Chapter Text

CHAPTER ONE: Mandalore calls.

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown Location, Unknown system.
Unknown Time.

John-117 was unsure how he ended up in the river, but he got the vague idea that it had something to do with the momentary bright flash of light that had consumed his vision as Cortana sealed the Cryptum: fully intending to lock him and Blue Team away for a thousand years. Shockingly, the pain of that betrayal doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would.

It had come from nowhere, the flash of light, and while he was reminded of a grenade blast, John didn’t feel the pain that often came from being on the wrong end of one, but now that he mentions it, he didn’t feel a whole lot of anything, he still doesn't. From experience, John knows that if you get hit by the blast of a grenade, you're really going to be feeling it the next morning. If you live that long anyway, grenades are no joke even for a SPARTAN.

Sitting up slowly, (as to not jostle anything potentially broken), John peeled his eyes open, grimacing at the tacky feeling. He glanced around, assessing the situation carefully. When he saw nothing actively trying to kill him, he glanced down to himself.

It took a moment for John to realise the hands he was seeing were in fact his, although much less armoured, quite like the rest of him.

John bit back a curious noise when it occurred to him that this wasn’t his body. Well, it was, but almost thirty years younger if he had to guess. He recognised the freckles dusting the backs of his hands, (which, if he were in his normal body, would be almost entirely gone due to lack of sunlight).

Even his scars looked younger, especially his augmentation scars, which looked slightly pinker than they should, as if they were fresh - but they looked smaller, perfectly in proportion to his new body. The lines the width of a pencil eraser; tracing up his arms and under his shirt.

John grabbed the edge of his new shirt, blinking at it in wonder. He was wearing clothes, but they weren’t UNSC regulation fatigues, and his armour was nowhere to be seen. (Which freaked him out slightly more than it should, Chief Mendez used to say he shouldn’t rely on his technology, but that was his armour, it was a part of him, and to have it missing felt like he was missing some part of himself). John had no memory of changing into these clothes, and he most certainly wouldn't pick clothing so exposed and out of regulation.

Truthfully, John really only wore his armour, and the stuff he wore to the gym. He normally slept in his armour's undersuit since he's used to being woken up at all hours of the night to go on another of ONI's missions. It just made the whole process easier, and quicker.

Shaking his head, John pulled himself to his feet, careful as to not pull on any potentially broken bones or unknown injuries he didn’t account for in his initial assessment. When he was on his feet, steady as possible in the ankle-deep water, John took another look around.

Kelly lay in the river not three feet away, Linda sprawled on her chest; head resting on Kelly’s shoulder. Fred was on the bank of the river not a foot behind them; head slumped back against the rocks. Blue Team also looked smaller; like they were kids, but John could recognise his team anywhere, in any form. They were his family - the only family he ever knew. Frankly, John was shocked he didn't see them the first time, he swore he had more situational awareness than that, especially when it came to his SPARTANs.

Splashing through the cold water and onto the shore, John turned to grab Kelly and Linda by the back of their shirts, hauling them onto the rocks beside Fred, and he was startled to realise his strength had changed with this new body as well. Normally, John could pick up a UNSC regulation Warthog with little to no trouble, (he did it all the time for the engineers, when they asked nicely), but just grabbing Kelly and Linda had his muscles screaming in pain. It felt like his arms were tearing themselves apart; burning red hot with pain.

Muffling a noise of pain behind clenched teeth, John knelt beside Fred on the stones, which dug into his exposed knees. He grabbed his battle brothers' thin shoulders, and tried shaking him awake.

“Get up,” John ordered, before softening his tone. “Fred. Wake up.”

The younger boy stirred, only barely, but with another shake of the shoulders, his groggy blue eyes flicked open, and he glanced around blearily. “John? Why are you so-”
“Small?”
“Well, yeah.” Fred sat up and must have registered his own size in that moment, as he let out a quiet curse: “Fuck, I’m small too.”

John huffed, not bothering to chastise Fred for his language. Instead, he glanced at Kelly, who was only just beginning to stir. To help her along, John kicked the rocks beside her ear and Kelly was awake in an instant. She shot up, tense and ready to fight, before she spotted Linda asleep beside her. When Kelly glanced behind her and saw John waving a quiet hello, she groaned and dragged a hand down her face, barely managing to get out: “Where-?”
“Potential hostile territory.” John informed, shifting on his feet to help her up. He glanced at Linda: “Linda. Let's roll.”

The girl tipped her head and opened her eyes. Calm as could be.

After making sure Kelly was able to keep herself up, John reached down and helped Linda to her feet, quickly brushing off her clothes and doing a basic check over to make sure she wasn't bleeding. Aside from also being quite small, the only thing slightly worrying was her scars not looking healed either. But, again, nothing was bleeding, so John nodded and helped her up to stand beside their teammates.

"Fuck, my neck-" Kelly paused mid-sentence and blinked at Fred. “You're small.”
“You should see yourself, Kells’.” Fred said with a quiet huff, glancing around the river, then down to his clothes. He considered looking for a label but got the idea there probably wouldn’t be one, so he pushed those thoughts to the back of his head for now. There was time to investigate later.

“Where are we?” Linda asked as she came to stand beside him, fiddling with the collar of her shirt so it sat just right; ever one to be organised.
“I don’t know,” John replied as he came up behind her, his gaze suspicious all the same, however. “But I don’t like it.”

Fred sighed and checked Kelly over for any injuries, finding none, he turned to Linda, and then to John. “This feels like one of Chief Mendez’s games.”

John couldn’t help but agree; thinking back to their training on Reach, but those memories hurt too much, and he forcibly shoved those images back into their boxes, which he would seal up and try to never open again.

“Even if it is, it doesn’t explain-” Kelly trailed off, lost for words. Eventually, she indicated between them. “This.”

Normally, SPARTAN’s stood well over 6’ft tall - 7’ft in armour. (Except for Kelly, but she was always little. Only standing 6’11ft in Armour and 6’ft without), but now, they were way smaller, approximately the size they were at 14, the day before they were started on all their medications that would boost everything about them in tandem with the augmentations. At least the augmentations stopped hurting about a year after the surgeries, those pills never tasted better, no matter how many times you took them.

Linda hummed absently, glancing around the river. They stood on the highest part of the riverbank; the rocks being piled up in a rough hill shape. She paused as she saw something rustle in the bushes nearby; the leaves shifting gently in, at first what she thought was the breeze, before she heard the sound of twigs snapping. Linda immediately tensed and shifted into an offensive stance, hands loose at her sides, ready to finish any fight. /p>

Fred stood in a fluid motion; grabbing a rock off the ground and turning, standing behind Linda as a protective backing; shielding Kelly and John.

John narrowed his eyes warily; calculating how long it would take for them to make it across the river in the worst-case scenario - away from the bushes that were moving, and into the cover of the jungle behind them. He didn’t like the odds, not in their new bodies. He knew Kelly would be fine, she was the fastest person alive probably, but he wasn't so sure about himself, Linda or Fred.

The rustling off the bushes got louder, then stopped a few feet away from their current positions. Blue Team held their breath.

John tensed as the bushes parted, hands curling into fists at his sides.

The figure emerged from the shrubbery, bathed in shadows.

For a moment, no one moved, then, a soft whistle filled the air; seven beats, followed by a familiar voice which quietly said: “Oly, Oly, Oxen Free.”

--

SPARTAN-II’s had excellent memories - they never forgot a face. No matter how long it's been since they've last seen it.

--

“James?” Gasped Fred, lowering the rock, eyes wide with several mixed emotions; grief, shock, suspicion, fear, and something uniquely SPARTAN.

Without another word, James-005 stepped into the light, his red hair fluffed up and sticking out in all directions, like he had just woken up from a thousand year sleep. He seemed equally surprised to see them. But he also seemed overwhelmingly glad. Happy, even.

“How?” Linda asked quietly, unfurling her hands and tentatively reached out for him. James met her halfway and took her hands gently in his hand, before he stepped up onto the riverbank beside her.

“I don’t know,” James said with a slightly sheepish smile, “But I think I’m happy.”

Silently, Kelly stepped forward and James let Linda's hands slip from his. He turned to see Kelly, who stepped in and held him tightly, careful of his missing arm. She buried her head in his neck as they held one another. Fred stepped forward and embraced the two tightly in his powerful arms, shifting only slightly to let Linda into the hug..

John, meanwhile, was paralyzed; he couldn’t move. He felt grief crush his chest. It was his fault James had not only lost his arm, but also his life. Yet here he was, wide eyed but alive. He was right there; John had a chance to say all the things he never got to the first time around - so why couldn't he move? Why was it so hard to move?

Once the hug broke apart, James glanced at John over Linda's head, with a soft look on his face. “Chief?”
John didn’t say - couldn’t say - anything. His tongue felt heavy, his heart was racing, and for the first time in a while, he was at a loss for words.

James didn’t say anything more, he just strode past Linda and tugged John towards him and into a hug.

It had been so long since John had been held like this. By anyone. He couldn't remember the last time he had been hugged, but it wasn't unpleasant, in fact, it was quite an amazing, almost revolutionary feeling. Like something in the world had been made right again. A lost SPARTAN had been brought home again, and John was so incredibly grateful.

“I’m sorry.” John finally managed to whisper against James' shirt, loud enough so only James would hear if they were normal people, but they were SPARTANs, and he knew all of them could hear it. Enhanced senses were an ass sometimes. “I’m so sorry.”

James just held him for another moment, not saying anything, before dropping him gently from his embrace. Simple, efficient: the SPARTAN way.

Linda offered a smile, but before she could speak, before anyone could speak, a throat was cleared.

“Do I get a hug too?”

John spun, eyes wide as saucers. He felt his heart stop, start, and then race. It shouldn’t be possible. But somehow, it was.
James made a choked noise behind John, and Kelly blurred past him, barrelling towards another meant-to-be-KIA SPARTAN.

--

Stepping into the sunlight, right into Kelly’s arms as she hurled herself into him, Sam-034 scooped her up into his arms. Holding her as she began to cry.

“Sam!” Came a hoarse cry from James, and Sam lifted his head to see the rest of Blue Team - his team - racing through the river to him.

John collided into the taller boy’s side and arms wrapped around him tightly, clinging to him like Sam would vanish in a puff of smoke if he let go. Fred looked on the verge of tears, but he held back until his face was buried in Sam’s back, hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Linda and James found space between the others, like a jigsaw, and they too clung to anything that wasn’t already being clung too.

