Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s official: Fox is about to die of boredom, as he sits on his siege in the council, Rex at his side, Cody listening to reports from other members of the council. It’s not that they’re boring - he’s fully awake and interested in, but, right now, he needs a break. He does admit that right now, he would like elsewhere - outside in the gardens, enjoying the sun and a book, enjoying some solitude. Having twelve siblings can get loud pretty quickly.

“If there is nothing else,” Cody declares and - finally! Fox will stretch his legs until his hopes fall when he sees Ni’la Shale rising to speak.

Goodbye, my hopes.

“There have been rumours and questions unanswered recently, Mand’alor. One is that you would not put your brother to trial. The one who worked with the Separatist I mean, Echo.” Fox sees red for a brief moment, ready to laugh at her face at how ridiculous Shale was making a fool of herself.

“You truly have turned mad,” he chose to spat instead, the idea unnerving him, as Cody stood. Ni’la Shale sended him a bothered look, looking more annoyed than truly hurt by Fox's words - much to his disappointment.

“There will be no such trials,” Cody declared, finger pointing at her, in the best Mand’alor voice. “My brother's responsibility has been all but cleared off. His cooperation was unwilling.”

Unwilling is a kind word. Echo had no choice. His brother had been cut open when he, the mighty Coruscant Guard, had only refused to fight. Coward.

“Many lost members in the Anaxes campaign, and they are hungry for revenge,” Ni’la warn, voice cold. “I do not report you for being cruel, only to warn you. Tell me, have you thought about what would be done with him? The other clans and houses won’t ever accept him as a Duke, you cannot possibly think to put him in the official portrait-”

“These are private family matters,” Cody cut her and her eyes grew distant.

“That is an impossible thing for a Mand’alor,” she reminded him, voice ever toned down, her grey eyes watching with interest all things around her. From a sign of the head of his brother, Fox saw all the rooms be cleared of except for themselves - Cody, Rex and himself, as well as Ni’la Shale.

“They have come to you?” Rex asked.

“Some. But I do not need them to come. I have ears and eyes everywhere.”

Somehow during the war, Ni’la had stopped being a joyful child and had turned into the most reliable network of informants for their house on Mandalore. As her network grew, Fox could only see how her summer smile and her eyes devolved and turned all grim. War has left scars on everyone, did it not? “If you had peace everywhere in Mandalore maybe you could possibly tell them to kriff off,” Nila added, observing her nails with annoyance.

“But you have sent your own Maan Al Verde away. For them, it’s a confession of instability. They are distracted for now with your celebrations but it will not last and they already are trying to undo you through Echo.” “Then tell them to be kriff!” Cody snarled, and Fox only approved.

“I’m excluding my brother who died a hundred times by refusing to give the Seppie what they wanted. He will remain at his place, near me. You are dismissed.”

Ni’la nodded, and Fox was satisfied to see that she understood she had exceeded the patience of Cody, starting to walk away before stopping and returning toward the brothers. “Admitting that you will keep Echo here. Is that what he needs, forced to be isolated and uncertain to be ever accepted again? Or is that what you need, to appease the guilt within you?”

Fox gave her a dark look. What is that supposed to mean? Echo was where he belonged, with his family, in their home, and he would remain as long as necessary. For Fox, and he knew for Rex too, the debate was close, as Ni’la walked away and Cody had an irritated look on his face.

“Not a word about this,” he commands to them, though unnecessary.“I will not have Echo believe he’s only here out of pity! Fox, find me who spoke those things.”

He gladly accepted.

Echo's absence during the family dinner that night and Kix evasive words, following a conversation in which Fox can only guess what had been exchanged between them, if all but noticed. He sees his little brother exchanging a worrisome look with Rex and Cody, even more so when Fives' attempt to get his twin to eat even in his room falls flat, Echo's refuses to open his door, simply stating that he isn't hungry. A lie most evident, and force knows none of them are great liars. Now, Fox wouldn't call himself sensible - far from that. However, the disconsolate faces on his vod as Fives and Dogma are enough to convince him to give a try to get the little one out of the room. Why couldn't their father be here rather than on a far-away diplomatic mission? Why did Cody even ask him that, in the first place? Fox would have refused - he thinks. Wolffe too, no doubt. 

Echo’s busy reading a book when he hears a knock and, as he doesn’t answer, his door opens, letting Fox in, in his painted Mand’oa red armour. Echo does his best to hide his envy. His armour, to him, was stolen and given to someone else - as they did for him too, and no matter how angry he is his brothers don’t want him to even leave the city. All he wants is to be far away, on a battlefield. Like before. Like when things were okay and he had a body and he wasn’t eaten by everything in his chest, raw emotions he doesn’t comprehend to begin with.

“Cody says that we’re all expected,” Fox claims as he walks into his room, arms crossed, throwing him an outfit that his brother has never seen before. An outfit, rather than armour. His silver and blue armour was long gone. A memory now. “That includes you, vod’ika. It’s a gift from ba’vodu”.

“Get out, Fox. I’m not coming,” Echo mumbles, without even looking at the outfit, turning back to his datapad and his book, and the droid of course, as he starts to agitate, encouraging him to go outside. “No,” his little brother sharply addressed, ignoring the look that Fox sent him. “It wasn't a question, soldier. The Mand’alor orders you”, his brother corrected behind him. “Come on Echo, you need to see people, not just us and you’ve been sulking long enough like that.”

“I don’t sulk.”

“You’re right. You hide - which is worse.”

Echo sent a dead look at his brother who merely shrugged at it.

“Pull the thing on, Echo. Come on. Or it’s our aunt who's coming, and she will do it the hard way.”

The outfit is nice, Echo admits, as he takes it in his hand. With everything he has become quite picky about the silks. But the outfit’s nice and seems comfortable enough, with the Mando’a heart shape in the middle of it, blue like the 501st, making his heartache. He doesn’t want to wear blue anymore. Blue was for Echo. He’s only an echo of Echo.

“Why does Cody care so much about it anyway?” Echo wonders, rejecting the outfit.

“You’re hiding, that’s why. You don’t leave, Kix can’t keep an eye on you and gods know he’s insufferable by your fault. Don’t get me started over Rex, Fives and Dogma. So pull the thing, little brother and come along. It will distract you.”

Foxes comes closer, slowly putting his hand on his brother's cheeks, subtle worrying lines on his face that only Echo can see. “It will keep you away from whatever thoughts you’re having when you shouldn’t. The feasts are also for you”.

“No,” Echo deflects, his head slightly turning away, his eyes looking away from his brother’s gaze, closing in pain. Don’t think about it. Don’t you dare. “They’re for you,” he gasps. “For those who killed Sidious. Save the Republic these. Not me. Not for traitors.” Fox's eyes seem to see right through his mind, scrutinizing every aspect of him, before pulling him into a Keldabe, his hands returning to his brother’s cheeks.

“One day, ad’ika, you will have to forget yourself and get into this thick skull of yours that you couldn’t have done anything to stop them. There’s nothing to forget,” he whispers to him, before pulling away. “Now, do you come with me like an adult or do I have to carry you like when you were a little shit of six years old refusing to go to sleep?”

