking at Obi-Wan's bowl of fresh greens.

"I don't care if they're nutritionally complete, human beings were not intended to survive off of ration bars alone," Obi-Wan grumbled into his salad.

"I didn't jump off Grey, I jumped off the battle droid!" Caleb giggled.

"Ah," Obi-Wan said. "Well, the answer is still no, but I'll make sure to bring it up to him before our next strategy meeting."

"Good idea!" Caleb said with a grin, then shoved a handful of fried tatos in his mouth. His nerfburger had been inhaled two meandering stories ago.

"Well, I'm impressed. That sounds like a very successful first mission." Mace gave him a pat on the back then added an unholy amount of orbakradish paste to his bowl of red turu rice, green peppers and bantha strips.

"Can I have some?" Caleb asked curiously, staring at the bright green bottle his grand-master had pulled from his pocket curiously.

"It's very spicy," Mace warned before leaving a tiny smudge on the boy's plate, then took a stoic bite of his rice bowl.

Caleb carefully dipped a corner of his fried tato in the orbakradish and took a bite. His eyes went wide. "Ow," he said faintly, and held his mouth open. "Aow. Aow."

Mace chuckled, dipped a tato in the cup of vinegar on the other side of Caleb's plate, then popped it in his open mouth. "I did warn you," he said as Caleb furiously chewed. "Orbakradish isn't like capsaicin. For that, you need some sort of cream. To cure this, you need vinegar."

Caleb sighed with relief. "Thanks, Master." He hurriedly popped another vinegar-soaked tato in his mouth, then finished off the rest of the plate with the speed that only eleven-year-old boys could manage without making themselves sick. Mace and Obi-Wan exchanged amused looks while they ate their own meals at a less tornadic pace.

"Go on, Padawan. Time to meditate, then practice your forms at the training salle." Mace patted Caleb on the back and took his empty plate once he'd licked it clean.

"Will you come and– I mean, I would be honored if you would spar with me after your Council meeting is done, Master." Caleb said bashfully. "If you want to. I, um, I know you're busy."

"I'm not sure how long I'll be, but I'll head down to the salles as soon as we're done. I'd be happy to spar with you, Padawan." Mace patted his cheek fondly and winked.

"Okay!" Caleb bowed hurriedly to Mace and then Obi-Wan. "Bye, Masters!" He took off at a run, almost tripping on his robes twice before disappearing around the corner.

"I miss that age," Obi-Wan said forlornly. "They're still so enthusiastic about everything. Once they hit puberty…"

"The attitude, I know," Mace said knowingly. He took a final bite from his rice bowl and reached a hand out for Obi-Wan's dish. "I'm grateful for Depa and Devan. Echuu was a handful. Girls are easier."

"Girls are not easier," Obi-Wan snorted, then rubbed his bald head, textured with a thousand offended bumps. The whole thing was so damn itchy, he'd had to meditate three times that morning just to keep his sanity. Perhaps Lace had some procaine cream in the medbay that he could borrow until all of the hairs had poked through the skin.

"Mine were," Mace shrugged.

"Yours aren't vindictive," Obi-Wan sighed.

"Why would they be?" Mace asked blithely. "I trained them well. They are above pettiness."

Obi-Wan glared at the sky instead of Mace. "Lucky you," he said to the speeder traffic above the Temple.

"I warned you about the consequences of leaving Anakin and Ahsoka out of the loop," Mace reminded him. "You insisted."

"I know." They both stood and began the long walk to the Council chambers elevator.

Mace passed their bamboo dishes onto a waste droid when they passed one then fished around for something in his pocket. "And you are the one who suggested that they go on the mission that 'killed' you," he pointed out, then popped a mint candy into his mouth.

"I know," Obi-Wan huffed. "I understand that my actions have consequences, Mace, I'm not a child."

"Then why are you so upset?" Mace asked.

"I'm not upset," Obi-Wan said automatically.

Mace rolled his eyes. "You aren't at peace, that's for certain."

"I–" Obi-Wan raised his hands and let them fall. "Ahsoka's never been one to hold a grudge at all, let alone at me. I expected the cold shoulder from Anakin, but not her."

"Ah. She's still hurt, then."

"She's got no reason to be hurt," Obi-Wan insisted.

"She discovered your 'corpse,' my old friend," Mace said.

"Please, p-please Bobi, open your eyes, open your… no, no, no, please no, Bobi please–"

"Would you really be so unmoved if you'd discovered hers?"

She fell to the ground like a ragdoll, dead from a single touch. Her limbs were twisted and her yellow eyes stayed open, filmy and veined with black like the rest of the Dark Side corruption that covered her.

He banished the memories. "That's different," Obi-Wan insisted. "We are not meant to outlive our Padawans."

"Yet we do." Mace called the elevator. "More and more often, it seems. And I do not see that changing until this war is over."

That reminded him. "Have you discussed your idea with Master Yoda?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.

"It's difficult to find a good time to propose an assassination," Mace answered. "Especially the assassination of his old Padawan."

The elevator arrived. The two Masters stepped on and began the journey up.

"You've discussed it with Quinlan?" Mace asked.

"I have. He's not unwilling."

"Good to know."

The two fell silent, and Obi-Wan commanded the mental image of Ahsoka's corpse lying at the feet of her killer to stop popping into his thoughts. The encounter on Mortis felt like a dream. He still wasn't sure what had actually happened, what was real and what was a vision, but the memory of Anakin's yellow eyes and his little girl lying dead and corrupted by the Dark side haunted him at the most inopportune moments.

May he become one with the Force before ever seeing such horrors again.

The elevator opened. The two walked down the hall to the inside of the Council chambers and took their seats in companionable silence. They were still a bit early, and no one else had yet arrived.

"Caleb was not supposed to be in active combat yet," Mace said after a few moments. "In case you were wondering. The mission he was assigned was a scouting mission. The droids were a surprise."

"Do you think I'm judging you, old friend?" Obi-Wan asked with a raised brow.

"No, but I thought you may want to know." Mace leaned back with an unreadable expression on his face. "He is very skilled, but I personally would prefer he not be on the front lines until he gains more experience."

Obi-Wan remembered Ahsoka eagerly bouncing off of the transport and straight onto the front lines of one of the most gruesome campaigns of the early war. "I understand," he said gently. "Unfortunately, there's only one way to get experience."

"I'm aware." The muscle in Mace's jaw worked a bit before he settled into his usual serenity.

"Greetings, Master Windu. Master Kenobi." Shaak-Ti's hologram flickered into view and she bowed her head.

The two men bowed theirs in return. "How fares Kamino?" Obi-Wan asked lightly.

"Sunny, for a change," Shaak-Ti said with a small smile. "The cadets have been training outside all day on the landing pads."

Mace smiled at her. "I'm happy to hear it."

"As am I," Plo said pleasantly. He and Depa bowed from the entrance, Yoda hobbling beside them. Depa spared a fond smile for her old Master as she took her seat, which Mace returned.

More holograms popped up; Kit Fisto, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Saesee Tiin, Agen Kolar, Coleman Kcaj, Luminara Unduli, Oppo Rancisis, and Stass Allie were all still on the front lines. Kit's hologram was cross-legged and floating subtly, broadcasting underwater from the ocean world of Klarn.