Sam knew SPARTAN’s didn’t cry, so if any of his superiors were to ask; he didn’t break down sobbing, relieved at escaping his death, relieved at being able to hold those he cared (loved) about most, as he could. And he most certainly didn’t see the tears rolling down John’s cheeks, or dripping down James’ face, or wetting his shirt where Kelly clung, or how they wet Linda’s eyelashes like silver beads.

He wouldn't tell, because he knew they wouldn't either.

--

John didn’t know how long he stood clinging to Sam; it didn’t matter. Sam was here, Sam was alive, Sam was crying. James was here too - crying, but breathing, heart pumping, blood racing. He snuck his arm around Sam's waist to grab onto James' shirt: holding him close so he could hold them both as tight as possible.

John didn’t know what God, if there was one, he needed to thank, but he intended to find them and thank them until his voice was hoarse and bleeding. He used to beg for another chance to make things right, and this must be it, or at least, a start. But for now, John kept holding tight and whispering apologies into their arms. --

Eventually, (and with much reluctance), Blue Team broke away from the hug, wiping their faces on their sleeves while giving Sam and James some room to breathe.

“You’re here,” John finally managed to rasp out, voice hoarse from sobbing as hard as he had. “How?”

Kelly didn't ask any questions, she just stepped forward and began to look Sam over for injuries, but he caught her hands and held them gently in his. “I don’t know. There was an explosion, and I felt the nuke go off.”

John made a wounded noise but didn't say anything else.

Fred was holding James’ hand gently in his, and Linda was standing nearby; never one to touch or be touched. Just hugging Sam and James had dropped her social battery down to almost nothing, (although she would do it again and again until her battery was dead and broken, if it means she got to hold them again).

--

“Why are you guys so small?” James asked, scrubbing his eyes on the collar of his shirt again to make sure he was seeing this right. “Why am I so small?”

John made a vague movement, for a moment he was lost for words. Mindlessly, he reached out to catch the edge of Sam's shirt. When the older boy didn't complain, John gathered his thoughts and spoke: “I don’t know, we just woke up here.”

Linda hummed again, but aside from that didn't offer anything to the conversation: her fingers drumming against her arms as she thought about their new situation. She was probably already strategizing. Shockingly, Fred was the voice of reason for once.

“We should find shelter,” He said, breaking the silence. “Soon, preferably. And something edible.”

Sam winced at the pangs in his stomach. “Good idea.”

--

As Linda scaled one of the forest's taller trees, watched over carefully by him and Kelly (who had not left his side), Sam-034 tried to focus on the weird feeling in the back of his head. It wasn’t a bad kind of feeling, and he didn’t feel like he had forgotten anything; in fact, it felt more like a very gentle push - like a parent trying to corral their child into a bus on their first day of school. (Not that Sam ever went to school. Not that he could remember, anyway).

He focused on the feeling, eyes fluttering closed as he imagined the feeling inside his head as a string - rushing off into the darkness of his mind. Sam tugged on the imaginary string - wondering what lay on the other side.
He tugged harder, but nothing happened.

As Linda slid down the tree and into Fred’s arms, informing them about a city of sorts - a dome really - not far from their location; Sam tugged on the string again.

Still nothing.

John seemed hesitant to go towards a city in their new forms. Linda suggested a scouting mission. Fred said they should find shelter to fall back too, and both a fresh water source and a food source. James agreed with Fred.

Not giving up, Sam gave another, harder tug; he felt something give, like a lock clicking into place around the right key.

“Hello little one.”

Sam startled and opened his eyes; finding Kelly looking at him.

“Sitrep?” He asked, once his tongue started working.

“Golden,” Kelly replied, smiling, her short hair shifting gently in the breeze. “You?”

Sam considered telling her about the voice, but he thought better of it. He was probably just tired, or hungry. Or he was imagining it.

“Little hungry.” He admitted as they began to walk after Blue Team, who was following Linda since she was the only one who really had any clue where they were going.
“Good thing Linda saw a river.” Kelly told him.
“I thought we were just in a river.” Sam said with a frown.
“Another one. Deeper. It’ll have fish, hopefully.”

Sam nodded. Fish sounded good.

--

SPARTAN’s, through a series of hard learnt lessons with Chief Mendez, and many theocratical's with Deja, knew a lot of little tricks that may only ever be useful in certain situations. Tying a hammock, for one, or building a hut, or fishing in a river for (what looked like) trout, or building a campfire. All things any SPARTAN did once or twice during training.

John thanked Chief Mendez in the back of his head; he might have been crazy strict and crazy… well, crazy, but his life lessons paid off more times than he could count.

--

Blue Team split in half; with one group working on lighting a campfire and fashioning a basic water filter, and the other half working on precuring food.
Kelly with her insane speed and Linda with her excellent eyesight volunteered to fish, while Fred agreed to go looking for anything edible-looking in the nearby area, since he read way too many survival books in his free time. More than he probably should, but it was coming in handy, so no one was going to mention it.

John, James, and Sam agreed to hang back to build a campfire and water purifier. They decided that while hunting for campfire sticks, they're keep an eye on anything to weave together the bigger sticks to create a hut with: like flax, for instance. It wouldn’t be pretty, (the hut and the bindings), but it would work until they found an alternative.

Besides', they've lived inside uglier things.

--

“Need a knife,” Kelly mentioned once she emerged from the river, three fat trout strung together with her shoelaces. “Sharp one.”

Linda appeared a moment later from the reeds and crouched beside the fire to dry off.

Sam nodded towards the river. “Didn’t Kurt used to be able to string together a knife from a rock?”
Kelly grinned, “Oh yeah, when we were training with Tango company. I remember when he stabbed Sergeant What's-his-face with it during basic-”

--

By the time Fred reappeared, vines slung over one shoulder and with an armful of sticks, he found his fellow SPARTANs all laughing around the fire. The sight made him pause, and the memory of Blue Team - all those years ago, back on Reach came to mind. Sam looked as he had then, taller than the others, strong, the protector. James was quietly braiding rope, using a heavy rock to hold down the strips of flax, a smile brushing his lips as he worked. John looked less like the whole world was on his shoulders, and more like he was stress free - Fred hadn't seen him like that in so long. Just as he hadn't seen Linda smile like she did now, or how Kelly was happily humming one of her rock songs under her breath. Kelly hadn't sung in so long, Fred wondered if he had forgotten what it sounded like; and was pleasantly surprised that he hadn't.

Fred was brought from his thoughts by the lovely smell of cooking meat, prompting him to walk over. He dropped the vines by Sam, and the sticks into the fire. He then smiled and accepted the cooked trout from Kelly, grateful for warm food and warm company.
Sam slung an arm over his shoulders and held him in his side; keeping him close to his chest, and to his heart. Soon, Fred found himself joining in on sharing war stories and old memories, talking with them long into the night.

--

“Jetti.”

Luke glanced at the Darksaber on the kitchen table, spoon of cereal halfway to his mouth. It was rare the sword ever addressed him. The lingering feeling of ‘distrust’ between Mandalorians and Jedi lingered on its kyber, even with its first master being of both worlds.

For a second, Luke wondered if he was still asleep.

“Jetti. Ade. Find.”

Luke narrowed his eyes in thought. Considering what it meant.

“Grogu?” He asked. The immediate reaction from the sword was joy at Grogu being mentioned, but it was followed by the feeling of wrong.

“Nayc. Ade. Vutyc Ade.”

“Why aren’t you telling Din?”
“Nu Draar.”

Luke decided this was out of his pay grade. He wasn’t king and it was too early for riddles; all he wanted was a nice day in with Din and his family, minus the Armourer wherever she may be, (Luke still needed to invite her around for tea). Luke had sworn to never speak of riddles after Yoda, dammit.

Turning on his heels, Luke poked his head out the kitchenette and called into the dining room: “Din!”

“Mir’sheb.” The Darksaber pouted - honest to the Force, pouted.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Chapter Two: Edeemir

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown Location, Unknown system.
Unknown Time.
Current Objective: Stability.

Fred was lost, and in his own defence, the forest looks basically the same - you could walk for hours in a line and swear you were walking in circles. This flower field was the first thing he had stumbled across that didn't look like the rest of this damn forest.

(If Fred had looked to his right, he may have caught sight of a sign reading: 'FLOWER HIKING TRAIL', and a complex set of arrows pointing towards Sundari, and towards the village not a kilometre away down the path. But he didn't.)

Fred stifled a groan; John was going to put him on a fucking leash after this if Kelly or Sam didn't beat him to it. It wouldn't be the first time Fred's thoughts had him overshooting the right path, or walking down the wrong hallway, which really wouldn't help Fred's case in the eyes of his team. He would never be out of eyeshot again; chained to one of them to stop him from wandering off again. John would probably sleep beside him for the next month, at least.

Fred cursed under his breath.

He could climb a tree maybe. Try find the river and walk down stream to where his team would be. Retrace his steps back to the stream they woke up in, and, what? Wait?

Fred felt like punching himself in the face.

"Su cuy'gar, little one."

-

Paz Viszla took his job very seriously. The protection of Ade was The Way - protecting the future, protecting innocent lights was one of the highest honours that could be bestowed upon someone, and Paz would be damned to Haran if he ever let harm come to the lights under his custody. Any Mandalorian would kill to keep children safe; they would die to protect them.

So, when Paz was walking home through the edge of the forest outside Sundari's half completed dome, and he saw a sickly-looking boy wandering out of the forest bordering Sundari, of course he immediately wanted to help.

The boy could barely be ten - he was lean and thin. Wearing a white shirt and a pair of pants that might have once been white - if not for them being coated in mud and dirt. His hair was black, but as the sunlight fell on his head, Paz saw streaks of silver. There was a cut in his hairline that still looked pink.

Something sank in Paz's stomach when he recognised the pink surgery scars running down the boy's arms and chest. They looked gnarly and painful.

What demagolka dare hurt a child? On Mandalore, the planet of the Manda, no less?

Oh, Paz was angry now, but he knew the boy might be hungry, or starving, judging by how thin he was. He reached into a pouch on his belt, fishing out his comm and calling the palace medic, before he adjusted his body language to be open, and he stepped into the flower field.

"Su cuy'gar, little one."

Paz winced as the boy spun around, clearly startled.