His baby brother bites a commentary and reluctantly accepts the outfit, Fox stubbornly hands him, looking at him with the utmost sadness. Fix has his beskar on him, and so will everyone. He wants to be out there, like before. But he doesn’t want their piercing looks on him, or cameras or anything, doomed to happen on such a day. He wants to return to a fight and he wants his beskar. He wants to be normal again and be Fives’ twin with the same haircut once more. He wants dreams and hopes that will never be true again for him and his heart has yet to accept that reality.

“You…” he starts, before the words die on his throat. He doesn’t want a part of him long for. Behind them, C-110 (Cie, he nicknamed himself) sheared out for him Go, Echo, go he spoke and Echo gave him a look.

“Nothing.” His brother leaves, waiting for him outside while Echo gets changed in the bathroom, trying to ignore the weird form that the outfit takes because of his implants. He never tries to look long at his body, scattered and torn apart by Tambor for his experimentations. It never does him any good. He follows Fox, who walks slowly right at his side, rather than in front of him, Cie at their side. He tries his best to ignore the ball of discomfort growing in his stomach and his head starting to pain him, the inevitable start of a migraine. The rest of their family are there, except Jango who scoffs, sitting all around Cody, in the lodge of honour on the balcony.

It’s a parade, Fox has told him. Then a competition. "Nothing too exhausting for you," he had assured him. Echo doesn’t precise him that simply watching will be stressful enough.

“Echo!” Fives calls, all joy, his hand taking his twin’s. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers. “Thank you. It means a lot to you, us.”

His twin takes a look at Cody who has his head turned toward him, in an all-familial smile that means everything, as does their ba’vodu. Buir, far from Mandalore, and ba’buir, in a meeting at Cody's request, are the ones missing. Echo briefly nods at his much older brother, a bit awkwardly, taking his place, between his twin and Tup who smiles at him, trying his best to hide his scomp from the sunlight, Fives refusing to let go of his hand. At least, he was discreet when appearing. Cie goes to his right, starting to speak quicker so that Echo can fully grasp what he’s talking about. Honestly, he doesn’t pay much mind to the whole event and does his best to hide his scomp when he feels a camera upon them, expecting a reaction.

He feels sick, doing his best to hide it. The sounds are loud for him, too loud, like an explosion in his ears. No, no, he stops himself. Breathe, he encourages himself, breath. I’m safe, I’m safe.

“Fives”, he mumbles, taking his twin arm, to feel that he’s here. Not there, here, as he grounds himself the best he can. Fives have always meant safe. His twin turns his head, joy eclipsing into worry when he sees his twin’s face.

“E’ika?”

“Just…don’t leave me”, Echo whimpers, briefly blinking his eyes in pain. “Please, Fives, please”.

Here, here. Not in the city in the clouds, yellow sick, deep green, nothing but metal and industrialisation, heavy doors, cold materi-stop it. Stop it.

“Never, you know that”, he hears his twin assuring him, in the eyes, kissing his hand. “Do you want to go to your room?”

His twin shook his head. If he left now, everyone would worry and he doesn’t want that. They’re all happy, they’re all here and it’s weird but comfortable. They’re here, no one’s dead. He wants to stay, a part of him really does. That part of him who longs for outside and is brave enough to endure everyone’s look on him. To be half as strong as Fives, to be Jango Fett’s son. He used to be a part of the pride of his father, and his siblings. Now it’s just his siblings. Fives reluctantly nod, though his eyes remain settled on Echo and his hand takes the scomp in it, like a hand. It's the only place where Echo feels safe, near his twin.

Fives left.

Or rather, Echo has lost him during a break of the day, it’s rather dusk in truth, and he’s now alone, surrounded by unknown faces who either straightly ignore him - to which he’s so glad of, to some who take him for a droid. He gave those persons a look and walked away, trying to chase away the tears coming from his eyes, his head ready to explode. The droids are nice to him.

They salute him and ask him if they have seen some important figures to which Echo politely answers. If they have curiosity about him, their face doesn’t allow him to see it, which is for the better.

“Hey, Cie,” he kneels at his friend, who starts to let out angry noises from his wires. “Hey, hey, slow down, please. What do you mean you need help?” Cie repeats, and the words imbricate themselves in his mind like a translation automatically done by his brain.“Target practice? Where?” The astromech guides him and Echo falls on representatives of House Gedyc, if their sigil if anything goes by, using the droids for target practice, in the most puerile manner, unworthy of a Mandalorian.

“Stop this”, Echo orders in his best ARC-trooper voice. “If you want to practise, go to the public gymnast or the training ground. You have nothing to do here.”

They’re five of them, none with their helmets but armour on.

“You have the face of the Mand’alor but…you’re not one of his brothers are you?” One asks, in an arrogant tone.

“Wanna be used as target practice, droid?” Another asked, staring at the scomp. “What are you, exactly?"

“A bes'agol,” one spoke with disgust in his voice. 

“So, you’re the one the rumours talk about,” another other realizes. He seems to be the leader, with curly blond hair and a mouth too big for his good. “The freak. The one the Mand’alor doesn’t allow to go out. How did you escape?”

“This is my home”, Echo spat, in the same arrogant tone as his adversaries, boys who seemed to be his age. Maybe, in another life, they would attend studies and classes together and be friends. Echo push the thought in the back in the mind. “You’re the one trespassing. Now, go and leave these droids alone.”

“We violate no law, cyborg! There’s no rule on whom we can use as target practice, as long as it’s not organic. Which means, technically, we could shoot at you too. You’re not exactly organic, traitor.”

Echo remains stoic, unbothered by the blasters in front of him. Maybe, if he was wiser, he would be afraid - fives against one: him armourless, defenceless and still sick. Problem? Wat Tambor has drained all of the fear out of him.

“Article 211-5 of the Protocol to adapt around the Mand’alor states that you are obliged to a polite behaviour in front of the Mand’alor or anyone in his inner circle. Maybe I’m a cyborg but the Mand’alor is my brother. So when I tell you to stop, I’m commanding you,” Echo orders.

“And traitors are supposed to be executed yet you breathe!” the blonde yells at him. The once (still?)-Arc Trooper dodges a blaster fire and, in seconds, he’s fighting against five stupid teenagers. “I was on Anaxes! I know what you’ve done!”

Echo’s in no shape to fight. He can take the first two and send them flying, as they clearly do not expect his legs to be made of beskar, but he receives a hook on his nose, starting to bleed in minutes, and a hit in the middle of his back-spine that starts to make him lose consciousness. The third is electrocuted by the droids, who cheers for Echo, his eyes seeing a fog starting to rise, feeling unable to stand still.

“Leave and I won’t report you,” he spat the blood of his nose. The ground is tempting him to lie on.

The blonde hesitates. “Leave. Droids are nothing for you,” he insists. 

“It’s not over, demagolka” the blonde insulted him, running to the opposite side. Echo doesn’t enjoy his victory and runs away, trying to reach his room or the medbay before crashing on the ground, the droids trying to help him, dizzy and angry.

“Get lost,” he tries to send them away, worn out and shaking.