"Begin, we shall," Yoda said after clearing his throat. "May the Force guide us as we proceed."

Murmurs of agreement followed him.

"May I be the first to compliment Master Kenobi's haircut," Kit's hologram grinned at him.

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan deadpanned, resisting the urge to scratch his blasted scalp again.

"We are all very glad to see you alive and well," Shaak-Ti added with a twinkle in her eye. "You should stay close-shaven. You look twenty years younger."

Obi-Wan sighed. He was very aware; it was half the reason he had grown the beard in the first place. Shaak-Ti's tinkling giggle rang like a bell at his reaction.

A round of chuckles echoed her and Mace held up a hand to quiet them. "Our first order of business," he began with a smile, reading off a datapad, "is– oh." His smile disappeared and his eyebrows went up as he glanced over at Obi-Wan. "Padawan Ahsoka Tano has requested to speak with us."

Obi-Wan sat at attention. "She has?" he asked, surprised.

"Go ahead and send her in," Mace said into the comlink in his chair. "Do you know what this is about?" he asked Obi-Wan curiously.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I've no idea," he answered.

The chamber doors opened and Obi-Wan watched Ahsoka step primly inside, pointedly not looking at him despite his centrality in her line of sight. He crossed his legs and frowned.

"Koh-to-yah, little 'Soka," Plo said. "Why have you come before us today?"

"Koh-to-yah, Master Plo. And thank you for allowing me to speak with you on such short notice, Masters," Ahsoka said politely. She made a deep bow and stood with perfect posture, her hands clasped in front of her. "I wish that this was not necessary, but as a Jedi I am a mandated reporter of abuse. If I witness the mistreatment of a child, I must speak up."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, his ire easing. "What did you witness, dear?" he asked, the epithet slipping out automatically.

Her eyes slid onto him and he was immediately taken aback by how cold they were. "I need to report that there is a twelve-year-old human child being held in a maximum security prison facility alongside murderers, rapists, and violent criminals of all sorts right here on Coruscant," she said icily.

Obi-Wan's stomach dropped. He already knew who she was referring to, and cac, it should have been him reporting it. He'd completely forgotten about his encounter with Boba Fett. He had been so consumed with not just keeping his cover and managing Bane, but blocking the Force bond he shared with his Padawans in order to sell his death that Boba had simply slipped his mind. Force, the shock of seeing a twelve-year-old clone in the middle of supermax dissipated almost as soon as it had struck and Obi-Wan had just… left him there. He felt an alkaline knot of guilt twist around his belly.

There was a smattering of surprised gasps among the Councilors.

"Who is this child?" Depa demanded.

"What could he have possibly done to be imprisoned?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked, bewildered.

Master Luminara shook her head. "We must contact the Guard at once, surely there was an error–"

Ahsoka held up a hand. "The boy is Boba Fett, Masters. After his failed attempt on Master Windu's life, he was sent to the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center."

Looks of grim understanding passed between the Council members. Mace leaned forward. "He's in an adult prison?" he asked, anger coloring the edges of his voice. "Has he been there since he was taken into custody?"

"It would appear so, Master, yes."

Mace sank back, frowning severely. "I recommended leniency," he murmured, almost to himself. "The Chancellor assured me his age and his trauma would be taken into account. I believed he'd be sent to a juvenile facility at worst."

"As did I," Plo said heatedly. "Adult prison, for a child. This is not justice."

"Padawan Tano, find out this information, how did you?" Yoda asked, frowning.

"Well, Master," she said, turning, and Obi-Wan was slightly mollified to hear her address Yoda with the same frostbitten tone. She still hadn't forgiven him for Dogma. The clone was thankfully still alive, as Shaak-Ti had made enough of a fuss on Kamino to have gotten him imprisoned instead of immediately euthanized, but Ahsoka wouldn't be satisfied until he was back in the 501st. "I was viewing the helmet-cam footage from the prison riot that Master Kenobi participated in, and–"

"Is that footage not classified?" Ki-Adi-Mundi interrupted, frowning.

"The report is, but the footage was not, no," she said. "I watched it multiple times, and after I saw Master Kenobi fighting Boba I checked his report." Her eyes flicked onto him and then back to Ki-Adi-Mundi. "There's no mention of Boba in the non-redacted portions."

There was no mention of Boba in it at all, because Obi-Wan had forgotten about him like an idiot. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. A dozen heads turned and stared at him, and he'd never missed his beard more than he did at that moment.

"You fought Boba Fett?" Plo asked him sharply.

"Moralo Eval paid him to start a brawl with me in order to provide a distraction for his and Bane's escape," Obi-Wan said, staring at Ahsoka. She was very carefully studying her boots. He'd bought her those boots. "After I inserted myself into the escape party I… lost track of him."

"He is very small for his age," Ahsoka said with false sympathy. "I know you had bigger concerns at the time, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan's skin crawled like it was covered in ants. All of the extra blood rushing to his face was making his stubble itchier than ever.

"We will contact the Chancellor regarding Boba immediately, Ahsoka," Plo insisted, on the edge of his seat and visibly displeased. "We will ensure the boy is placed into a foster home and receives mind healing. Thank you for your diligence, and for bringing this injustice to our attention."

"Thank you, Master," Ahsoka said with a smile, then bowed to him. Obi-Wan felt irrationally jealous of the warmth in her tone. "But I am not sure that a foster home would be the best fit for Boba. He's young, but skilled at both combat and subterfuge. I'm concerned that he would escape and be at just as much risk on his own." She frowned. "He would likely seek out his father's old compatriots again."

"A fair concern," Kit conceded, his smile long gone.

"Do you have a suggestion?" Depa asked mildly.

Ahsoka clicked her heels together. "I would like to volunteer to serve as Boba's temporary legal guardian until I can reunite him with his family," she said solemnly.

The Council chamber went silent in surprise.

"You're only sixteen," Obi-Wan said faintly. "You can't–"

"Actually, as sixteen is the age of responsibility on Shili, I can," she said frostily. "I am a legal adult."

"It's seventeen on Coruscant," he argued. "You–"

"I believe that if I am trusted to lead a battalion of clone troopers into combat, I should be trusted to safeguard the well-being of a single child," she said, speaking over him. "And according to the most recent immigration statutes passed in the Senate, as a full, dual citizen of both worlds, I am actually considered a legal adult on Coruscant." She smiled at him, all teeth.

"Does he have a family?" Saesee Tiin asked. "I was under the impression that Jango Fett was a loner."

"I spoke with the older clones before coming to the Council, Master," Ahsoka said with perfect poise, and Force did it irritate Obi-Wan to see her use her manners for once. "They informed me that there were members of the Cuy'val Dar – that is, the Mandalorian trainers that Jango Fett recruited to train the clones for war – several of them were very close to him. Under the Mandalorian tradition, some could be considered family."

"What an excellent idea, Padawan," Plo said. "I would be grateful if you would come with me to meet with the Chancellor. I'm certain that you will be able to help me persuade him of the right course of action. We will seek out these Cuy'val Dar together, and reunite young Boba with what family remains to him."

Ahsoka bowed again. "It would be my honor, Master," she said sweetly.

Obi-Wan continued to silently seethe.