It wasn't the greatest way to introduce yourself to a child; startle them out of their skin before offering them something to eat. While the food was harmless; it was just one of the MRE bar's Paz caught himself carrying around for one reason or another; whether it was to feed Ragnar, or feed Din when he would forget to eat; it would still come across as mighty suspicious. Paz was never known for being tactile in social situations.

The boy stared at Paz blankly, eyes wide. He seemed both ready to sprint away, or punch Paz in the face - this gave Paz two pieces of important information.

One: this boy wasn't Mandalorian. Any Mandalorian knew (and taught their children) to never punch a solid Beskar helmet. (Or any Beskar armour).
Two: this boy was lightning fast. If he ran, Paz doubted he could keep up.

This situation needed to be handled with grace and delicacy.

-

Fred was internally screaming something vulgar as the man knelt down slowly, offering him something rectangular, and wrapped in a shiny foil. Fred shifted into a fighting stance, his training kicking in.

The man said something again, but Fred had no idea what he said. When the man leaned in, hand out to offer the package. Fred eyed it warily - he didn't recognise the writing on the foil. He took it anyway. (Somewhere, not so far away, John lifted his head and frowned at the skies. Something was off. Mm. He glanced at his teammates who were silently making knives by the river. He did a headcount, then frowned. Fred hadn't come back yet-- John sighed. Fred was doing something stupid; he had a sixth sense for this. John closed his eyes and counted to a hundred).

The foil crinkled in Fred's hand, and he thumbed the wrapper quietly. It felt like an MRE. He sniffed the package; it smelled like an MRE. It even had the smell of the artificial flavours Fred could recognise anywhere now.

The man shifted in the corner of Fred's vision, hand reaching for Fred's shoulder, and the SPARTAN's body reacted before his brain caught up.

-

Paz blinked as he felt the boy's teeth sink into his thick glove.

'Did he just bite me?'

-

Fred immediately regretted biting the man. His glove didn't taste all that nice.

-

(Somewhere, John continued counting as the feeling got worse.)

-

Fred yanked his teeth from the man's glove, took a short step back, then with lightning-fast accuracy; slammed an open palm into the gap between the man's helmet and his chest plate. The man doubled over, wheezing and grasping at his throat.

Fred tried not to feel guilty as he high tailed it into the forest.

'Thank you mystery man, you will be missed; but let's try not meet again.' He thought as he rushed into the foliage.

-

By the time Paz's medical contact showed up, he was still coughing and wheezing; hunched over as he tried to regain his breath.

"What did you do this time, di'kut?" Kix asked as he crouched beside Paz, hands carefully helping Paz uncurl; placing his hands gently on his chest and back; careful as ever. "Choke on one of those horrible ration bars of yours?"

Paz managed to get out, through wheezing breathes, "Kid- very strong ade."

Kix hummed and helped Paz to his feet, reaching up and removing his own helmet to reveal a very unimpressed medic. "What do you mean?"

Paz made some military gestures with his now free hands. 'Small sentient, ran that way.'

Kix choked back a laugh, "You got smacked by a kid?"
"He bit me too."
"Ha! Wait until the vode hear about this..."
"Kix, please-"
"Come on then, let's get you home, and we'll talk to Din. I'm sure this ad lives nearby, he's probably running home right now."

Paz really wished the ad was safe at home; but judging by those scars, he wasn't so sure. He made a mental note to do some more investigation when he got home, and when he could breathe right, because DAMN that kid was strong.

-

When Fred burst out of the treeline, Sam was on his feet in an instant. "What happened? Where have you been?"

Fred made vague hand gestures as he stumbled through what he wanted to say: "I got lost in the woods, and walked into a clearing where there was this guy- he was fucking huge!" At that, Fred had everyone's attention; James stopped sharpening sticks, and even Linda opened her eyes from her meditation. "And he said something in some weird language, and then he gave me this thing-" Fred held up the shiny foil wrapped rectangle. "-then he tried to grab me so I throat punched him, and-and-"

"Wait," John waved his hand to cut off Fred's rambling, standing from where he was stringing together nets from vines. "What do you mean, he tried to grab you?"

"He tried to grab me! But I wouldn't let him, so I throat punched him-"

Sam's eye twitched, and he held a finger in Fred's face, "You, are never going anywhere alone again. You cannot be trusted."

Fred threw his arms up: "It's not my fault this whole forest looks the same!"

Linda's brow furrowed, "Wait, what did he give you?"

Fred tossed her the shiny wrapped foil, "That thing." He turned back to Sam: "I am perfectly fine to be alone!"
"This is the fifth time you've gotten lost on an alien planet-"
"Funny coincidence."
"-You crashed the Warthog during training when we left you alone!"
"Good thing we don't need to drive! And stop digging up the past to try pad out your argument-"

John grabbed both of them by the shoulders and his voice dropped: "Shut up."

Both immediately went quiet. John nodded and glanced at Fred, "You can't be alone in the woods anymore," When Fred went to protest, John held up his hand, and he went quiet. "No one can be alone in this place. It isn't safe. I thought it could be, but clearly there are people here." John looked at Linda, "When you were in the tree, you saw a dome, right?"

Linda nodded, looking up from examining the shiny foil.
"How far away was it?"
Linda thought about it for a second: "About ten kilometres away."
John hummed and considered this. He tangled his fingers in his hair and scratched at the back of his neck, thinking.

If this city dome was that close, it could be a threat if any more of its citizens started walking around these woods. He didn't doubt there would be hiking trails and parks, maybe even some hunting groups. Reach had a set of hiking trails that weaved through its mountains and ran parallel to the river John and his team had to get across as a teambuilding exercise; it sounded easy, but when the river was ten meters deep and the currents were strong enough to dislodge any rocks or potentially wayward SPARTANs, it was a lot harder than it sounded.

"Okay," John said, having come to a decision. "We need to scout the dome and move down river."

Kelly's hand shot up, "I can run there and back easily. I'll do it."

John didn't doubt Kelly couldn't; she was the fastest SPARTAN alive, maybe even the fastest human alive, but he thought back to how his muscles screamed back when he was pulling his team from the stream, and how his surgery scars were still pink. His fingers brushed down his knuckles and even touching the scars hurt. If Kelly started running, John worried she would rip a muscle and be stuck close to the city and away from them; in a potential enemy hotspot so to say.

"No, we should go together." John decided, dropping his hands and turning to Sam. "Can you-?"
Sam nodded and adjusted his shoelaces.

"The rest of us will pack up here and relocate further downstream." John turned to Kelly, eyes firm. "If you see anyone, you run back here. You know the rules."

Kelly whistled the six-note sing-song tune. "Oly Oly oxen free."
"Oly Oly Oxen Free, All out in the free, We're all free." Sam repeated, knocking their fists together. It felt good to be back on a mission, even if it was just a simple scouting mission.

-

"Mand'alor; mar'eyir jate'kara."
Din glanced at the Darksaber on his desk, pausing from signing some unimportant documents to glower at it. The assistant holding the papers paused and glanced between the sword and his king. "Lord?"
"Nothing," Din said blankly, shoving the Darksaber into an empty drawer on his desk, ignoring its string of curses and angry Mando'a. "Just some Force osik."

The assistant put it out of his mind until he smelt burning wood. "Uhm, Lord?"
Din turned and let out his own angry string of curse words when he saw the 'saber had ignited and was burning a hole through his drawer.

"Do not toss me in a drawer like some common kitchen knife."
"Oh hush, you are fine; my desk on the other hand-"
"I am trying to tell you something important, Di'kut!"

The assistant nervously looked at the Jedi, who was draped in the chair by the huge stained-glass window that took up the far end of the King's office, holding the crown prince in his arms. "Sir?"
"Don't worry this is normal." The Jedi assured, gently pulling his sleeve out of Grogu's mouth.
"Well, uhm, someone has to sign these papers, sir. Should I just wait?"
"No need. Two doors down on your right is Bo-Katan, she'll sign. Is that alright?"
"More than, thank you sir."

The Jedi nodded and turned to watch the Mand'alor have a one sided argue with his sword. As the argument got louder, the assistant took that as his que to leave; quietly closing the door behind him.

"We need to talk about boundaries!"
"Boundaries!? Boundaries?!"
"Yes! You can't just ignite whenever, what if you hit someone?"
"You are fine."
"I might not have been- oh! And we need to talk about your riddles! I know you can speak normally, you oversized butter knife-"

Luke glanced down as Grogu sneezed quietly. "Getting a cold buddy?"
Grogu babbled quietly and picked at the sleeves of Luke's flowing black robes, trying to shove it in his mouth again; which Luke gently pulled away from his little teeth.
"It is the season," Luke agreed, frowning as he recognised his chest felt stuffy; like cotton was in his lungs. "Ah, I'll order some soup from the kitchens, I'd hate to be sick for your Birthday." Grogu beamed up at him, ears flicking up like a Loth Cat when it was happy. "Bah!"

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Dog.

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown Location, Unknown system.
Unknown Time.
Current Objective: Scout.

If Blue Team were animals, Kelly would be a rabbit.

Not only was she the fastest in the group - easily able to outrun bullets and plasma needles - but she also liked to dig, just like a rabbit.

Back during their training on Reach, which felt like a lifetime ago, Kelly dug most of the pits they used during training; and when one was on a time limit to dig pits and make traps, one learned all the best ways to dig a hole. It came in handy more times than Sam could count when they were being chased through the jungle by Tango team - who were so embarrassed at being beaten by a bunch of ten-year-olds, that they were out for blood. Sam could still remember how Fhajad had screamed as one of Tango company kicked him repeatedly in the ribs; he also remembered how satisfying it was to punch that bastard in the face and how amazing it felt to kick him just as hard as he had kicked Fhajad.

So, if Blue Team were animals, Kelly would be a rabbit, and Sam reckoned he'd be a big scary dog.

Kelly picked a spot in the treeline along the hill and dug a shallow hole in the soft dirt for them to lay in as they examined the big city.

Up close, it became clear that the city dome wasn't complete; huge portions of it were still a work in progress, and Sam could see workers wielding the 'glass' panes to the domes supports. (It looked like glass, anyway, although it did have a weird green tinge...). The workers were tiny ants in his vision, even with his enhanced eyesight.

Sam took a closer look and was surprised to see that the city was arranged in rings; and he couldn't see any further than the second one; which looked to be a farmland of sorts. The first ring seemed to still be under 'construction', in a sense, and, he and Kelly, watched as huge shards of glass being torn up from the earth by even bigger machines, and dumped into piles that people in bright yellow were picking through and scanning.