He has to go back, his mind screams at him. They’re waiting. Come on, Echo. Be brave. His back gave him violent, striking pain like a needle forcibly tearing out in him. He blinks, forcibly, multiple times, fixating on the walls, fighting not to lose himself in some flashbacks. The astromech violently moves behind him, helping him to advance, saying he can pull his weight on them if it helps him.

Stubbornly, he refuses, forcing himself in deep breaths before readjusting his back to stand up straight - despite the loud and exaggerated breaths he has to take. Walking up to the balcony is a nightmare, in itself, Echo has to make exaggerated head moves to remain here, the flashes becoming louder and louder. Why can’t the noises stop? Why is all he hears is a loud, repetitive, echoing BOOM? Why does he feel his skin burning him from everywhere? Why does the light blind him so much that he has to close his eyes and, in doing so, see on repeat the same horrific reminders?

Something brushed his skin and he violently backed off the chill, his eyes closed. It’s so fucking damn loud, loud.

BOOM, BOOM.

ECHO !, someone yells, behind him, far far away.

He runs.

He runs, he never stops running. He ran for his brothers, he ran for the shuttle, he ran from…from what? For what?

He feels the ground disappearing under his feet, refusing to open his eyes to have Wat Tambor or a scientist sickeningly look at him, a muffled voice who drugged him and cut him open. He hears more noises and screams and he doesn’t know if they came from him or from anything else. All he can register are his loud thoughts (you’re a droid, an experiment, a freak freak freak freakafreakafreak) and trying to fight those who touch him, hyperventilating, begging to get rid of the pain and begging for his end.

Chapter Text

Everything is temporary/ Everything will slide/ Love will never die, die, die.

THE NARRATOR (arrives in the scene): Do you know the tale? It is a very sad one. One of the twins who has to learn to live without the other, of siblings pushed in opposite edges and of Mistress Destiny who throws at them everything she possess.

MAND’ALOR THE VICTORIOUS (dead on the battlefield, eyes wide open). Arrives in stage MAND’ALOR THE SHORT, his aide de camp and men-in arms. She looks at the body of her brother.

MAND’ALOR THE SHORT: He used to tell me Mandalor blood allows our bonds to outlive everything, to pass a hundred catastrophes, to face a thousand storms. Tell me, brother, do you think we can outlive this? Me, for being your death warrant? You, for leaving me alone. For not being here to live. It’s not fair. (she pauses).

MAND’ALOR THE SHORT: No. We do not outlive everything.

–– Mand’alor the Short (412 BBY), by Berd

***

Dogma is not stupid. He is not. Fox thinks he’s weird and maybe yes, he is, but he’s not stupid. Dogma can tell that being kept in a room with Tup and Omega with Aunt Arla insisting that they return to the festivities is only a way for her to make sure that they’re not with the others.

“I want to see grand-father,” Dogma insists a penultimate time. “I don’t want to return in front of the cameras.”

“Yeah, me too!” Omega protested, taking off her forehead the jewellery the Duchess Kryze had given her.

“Echo’s sick.”

Tup is silently looking at their aunt, knees brought near his face, quiet and shy as always. Sometimes Tup seems to have been the least changed by the war, Dogma thinks. Which is technically wrong with the whole chip thing. Besides, this is wrong. Everyone has changed, Dogma’s mind add after giving it a second thought.

“Aunty…” Dogma calls again. “Will everyone be alright?” Like their father, grandfather and companions, Arla Fett is a legend bigger than the person for them, for Dogma. She had been through stories worth two lifetimes before they even met her before they were even born. Like for their father and grandfather, she’s held in respect and her eyes alone are enough to convince Dogma never to try to argue with her, while, in all fairness, she never lied once with them - or Dogma has yet to discover it. If she tells him that Echo’s fine, or anything, Dogma probably would feel better than if she didn’t.

“He will be. The others won’t let him. I won’t let him.”

Omega darts her eyes to their aunt, fire in them. “We won’t either!” She exclaims.

Maybe Omega inherited the wildfire from their father. Or maybe she hasn’t seen war, and she can still jump at their aunt as if years had not been wasted. Dogma notices the way the light in Arka’s eyes flickers when Omega speaks, a coat of unnecessary protection toward them, Childhood’s over, Dogma bites. They can’t keep them away like they did to Dogma. (Where are you going, Echo - a boy of fifteen had asked when he had seen his brother attempting to sneak away for war.

Where are you, Echo - a soldier of seventeen had thought in the empty corridors of Sundari, in Umbara, alone and away from the battlefield.)

“No one will hide us anything, Meg’” he reassures her. “We’re not children anymore.”

He does not shy away from his ba'vodu puzzling expression. This is unfair. He bet that Fives is with his twin, and he can’t be with his ori’vod for what…exactly? Protection? Dogma loves all his siblings but it doesn’t mean Dogma turns a blind eye to their defaults. Fives, most notably. He’s Tup’s twin, like Fives’ is Echo. Even if Fives has only acted in his whole life as if Dogma was more an annoyance by sticking at Echo’s side than anything. Then the war came, and they both lived to fight another day and to live with their mutual decisions (their choices, as Cody put at Dogma, hugging him when he was in cell, trying not to cry, unable not to have Pong Krell laugh, and poisonous words, in his head.)

“Dogma-”

“Why does Fives act as if he was the only one caring about him?” Dogma cuts their aunt, immediately regretting it, mumbling a sheepishly sorry, as he looks away.

He wants to see his ori’vod. He wants to return to a life without the war, wishing (certainly not for the first time) they had never left to begin with. He wishes he could have stopped the twins from running away from the fortress with their friends, leaving to be soldiers when their father had expressively ordered them not to (orders, orders - he hates the word now.)

“You’re unfair,” Tup’s voice cracks for the first time, while Omega glues herself at Dogma’s side, trying to hug him. He doesn’t wave at her.

Maybe (surely) it’s bordering on being capricious and selfish, but that’s how it is, isn’t it? Echo went out of the holo-picture and Fives didn’t try that hard to hide anymore how he felt at his baby brother who stuck at Echo like a shadow, bothering him when he and their Domino friends would leave the fortress to drink in the city, baby Dogma trying hard not to tell them that they couldn’t by dad’s orders. Dogma ponders that Fives sometimes believes that Echo is his brother alone, his twin only and not their brother. Not Dogma, Tup and Omega ori’vod. Not Rex's favourite kih’vod, not Fox number #3 most annoying ori’vod. Not Keeli's vod with whom he can learn how to draw.

Fives had excluded Dogma on Umbara until he couldn’t anymore. Their hundred walls of silence between them lingered, weighing the air of every place they were both at the same time before. Jesse wasn’t much different at the same time. For the oldest sibling, he had always had the tendency that many others had to follow Fives and Echo) in whatever crazy ideas they had at the moment. Dogma wished people would do the same for him.

He blamed neither of his siblings for barely hiding their annoyance (at best) toward him. Kix was still here, and as long as he had Tup, he could survive anything (like Fives thought he could with Echo, months earlier.) Dogma may have been a stick in the mud, as people called him behind his back; he isn’t blind. He had eyes to see how Fives did everything (spectacularly failing, some would say) to be back side by side with his twin during the war.