"Thank you again, Masters, for taking the time to speak with me," she said warmly, then her eyes flickered over to Obi-Wan. "I do hope that Master Kenobi is not censured too severely for failing to report such egregious abuse of a child. I'm certain he was simply preoccupied with his mission."

That was it. Ahsoka did not get to march into the Council chambers wearing boots that he had bought for her and humiliate him in front of his peers out of childish spite. Obi-Wan's hand slammed down onto the arm of his chair, startling everyone. "A word, Padawan," he said through gritted teeth.

"Of course, Master Kenobi," she said serenely.

He stood and led her brusquely from the Council chamber by her right bicep, ignoring the whispers of his fellow Council members behind them.

"An deach thu às mo chiall?" he hissed once the doors had closed and they had a spot of privacy. He released her arm and glared down at her. "Carson a tha thu a’ toirt eas-urram dhomh?"

"Apologies, Master Kenobi," Ahsoka said politely. "I didn't intend to publicly disrespect you."

He stared down at her. Her refusal to speak Maor-Grásta back to him hurt more than the silent treatment. That was their language. No one else at the Temple spoke the indigenous language of the planet crudely known as Stewjon, not even Anakin, though he had tried to teach him. "So this is how you're going to be, then?" he asked finally.

She blinked at him. "I'm not sure what you mean, Master."

"You damn well do," he snapped, and finally gave in to the urge to scratch his damn scalp. "This is childish of you, Ahsoka. You're better than this."

"Better than what?" she asked, cocking her head. "I've been nothing but polite, Master, but if you find my conduct unbecoming then I apologize. I will meditate on our interaction until Master Plo calls me to meet with the Chancellor." She bowed and turned to leave.

Obi-Wan caught her by the left arm and spun her back around. She hissed in pain and ripped her arm away.

"Please refrain from putting your hands on me, Master Kenobi," she said frostily.

Obi-Wan stared at her, knowing that if he asked what was wrong with her arm he'd get no answer. "I'm not putting my… Ahsoka, please, stop this."

"I'm not sure what you wish me to stop, Master."

"Stop acting like you've never met me before!" Obi-Wan said, raising his voice in frustration.

For just a second, her placid mask crumbled and he saw the devastation she was hiding underneath. The mask reappeared and she looked away, pursed her lips and shrugged. "Recent events have shown that I haven't, Master," she said quietly. "Not really."

Obi-Wan sagged and this time, he didn't stop her from walking away.

Ahsoka went through her mental checklist again. She couldn't muck this up. If she somehow pissed off Chancellor Palpatine or failed to convince him that Boba didn't belong in supermax, the kid was screwed.

"Do not be nervous, little 'Soka," Plo whispered, squeezing Ahsoka's right shoulder reassuringly. They sat together on a plush bench in a waiting area right outside the Chancellor's office.

"I can't help it, Master," she whispered back. "What if I make it even worse, somehow?"

"I would advise you, respectfully of course, to think of what your Master would not do and try that."

Ahsoka snorted. His aura was a little too gold with humor for the seriousness of the situation.

"Trust in the Force. We are in the right, here, and we know this."

She nodded. "Yes, Master."

"You may enter," one of Chancellor Palpatine's secretaries called from the doorway; a short, plump Human woman with black hair shorn down to the scalp and the pale skin of someone who worked and lived exclusively indoors.

Ahsoka took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then followed Master Plo to the Chancellor's office. He was still sitting at his desk, writing something with an electric pen that showed up as a language she didn't recognize on the left side of his desk.

"Master Koon," the Chancellor smiled, and bowed his head. "And Padawan Ahsoka. My, how you've grown since I last saw you! I must say, Anakin raves about you every time we meet. He is very proud of you."

"Thank you, Chancellor," Ahsoka said sheepishly, ducking her head. There was nothing specific about the Chancellor himself that put her on edge, it was the office. There was just something unnerving about it. The statues of the Four Sages seemed to watch her from their posts bordering the room, and some of the art vibrated weirdly in the Force. Nothing she could pin down, just off.

She peered down at the unfamiliar writing on the Chancellor's desk. "That's a beautiful script," she said, projecting her aura out over the room with green serenity-amiability. It helped block out the weird vibrations of his artwork. "I don't recognize it."

"It's the poet's script," the Chancellor said, his naturally violet aura gone blue with appreciation. "It's an old traditional practice on Naboo. It's never been a spoken language, but one used solely for the arts."

"That's fascinating," Ahsoka said, returning his smile. "Do you write poetry, Chancellor?"

He chuckled and looked down, darkening with humility. "Oh, I dabble," he confessed with a smile. "It's a bit self-indulgent, of course, but it calms my mind."

"Nonsense, Chancellor," Plo assured him. "It is good to know that even in this period of war and violence, our leader makes time to create something beautiful for the galaxy."

Ahsoka was impressed. Plo could give Ob– Master Kenobi a run for his credits when it came to schmoozing.

"Ah, well," the Chancellor shrugged, his smile widening. "I doubt you called for an emergency meeting to discuss my poetry, dear. What can I do for you?"

Ahsoka sat up straight. "There has been a grave miscarriage of justice, Chancellor," she said solemnly. "Boba Fett has been placed into supermax alongside adults instead of a juvenile facility. He is a Fett clone, yes, but totally unaltered. He ages at a normal rate, not the accelerated rate of the troopers." She adjusted her projection to include a yellow ribbon of pity. "He's only twelve, Sir. Every second he spends in that place his life, his- his bodily sanctity is at risk."

Chancellor Palpatine went gray with surprise. "Oh, goodness," he said, immediately swiping away his poetry and summoning Boba's file up to the holoscreen of his desk. "Let me see here– ah." His holoscreen filled up with copies of legal documents, medical records, and crime scene holopics. "It seems that the judge presiding over his case determined that he was too dangerous to be kept in a juvenile facility." He glanced at her. "I cannot say that I disagree. He is unnaturally skilled for a boy his age, from what I have heard. He killed a Marshall Commander."

"Respectfully, Chancellor, Commander Ponds was murdered by Aurra Sing. Boba could not pull the trigger," Master Plo gently corrected.

"I understand the risks, Chancellor," Ahsoka said. "I would like to volunteer to serve as his legal guardian until I can reunite him with his father's Mandalorian family."

The Chancellor's eyebrows almost hit his hairline. "Jango Fett had family?" he asked, going a lighter gray with shock.

"In the Mandalorian tradition of found family, yes," Ahsoka nodded.

"So young Boba would escape punishment for his crimes against the Republic?" the Chancellor asked after a moment of curt silence.

"Boba Fett is but a child, Chancellor," Plo said peacefully. "He was manipulated by individuals that were once acquainted with his father and they used his grief to their advantage. They abandoned him at the first opportunity."

The Chancellor nodded, thinking. "That may be so, Master Koon, but he did kill hundreds of his fellow clones through his actions."

"He did, Chancellor, that can't be disputed," Ahsoka said softly, projecting strong amber amenability at him. "But he's an orphan, and he's twelve. He's exceptionally vulnerable to manipulation by adults that knew his father. They're the only connection he has left to him."

"The cadets that he infiltrated reported that he seemed reluctant to leave them to their fate," Plo piped up. "While his quest was misguided from the start, his target was Master Windu. The loss of clone life and the destruction of The Endurance was wholly unintentional."