"Fuck," Kelly said, turning to Sam with wide eyes. "That place is huge."
Sam nodded grimly, glancing at her with a frown. "What's with the glass?"
"Glass?" Kelly followed Sam's finger, and her eyes widened for a second before her lips set in a grim line. "Oh."

Sam turned to Kelly and arched an eyebrow. "What? What it is?"

Kelly looked like she had seen this before.

"This planet has been Glassed before." She said softly, almost sombrely. "That stuff is from that."

Something dropped in his stomach. "Oh."

Kelly looked older than she should, and Sam was suddenly really aware that Kelly had lived a whole life after what he knew off; had seen lots more things, had fought the Covenant years after he had 'died' on the Covenant ship.

While to him none of Blue Team had changed much in his eyes - their bodies at ten was much closer to the time Sam had lived, than the time Kelly had - from what he and James had gleaned from the others around the campfire last night, in their normal bodies, Blue Team (Kelly, Linda, Fred, and John) were all well into their 40's/50's. (That had really been a blow to both James and Sam; just how much had they missed?).

"How do you know? Did you go to Harvest?" Sam asked, curious; before he immediately felt guilty when Kelly's face dropped.

"Right," she said grimly. "You wouldn't know."
"Know what?"
"Reach... Reach is gone, Sam."

Sam's breath hitched and he stared hard at Kelly, who couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"All of it?" He found himself asking - which he knew was stupid. But some part of him begged the universe for it not to be true. "Even..."
"Everything," Kelly said, hands picking at the dirt under her hands. "Everything."

Sam found grief burn in his chest; this knowledge felt too heavy. How did Kelly and everyone else carry it?

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered.
Kelly turned to him so fast she must have gotten whiplash. "It was your home too."
"I know, but you had to fight through that. You've had to see that."

Kelly didn't say anything, her fingers rolling the dirt between her fingers almost absently; like the rabbit in her was wanting to dig a warren to hide in. She seemed tired; really tired.

Sam didn't push and turned to continue watching the city, although he let his hand slip into Kelly's own and their fingers laced together gently. A silent reassurance, one only Sam was allowed to give

-

Kix was glad to be pulled from patching up training injuries and fixing bleeding noses by a comm. He excused himself and tagged in one of the vode training under him to take over him with a warning not to apply too much pressure to the patient's shoulder.

"Hello, Cyare." He murmured softly once he was out of earshot from everyone.
" Hello, my star." Came his husband's gentle voice, soft and deep as ever. Kix smiled and stepped into his office, closing the door quietly behind him. "How are you?"

Kix chuckled, "I'm just fine, darling: I've been patching up verd'ika all morning. And you?"
"More than alright, love. I just had a moment away and wanted to call. I'm sorry I've been away for so long."

Kix sighed softly; he could never fault his husband for being away, it was his duty, and Kix knew all about duty; no one could walk away from it. "I know. I miss you."
"I miss you too, darling, I promise I'll be home soon."
"You best be."

His husband laughed again, "I'll be home soon, I promise." Someone said something in the background, and Kix heard his husband sigh. "I'm sorry my love, business calls."
Kix nodded to himself. "I won't keep you then. I love you."
"I love you too, oh, and Kix?"
"Yes Cyare?"
"Did you get the gift I sent you?"

Kix thought to the elaborate Beskar knife sitting on his desk at home, and he flushed softly before clearing his throat, "Of course. It was very extravagant."
"Only the best for you, my star."
"Where did you get it anyway?"
"Nowhere in particular."
"You stole it, didn't you?"
"Oh hush, they won't be missing it."
"Wow."
"You love me."

Kix huffed. "Goodbye, love."
"Goodbye, darling."

Just as Kix closed the comm line and was disassembling the device so it wouldn't be tracked, the door to his office flew open. "Doctor!"

Kix lifted his head, still not quite used to being called 'doctor' over medic. "Yes?"
"Theres been an incident at Site 20."
"Oh? Isn't that-"
"The report mentioned ad sir."
"I'm on my way. Update me on the road."
"Sir!"

--

"Kelly!" Sam hissed, trying to grab her by the back of the shirt, but she's still insanely fast, and she dodged out of his grip. "We're only meant to observe-"
"It's fine! They won't even know we're here." Kelly insisted with a grin, before she spun on her heels and dashed across the open field in less than five seconds.

Sam sighed and followed behind her, sticking to the treeline since he wasn't as fast as Kelly, and his chest had been hurting ever since they arrived. At first, he thought it was hunger pains, but he now recognised the pain as being from somewhere in his chest; but he couldn't specify where, which was never good.

By the time Sam was standing in the shadow of the dome, Kelly was already sneaking through the graveyard of rubble and glass and was getting a close look at the machines. Sam wandered over behind her and crouched down beside her.

The machine in question was huge; with big jaws that looked strong enough to cut a tree in half. Its huge wheels were so thick, Sam couldn't wrap his hands around it even if he tried. It was covered in dust, and small shards of the glass that was being dug up and drilled through.

"We're not stealing it." Sam told Kelly when he saw the look in her eye. Kelly huffed a laugh.
"Boo."

The crunching of boots on glass caught both their attention. Kelly grabbed Sam by the sleeve and the two ducked behind a pile of rubble and glass, careful to not make any noise that would give away their position.

"Su cuy'gar, little ones, you can come out. We know you are there. It isn't safe for little ones to be running around a worksite."

While neither Kelly nor Sam knew what the worker was saying, they both knew that it was directed to them.

"Fuck." Sam hissed, much to Kelly's surprise. She'd never heard him swear. "When I say run-"
Kelly nodded and got into a crouch, no longer focusing on being silent; her shoes crunched on the broken glass. "I'm not leaving you behind again."

Sam was almost charmed by her comradery; but she was his responsibility. He promised John, the Team lead, that he would watch her and keep her safe. "You're not. I just want to cause some chaos while I'm here."

--

Hardcase wasn't the strictest person when it came to rules. He didn't mind if people stuck stickers on their hardhats, or if they ate lunch outside the standard hours; everybody worked hard here at Site 20. Long hours and even longer days made for good teambuilding amongst the workers here.

Everybody here knew everybody else by name. They had drinks after their shifts, shared kaf or tea, and showed each other photos of their families. They even brought their Strill's around to help the volunteer guard patrol the unfinished wall of the dome, since it was a security risk and Rex was VERY clear that it was up to Hardcase to stop anything getting through while he was on shift - not because he was the foreman, but because he had the experience to stop anything (within reason) from getting in before reinforcements arrived.

While the workers, well, worked, the guard patrolled the area for potential threats, dipping in and out of sight between the towering piles of rubble and glass. There were check in's every forty minutes, and every hour, the shift changed their patrol patterns between one of five possible routes; the schedule for having been sent to them that morning. It kept things well covered and unpredictable.

The guard's Strill's were just added protection for all the things blocked by Mandalorian helmets.

Strill's were smart animals, and at first, admittedly, Hardcase found it hard to like them. They were big mean machines; big teeth, big claws, and even bigger brains. But they were hard workers, just like everyone else, and Hardcase reluctantly found himself babysitting one when its owner was out sick.

Jarl was a big Strill; he was head and shoulders above most other Strills here at Site 20. The owner insisted he was really just a big baby who was scared of thunderstorms and train whistles, but when Hardcase woke up to have Jarl hunched over the end of his bed, covered in a sheet, he begged to differ.

(He kept his blaster on safety mode now, after almost shooting Jarl before realising the big idiot was stuck in the sheet and needed help getting out; it still gave him a heart attack though).

Now, as Hardcase drank his tea, Jarl was curled up at his feet; tail flicking back and forth lazily as he watched the other shift roll in; parking their machines and gathering around to relieve Hardcase and his shift from their duties.

Just as Hardcase was standing to pack up his bag, Jarl suddenly perked up.

"What's wrong buddy?" Hardcase asked him with a grin. "See a Pog?"

Jarl didn't rise to the taunt, and instead got to his feet; sniffing the air curiously. His ears flicked, and he began to wander off into the glass mounds located near the latest patch of cleared ground; ignoring Hardcase's calls for him to come.

Hardcase sighed through his mask and walked off after him, waving off the invitation to meet the others down at one of the nearby bars; he needed to get Jarl home and go for a shower. There was dust in places dust really shouldn't be.

Hardcase pulled his blaster off his belt, flicked on the safety, and followed after the Strill.

Jarl walked over to the big yellow machine that Hardcase heard the driver once call, 'Big Biter' and sit down a few meters from it; around behind a pile of broken wall.

There were two kids, maybe ten years old, staring up at Big Biter, crouched behind one of the machines wheels: their backs to Hardcase. They wore all white - but the white was quite dirty, so it looked almost grey.

"You big softie," Hardcase laughed quietly and pet the Strill gently. "Trying to keep kids safe in the building site."

Jarl whined pitifully.

"I know, we'll get them out of here." Hardcase assured, looking around for the guards who were meant to be looking out for people sneaking in; seeing two round the corner. He needed to remind them on that being the workplace guard wasn't an excuse to chat.

Hardcase stood, purposefully stepping on shards of glass to get the kids attentions.

Instead of turning around, wide eyed at being caught, the smaller kid grabbed the other ones arm and hauled them both behind a pile of debris.

"Su cuy'gar, little ones, you can come out. We know you are there. It isn't safe for little ones to be running around a worksite." Hardcase called as Jarl got to his feet to follow. "You aren't in any trouble, but if I find you again, I'll have to call your parents-"

As Hardcase got closer to the pile, he heard low voices and suddenly, in a burst of speed, the taller one - a boy with startling green eyes (and excellent aim) - leapt up and out from behind the debris and hurled a rock straight at Hardcase.

The world tipped on its axis, and the last thing the retired trooper saw, was Jarl leaning over him; whining pitifully.

--

Kelly ran once Sam gave the clear, moving fast and low - making sure she wasn't a target as she ducked and weaved behind containers and machines; back out to the edge of the dome where they came through.

Sam was behind her in a second, sliding under a machine across a patch of smooth glass and out onto the field; rolling and running towards the treeline. Hoping to lose any pursuers in the woods.

They heard shouts behind them, but neither gave it any mind as they raced across the field, grass crunching beneath their feet. Hearts pounding.

--

It was only once they stopped running when Sam turned to Kelly with a grim look: "Who's telling John?"
"... Fuck."