No matter how he assured (lied, lied, lied, again, again and again,) the others that he was fine (assured even Dogmas, as if it wasn’t enough to dislike him, he also had to lie to him, and took him for an idiot.) Dogma had bitten his lips, trying not to state the opposite, trying not to break the little affection Fives had left for him as his elder ori’vod  - even if Dogma never ceased to love, no matter how much of a di'kut he could be.

Jango had excluded Dogma from Tup during the whole chip-thing (it had killed him, and he had a taste of what it was like to be Fives: being forced to live without your twin, except Dogma knew that Tup was still alive - physically at least.) Rex too chose to keep Dogma away on Anaxes, until he couldn’t anymore, Dogma sneaking to the medbay to see Echo, smiling and hugging him tightly while he cried (he never thought his brothers could give him as much sadness as joy, the reasons for both his nightmares and sweet dreams.) He wonders if that’s how their father feels.

“Ma’ika,” Arla says in a breath. “Tup’ika, Meg’ika,” she says, touching their shoulders, pulling them in a tender Keldabe.

“We’ll be fine. E’ika will be fine, we will all be. I’m sorry for everything, but right now all you can do is be patient, alright? You’ll see Echo soon enough, I promise. I’m sorry, Ma’ika.”

I’m sorry too.

***

It’s he who hears Echo’s screams from his room, late in the night.

Nightmare.

Fives had been trying to keep him away; everyone always kept Dogma away, and he wanted to scream why? Isn’t he a Fett too? Isn’t he their brother, nephew, son and grandson, like them? - helping him to get out of the hell his mind was living in, again and again. Echo had bravely shown his face at the light, and Dogma had been so proud of his ori’vod. Yet, it had ended up with him fighting with others, Mando, for reasons Dogma struggled to convey. They had hurt Echo, that’s all he cared about.

Dogma flies to one of the twins’ rooms, finding Echo on the ground, his face deformed with fear, unable to recognise Fives, who violently rejects any attempt to touch his skin, any comfort provided, his eyes screaming fear and terror and imagining things he has witnessed but who aren’t here anymore. His twin is in no better shape, trying to talk words to Echo, clearly wanting to hug hi,m but forced to keep his distance. Dogma sees why.

Echo has a sharp object pointed at his neck. Sharp enough to let himself bleed if he decides to act.

“Echo”, Dogma panic. “Fives, go wake up Wolffe. Fives, NOW!” His brother shakes himself, as Dogma reports his attention to Echo, who, clearly, isn’t in any right mind. “Echo, Echo, it’s me. Dogma. Dogma. Nothing will hurt you. Give me the…give it to me, please. Gedet’ye. It’s alright”, he softly spoke, killing any shaky breath he felt, ignoring his heart's loud drum against his chest.

“Easy, Eyayah. Remember me? Dogma?”

It kills him to ask this question. It’s him, Dogma! It’s the little brother that Echo would hug as he cries because he had no name yet and used to be teased by their ori’vod. It’s Echo’s shadow, who would assure him that it was nothing, himself still unsure about his own name. After Tup, Dogma was the closest to Echo. Echo, who would have Dogma play with him, Fives and their friends, his brother on his shoulders, playing at capturing a citadel. He would teach him Mando tales when it bothered the others, and admit when he had tricked Fives to be punished in his place.

His brother's eyes seem to grasp the reality a bit more by hearing his voice, clearly fighting a battle in his own mind. He’s loudly breathing, and when there are noises behind Dogma, he becomes agitated again, forcing Dogma to jump and try to take the sharp glass from his hand. But Echo’s one hell of a fighter, even weak, one that Dogma had never managed to beat before the start of the war. He tackles Dogma, and the two are soon pulled into a life-threatening fight, Echo seemingly taking him for a scientist, as he screams his name, pulling back from being touched on the skin. Echo, who used to love being hugged, especially by their father, who loves hugging ‘Ma back. Echo would intervene when Fives and Dogma clashed with each other.

“Echo! ‘Ma! Echo, calm down…Echo, you’re here, it’s over, ad’ika."

Keeli jumps to his side, helping him to control Echo before he, or someone else, gets hurt.

“Echo…you're my brother. It’s me, ‘Ma”, Dogma kept repeating, blocking Echo against his chest, Keeli pinning him with his hands. Echo’s all sweaty and shaking and so, so cold.

“‘Ma”, he began to repeat, a dozen times. His brother encouraged him, his voice turning less and less confused.

“I won’t go back”, he starts to echo and his brother assures him he won’t. All their siblings are awake by now. Omega screams Echo’s name, making him flinch, and she’s immediately taken apart by Wolffe - despite her loud protest. “No loud noise, no loud noise”, Echo mutters.

“‘Ma, ‘Ma”. “Yeah, it’s me. We’re here, on Keldabe.” “No, no”, his big brother tries to fight again, stopping when his little ‘Ma hugs him closer, like a lifeline for both of them, and he feels his brother's good hand around his arm, shaking, his voice trembling through the weight of the emotions. “They’re…no, don’t”. His brother is still half there Dogma understands. “Don’t touch me!”

“He needs a plaid”, Keeli orders, a servant or a droid maybe? “Why are you so cold, Eyayah?”

“Cryo side effect, b’ood ci…ulation issues' ', Echo squirms, voice still ready to go away, his lips turned blue and grey. “Tried to see if I could sustain’ cold. Give, gi’me things for cold. Blood thing and…”, he gives a bitter, dried chuckle, without any warmth. “I’m metal.…the room, yeah? It was cold…I was lonely,” he sobs, shaking his head to stop his mind. Speaking helps. “He…he called me by…by my num’er…mocked me. I…I begged to-to see you. I thought… I would never." It makes Dogma’s heart beat louder and hatred toward Wat Tambor even more than he thought possible. Echo never talks about Skako. What they have done to his body, his silence is louder than words. “I’m… not going back, right? Never…he…” “No, you’re not”, Keeli assures him, his eyes shining, kissing Echo’s forehead with fiery protection. “He can’t hurt you anymore.” Dogma keeps quiet about how Wat Tambor has escaped justice, how he has disappeared from everywhere. He shakes himself. He won’t think that with Echo in such a state in his arms. Their father, Jango, is away, in diplomatic matters, and Dogma regrets it. He would have talked to Echo before anything happened. He gave them one assignment: to protect each other, and they failed within the first week.

“I stay with you, Echo”, Keeli proposes. “Fives is not far, he’s with the others, alright? He needs time alone to cool down, but he’ll be fine.”

So we hope, Dogma tell himself. He’s not stupid enough to say that loud.

“Didn’t…didn’t want to scare him”, Echo mumbles, his voice still too shaky at Dogma’s taste.

They know. They assure Echo that he’s not going back there one last time, and their brother makes them swear that no one’s going to come to drug him. It hurts that he has to ask to make sure they won’t do it, but they bear it, albeit with a mask on their faces. Dogma sees how Keeli looks at him, feeling that his own eyes are like broken glass, brimming with tears. Slowly but surely, they convince Echo that he needs to sleep, even for one hour. And if Fives finds his way back, having escaped Fox’s watchful eyes, into Echo’s room as they keep an eye on their baby brother, between Keeli on one side, and Dogma on the other, and no one says anything to break the peace.