"While sabotaging the hyperdrive of The Endurance, he had an opportunity to end the life of clone trooper Rivers," Ahsoka added. "He spared his life and stunned him instead. We truly believe that if not for the presence of Aurra Sing, Castas, and Bossk, he never would have taken that step."

"So you propose instead that I pardon the one who killed hundreds of clone troopers, naval officers, and support staff on account of his age?" Chancellor Palpatine steepled his hands underneath his chin and looked at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I cannot in good conscience do such a thing. Aside from the morality of it, the boy could wreak untold damage if he escaped your custody."

"I promise he won't!" Ahsoka exclaimed, leaning forward. "Please, Chancellor. I know he made a terrible error in judgment that cost many lives, but he's twelve."

"So you've said," the Chancellor said dryly, lowering his hands. "Ahsoka–"

Ahsoka impulsively reached across his desk and clasped his hands. "He needs rehabilitation, not a life sentence before it's even began," she said earnestly. She wouldn't go so far as to try and mind trick him, not with Plo right there, but her Empathy was stronger with physical touch. She let burnt-orange supplication roll down her arms and flow from her hands onto his. "Please, Chancellor," she said, popping her porg eyes. "Just give him a chance."

The Chancellor's aura flushed copper with affection-agreement. "You do make a compelling argument," he said fondly, withdrawing his hands after giving hers a squeeze. "The Great Negotiator has taught you well."

Ahsoka ducked her head with a small smile, trying not to let him feel the cold shock of hurt that Master Kenobi's nickname triggered.

"Very well." He raised his chin to look over Ahsoka's shoulder at his secretary. "Go fetch Commander Fox, please."

"Right away, Sir." The secretary scurried off and the Chancellor drew up a document.

"I shall grant Boba Fett a full pardon, effective immediately," he said, then glanced up at Ahsoka with a smile. He transferred something onto a datapad and handed it to her. It was a legal certificate declaring her the legal guardian of one Boba Fett.

Oh, kriff, she hadn't actually let herself believe that she'd get this far. She had a kid. She had a shabla kid. A shabla clone kid.

"Congratulations, my dear, it's a boy," he said with a small chuckle and a wink. "I do hope Anakin isn't too cross with you. I can't imagine that he expected to become a grandfather quite this early."

Ahsoka's stripes went hot. Her Master… was not going to be pleased with her, to put it lightly, but she just couldn't leave Boba in there a second longer than necessary if she could put a stop to it.

"Please, 'Soka, you have to get him out of there," Rex pleaded, staring at the screen with an aura gone stark white with shock-horror-outrage. "He's so little. They'll kill him, they'll– osik, what have they already done to him–"

She would have done it anyway, but Force if Rex's begging wasn't compelling. She'd break Boba out if she had to.

But really, Anakin was going to kill her once he got back from Toydaria with that Force-sensitive toddler.

"Commander!" Chancellor Palpatine said brightly over Ahsoka's shoulder. "Please escort Master Koon and Padawan Tano down to the detention center. Boba Fett is being released into her custody, effective immediately."

"Oh. Interesting. As you say, Sir," Fox said, then turned to Ahsoka and Plo. "Ready whenever you both are," he nodded.

"Take care, Ahsoka," Chancellor Palpatine said warmly, standing along with them. "And do be on guard with young Boba. From what I understand, the boy is quite crafty, despite his tender age."

"Oh I will, Chancellor, don't worry. I remember how much of a handful he was." Ahsoka bowed and tried to ignore the way the statues of the sages stared at her. "Thank you again. You've saved a life today."

"And my thanks as well, Chancellor," Plo added, bowing after her. "We appreciate your expediency."

"I wish you luck in your endeavor, my dear." Palpatine winked at her. "And don't be afraid to visit more often. I've got some stories about Anakin as a youth that you might enjoy."

Ahsoka's stripes flushed again and she picked at her thumb's cuticle.

"Alright, General, Commander. Let's get you over to the prison before sundown." Fox slung his carbine over his shoulder and led the way out.

Boba curled up tighter on his side, willing the pain in his sides to go away. After he'd jumped Hardeen it had been chaos. He wasn't sure if it was the guards or the other bastards he was locked in here with that had broken his ribs, but it didn't really matter. He needed to get better. He couldn't afford to look weak. Prison was worse than a jungle, at least an animal just killed you and was done with it. The predators here liked to play with their food, first.

"Come on, little man, come bunk with me. I know it gets cold at night, you must be shivering with only a lizard to keep you warm–"

At least in solitary Boba could focus all of his energy on healing instead of defending himself. He chewed on his split lip and readjusted his face against the wall so that his black eye was pressed directly against the cold surface.

"Time to go, Fett."

Boba was sitting upright and ready to respond in under a second. Nobody would know by looking at him that he was holding his breath so as not to scream from the pain. One meiloorun, two meiloorun, three meiloorun–

"Go where?" he asked after a few seconds, cool as a caniphant. Fox, on the other side of the bars, had two DC-17 sidearms, a DC-15A carbine, and two vibroblade hits sticking out from his gauntlets. Two pairs of cuffs hung from his belt next to a small canister of capsaicin spray.

Boba could get to the spray the easiest, kick the back of Fox's knee, twist his arm and grab the blaster–

"It's your lucky day, cyar'solus," Fox said, undoing the biometric locks on his cell.

"Don't call me that," he snapped. Damn it, Boba didn't want to go back to genpop yet, he was still too injured. The guards tried to watch out for him; some of them did, anyway, the ones who didn't hiss vod'kyramud when he passed them in the halls. Bossk usually stuck up for him but he was just one man. Boba already had a size disadvantage, but with his ribs fucked his speed suffered. He eyed the capsaicin spray at Fox's belt again. He'd get his ass kicked if he went for it, but they'd keep him in solitary longer. Fox had the frame of a gundark but he wasn't a shabuir, he would just give him another lump or two before locking his cell again instead of rebreaking things on purpose.

Fox snickered. "I'll call you whatever I want. Now face down on the floor, you know how this works."

Yeah, he did. Boba swallowed hard and carefully got on his belly, watching the canister of spray swing closer. The floor was hard but the cold felt good. He took a deep breath and prepared to make his move.

As if Fox knew what he'd been thinking, he walked around him in a wide circle and approached from behind before cuffing him. He pulled Boba to his feet, gentler than he expected. "You're being given a second chance, kid," he said quietly. "Don't kark it up."

"The fuck does that mean?" Boba asked faintly; even with Fox's careful grip, he wasn't able to draw in air properly with the way his ribs were screaming.

"You're getting out."

"What?" Boba tried to spin around and look at Fox, but he kept a firm hold of his cuffed hands and kept him from turning.

"Walk, squirt," Fox said in a bored voice.

Where was he going? Where were they sending him? It hit him then, what had to have happened; Aurra. He knew she wouldn't abandon him. She'd had to make a tactical retreat, that was all. Somehow she'd pulled in a favor or used her connections in the guild, or maybe even kidnapped a judge. He fought down a smirk as they walked past the other inmates, all howling and hissing and complaining about his special treatment.

He was foolish to have given up on Aurra. She really did care about him.