--

Fred smirked as Sam splashed through the river towards where they had set up camp; and his smirk widened when Sam scowled.

He went to gloat, when Sam cut him off.

"Not a word." Sam hissed over the sound of the fire as he and Kelly accepted the fish kebabs from Linda. "Not a fucking word."

--

"Hey, Paz."
"What?"
"You know the ad who bit you?"
"Yeah?"
"Was he wearing white?"
"Almost entirely. Why?"

Hardcase nodded as he took a seat in the cot beside Paz, who was getting his throat checked. "I think I met one of their friends."

Paz glanced over and barked out a laugh when he saw how dirty the retired trooper was: "What happened to you?"

"Concussion," Hardcase held up his heavily dented helmet, the paint scratched off. "This thing saved me from long lasting damage."

Kix slid open the curtain and picked up his penlight, scanning it into Hardcase's eyes and checking his head for any bruising or swelling. Satisfied when he found nothing, he lowered the penlight and looked at Hardcase's patient forms: "How did you get this injury? Do you remember?"
"One of Paz's little friend's, friends threw a rock at me."

Kix glanced up at Paz, then Hardcase's helmet; which was almost caved in fully. "An ad did this?"
Hardcase shrugged, "They had excellent aim."

Kix got the uncanny feeling the Force was laughing at them.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Udelsa

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown Location, Unknown system.
Unknown Time.
Current Objective: Understand your enemy.

Linda was undoubtedly the calmest member of Blue Team; it was rare she raised her voice, let alone lost her cool in any sense. The only indication she was upset or angry was when either her fist was in your face, or you were in an early grave. Her unending patient made her the best Sniper anyone would ever meet; able to shoot the wings of a fly at well over 200 meters.

John had seen Linda dangle upside down from a rope, hundreds of feet in the air, and snipe Covenant pilots out of their ships; he had seen her lie in wait for days on end, barely moving, so she could get the perfect shot and turn the tide of the war. Linda had put so much time into the training range, that she was ranked No 1 across all the UNSC; she'd been given medals for her sniper ability, and Doctor Halsey had congratulated her time and time again for her dedication to her craft; had upgraded Linda's MJOLNR armour again and again to enhance her in the field.

She was the perfect SPARTAN.

John, at this moment, trusted her the most to not get in trouble; so, he ordered her and James to go and conduct a proper scouting mission around the area. He gave the explicit instructions to not, in any way, get into trouble.

Linda and James promised they wouldn't. And John believed them.

So why was he so nervous?

--

James kneeled and Linda stepped onto his thigh, she balanced there for a second, before crouching and springing up into the trees. She raced up the trunk and vanished from sight amongst the autumn leaves in less than a second. He gave her a five second head start to start moving through the treetops and along branches, and when there was no indication of trouble, he sprinted after her: keeping to the ground of course. He couldn't climb these trees with just one arm.

They moved fast and as quietly as possible: James barely heard Linda, and he wouldn't know she was there if it weren't for her heartbeat. All SPARTAN's had an unnaturally fast heartbeat when they were on missions, except Linda, whose heartbeat slowed down to a near nothing. James swore it was because of all the meditation she did; she must slip into it when she was working somehow.

The two ran through the forest until they came across a pre-marked point that Fred had set up; a big stick with a '1' carved into it, and a tiny drawing of an ox underneath it. The first corner.

James skidded across the dirt and stones, hanging a hard left as he continued sprinting: listening and watching for anything noteworthy. Signs of disturbance was one of the big ones; it could be machine treads, footprints, broken sticks or foliage, scorch marks, damaged undergrowth, and so forth. SPARTAN's knew how to not be seen, so any sign of disturbance had to come from an outsider - a potential threat.

Linda hit the ground beside him once the tree branches had run out, rolling to her feet, and vanishing up a nearby tree trunk.

A normal person would break a limb from the height Linda dropped from; but Linda wasn't a normal person. She was a SPARTAN. And SPARTANs were simply better.

James understood that saying that would ruffle some feathers back home, especially amongst the ODST - Orbital Drop Shock Troopers - even though it was true.

SPARTAN's were built to be the ultimate super soldier; they were made to be faster, meaner, smarter, deadlier. They were built to be weapons. The ultimate weapon.

Dr Halsey had been extremely clear about that with them when they were just recruits; they were not ordinary people now. They never would be again. They had a mission, the only mission that mattered; protecting humanity at all costs. Even from itself.

James wasn't stupid. He knew what the SPARTAN-II project was originally for; galactic crowd control.

The UNSC spread itself too thin across its colonies; it was unable to hold complete order over all its planets. In turn, riots began to start, insurrections.

The Insurrectionists gained traction, gained momentum, they got supporters, and they became a problem. One the UNSC and ONI simply couldn't let slip. So, they enlisted the help of Doctor Catherine Halsey - the mother of the SPARTAN-II program - to find a solution.

And she found one; in the form of 75 children from the outer colonies. 75 children who would be taken from their homes in the middle of the night, replaced with clones who would die within five years; leaving their parents mourning a shell of their child, and unknowing that their real kid was halfway across the galaxy - beaten and trained by the same people who would send them to die.

--

As Linda and James rounded on the second corner, they ran into their first problem.

James slid to a halt and ducked behind a tree; shifting back slightly so Linda could drop down beside him; silent as a Wraith.

The two stared at the corner post, and then beyond it at the flower field Fred had discovered two days ago.

Standing in the field, was three sentients: a tall figure in Blue Armour, another figure wearing gold and green armour, and a figure in white and blue armour.

Linda tapped James' shoulder and leaned on him; flashing three fingers then making a fist with her hand.

It was their confirmation sign; only three enemies in the area. All clear otherwise.

James flashed the confirmation sign back to her, before he adjusted his stance, ready on her command to run back to base and get the others moving to a more secure location.

Linda thought for a moment, before flashing a few more hand signals: 'Investigate.'

James glanced back at her, befuddled. What the hell was she on about? He was not going to investigate the thing John directly (and bluntly) told them not too.

He flashed back another hand sign, one that wasn't UNSC approved, but was definitely SPARTAN grade.

'Idiotic.'

Linda signed back something equally as rude and the two stared each other down until the chatter of the men in the field got too close for comfort, and they silently slid back into the forest: leaving nothing, not even footprints, behind.

--

"Was this the spot?" Kix asked as he knelt amongst the flowers; checking for footprints of any sign of a scuffle. He saw none.

Paz nodded. "Right here." He pointed at the spot where the boy had been standing, and Kix stepped over to scan the area. He found nothing except where Paz had knelt in the sandy dirt, wheezing and choking until Kix had arrived.

After the reports of the two children at Site 20, Din had ordered Kix to investigate Paz's claim. Wayward ad were all too common it seemed, and it never sat right with the medic. He had personally volunteered to handle the matter going forward, and Din had readily agreed on the condition that Kix brought them to the palace until their parents could be found - and potentially arrested for child abuse, if what Paz said about the boy's scar's were to be true.

"How strong was this ad?" Boba asked dryly, finding great amusement in Paz's story.

Paz grunted. "Strong enough to knock you around, Fett."

Kix sighed but stood as something caught his eye.

A child in white stepped out from behind a tree, followed by another, slightly taller, child in white. Both had shaven bright red hair, and calm expressions despite being covered in dirt and mud; they also had thick scarring, still pink, winding across their lean bodies.

'Too lean,' Kix thought grimly. 'They haven't eaten well by the looks of it.'

Boba and Paz also paused their discussion to watch the two kids step into the field.

The first, a young girl, smiled brightly and walked up to Boba, offering him her hand, while the other, a boy (missing an arm, Kix noted), walked over to Paz and stood beside him; not quite facing him, but not quite leaving him out of his peripheral vision. Both kids were short, maybe the size of a ten- or eleven-year-old. They were lean and grimy and were smiling much to widely; like they were happy to see them.

"Hello little ones," Boba said, kneeling down to accept the girls' hand. "What's your name?"

"I have no idea what you just said," The girl replied in a language none of them had heard before. Although it was said rather cheerfully. "But I'm going to punch you now and steal your knives."

Boba cocked his head, "What was that sorry, little one?"

The girl offered a pretty smile and with a firm grip on Boba's hand, yanked him towards her. Her right arm was a blur as it came up and slammed an open palm into his throat.

Boba went down with a wheeze.

Paz wrapped an arm around the boy's chest, and Kix rushed over to grab Boba; but the girl was quicker and grabbed the roll of knives off Boba's belt, ducking out of Kix's grasp. The boy was also a blur as he grabbed Paz's arm tightly, biting him hard: when Paz let go in surprise, the boy spun around and threw a hard right hook into Paz's unprotected side.

Both kids took off into the undergrowth, moving so fast Kix couldn't see where they went; but he knew they were immediately gone, and there Boba definitely wasn't getting his knives back.

--

Hardcase glanced up as Kix threw open the doors to the medical wing, dragging into two, very sheepish, Mandalorians.

"Had another run in, did you?" Hardcase asked, waving away the attendant who was checking on his head. "How many this time?"

"Two." Kix confirmed, pushing Paz and Boba towards the chairs. "Different than your ones, I think."
"That brings it too, how many now? Four?"

"Five." Paz grumbled, rubbing his side. "And that's twice they've punched me now."

Boba let out a raspy laugh: "Shame."
"They got you as well oh-Mr-big-scary-bounty-hunter."
"Yeah, but they got you twice now."

Kix sighed and handed Boba a glass of cold water, then handing Paz a pack of ice for his side. It likely wasn't necessary, but judging how Boba's throat was already bruising, he bet Paz's side was hurting lots now too.

"They stole your knives." Paz said to Boba. "They didn't steal anything off me."
"Except maybe your heart."
Paz nodded. "He had excellent form."
"Kid one or two?"

Paz cocked his head curiously. "Both. So did the one who got you."

Kix stepped away and fished out his comm from his belt pouches, turning it on and calling Din: he was going to love this.

--

John's smiled when he saw James and Linda return from their patrol; only for it to fade immediately as he recognised the knife roll tucked into Linda's shirt.

"Not you two as well." Sighed John, much to Sam's amusement. "The instructions were clear-"
"Crystal clear." Linda interrupted. "We come with gifts."

Kelly perked up and wandered over from where she was building a water purifyer, followed by Fred who seemed eager to get his hands on a proper knife again after so long using a sharp rock.

Linda picked a flat rock and rolled out the knife roll; and Blue Team gasped in delight. Even John seemed slightly less annoyed by the turn of events.