***

When Aunt Arla and Cody learn about the crisis, Echo is still deeply sleeping, his face hidden in Fives’ chest, his good hand gripping his tunic like a lifeline, Dogma behind him, his hand extended to Fives. Keeli has remained awake all night, carefully watching over the three of them, rubbing Dogma’s hand in Fives. Cody appears, walking slowly and silently so as not to wake his baby brothers, taking his place when he rises, slowly scrubbing his brother’s back, ignoring the cybernetics in the middle of his back. Echo lets out a whimper in his dream, and he mumbles confused words, begging-like it sounds. Cody hears the names of his friends he seldom dares to speak to in the day, but who haunt him every minute of his life since they have come to rescue him, on this lonely post.

“Please, dream of something nice, E’ika. Please,” Cody prays, kissing his brother's head. “It will be alright, do not worry.”

“He gave us a scare”, Rex explains, once out of the room, hearing his ori’vod coming. “Tried to kill himself in front of Fives and ‘Ma, thinking he was back there.”

Cody’s face had dropped when hearing it, angrily mumbling at Rex, who had come to find him to tell him the news hours earlier, for not coming as soon as Echo’s crisis was happening. Everyone’s mood is gonna be down for a week after that, that’s granted.

“Those fuckers,” Arla curses at his side.

“I may know someone to help Echo, on the engineering side,” Cody mumbles in his beard. “The docs and Kix said that the cybernetics are affecting his health.”

“You should have done it sooner,” Arla reproached him - rightfully, Cody believes. “Echo needs help. No matter how the other clans may judge him. We’ve spent weeks trying to pretend everything was fine. That it was just the nightmares.”

Though harsh, her nephews agree with their aunt. A part of Echo is unknown territory to them. Echo, who can plug into droid ports, and droids seem to take for one of their own, who understands their nonsense language and has developed a fierce protectiveness toward them as they have with him.

***

Fox is no happier to see Na’le Shale than she seems to be, her shadowy eyes and her face looking jaded, a holo-journal in her hands. The Mandalore Times. Fox doesn’t read it. Most of his siblings don’t either, except for Echo. Well, before. And Wolffe and Dogma now. But Fox always knew they were weird.

“Thought the Mand’alor wanted to know,” she simply states, giving him the journal before sitting on the main chair of her residence. It’s a small throne, too big for her nonetheless. She’s not even Echo’s age, Fox recalls: seventeen at most. Last of her clan as so many Mandalorians around them. Fox is the lucky one here, to still have all of his siblings physically alive, his father, his aunt and even his grandfather. Even expanding with the incoming of Caleb.

A DROID AT THE CEREMONY: MAND’ALOR MISTAKE.

“This is the nicest title I have found,” Ni’la announces, as Fox deeply inhales. I need caff, not sarcasm, he thinks. “They’re di’kut,” Fox spat, his helmet still on his head. He isn’t taking off anytime with the anger in his chest. “I dealt with much worse on Coruscant.”

“Did you?” She sounds falsely surprised. “I wasn’t unaware you had your brothers treated as droids for the main title in such a pejorative term on Coruscant. If I recall, in fact, you were on Coruscant most of the war.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he barked. He remembers how he had felt. Disappointed, angry, bitter. Among other things. He had yelled for the first time against his grandfather and father, and the fear born from the dispute had convinced him to never do it again. “You’re welcome.” “Slana’pir!” He insults in answer, in a spike of anger. “No need to be vulgar,” she tilts her head, waving to him, otherwise seemingly unbothered by the words thrown at her. “Most of the newspapers don’t understand. How it was. My ears hear so many things. Whispers from bitter clans and angry Houses who want a trial for the amount of…killing Echo did as a Techno spawn. That leaves two solutions at the Mand’alor. Either you sent your best orator to the coming Congress of the Houses, or he shut them now. He’s a liability, Commander, and you know that.”

“Say that again, I dare you.”

“Not in that sense,” she spat as well, rising from her chair, and walking toward the windows to see the streets of Keldabe. “A liability in the sense he can be used against the Mand’alor because the Mand’alor lacks what is needed to shut the discontents. But you already know that, so why do I bother telling you.”

“My father will succeed. He can still resolve everything,” Fox insists. “Cody will have everything then to shut them up.”

“Will he? I hear that Jango Fett loathes every day spent far from here. And outside of that, let us be real. Do you think the Congress will let Echo be named governor after such bad press? The twins are of age, but I bet the Houses will put pressure to be put in a place that is advantageous to them if they start to go against you. A Mand’alor without support is a doom Mand’alor.”

“I know our systems, thank you. But none of us wants even to leave Keldabe, to begin with. I’ll bring that to our Mand’alor. You are sworn to House Fett. My House. What about the other clans?”

“Loyal,” she says without wasting a second. “Lord Mereel know that, he hears way more than I do. I only have some personal doubts about one. A father who lost his sons. A brother who lost his siblings when Echo was under the Techno Union. They seem loyal, though. It doesn’t mean they like Echo though.”

“And you do?” Na’le had a sad half-smile on her face. “Echo’s a classmate. Was? I don’t know. The time when we were doing school projects is far away, you know. But since you ask, I’m still angry. The Techno had no repercussions, and your own father left him behind. His twin as well. If I were him, I wouldn’t be loyal. However… Echo happens to be a far better person than I am now. My words mean nothing.” The reminder of how Jango and Fives were in the aftermath is enough to make Fox’s eyes see red.

“You’re right. Your words mean nothing. Thanks for the tip,” he finishes and walks out of the hotel, chasing away the image of a Fives going unconscious because he couldn’t breathe and their father sending fly away the nearest thing he could away when he learned from Wolffe's mouth. Neither Rex, Fives, or Cody could speak under the crumbles of emotional weight on them. Fox did not speak either when he learned the news. He did not cry. He simply stared at pictures and a hologram of him and Echo. Why was he such an awful ori'vod to begin with? Why did Boba run away? 

Why couldn't everything be the way it was before?

Chapter Text

M A N D A L O R E

Mandalorian Space 25015 (Galactic Standard Calendar)

The little, soft knock on the door came late. Jango had been polishing his armour for less than an hour, the papers he would read spread out on his desk, when he heard it. He has fourteen children, but he knows every one of them and the way they sound, the way they walk and even, yes, how they knock. Well almost. Echo and Tup, who are respectively seven and six, tend to be a little shy before entering. Putting his vambraces on the ground, Jango recognises the little face of Echo, and the way he’s been crying.

“The others were mean again?” he asks, pulling his son in his arms, kissing his neck. His son sobs, a hand on his wet eyes.

“What is it, my little brave corporal?” Echo seems hesitant to tell him, for a few heartbeats. Jango doesn’t push him, simply sitting on the ground, keeping him safely in his arms. It’s useless, they all learned, to try to push through Echo’s silent wall. It only pushes him further and makes Fives mad, starting to hit even the bigger boys. Brave, yes, but foolish, Arla points, slightly amused by the way Fives takes inspiration from Wolffe to bite people to compensate for his smallness.

“Ijaat mocked me, because I always repeat everything,” he eventually ends up confessing. “And Hevy too, buir! And Cutup!”