"Stand here." Fox started undoing the locks to the hall that led to the private interview rooms, the ones that prisoners used to meet with their attorneys.

Boba never had an attorney. He had gone through sentencing on his own.

"Alright, walk." Fox took him by the cuffs and shoved him forward through the door. "And be respectful."

"Respectful to who?" Boba grouched.

"Your new mum," Fox snickered, stopping in front of a door halfway down the hall. "Congratulations. You've been adopted."

Boba whipped his head up so fast that black spots appeared in his eyes. "I've been fucking what?" he squeaked.

Fox pushed him inside of the interview room while he was still reeling. Instead of Aurra, the two Jedi who had arrested him were waiting inside; a Kel Dor who towered over everyone, even Fox, and a scrawny orange Togruta with big blue bug eyes and two sabers on her belt. She was taller than he remembered.

"Koh-to-yah, Boba Fett," the Kel Dor said, bowing to him. "I am Jedi Master Plo Koon, and this is Padawan Ahsoka Tano."

"The fuck do you cunts want?" Boba spat, furious at himself for being so stupid that he thought Aurra would come for him. He was such a gullible di'kut. Of course she didn't really care. He was never anything but clout to her, just something of Jango's that she could show off.

The Tog blinked at him, obviously shocked. The little princess obviously wasn't used to bad language. "I, um, I…"

"Go ahead, Ahsoka," the Kel Dor said with a little pat on her back.

She took a deep breath, stepped forward, and then smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. He felt the tension in his back muscles ease a little, weirdly enough. "I want to get you out of here, if that's alright with you."

"Why the fuck should I go anywhere with you?" Boba asked suspiciously, then backed up so he could keep the both of them in plain view. "You're the cunts who put me in here. Why do you care?"

"We never meant for you to be placed in a place such as this, young man," the Kel Dor said apologetically.

"We want to help you find your family, Boba," the Tog said earnestly.

"Are you both fucking stupid?" Boba snapped. "I don't have any family. The Jedi killed the only family I had."

The Tog and Kel Dor exchanged looks. "I know, Boba," the Tog said. "And I'm sorry for your loss."

Boba looked at his feet.

"Why don't we be on our way?" the Kel Dor suggested. "We have much to discuss, but there's no need to do so on an empty stomach. I find myself craving a milkshake."

"Oooh, I could go for a milkshake," the Tog said with her brow markings raised. "How about you, Boba?"

"I don't want a fucking milkshake, I want to know what's going on!" Boba said, backing up into Fox. He… he needed to get away from these people. They had some sort of weird plan for him, he was sure of it. What if they wanted to send him back to Kamino? Maybe they wanted to string him up in a lab and use him to make more of their precious troopers. Without Dad the longnecks couldn't make them like they used to, and Boba was a perfect copy. "What did Fox mean? He said I was going to meet my new mum, what did he mean by that?"

The Tog bit her lip and looked at him. "That, um, that would be me," she said sheepishly. "I… I'm your legal guardian."

"You're my legal guardian?" Boba stared at her. She looked barely older than him, though she was a lot taller than he remembered.

"Yep," she said happily, rocking back on her heels. "So, what do you say? Ready to go?"

Boba glanced up at Fox, who gave him a reassuring nod. "Not like I have a fucking choice, do I?" he asked sullenly.

"No, you don't," the Kel Dor – Koon, Boba remembered he said his name was – said gently. "But I imagine that you would choose to leave the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center."

"Obviously," Boba said, frowning.

"So." Koon shrugged. "Shall we?"

The Tog smiled brightly at him. He realized that she was nervous, and for some reason that made him feel better.

"Fine." Boba rubbed his wrists after Fox unlocked his cuffs. Whatever. Fox didn't need to help him, he could do this on his own. He just had to stick with them long enough to get out of prison. The second the idiots turned their backs, he'd be out of there. Boba glanced up and met the Tog's nervous gaze. "But I'm not calling you fucking Mum."

Author's Notes:

MAOR-GRÁSTA TRANSLATIONS An deach thu às mo chiall?: Have you gone insane? Carson a tha thu a’ toirt eas-urram dhomh?: Why are you disrespecting me? MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS cyar'solus: beloved one, the clones' nickname for Boba since he was a special snowflake chosen baby (Thank you Squid_Ink 😘) shabuir: motherfucker vod'kyramud: brother-killer osik: shit OTHER NOTES Mace has a picture of all of his padawans and grand-padawans in his wallet and he shows everyone constantly. It's canon, George Lucas actually told me himself. Palpatine was pretty easy to convince, wasn't he? It's almost like he likes sowing discord between Anakin and his loved ones hmm odd yes very odd indeed Ponds was promoted for plot related purposes ✌️

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork @soliloquy-of-nemo Dividers: @saradika-graphics

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mwolf0epsilon · 3 days

Text

Snips, Snails and Puppy Dogs' Tails

Summary: When first assigned to Flotsam Squad, CT-6922 is unusually shy for a clone. Quiet, evasive, anxious, and always wringing his hands together while looking at the rest of his new brothers as if expecting to be attacked. It's the loneliness and longing in his eyes in spite of the obvious fear, that makes '85 decide that this is his vod'ika now, and that he'll protect him no matter what.

[A prequel drabble that takes place in the Sugar, Spice and Nothing Nice Verse. Essentially, Dogma's reassignment to his and Tup's squad, after having been rejected and cast out of so many others due to his size-shifting ability.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

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A tiny fleet of cleaning droids had been the only warning Flotsam Squad had gotten in regards to having yet another stray added to their already cobbled-together group. No formal announcement had been given during roll call. Not even a quick notification on their datapads during morning module-classes.

The droids had just waltzed into the barracks and started preparing their quarters for the new arrival.

It wasn't unusual of course, for the Kaminiise not to inform the youngest cadets of their hasty decisions. Especially in regards to when they were piecing together squads full of "difficult subjects". Good soldiers, even ones as inconveniently disagreeable as them, didn't need to be told anything beyond what to do, how to do it, and when to do it. It was a simple fact of life. Commanding officers got the debriefs. CT fodder got the meat shield work. Nothing more, nothing less.

And, honestly, it hadn't really bothered '85 all that much that he and his squad hadn't been told anything prior to the cleaning droids commandeering them away from the corner they'd claimed as their hangout spot. He was mostly just curious as to what the new vod (whoever he or she may be), would be like.

The questions he'd been rotating in his head had even been fairly simple ones. Because over-complicating this sort of thing hadn't ever really been that good of a way to spend the time. No point working themselves up over nothing, and all that...

Still, there had been a lot left to the imagination because they had no information whatsoever, and '85 hadn't felt all that put off by spending his rack time considering the many possibilities that awaited them.

Things like, whether or not Flotsam Squad would be getting someone who was as stubbornly loyal as '33. Or maybe a vod who was more nurturing and tactile like '37? Perhaps someone as resourceful and studious like '20. Or (and he had really hoped for the last option) someone who was just as energetically friendly and ambitious as '85 himself.

For the most part he'd spent his time daydreaming about it rather than actually sleeping (which had bitten him in the butt early in the morning when he'd woken up late and not been able to get first-meal). Thinking up someone that would fit in flawlessly with their band of misfits, while also wondering about what sort of circumstances might have led the unknown vod to their little corner of the 4th cycle barracks.