"Now these," Fred said cheerfully, picking up one and balancing it perfectly on the tip of his finger, the strange metal gleaming in the sunlight. "Are good knives."

--

"Manda'lor."

Din glanced up at the Darksaber, annoyed. He quietly excused himself from the dining table and tugged on his helmet before stepping onto the balcony. "What now?"

"Your ade are impressive."
"My ade? I only have one."
"Not for much longer."

And with that ominous message, Din's comm rang.

Kix give me some good news, please?"
"There's more than three; and they punch."

Din glanced inside, seeing his Clan gathered around the table; Luke and Grogu were drinking hot soup while Omera and Winta were dishing out hot spicy stew into empty bowls for everyone else. Ragnar was tasked with finding everyone drinks as Fennec and Cara were laying the table. He frowned.

"Boba and Paz?"
"Will be up in time for tea; nothing more than a few bruises."
"Thank you, Kix, I'm sure there's a story in there somewhere. We'll set a place for you as well."
"Much obliged, Manda'lor. We will be there soon."

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: Sam and John.

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown Location, Unknown system.
Unknown Time.
Current Objective: Stability.

John quietly slipped out from under the tangle of limbs that was his SPARTAN team and sat quietly beside the dead fire. It was a cold night, and John would love nothing more than to return to the warm arms of his team, but his guilt was eating him alive, and he couldn't bring himself to look at any of them.

Chief Mendez once asked him if he knew the difference between wasting a life and spending one. John had once thought he knew what that meant - the difference between the two - but now, he wasn't so sure.

The first mission John had against the Covenant had ended with Sam dead; blow up along with the Covenant ship they had been infiltrating. John had considered the mission a success by UNSC standards - they had completed the main objective. The ship was destroyed, and they had set the Covenant back by one. But, by SPARTAN standards, he had failed; he had failed horribly as both a SPARTAN and as team lead.

It should have been John, but it wasn't: Sam had taken that plasma bolt for him; it had broken Sam's armour, not his, had wasted Sam's life, not his. He had come home safe and sound; Sam... Sam hadn't.

John dragged a hand down his face; his scars hurt to be touched, but he didn't care in that moment. The pain helped warm his skin from the numbing cold and it grounded him in the here and now.

Sam was alive.
James was alive.
Blue Team was back together again.
John had his SPARTANs back.

Placing one arm over his neck, John pressed his forehead to his knees and wrapped his other arm around his shins. He mentally went through the meditation steps that Linda had taught him back on Reach during a rare moment of down time between battles.

He took a slow deep breath before evening out his breathing; he counted each inhale and exhale and kept the tally in his mind. John focused on the sound of the river, the gentle sway of the trees, and the gentle breathing of his teammates behind him, who were all squished under or around each other in a militaristic form of a sleeping pile.

John banished all negative thoughts the best he could, and focused on the dirt under his shoes, and the gentle breeze on his skin.

He stayed there for about half an hour, before he felt someone sit down beside him. He didn't need to open his eyes to know it was Sam.

Neither of them spoke for a moment or two.

"Sitrep?"

John's lips quirked slightly as he replied, "Solid."
Sam hummed and folded his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around them to keep himself warm. Their shirts were too short to cover most of their arms, and they weren't made of a thick enough fabric to keep them warm at night - John made a mental note to find some thicker clothes at some point, although just the thought alone of going close to the dome made him twitchy. Every single one of his teammates had encountered at least one of this planet's inhabitants; they hadn't been outright violent, even giving Fred an MRE type thing that he split with James - since no one else was brave enough to tempt fate with them. It tasted 'fine' apparently. Not good, not bad, just 'fine' - but still, the idea of potentially putting his team in danger wasn't appealing to John.

Sam hummed again: "Cold night."
"We'll need better clothes soon."
Sam nodded slightly. "We'll have to go to the dome. I don't think there's another option."
John unfurled from his position and began to draw in the dirt, sketching out mindless shapes at first, before he began to draw the familiar edges of his MJOLNR helmet. "Right."

John didn't need to look up to know that Sam was giving him a look.

"Do your scars hurt too?" He asked, hoping to stop Sam from digging too deep into why he was awake this late (or early?) in the morning. "Mine haven't stopped hurting since we woke up."
"It feels like we did the Augmentation yesterday." Sam admitted. "Instead of way back when, on R..." He trailed off, and didn't offer anything else, although John already knew what he was getting at.

"Kelly mentioned she told you about Reach."

Sam glanced across at the rushing river. "She did."
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault."

John knew that; he was half a galaxy away at the time Reach fell - infiltrating a Covenant Carrier that held precious data that could lead the Covenant to Earth, and then on the Halo Array (just thinking of the Flood made John shudder in disgust) - but still. "I know."

The taller boy nodded. "Stop blaming yourself then."
"I can't."
"Why?"

John went to reply, but found he didn't have the words too. His tongue was heavy in his mouth. "I'm team leader."
Sam silently placed a hand on the smaller boy's shoulder; his palm calloused and rough, but warm and kind. "That doesn't make you responsible for Reach, John. It doesn't make you responsible for anything that happened or will happen."
"I'm meant to keep you safe."
"And you have." Sam indicated between them, and then to Blue Team, who still lay asleep. James was sprawled out over Fred and Kelly - long limbs draped over them, like he was trying to keep them close, while Linda was laying perfectly still beside them; hands folded over her stomach.

"I didn't keep you safe."

Sam glanced at John carefully, and John didn't look him in the eye; he couldn't.

"Sam-"
"John."

Two words. Two names. One spoken with grief, the other with resolution.

"You died, Sam. You died because I told you to stay back! There had to have been another way-"
"I'd do it again."

That made John looks up, eyes wide. Sam was smiling, soft and kind; like the older brother John never knew he needed.

They stared for a while longer, and then quietly, the older boy gently said: "I'd do it for you. I'd do it for James. I'd do it for Kelly, Linda, Fred. Because I care about you. Because I love this team." He took a soft breath. "Coming back, John, it made me realise a few things." John didn't speak, so Sam continued. "As I stood on that ship, waiting for those bombs to go off, I-I realised how much I loved this team, and how much I regretted never telling any of you that." Sam looked guilty for a moment, before he said, "But now that I'm back, now that I'm here again, I'm going to remind you of how much I care as much as possible. Because if I die-" John made a wounded noise. "-I don't want to leave with the regret that I didn't tell you guys just how much I love you." Sam shrugged. "Again. Anyway."

John whispered; "I'm sorry."

Sam nodded, wise beyond his years as always. "It's in our nature as SPARTANs to try shoulder the weight of the universe, but when we do that, we forget that we're not alone." Sam lowered his gaze from the stars to look into John's eyes, and John realised that Sam was smiling at him. "You aren't alone, John, so stop trying to hold the sky up like you are. Because it's not your fault, and it never was."

They sat in silence for a moment, before Sam gently took John's arm and pulled him to his feet, leading him over to where the rest of Blue Team lay asleep. He gently pulled John down into the pile of tangled limbs and lay beside him, wrapping his arms around him gently.

"Thank you, Sam." John whispered against his shoulder and the taller boy held him a little tighter. The rest of Blue Team shifted closer subconsciously to hold them both; and John felt Kelly press into his back, her heartbeat coming through his ribs. Sam pulled John into his chest and held him there, Kelly moving with them to help warm John up, since she always ran hot. Hotter than anyone else, anyway.

As everyone else dozed off, John found himself awake, listening to every noise in the darkness. His mind began to wander, and he remembered something he thought he had forgotten.

Years ago, when John was a cadet, one of his trainers - a grizzled veteran who hated children as much as he hated teaching them - had held him back after class. The man had stared at John, and had told him something he could never forget. 'If you fail, and they get dealt with, it's on you.' John had asked him what he meant, and the man bluntly said, 'When ONI gets tired of bad results, it starts cutting heads off snakes. Halsey likes you, 117, she has high hopes for you. If I had to guess, you're going to be this project's golden boy,' He spat those last words with so much distaste, John felt the impact of those words all these years later. 'So, when you inevitably drop the ball, you're going to be responsible for what happens next.' When John stared at him for a moment, not sure what to say or if he was meant to say anything at all, the man growled out 'Dismissed.'

It hadn't been an outright threat, but John still remembered the horrible taste that had lingered in his mouth for hours after as he considered each word; immortalising it in his heart amongst the mantra's of 'SPARTAN's don't die,' and the last words spoken to him before he went into the Augmentation procedure; 'I’ll tell you how to win, John. You have to survive.'

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: Bes'laar

(Galactic Standard Calander)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 8am.
Current Objective: Search and Rescue.
TWO DAY'S AGO.

Din sat at the head of the great polished table and poured himself a mug of green tea as the rest of his council stepped into the room and took their seats. Din poured his tea because he was thirsty, not because he was delaying another entirely boring meeting; one of the few hundred it seemed he had to do every week.

To his left, sat Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, with head of Palace Security Paz Viszla, and leading Jedi Temple Guard, Commander Cody - who was filling in for Obi-Wan, who couldn't come. To Din's right, there was his advisor Boba Fett, his Right Hand Bo-Katan, and Chief of Medical Staff, Kix. The final seat at the table was empty, the one at the head of the table across from Din: The Armourer was missing another meeting, so it seemed.

"Okay," Din placed the pot of tea back down on its coaster and laced his fingers together. "Let's begin." He glanced at the Chief of Medical Staff. "Kix, you mentioned to me yesterday evening that you have something important to discuss?"

The Medic nodded and pulled out his data pad from his side bag, which was slung over the back of his chair, and powered it on: "As I'm sure you've all heard, there have been reports of children in white wandering around Sundari. After I noticed a pattern, I compiled a folder to bring to this council's attention." He slotted the data pad into a slot in front of him and the holotable lit up - a genius invention on behalf of the new Sundari institute; one of the rebuilt buildings within the Capital city. "We have had two reports so far. The first was two days ago, and the second report comes from yesterday."

Kix unlocked the files he had encrypted, and the files appeared on everyone's data pads.

"The first incident happened near the Flower Path leading to the Landing Site-" A map appeared and a small red dot appeared, indicating where Kix had pointed. "-and a young sentient, presumed to be a young boy, attacked Paz-" Paz made a low noise of disagreement, and Kix corrected himself. "I might add that he hadn't attacked first. Paz believed he might have startled him into reacting violently."