It’s not the first time. Even the oldest - Boba, and, sometimes, Wolffe tends to be exacerbated by this one’s quirk. But it’s the first time Echo walk into his buir room, all sobbing because of it by his childhood companions, more concerningly by his Domino’s ones, his recently attributed childhood companions until he accomplishes his Verd’goren.

“That’s because they don’t understand it’s your special thing,” Jango tries to calm him down, kissing his forehead. “Echo, Eyayah, hey. They’re just jealous. Sshhh, it’s nothing. You are, you you are. No one can change that, even if it displeases them. It made you, you.”

Jango knew enough about the Kaminoans to know how much they would disagree here. Except that the advantage of being dead is that…well, you’re dead. So is your philosophy. A dead man’s dreams turn to dust, forgotten by all.

“No, they laugh!” His son started to yell and debate in his father’s arms. Jango doesn’t move. “ Boba will and everyone…they’ll ask the long neck to fix me!” Jaster’s son's breath is stopped upon hearing those words. “Don’t leave me, buir, I’ll promise I’ll stop,” cries even louder Echo at this point.

In reflex, his father held him tighter. Rigid even, as if he couldn’t let him go. He, too, once, cried like that, promising to stop being a child. He was only a year older than his son in his arms. Jaster had knelt at his size, a steel, yet unharming, grip on Jango’s little arms. He doesn’t, though, recall the exact words his buir had told him, to him and his sister.

“Never, Eyayah,” he affirms, chasing away the memory. “Never. That life is gone, Eyayah. You’ll never have to face it again. No more labs, no more anything. Sshhh. You’re here. With me, and Fives and all your siblings and ba’vodu Arla and bab’uir Jaster…Everyone. Absolutely no one will have the long neck come back. Or anyone you don’t like. We’re here.”

It’s a fickle thing, promises. But Jango is but a man of his word. He doesn’t swear often. When he does, he always keeps his word. Loyalty and honour are everything for a Mandalorian. Jango didn’t always have the second. But no one dares state he lacked the first.

“But you said at Rex and Cody and the others that they couldn’t always be here, that we were alone. Couldn’t trust. Please, buir, buir, I don’t want Rex to not trust me. Or Fives! He’s my twin, buir, please don’t!”

How can he tell his seven-year-old son, his eleven one, that he doesn’t say that to break his heart? “He can trust you. And his instincts. But nothing or someone else,” Jango explains, placing a finger under the chin of his son, so he can meet his eyes. Echo stares at him for a long time, the tears still running over his cheek, his nose all red.

“It’s a pretty sad life, then. Your life seems pretty sad.”

“My life?”

“As a bounty hunter. Before, Cody says. It seems sad. I don’t want to be a bounty hunter. I don’t want my siblings to live happily. Even Boba, even if he’s mean.”

“My life?” Jango says, his hand gently on Echo’s face. “My life was solitary. It was lonely. But solitude is an armour, not a weakness. “I want you to have friends and brothers. I want you to have me and ba’buir and ba’vodu Arla. At the same time, it is what I will teach you, because it is the only way I can ensure no one will ever break you. ” Jango adds. “Life is pretty complicated, don’t you agree?”

He kisses Echo’s wet cheek, before telling him, like a secret: “I do not want you to live like I did.”

You all deserve better than that. He doesn’t tell everything about his life to the little ones now, but he knows that they’re smart enough to catch that he didn’t have a pretty one. Except that, from his age of seven, little Echo is too young to hear about the time that his father was a slave, addicted to drugs at the lowest point of his life. He doesn’t deserve that knowledge, for now. Let him have joy and taste summer before winter comes.

“Sometimes, we don’t get much of a say about it, don’t you think? Sometimes, you’re not the one who pilots the ship. Sometimes, you’re out of fuel and your ship is drifting in space, and in those moments, it’s your resources, everything I’ll teach you that will, perhaps, save your life. And I’ll never, ever, abandon you. I swear on my life, on my honour and everything valuable to my heart.”

Reassured of whatever fears were still holding on to him, his son gave him a tight hug, until he closed his eyes, head on his father’s shoulder. Usually, he sleeps in his bed with Fives, or vice versa, but for the rest of the day, Jango will keep him. Fives can deny all he wants to his twin, though Jango isn’t about to risk Fives' focus on his lessons. He looks at his armour and sight. He’ll finish that later.

“Come. Wanna have tea with me? While I tell you a story, and then you go back in class tomorrow?” From his room, they have a view of the snow falling, as Jango never close his windows. He was never able to see beyond faint and distant stars when he was a slave. He didn't breathe air for so long during that time. His little Eyayah in his arms, on his chest, rather decides to go for an improvised nap on his shoulder while Jango is narrating his and Fives' favourite tale. It’s a tale of twins, defying even death together.

“Go to sleep, ad’ika. Everyone’s safe here,” he reassures his son, once more. I’ll protect you and your siblings before anyone dares to touch you. I’ll burn the world and worse to make sure you’re safe.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦ ✦ ✦✦✦

V O R P A ‘ Y A

Mandalorian Space

Modern day (25024 GSC)

Concordia is long gone when Jango arrives on Vorpa’ya, the closest agriworld of Mandalore after his homeworld, yet equally as ravaged by war. The smell of burned crops assailed Jango as he left the ship - a similar smell to Concordia, when he was a little boy, a child, and he was known as Arla’s nosy little brother. It smells of burned crops, despite being he’s kilometres away from the nearest plantations, the black smoke rising in the sky - the similar paysages of destruction he’s familiar with, even from a distance. The same smell of destruction has been following him ever since, from Coruscant to Skako Minor. How he wished instead he was on Keldabe, embracing his children, smelling their hair as he kissed their heads. Omega always smelled of native flowers from Kyrimorut hills; Jesse would intoxicate Kix’s room with his perfume, and everyone would have mercy on their medic brother.

Every new rising sun spent far from where he’s truly needed is harder to look at. His mind is on Mandalore, where thirteen of his fourteen children are. Mandalore and whatever place his first-born son has decided to live under contracts. Not on Vorpa’ya. He thinks of Boba, wondering with whom he’s working now, like he thinks of Grey, whose main worry is the arrival of Caleb. He hopes that Omega doesn’t feel too lonely or that Echo is advancing on his healing. Receiving news is not the same as having his ade near.

Still, he has to push all those thoughts away. It’s an awful business on Vorpa’ya, as it is everywhere on the Mandalorian Sector. A governor of twenty, newly named a year ago, killed his half-sister of seventeen, and now a nine-year-old is expected to take his own place, while he served a lifetime sentence in prison. Jango’s presence is symbolic, a reminder of the Mand’alor authority, here to witness tor and search for Vorpa’ya of the mirjahaal , as Zal wrote it down. 

“Lord Fett.”

The newly-appointed regent, Zal Marn, under Cody’s order, expected Jango sooner; he’s well aware. As far as he’s concerned, Jango thinks he should be grateful that he took the time to come, rather than heading back to Keldabe as soon as business was done on Concordia. He had never met the man before, but he had heard from him. It’s because Rex, of all people, had spoken in favour of meeting him that Jango had even agreed to delay his return. 