Flotsam Squad was known, after all, as the leftovers that no one really wanted to put up with...

In fact, it seemed like every trainer they worked with (including their squad coordinator) had something bad to say whenever Flotsam got brought up in conversation behind closed doors.

Conversations that boiled down to complaints of '33 and his infamously bad temper. A temper that got him into a lot of scraps with other vode from different squads. As well as frustrated grumbles about '37 and his inattentiveness, which often caused him to get hurt and jeopardize assignments. Or, more perplexingly, '20 and his unusual way of speaking with as little words as possible. Which apparently the trainers considered disrespectful, despite it being done for efficiency (and it wasn't like his acronyms were anything new or hard to understand...).

And, lest anyone forget, disparaging comments of '85 and his proclivity for both bouts of sudden crying and debilitating headaches. Headaches which got so bad that sometimes he ended up nearly throwing up during classes.

They were, in the eyes of many, bad batchers. The rotten apples that one ought to removed from the bottom of the barrel, in order to preserve the actual good ones that were fit for shipping and consumption from being equally spoiled.

It stood to reason that whoever was joining them soon, would be another "hard case" that the Kamiinise and trainers wanted out of sight and out of mind. That they'd need to help acclimate to the group, and show them the metaphorical ropes. That is to say, teach them on how the squad compensated for each other's inherent flaws and weaknesses.

Because, even though there were many valid complaints (and they were likely never going to stop coming), none of the trainers could actually say that Flotsam squad didn't pull their own weight. That Flotsam couldn't finish their daily assignments, even with the added obstacle they posed to each other.

Adaptability and loyalty to their kin were their strongest suites.

The cleanup and preparation of the bunk and locker had only taken a couple of hours max. The arrival of their new squad member, on the other hand, had taken another full day. Something which had honestly peaked their collective curiosity even more, and led to a full night of gossiping and speculation that had left them all giddy with excitement.

Especially when, during another unassuming morning roll call, they were suddenly presented with the scrawniest (skinnier even than '85 himself, who was often referred to as the runt of the litter by his ori'vode!) most tiniest 4th cycle cadet they ever did see.

The theories that had kept them up suddenly couldn't quite compare.

Were they getting a medical mishap of some kind? Had that been what had doomed the kih'vod to such an infamous squad? Some kind of health deficiency that the poor bugger hadn't been able to control? If anything, the hapless vod definitely looked the part. Quite sickly under the harsh white lights of the halls, and seemingly minuscule in comparison to the two long necks flanking their sides.

But it hadn't just been their new kih'vod's stunted height and gaunt physique that had made him look unusually small. His poorly posture, all hunched up with tired eyes cast downwards as if unable to meet theirs, hadn't been doing them any favors. Neither had the restlessness of their hands, which had been wringing each other like crazy, in a way that suggested both discomfort and uncertainty as to what to do with them.

He was, in both the nicest and meanest way possible, the definition of pitiful given human form. Like a mangy tooka kitten with a broken leg and sad wet eyes.

All at once '85 wanted to squish the little guy in a bear hug so tight it might snap bone.

"This is CT-6922." One of the long necks, the one wearing a medical officer's uniform, introduced brusquely. "Due to behavioral issue related disturbances, this is his 11th reassignment."

"It shall also be his last." The other, wearing a scientist's uniform, had grumbled in clear annoyance. Or as close to annoyance as the Kamiinise could get, since they all spoke with as much emotion as their faces could show. Which wasn't much. "No other squad will take this particular subject due to a series of unfortunate incidents. And if this one is also not an ideal fit, termination will be the only option left."

"As such, we are counting on your current track record with these more difficult allotments, to be able to reform CT-9622's poor cooperative marks into something of... Relative use."

Their squad coordinator (who had been present for the new arrival's introduction) had been the one who was being addressed. But, in the end, it had been the cadets of Flotsam Squad that had been the ones to truly take those words to heart.

The absolute seriousness of the kih'vod's situation.

It was thus decided by them right there and then, that the responsibility to take in and protect their new little brother was theirs and theirs alone. A life or death situation should, after all, outweigh whatever nonsense the long necks were on about, whenever they wrote off one of the vode as being utterly hopeless.

What did the Kamiinise know about brotherhood? About coming together to push each other to be and do better, when everyone else only saw the worst in you?

The answer was obvious: Absolutely nothing.

The long necks, as smart as they thought they were, could never really understand what it was like to be a clone or a vod. Neither could the trainers (who only saw them as their next paycheck). So yes, the Kamiinise might have been speaking to their haughty looking trainer, but it would be '33, '37, '20 and '85 who would make sure 6922 would thrive. That the little kih'vod would become the best of the best.

Even if the latter seemed to have had other plans...

The behavioral issues that had been alluded to were, ultimately, nothing quite like what they had expected in the end. With this being their new little brother's 11th reassignment, they'd sort of pictured that maybe he was the kind to get into fights and loud angry arguments (like '33 often did).

Instead what they'd immediately clocked in on after just a few hours of knowing the little fella, was the fact that '22 was just... Afraid...

Afraid and unwilling to be close to or open with any of them, to the point of remaining so quiet that they had almost thought he didn't need to breathe at all (except he did, in fact, need to breathe as the loud snores that came from his bunk pod were definitely not their imagination and the only sound they ever did hear him produce). It was almost as if he expected them to hurt him in some way if he did or said something they didn't like. And it was '85 who was the most concerned about this particular topic, since the idea of a clone being afraid of other clones was horrifying to him.

What could any of them do to help their new little brother feel welcomed into the squad, if he was too afraid to approach them? Too afraid of them to even accept that he needed their help? How did they reach out to him when he always stared at them as if they were going to bite his head off?

And what caused that fear to begin with?

Had '22 been attacked by other vode in the past? Had he been reassigned because he was a target for in-squad bullying? He was certainly not very strong looking. All skin and bones and shorter than he should be at their age group.

And it wasn't uncommon for the less agreeable trainers to make their squads of cadets fight amongst each other, if they thought one of the members was a bit of a weak link. '22 having been harmed by other vode wasn't too farfetched if it potentially involved outside influence, but it was still against the very nature of a clone to hurt another vod so much that he'd become so timid and skittish around others...

Unfortunately, only one person really knew the right answer. And said person wasn't really willing to share it with him. At least not at the moment. '85 had always been fairly patient for his age though. He could play the long game.

Especially after having decided that '22 was HIS vod'ika.

Sure, the little guy had promptly become Flotsam Squad's collective kih'vod (how could he not? he really did look like a bit of a pathetic sopping wet tooka that needed to be coddled), but he was '85's vod'ika in the same way that '33 and '37 had proclaimed that he was their vod'ika.

'22 was '85's and no one else's. It was a bit hard to explain to someone who wasn't aware of this particular clone sibling dynamic, but also not. An oxymoron of sorts. And, even if '85 was a bit too young to be anyone's big strong older brother that they could look up to with the utmost admiration (like the Alphas), something about those big sad eyes... It just seemed right for him to be '22's ori'vod.

Like it was meant to be.