"The ad had excellent form." Paz rumbled, rubbing his throat gently under his helmet, touch light over the now blue and black skin. "He got me really good."

Din hummed as he examined the report in front of him, and quietly asked, "Your report detailed the ad was heavily scarred."
Paz nodded gruffly, "Yes, Manda'lor, the ad had scars trailing up his arms and under his shirt." Paz trailed his fingers up his arms in indication of where he had seen the scars on the young boy. "I believe they went down the rest of his body as well, but I can't confirm it."

Cody laced his fingers together on the table in front of him, reading the report on his own datapad. "Were there any other signs of harm?"
Paz folded his arms over his chest and replied, "He was thin. Terribly thin. It's detailed in the second report alongside the other noticeable signs."

Kix cleared his throat and continued, "The second report came from Site 20," Another red dot appeared on the holographic map, further to the edge of the dome. "Hardcase reported it once he had been treated." Kix reached into his bag and removed Hardcase's (since replaced) helmet, and handed it to Bo-Katan to examine and pass around the table.

Bo-Katan's brow furrowed as she examined the sizeable dent in the plastoid - eyes widening slightly as she realised where it connected in the report. "That's some serious damage for a simple rock." She handed it over to Boba Fett, who whistled slightly and handed it to Din.

Din turned the helmet over in his hands and tested the plastoid under his thumb at certain points in the helmet. When it didn't give under the pressure, he concluded that the helmet wasn't dysfunctional, but in fact the damage had come from a rock being thrown with almost superhuman accuracy. "Are we sure of Hardcase's recount?"

Kix nodded: "Yes, Manda'lor. I cleared him myself once he entered the medical ward."

Din handed the helmet to Luke, who froze once it was placed in his hands. "Were there camera's at the scene?"
"No sir, the Site was still recovering after the storm, the camera's were repaired moments after the incident occurred."

Cody scrolled through the reports and asked, "These children were different each time, correct?"
Paz nodded.
"So how many children do we have confirmation on?"
Kix calmly said: "Three so far. The child with black hair, the one with brown hair, and the blond."

Paz growled quietly under his breath. "Three ade wandering around without proper supervision is ridiculous. Where are their buir?"

The council shared dangerous looks, and Kix felt a dark sense of satisfaction that they were as angry as he was, and he was incredibly angry.

When the Clones found their freedom, they stormed Kamino and took the cadets from that miserable place, taking them under their wings and protecting them like they were their own children - because they were just that, children. Little kids. It was then that so much abuse came to light for the general public, that the Kamino cloning facilities were shut down almost entirely, and the Kaminoian Scientists were scorned wherever they went.

Soldiers do not forget, and Clones do not forgive, and when so much of the War was fought with Clones, they made connections on almost every planet, and the news spread like wild fire.

Now, Mandalore and her system was home to almost 80% of the remaining Clone population, their schools were rife with those same cadets, now healthy and happy. Mandalore was also home to a huge portion of the remaining Jedi - the once enemies now united under Mandalore's shining sun, and its king.

Kix could never repay Din for what he's done. His kingdom was no longer just a planet to Kix, it was a home; full of people he cared for and people he had grown to love. He had his own home, he no longer needed to fight and could comfortably live off his savings since Din and Boba politically strong-armed the Kaminoans' into paying the Clones what they were owed - but Kix kept working as a medic. It was his true love and his one absolute passion, he couldn't imagine giving it up.

Not to mention Mandalore was the planet he got married on, and whose metal his ring was made out of.

"Their buir are either woefully neglectful, or abusive," Boba drawled, pulling Kix from his thoughts: his voice raspy and low with carefully restrained anger. "Not to mention, these kids are clearly trained."

"We train our children," Bo-Katan said firmly. "We must take into account that their parents could be Mandalorian."
"They don't speak Mando'a," Paz said calmly, side-eyeing Bo-Katan and the obvious implication. "And I doubt they speak Basic either."
"Traditionalists then."

Both Paz and Din made harsh noises and Bo-Katan bit her tongue.

The table fell into a tense silence for a moment before Kix cleared his throat again. "Is everything alright, Master Skywalker?"

Luke finally glanced up from where he was examining the helmet and he turned to Kix as he placed the helmet gently on the table in front of Paz, who examined it and handed it off to Cody. "Doctor, you've tested many of your brothers for the Force, is Hardcase one of them?"

Kix shook his head. "No sir, Hardcase isn't a strong Force Sensitive."

"Then the Force on this helmet came from the child who threw the rock."

Din glanced up curiously. From what he had heard, items could only hold a Force signature if the owner of that item was Force Sensitive, or if a Force Sensitive came in contact with the item regularly. "How is that possible?"

In complete unison, Kix, Cody, and Luke replied: "'Everything is possible with the Force.'" The three then shared an exasperated look as they realised just how often they must say that line. (And realised how often they must hang out with Obi-Wan who was undeniably the person who used the line the most).

Paz glanced at Din over Cody and Luke's heads in confusion, and Din shrugged. He didn't know. He wasn't the Force Sensitive in the room - although according to Luke, he must be Force Sensitive at some level for the Darksaber to be able to speak with him, so Din silently corrected himself: he wasn't the trained Force Sensitive in the room.

Paz made the old Covert sign for: 'Jedi Magic.' and Din sighed.

Bo-Katan went to open her mouth again, and Din sighed once more.

He sighed one more time, then leaned back in his seat. This was going to be a very long meeting.

--

"So, we are all in agreement?" The Manda'lor asked, standing from his seat and powering off his datapad; which was really just made up of random notes and thoughts he had scribbled down. Most notes had something to do with Grogu's birthday; food he needed to source, banners he needed to put up, and so forth. While Din really wanted to just share Grogu's birthday with his close inner group, Mandalore demanded the best for her Crown Prince, and the Darksaber would not shut up about the beautiful birthdays way back during Mandalore's prime - and while he hadn't mentioned it, Din bet Luke was being bothered by the sentient sword as well, so Din relented.

Each council member stood and, in unison, replied: "Yes, Manda'lor."

Din nodded firmly. "Very well," He turned to the Head medic. "Kix, you have my full and express permission to follow this problem to its roots. Anything you need, be it supplies or more hands, you come to me for." He then turned to Paz: "Double security on Site 20 in case anyone else comes poking around," Finally, he turned to Cody. "And the temple too, if you feel it fit. Should you require more hands, I'll move some things around." He clapped his hands and slid the datapad into a pouch on his belt. "And with that, I'm going to pick up my son and do- uh - kingly things."

Bo-Katan sighed, and Paz sighed as well.

Luke smiled and dismissed himself as well, waiting for Cody to pull on his helmet before they began their walk back to the Temple together. Boba Fett accepted a comm call and left with Kix hot on his heels - eager to get to work.

When Bo-Katan went to leave, Paz stood and firmly said: "Your position worry's me, Bo-Katan."
"Are you doubting my loyalty, Viszla?"
"No. I'm not. But I am doubting your opinions on recent matters."
"The children?"
"The ade," Paz confirmed. "Yes."

Bo-Katan gave an indignant huff. "Even you must admit the possibility of it being a branch from your old covert."

Paz growled: just the thought was insulting. The Covert, despite their many differences between branches, held Children above even themselves. To think they would hurt a child, let alone presume they do have something to do with this right out the gate, is a deep insult. If Paz wasn't on the council, he would have thrown her through a window. But he was, so he didn't, besides, Din always said his hurt and anger was his weakness, Paz knew better than to lower himself to Her level. "They wouldn't dare. Children are the future; This is The Way."

The once-Duchess gave a flippant wave of her hand, leaning back on the table with a smirk, red hair shifting with each movement. She folded her hands over her chest and cocked her head to the side almost mockingly as she asked: "Are you sure you are not biased? Considering where you come from?"

Paz bared his teeth behind his helmet and clenched his fists so hard the leather of his gloves creaked.

Bo-Katan continued. "Speaking of your past, are you still in contact with your old Covert branches?"
"No." Paz shook his head, willing away his anger. "When they do not want to be found, it is best not to go looking."
"So, you do not know what your old branches are up too. In that case, how can you be sure they haven't abandoned all your principles? Like they abandoned Mandalore all those years ago?"

Paz growled. "They didn't abandon Mandalore, Bo-Katan, your sister kicked them out." He levelled her with a dark look that he's sure radiated even out from behind his Beskar. "How can I, as member of the Manda'lor's council, be sure you do not hold the biases of your sister? That they will influence your decisions? How can I be sure, as a Mandalorian affected by your families' actions, be sure you will not lead Mandalore down the same path as your sister? That you will not try influence the Manda'lor's decisions? How can I trust you despite your vitriol?"

When Bo-Katan didn't answer, Paz nodded firmly and turned for the door. "Perhaps you should check your own biases before you come lunging at me for mine."

--

PRESENT DAY.

--

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown Location, Unknown system.
Unknown Time.
Current Objective: Observe.

Sam wrinkled his nose and buried his face in his sleeve to sneeze for the fourth time in five minutes, his shoulders shaking violently as he shuddered and choked on the air in the field. "F-Fuck that's spicy."

John buried his face in his hands and coughed, regretting it immediately as his hands smelled like the spice as well and he tried not to retch. "We need to find eye and face protection while we're here." He reminded Sam once he caught his breath and could breathe properly again. "Hopefully before Kelly and Fred come walking this way and start dying as well."

It was well known amongst SPARTAN-II's that they couldn't handle spice, at all. Their enhanced senses ruined a lot of normal things for them, from slightly-above-luke-warm showers feeling like standing in lava rain, or too bright lights causing agonising migraines the cadet-SPARTAN's had to fight through just to get through the day. Their senses were both a blessing and a curse; a blessing on the battlefield and a curse in the barracks. Of course, as SPARTAN's they found ways to overcome this - mapping walkways through ships to avoid the bright lights, going to the cafeteria late at night or early in the morning to avoid large (and loud) groups of other soldiers, and avoiding going out during their down time to lower the chance of overstimulation. After all, they still had a job to do.

So needless to say, if John had known that this field of seemingly innocent wheat, was in fact, some kind of alien spice, he wouldn't have walked through it. Or brought Sam with him. Or come anywhere near it. Or touched anything at all. Look, John wasn't the smartest SPARTAN alive, okay? He did file this away for later and silently promised he'd learn from this experience, but for now he pulled Sam with him into a crouch - hiding low to the ground just in case anyone was home.