Jango rapidly assess the man as he salutes him. Lean, in black and grey armour, with a pointed beard and a small beskar earring on the lobe of the left ear. What catches Jango’s interest, however, is how his eyes are dark, a calculating look in them, wary of everything - devoid of anything else. Jaster’s boy met men like him before. They are a breed that will go on long after he’s gone. Zal do not speak, simply invites him, with a hand gesture, to follow him to meet the governor. If Jango were attached to the protocol, he would have reminded Zal that the governor goes to meet the Maan Al’Verde. Not the opposite. Except that, today, Jango’s in no mood for protocol, so he follows him, guarding his thoughts to himself. Like he always did.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦ ✦ ✦✦✦

Echo’s muted silence when he left Keldabe, when he hugged Keeli and Omega before leaving, is still on his mind. Even weeks after he left Keldabe, like he just left Concordia. 

Jango arrives on Vorpa’ya, the closest agriworld of Mandalore after his homeworld, yet equally as ravaged by war. The smell of burned crops assailed Jango as he left the ship - a similar smell to Concordia, when he was a little boy, a child, and he was known as Arla’s nosy little brother. It smells of burned crops, despite being he’s kilometres away from the nearest plantations, the black smoke rising in the sky - the similar paysages of destruction he’s familiar with, even from a distance. The same smell of destruction has been following him ever since, from Coruscant to Skako Minor. How he wished instead he was on Keldabe, embracing his children, smelling their hair as he kissed their heads. Omega always smelled of native flowers from Kyrimorut hills; Jesse would intoxicate Kix’s room with his perfume, and everyone would have mercy on their medic brother.

Every new rising sun spent far from where he’s truly needed is harder to look at. His mind is on Mandalore, where thirteen of his fourteen children are. Mandalore and whatever place his first-born son has decided to live under contracts. Not on Vorpa’ya. He thinks of Boba, wondering with whom he’s working now, like he thinks of Grey, whose main worry is the arrival of Caleb. He hopes that Omega doesn’t feel too lonely or that Echo is advancing on his healing. Receiving news is not the same as having his ade near.

Still, he has to push all those thoughts away. It’s an awful business on Vorpa’ya, as it is everywhere on the Mandalorian Sector. A governor of twenty, newly named a year ago, killed his half-sister of seventeen, and now a nine-year-old is expected to take his own place, while he served a lifetime sentence in prison. Jango’s presence is symbolic, a reminder of the Mand’alor authority, here to witness tor and search for Vorpa’ya of the mirjahaal , as Zal wrote it down. 

“Lord Fett.”

The newly-appointed regent, Zal Marn, under Cody’s order, expected Jango sooner; he’s well aware. As far as he’s concerned, Jango thinks he should be grateful that he took the time to come, rather than heading back to Keldabe as soon as business was done on Concordia. He had never met the man before, but he had heard from him. It’s because Rex, of all people, had spoken in favour of meeting him that Jango had even agreed to delay his return. 

Jango rapidly assess the man as he salutes him. Lean, in black and grey armour, with a pointed beard and a small beskar earring on the lobe of the left ear. What catches Jango’s interest, however, is how his eyes are dark, a calculating look in them, wary of everything - devoid of anything else. Jaster’s boy met men like him before. They are a breed that will go on long after he’s gone. Zal do not speak, simply invites him, with a hand gesture, to follow him to meet the governor. If Jango were attached to the protocol, he would have reminded Zal that the governor goes to meet the Maan Al’Verde. Not the opposite. Except that, today, Jango’s in no mood for protocol, so he follows him, guarding his thoughts to himself. Like he always did.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦ ✦ ✦✦✦

“Jate’karta for your future,” Jango wishes upon the new governor, observing the boy, Chet, from his standing, Zal at the boy’s right. “My son, your Mand’alor, will expect you on Mandalor during the alit’aliit. He will have your support, won’t he?”

Zal raised his eyebrows, onyx eyes on Jango. Until now, he has been a quiet, silent shadow. At Jango’s words, though, the little boy betrays himself, as he turns to search for his uncle's reassurance. Zal nods at Chet, who then assures Jaster’s son of his clan and homeworld loyalty. 

“Let us walk, lord Fett,” Zal then addressed him, leading him outside, as his nephew gets up from his oversized siege, and gathers his toys in a corner of the room as he starts to play with them.

Jango let Zal Marn decide where they go, remaining quiet. They arrive on a balcony from where the sight of the recently killed perpetrators of the conspiracy has been hanged, their bodies left to the sky and the sun until Zal decides it’s enough - or when the smell will become too awful.

“I will have them” Zal spoke again, his back to the balcony, hiding him from the sight of the black smoke. Jango look at them, ignoring Marn’s comment. “Or maybe, you will help me.Take actions behind the back of your son, be your father’s right-hand.”

“My son expected peace on this planet,” he reminds him, unperturbed. “Not an umpteenth fire to drown. It’s only because my son Rex knew you that I bothered to come. Don’t make me waste my time. I’m expected on Keldabe, near the Mand’alor.”

“Your son may be Mand’alor, but how many truly respect him and how many only pledge to Jaster Mereel? Everyone knows you’re Jaster’s killer. You only pretend to be this politically correct man. You nail yourself behind those qualities your ad have, when you’re an animal from Concord Dawn. Have you told your boys to save themselves as you did for everyone else?”

Jango ignored the insults, as a flicker of rage covered his pupils, gone in a blink. He didn’t care about what people whispered about him; that hasn’t changed today.

“You aren’t wise to threaten me. Us.”

“Threat?” Zal frowned, his face turning surprisingly expressive when Jango had only seen, until now, a cold, stoic-like one. “No, no, no threat. Truth only. It is known. Truth about you, Jango Fett. After all, you could make a coffin large enough for the world in the name of your ade . So they say.”

Truth is ever only the version propagated by the winners, Jango had learned. Had Jaster died, had Death Watch won, the truth would have been different. Truth is the tale of the grown-up and the lies people decide to put in front of the scene as the version of how events went. 

Jango doesn’t answer Zal, moving away from the exterior, hiding himself from the sun to turn into a shadow of corridors, followed by the new regent behind him. 

“I thought you were an acquaintance of Rex,” Jango pointed out as he took a glass of wine, thinking back on the words.

“As you can guess, we had a few missions together during the war. Well, with him and his fallen friend. I respect him and like him well enough.  It’s more I can say about you. More importantly, I’m on the side of peace - a concept a bit foreign to you, I’m afraid. Though it seems to be an idea familiar to the new Mand’alor, and I know many wish the same as I do. That makes us allies.”

“I raised Rex,” he reminded him. I raised a boy with golden hair, who possesses more honour than I will ever have, who Kote named king in an old tongue, like himself was named glory.  “It’s difficult to like my children and to hate me.” Aren’t all children the reflections of their fathers and mothers? Twisted, changing mirrors in both all good and all bad?

“Hate is a strong word,” Zal shrugged, nonchalantly. “But I’m sure you have convinced yourself to be like Rex. Rex thinks himself noble, as much as we, Mandalorians. You, though, are not. You taught your sons to trust no one, should you die, to be alone. Your eldest, Boba, is it? He lived well through your will, I say. He’s solitary, a bounty hunter and has a growing reputation. Like yours.”