Now if only his new vod'ika would understand this. That he could come to his brand new band of ori'vode and feel safe among them. Especially around '85 who had decided he would move mountains if it meant '22 would unclench his jaw just a little, and maybe even smile...

Breaking in the newbie (as '33 put it) was ultimately a lot of work. A lot of arduous heartbreaking work that revealed just how much of '22's fearfulness was truly ingrained in him. Even so, they did what they could to work around it.

'85 did what he could.

As days passed, a new sort of team dynamic formed. One where, as usual, Flotsam did what they could to help each other out during both practical activities, tests and module course work.

But now there was also '22 who, remarkably, seemed to be rather brilliant on his own. For all that he was smaller and weaker in constitution, '33, '37, '20 and '85 were astonished to discover that he was fantastic at getting assignments done without the need of any outside help.

What he wasn't particularly good at was acting as a part of the team.

Which was... A problem. Not because he was making it harder on any of them (far from it, he made himself rather scarce to them actually, but his methods were fairly easy to follow from just watching him and the group actually got their work done faster because of him), but because he would be expected to work with others once they all graduated and got put into a much larger battalion.

And if '22 couldn't be a part of a team, a member of a cohesive and cooperative battalion, he was as good as dead. Or worse...

So '85 redoubled his efforts to show him he could trust the rest of the squad just as much as they were trusting his methods. Spent days, and then weeks, and then a good part of '22's first month with Flotsam, making sure he was as approachable, friendly, generous and gentle as possible whenever '22 was around.

And in spite of the resistance he was initially met with, there had been a few promising results that proved he was on the right track with his flighty vod'ika.

Like how '22 began to gradually feel comfortable enough to sit down in the rest of the squad's presence without closing his bunk pod, just so he could catch up on some light reading. His frightened and frantic eyes darting less and less from the screen of his datapad to the group, as the minutes slowly ticked by. The tight knots of his tensed muscles slowly relaxing as he got into whatever it was he was reading.

Or how '22 started joining the group to eat, even if he still put as much distance between them and himself as it was physically possible while sitting at the same table. He'd even begun to set aside the things he did not like to eat (and he seemed to dislike a lot of food stuffs, which maybe explained why he was so small), only to then push his nearly empty food trey towards them, so that they could each have an extra serving of their own favorite treats. Treats that he seemed to have memorized them liking the most.

Or even how he'd cock his head in their direction, to listen in on their more outlandish ideas of how to solve some of the puzzles and problems they were given without a set of explicit rules to work with. Granted '22 never went with their bizarre ideas when he solved his own puzzles, but he seemed almost amused listening to some of the wilder takes. Even if he wouldn't do something quite like that himself.

Seeing him roll his eyes and his lips twitching ever so slightly upwards, had been the highlight of '85's day when he'd first seen it happening. It was hard work, but he really felt like he was getting somewhere.

Which, of course, made him really question why the other squads had found it so hard to work with his vod'ika... Surely being a little shy and independent shouldn't have lead to '22 being tossed out from 10 separate squads. Especially considering just how darn smart, attentive, considerate and resourceful he seemed to be.

It wasn't even that he didn't want to be a part of the team either

Seeing as '85 could tell just how much '22 wanted to engage. How his eyes followed them sometimes, not because he was scared, but because he wanted to join in on one of their free-time activities. He was just a little guarded! Guarded and unsure of how to meet them at the middle.

It made no sense... Until it did...

The true reason behind '22's reserved nature and difficulty integrating into other squads, had only come to light during an obstacle course of all things.

Now, obstacle courses weren't as difficult as combat, blaster and battle tactics training. There was not as much risk of injury, or room for arguments, when all you really had to do was get from point A to point B with only a few hurdles in between.

Except, as 4th cycle cadets, Flotsam squad was ready to be bumped up onto a new difficulty level that was outside of their comfort zone (the 3rd cycle courses were as easy as uj cake, for rambunctious and energetic boys like them).

And, with the hardness cranking up significantly, came something they were ultimately not prepared for: Practice fire to simulate their group getting shot at in the battlefield.

If you thought about, there was certainly a method to the madness. If clone cadets learned early on to be more attentive out in the field, then they would more likely survive their first deployment as fully fledged soldiers without losing their lives or limbs. But without any sort of warning or any real idea that they should be expecting more resistance than usual, Flotsam had ended up getting surprised in the worst way possible.

Which had less to do with learning a valuable lesson, and more to do with the trainer in charge of the exercise... They really didn't like trainer Bric.

Unsurprisingly, it had been '33 who had been the first to find out about the course's alteration. One moment he was rushing forward as he would any other round in the course, and then the next his startled yelp rang out so loudly that it had nearly drowned out the volley of stun shots suddenly zipping over their heads.

'37 had gotten hit trying to pull his twin to cover. His own cry of startled pain causing '85's heart to hammer in his chest, as '20 called out for him and '22 to stay put behind one of the obstacles they'd ducked behind of for safety.

There had then been a long break between the next shots actually hitting anyone. '20 had ducked and weaved expertly and as quickly as he could while running across the course to grab both '33 and '37, and he'd nearly made it all the way back with both of them if not for the fact he'd tripped and then gotten hit square on the leg.

And then '85 had made a mistake of his own. He'd gotten so worked up that he'd gone out of cover to try to help all three of his ori'vode, despite the entire exercise being more than a lost cause at this point...

In the end, he hadn't even seen '22 getting shot. He'd been too busy trying to rescue the rest of their team. But the pained whimper and the proceeding thud of a fallen body, were indication enough that his vod'ika had reluctantly followed him before getting hit himself.

And that should have honestly been the end of it... Until '22's whimpers turned into agonized panicked gasps.

The next few minutes had been... Perhaps chaotic was the better word for it. A cacophony of Bric yelling all kinds of expletives over the sound of tearing fabric, shredding flesh, breaking bones, grotesque gurgling, splattering fluids, and horrific wails.

If you were to ask him later about what he'd done when confronted with the situation, '85 wasn't quite sure how he'd initially reacted to the whole affair. This near-impossible gorefest of an event that he hadn't been able to fully comprehend at the time. All he knew was that he'd turned around to look at '22, and then suddenly he was at the far corner of the training room, squeezed between a trembling and wide-eyed '33 and '37, while '20 held his hand in a vice-grip.

Bearing witness to a vod who used to be smaller than average slowly become big enough to possibly hold their trainer in one hand, had been extremely traumatizing. For all of them.

All at once it had made too much sense. '22's resistance to showing any sort of vulnerability around them, aside from the obvious longing in his big sad eyes. Heck, '85 wasn't sure he himself would have been comfortable approaching anyone if he could... Do something like what '22 had just done in front of them...

It was cool. No doubt there! Like a superpower from those stories that some of the older vode illicitly acquired from sources unknown. But it was also...

It had sounded like it hurt. It had looked like it too.

Watching his giant-sized vod'ika slowly shake off the pain, only to then clumsily back away from their squad while looking at them with a horrified expression (clearly on the verge of crying, as well as becoming even more distressed every time either of his hands or feet crushed one of the obstacles on accident), everything really did click into place for '85. It wasn't really '22's behavior that had set him so apart. It was the fact that he was most definitely different from the other vode. Uniquely alone in his own personal plight.