“Bounty hunter is not something to be ashamed of,” Jango replied. “Loneliness is part of survival. Always been for us, exiled Mandalorians, serving as bounty hunters. It’s who we are.”

 If it worked for him, it should work for his children if they keep the skills. Even sensible Tup, even steel-minded Dogma, and even laughing Omega. He didn’t want them to choose that path; thankfully, they never had to.

Zal's cold facade showed a flicker of surprise, a small twitch at the corner of his lips before his face settled again. “A shame that it is the only profession where we, Mandalorians, are tolerated while the Reformed Republic will grow to distrust us, like the old one. They will always call us when they need us, though. Even the Jetii.”

“They owe us. We won their three years of war. My sons won it.” My sons got shot, humiliated and bloody for them. They own us. Own my blood. Own our debts and three years of peace.

“A noble thing. I know they’re sending their emissaries soon enough. I won’t be present, alas, but I’m sure it will be interesting to see how much they insist on controlling us now.”

“Like you control the previous governor's partisans?” He asks, regaining control of the conversation. “They are the ones responsible for the fires.”

Zal doesn’t deny it, simply nodding, quietly. “Hidden. I expect them to act out of despair soon. Let them come. At your place, lord Fett, I would sleep with both my eyes open for your days here.”

“I hope your plan doesn’t involve me having to draw my blaster,” he warns him. “We need Vorpa’ya in peace if Concordia cannot provide enough food. I cannot have you kill each other, unless you want one of your clan to take your place.”

“Oh, do not worry. Before you’re gone, they will have all died, and Vorpa’ya will keep its words.”

He retreated to the castle, ordering someone to show Fett his apartment, though he was unable to leave the words about the Republic out of his mind. He knew them. Cody knew Kenobi, and perhaps a bit more from what Wolffe had joked back on Keldabe. Caleb was a Padawan during the war. Oh Cody . He had to go back to Concordia.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦ ✦ ✦✦✦

It’s the middle of the night when Jango is awoken. At first, he thinks he’s in his Keldabe room. That Echo had a crisis again, or Fox a nightmare, or Tup or Dogma. You’re not there. He’s not. What he hears aren’t objects falling on the ground due to one’s panic, but blaster fires. 

Instincts overriding, his blaster in hand - he always sleeps with one under the pillow when not in Keldabe - Jango takes his vibro knife and comm to learn what’s going on. 

“Marn!” He commands, heading to the main room, where he finds a little Chet holding one of the toys he was playing with earlier, a knife in the other hand. Jango takes it from him, more on instinct than reason, turning to Zal, who is wearing some elements of his Mando’a armour. Jango notices how the chest plate he’s missing, signalling that he probably didn’t take the whole thing very seriously.

“Friends of his dear deceased half-brother. Rebels,” he vaguely tells. “ Like I told you. Already contained, walked into a trap. They tried to capture him, but they don’t know the palace as well as I. Treason.”

Zal signs for someone to take Chet back to his room before the two men are left alone, the sound of one or two blaster fires still being heard.

“Any judgments to uphold, lord Fett?” Zal wonders. “People will talk about my capacity to hold Vorpa’ya. About your son's judgmental abilities on competencies.”

“Then quiet them,” Jango orders, pointing at the windows. “Now.”

“I don’t want a trial.”

He sounds aghast, but his eyes are anything but that, cold and calculating. 

“No trial. The bodies will be buried before dawn. Buried under the crops you raise higher. Then, bury them. No one says a word about it, I won’t have a threat now when it’s almost over.”

“Future built on death,” the other voices out loud, without any warmth or judgement, dark eyes staring at the moon. “Very Mandalorian.” He nods and leaves the room to give the order, while Jango return outside to see it done. 

Moving, he tried to ignore the echoing words as the death sentence was pronounced for treason. The bodies lie on the ground, lifeless, the familiar smell of blood rising at Jango’s nostrils. As a child, the smell had strongly repulsed him, coming out of his own father’s body. As an adult, he had grown accustomed to it. He stares at the bodies born from the friendly fire. He keeps his face stern and stoic. It is in everyone’s best interest to make them go away, like the dust on the surface, like the clouds in the sky and the blood on the steel. He’s not going to extend his remaining time here when his ad needs him home, and he has agreed to hide things for their names ever since he brought them home. 

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦ ✦ ✦✦✦

Gal Gedyc hissed at the removal of bacta from his open bruise left by the cyborg prince - Echo, a few days before. His father, Retir Gedyc, watched him like a predatory shriek-hawk, waiting for its prey.

“You and your friends of clan Awaud are foolish boys,” his father whistled, contemplative. “But idiots who may finally have done something right.” Served, really, on a silver plate. “He’s more exposed than the others,” he mumbled, the holo in his hands. “We could use the arrival of the Reformed Republic to act. Make him pay for his crimes.”

Gal remained quiet, staring at the holo that his father held in his hands. “He’s a fighter,” he was forced to say, to remind his father, to force his father out of his revenge mind, forcing him to set his eyes on him again. He had a mad look, Gal sometimes thought, all light out since Anaxes. Retry Gedyc never looked at his other children like that, only him.

“Not against us! Not against you and your little band, who managed to have him have a crisis, from what I’ve seen. It was stupid, yet you showed me his limitations. Everyone has weaknesses. Priest will help us, no doubt.”

“Priests are all mad! Jango-” Gal protested, shut down by his father’s hand, who snapped up, cutting the last syllable out of his mouth. 

“Do not say that name in my presence, boy,” his father hissed, unbliking, staring him more severely than a wrath statue of stone. “Priests are who they are. It turns out, they are our allies here, in front of the lack of justice from the Mand’alo toward his brother. Since his justice is lacking, we will ask the gods' justice through death.”

His son's eyes lingered on his father's face, trying to find anything, anything that would show a flicker of…not madness. Mad all the same , Gal bit his tongue. Jango Fett had killed their leader, and since then, clan Priest was navigating against the torrents to not drown. They hated the Fett probably as much as the Vizsla.

“You hold a vow, my son,” Retir reminded him. “Or have you forgotten the sensation of blood in your hands as they breathed their last breath? My brother, your brother and sister, my nephew? Don’t you remember him slowly dying, ‘till I had to grant him a quicker death so he could rejoign the gods? Have I raised a hu’tuun?”

“Do not insult me. Do not. I’m not a Priest. I have one word!”

His son jumped from his siege, making it fall to the ground, eyes turning with as much wrath as his father's. He did not want to fall off the cliff when following his brother, but he could not forget. The empty eyes, death all around them. They were Mandalorians; they were born to die. But death born from injustice, from a deformed man who had lost both his mind and his body, never to be brought to justice, was not tolerable for the son, or the father. 

“Then stop complaining,” he hissed, “and go visit Nigal’di Priest. She’ll be glad for what we’re going to propose to her if we act soon enough. At the ambassadorial reception, yes, it must be done that night! I could finally sleep in peace after that," he added, a deflating tone as he turned away, mumbling about sleep and peace as Gal was left alone, in the middle of the room.