And honestly that had made '85 burst into tears right there and then. Which of course seemed to set off '22's own waterworks...

Between just how much it had clearly hurt him to get so big, trainer Bric's continuous yelling, his new squad huddling away from him as if he were some kind of monster, and then the brother who'd tried so hard to include him starting to cry at the sight of him?

Yeah, '22 hadn't been having a good day at all...

So '85 had done the only thing he could think to do at the time. He'd shrugged off his ori'vode's grip on him and ran forward.

Now, '85 couldn't call himself the bravest of the bunch. He could be bold if he thought he had the advantage, no doubt there. But honestly he got spooked quite easily at times. He still slept in '20's pod when the storms got too loud sometimes!

Being so close to a literal giant was scary, incredibly so, especially one who was currently bawling his eyes out and sobbing so loudly that it made his ears hurt a little. But while '85 wasn't fearless he was still a softy.

And his vod'ika being so huge did not make him any less worthy of comfort. And stars knew he could have used some right then.

So he'd put his hand on one of '22's huge knees, and he'd started the most long-winded word vomit of a ramble he'd ever spat out in his entire short life. It wasn't the most eloquent speech, or even all that cohesive, but he'd hoped it was distracting enough to get '22 to stop crying. To his immense relief (and surprise) it had actually worked.

'22 had gone from curling in on himself crying his (not so) little heart out, to sniffling quietly while watching him with curious and slightly puffy eyes. Seeming almost unsure if he believed what was happening. Honestly '85 could hardly believe it himself, but he was at the very least happy to help his frightened vod'ika calm down.

"See? It's all good!" He'd grinned up in what he hoped was a confident manner, as he reached up to pat his brother's splotchy red nose, instantly trying not to grimace or shudder visibly in disgust when his hand came into contact with (a lot) of snot. "We're all ok! You're ok."

Or as ok as a giant nude cadet could be after wrecking an entire obstacle course. But really who could argue with him at the time? He was the one comforting said giant, acting brave when he was this close to peeing himself. And he was very thankful that he hadn't, in fact, peed his scrubs in the end. Mostly because 99 didn't deserve to have to deal with something so childishly pathetic... Speaking of which.

The janitorial clone had come through the door just as trainer Bric disappeared through it. He was steady-footed and self-assured, despite the rather astronomical nature of the situation.

Almost seeming unsurprising by '22's dilemma.

In fact, he seemed all too aware of what to do to deal with it. To both help them all relax and see that there was no danger to be found, as well as calm '22 enough that he could safely shrink back down. Which was equally as horrifying an event as him growing to giant size. Very gross too. It made a pair of soiled scrubs look like a walk in the park.

'85 really had not envied the mess that 99 had been left with to clean up, while Flotsam quietly ushered their shivering and naked kih'vod back to the barracks so he could get dressed. Nor did he envy the next group of cadets who would have to deal with whatever bullying tactics Bric might have in store for them (after being so suddenly humbled by the sight of a starship sized 4th cycle cadet).

They'd been told to help '22 dress, sneak him some food and water, and then wrap him up in all of their blankets so he could sleep a little better. 99 had been very explicit in his recommendations as to how to care for their little brother after he shrank back down. He'd even used his stern ori'vod voice, which was a very big deal!

And it hadn't been hard to see why he made sure they were well aware of how important it was to care for '22, after he'd gone through such an ordeal.

The poor kih'vod had barely been able to walk back on his own, and he'd practically been asleep with his eyes open as they pulled an extra set of undershorts and sleeping scrubs on his frail body. Had even proceeded to flop over like a boneless nuna once he'd had a quick bite and a few sips of water.

Growing and shrinking had drained him. Enough so that he'd not even remembered to be afraid of his squad. Instead curling up in the blanket cocoon while resting his head on '85's lap. Allowing him to run his fingers through his hair, like how he himself liked to have done when he had his headaches.

Soaking up the warmth of all four of his brothers curling around him protectively.

It had been both endearing and a little sad to actually have him seeking comfort in them. To show them so much vulnerability after something so traumatic. Especially when, after he'd waken up from his nap, he'd finally spoken to them just to ask when they'd be sending him away to be destroyed.

Even after they'd made sure he was comfortable, '22 expected to be kicked out. And that had made '85 seethe with anger at every other squad that had failed to be a good brother to his vod'ika. That had left him feeling so worthless and unwanted because of something he clearly couldn't control (and 99 had made sure they understand he couldn't control it).

Never again.

All four of them told him as much, and insisted on it once they were met with a look of disbelief. '22 hadn't believed them, but they would make sure to drill it into his head that he was stuck with Flotsam squad now. For better of for worse he was one of them now.

It was hard to ignore the spark of hope in his tired eyes.

In the end, size-shifting wasn't really all that big of a deal once they knew that's what they were dealing with. It'd taken a while to adapt and work around '22's lack of control of it, sure, but they'd compensated by making several contingency plans for it.

And a nice bonus that had come along with his unusual condition, was just how nice it was to have a bit of a trump card against the nastier trainers.

Nothing instilled the fear of the Manda in those natborn bullies, quite like being stared down by a cadet who could easily kick them all the way from Kamino to Rishi Maze. If they so much as got it in their heads to threaten any of Flotsam squad with violence, '22 only had to stare at them in a certain way to get them to back off. Bric had, after all, not remained quiet about what had happened with the obstacle course. And the fact the training room their little brother had accidentally wrecked had to be closed off for repairs for several weeks, had certainly left a lot of space for interpretation of just what exactly '22 was capable of.

The rumors that unfortunately rang loudest came from the vode who had actually repudiated '22. Those were also the ones that got 99 absolutely miffed whenever he caught wind of them (the ones from trainers got a twitch of the brow at best, but he never discouraged them because he too thought the natborns needed a healthy dose of fear to keep them in check around the younger cadets). And by proxy a miffed 99 usually meant a very pissed off Alpha-17 or Fordo on the prowl for snakes in the grass. Which ended with several disloyal small-minded brothers getting taught a lesson in brotherhood that was most definitely needed.

Aside from realizing just how many actually had their squad's back, it was genuinely also kind of nice to have a brother who was so very great to cuddle with after they were all done with course work, because he could very well serve as a heated bed. Even if '22 did kind of have a snoring problem.

Sure, the cuddling sessions were never really planned ahead of time. They sort of just happened anytime '85's vod'ika lost control of his ability. But who could say no to a vodpile after a long hard day of training? And if it got '22 a little more comfortable at his bigger size, that was a plus all on its own.

A win-win sort of deal.

If anything, it had just made it easier for the once skittish and very timid cadet to finally open up to their affections. Which was ultimately what '85 had hoped for since the very day he'd laid eyes on his baby brother. The future could only get brighter for them. Of that, 85 was sure.

Now if they could all just agree on a naming theme for all five of them, that'd be the icing on the cake... He really didn't fancy something corny like Teardrop or Softy, just as much as '22 would rather they not call him Bigman or Vodzilla (they were cool names too, but alas back to the drawing board it was!).

Maybe something about strength and perseverance? A true reflection of their positive attributes? Only time would tell.

#Eps Writes #star wars #the clone wars #clone trooper tup #clone trooper dogma #g/t #giant/tiny #size shifting #clone ocs

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