While John hadn't noticed the spice in the air until they were already here, him and Sam had waited for over two and a half hours to map out this residence and plan what they wanted to do.

Universally, farms needed quite a few things to work; equipment, supplies, money, and even seeds which in drastic situations, could be eaten or simply planted for later use. This made it the perfect place to rob; which no SPARTAN had any qualms about doing in emergencies. Besides, robbing was small potatoes compared to what SPARTAN's normally did.

Five agonising moments later, John and Sam were slipping through the sliding door and into what looked to be the living room; silent as possible. Sam glanced out the window and waved for Kelly and Fred to stay back in the field and not come any closer to them, within a second, the other two had melted into the forest and had vanished. Sam knew Linda and James were somewhere out there as well.

"John," Sam began to rifle through the kitchen, pulling out a few cans and holding them up for John to see. "Fly or die?"
John considered it for a second. "Fly. I'll find a bag."

The house was nice enough, and John stole a few pairs of boots from the front door on the way to find (and take) a bag or three from the crate he spied at the front step. He tucked two under his arm and handed one to Sam, which he immediately filled with a few cans from the cupboard that looked relatively safe. John grabbed a loaf of slightly stale bread and tossed it into the bag as well before closing the doors and jogging up the stairs to start poking around for eye protection.

They raided a few of the drawers and stole a few knives to add to Fred's collection. They took a few pairs of gloves from the upstairs bedrooms and carefully took a few rolls of bandages - not even for a second considering taking any of the medication, since they wouldn't know the right dose even if they did know what medications they were taking. Besides, they weren't so desperate to steal someone's potentially vitally important meds.

After ten minutes, John and Sam were slipping out the sliding door, three bags of goodies slung over their shoulders. John was now kitted with black tinted goggles and an old cloth around his neck which he pulled up when running through the spice fields. Sam had the same and a pair of thick welding gloves which were a godsend since his hands were becoming itchy from all the spice around this farm. They high-tailed it through the neat rows of spice stalks and into the forest; Sam closing and locking the door behind him.

As they raced through the farm towards the forest, the voice softly spoke in Sam's ear: "Little one, stealing is wrong."
Sam thought back, "It's not stealing if you don't get caught."
"Will you be returning these items?"
"When we can afford too."
"If you need food, you can always ask."

Sam shook his head and covered his mouth and nose as they reached the middle of the field, holding his breath as they raced into the forest edge; plunging into the darkness and over the sensors they had spotted coming in, making sure not to trip them in any way.

"Ask who? No one would want to help us."
"I do."
"You are just a voice in my head. You can't help us."

The voice fell quiet, almost in surprise or maybe shock, as the two SPARTAN's slowed to a slight jog, coming up on Fred and Kelly, who took the bags from them and began to get dressed.

John handed Kelly a pair of boots which she pulled on and laced them tightly; they didn't quite fit, being a little too big, but they fit fine enough. Fred tested a few pairs of gloves before he found a pair that wouldn't slip off, and he tugged them on tightly, testing them by doing a push up or two; nodding in satisfaction when they wouldn't fall off.

"Did anyone see you?" Kelly asked, standing and picking up one of the bags and slinging it over her shoulder.
John shook his head and picked up the other two bags. He turned and handed one bag to Linda as she slipped from the darkness, accepting it and slinging it over her shoulder. James slinked out of the shrubbery and accepted the offer of gloves from Fred, who tested both offered pairs and shook his head when neither fitted well enough to warrant wearing. "No one was around."

Sam pulled on his new gloves and glanced up at the skies, which had slowly become grey. "I hate to rush this along, but we should get going before it starts pouring down."

John cursed under his breath and looked up: "I should have gotten some rain jackets."
James put his hand on John's shoulder and began to guide John into the jungle: "There's nothing we can do now; it's time to get moving."

Reluctantly, John nodded and followed after the others as they continued walking back to their home.

--

Later that night, as Din was slipping into bed beside Luke, who had just put a fussy Grogu to bed, the Darksaber flew into his hand; radiating fury.

"Get up."

Din blinked and Luke winced at the volume of the sword's voice.

"Why?" Din asked blearily, sitting up and thumbing the hilt curiously. "Is something wrong?"

"Children are in danger. Do you call yourself Manda'lor?"

That woke Din right up. "What?"

"The children in white. Kadala! Kadala Ade!"
"Stop yelling. I'm awake."
Then do something about it!"
"I'm trying. You need to give me more-"
"I cannot! The boy already thinks I am but a voice in his head. If I push any further, he'll think he is going dini'la!"

Din groaned and slid out of bed with an apologetic glance in Luke's direction. The Jedi smiled tiredly and waved it off, pulling his book from his bedside drawer and settling in to read a few more pages. Din slipped out of their bedroom and began to pace in the living room, clutching the Darksaber tightly in his hand.

"This boy. What is his name?"
"Samuel Westergaard. But he doesn't know this."
Din sighed deeply. "What do you mean he doesn't know his own name?"
"There is a wall in his brain. In the brains of all his Vod. It is dark and horrible. Osik'la."

Din placed the Darksaber on the windowsill with a clink, head in his hands as he pressed his back to the wall and slid down into a crouch. "A Force Block?"
"No. Something worse. A wall of hurt."
"What can I do? You need to tell me more."
"The forest. Hunt. Return to your roots. Beroya."
"I don't want to frighten them."
"You won't. They will respect the hunt once it has concluded. Be not afraid of hurting them. They are so much stronger than you think. Look at the reports tomorrow; read them carefully. Search for your mark. Your ade."
"They are not mine!"
"Not yet."

And with that, the ancient sword fell annoyingly quiet. Din snatched it off the windowsill and not for the first time in his reign, cursed it with everything inside him. He silently stalked back to the bedroom, turning the nightlight on in the hallway just in case Grogu woke up again, before closing the door behind him and placing the Darksaber in his bedside drawer.

Luke looked up with a gentle smile: "Is everything alright?"
Din shook his head and slipped off his helmet, placing it on the side table and carefully getting into bed. "Do you remember the meeting a few days ago?"
Luke bookmarked the ancient tome and placed it back where he had gotten it; treating the old book with care as to not damage it in anyway. "Yes. The children."

The Manda'lor nodded and vaguely pointed towards the drawer in his bedside cabinet. "It says there is something in the children's minds. It's stopping them from remembering things."

The Jedi nodded solemnly. "I have heard of this before. I have seen it in the minds of some children." He cocked his head to the side slightly, remembering the helmet from yesterday. The Force signature that had lingered to it suddenly made sense. "At least one of the children from the second incident is Force sensitive. I'm betting it's the child who threw the rock."

Din nodded, running a hand through his stubble, brow furrowed slightly as Luke shifted to lean back against the headboard. "What does the signature tell you?"

Luke closed his eyes and reached for the broken strands of the Force signature. "I can't read the boy much. It's like there's another wall there as well; not just in his mind. But in the Force. Like he's hidden in shadows. I can't talk to him either. There's no link like there should be. He hasn't been trained," He frowned and opened his eyes. "I doubt he even knows he's Force sensitive, which is bizarre considering how strong he is."

Din hummed, reaching for his comm and keying in Kix's number; he sent a quick message explaining they needed to talk tomorrow.

"It's raining."

Din looked up curiously, following Luke's gaze out the tinted window glass; and truth be told, it was raining. "I thought it wasn't meant to rain for another few months."
"It's not. We're in the height of Summer, and Mandalore has a pretty stable climate."

The two men shared a look, confused and slightly worried by the latest string of events: first the Darksabers unusual behaviour, then the children in white, now the normally hot and dry Mandalore raining out of season? Something was wrong. Luke could sense it in the Force, and Din didn't need too.

"Let's hope it doesn't rain on Grogu's birthday." Din murmured.
Luke hummed - almost disconnected or perhaps not listening fully. "It won't. I-I don't think."
Din glanced over and gently took Luke's hand in his gently. "Are you okay, Luke?"

The Jedi didn't reply for a moment, although he did lace their fingers together gently. "I haven't been feeling well lately. I think whatever Grogu has, or had, he's given me."

The Manda'lor nodded gently and pulled Luke gently into his side. "Is he okay? Are you okay?"
Luke nodded and leaned into Din's arms. "Just tired."

The two held each other gently; bathing in the warmth of each other. But while Luke fell asleep almost immediately, Din lay awake, staring at the rain in worry. The children. They lingered on his mind. Worry gnawed at him viciously, it burned in his chest. The thought of children being out there, cold and hurt, reminded him viciously of his own childhood in the Covert - constantly running, afraid of each morning. Only feeling safe when pressed into the side of a fellow Mandalorian who, in little kid logic, he knew would keep him safe from the metal monsters who chased them through the storms to take their lives, or worse, their souls.

Din shook his head gently, and leaned back into the fluffy pillows, holding Luke gently to his chest; fingers tracing the strands of Luke's hair absentmindedly.

The still frightened part of him, the small dot in the expanse of his soul that years later he recognised as the small boy he once was, wondered if the children out there in the forest were fearing for their souls right now. That their monsters were chasing them.

Din didn't sleep at all that night.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Rain.

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown Location, Unknown system.
Unknown Time.
Current Objective: Cover.

John had woken up two hours ago in a haze that reminded him of that early morning winter haze - where all you want is to lay with your friends and stay warm, but there was this energy under his skin that he needed to get rid of, lest he toss and turn and wake all of them up, and a tired SPARTAN is a grumpy SPARTAN.

Quietly, he slipped out from under Fred's arm and stood out in the rain in nothing but his singlet and pants - boots placed neatly inside the cubby Kelly dug in the dirt, and which James had reinforced with sticks and mud. Organisation helped their anxiety, and Kelly already had plans to dig into the roots of a nearby tree to hide their newly acquired items in. A cupboard so to speak.

The rain was cold and left John soaked in seconds.

It felt nice on his skin. Cleansing. Like it was washing away his sins.

John had been plagued with nightmares ever since his first day of training. There was a time when he didn't have any night terrors at all - just after the augmentations in fact, when he was in so much pain, that dreaming seemed like the last thing on his mind. But after Sam 'died', the nightmares came back full force. He used to wake up choking on his own breath; slipping into the shower room to wipe his eyes and wash his face before returning to his bunk shaking and dejected.

There were other night terrors too; dead SPARTAN's clawing at John's arms and legs, trying to drag him down into the mud. The Flood taking over his body and him being powerless to stop himself from hurting the ones he loved. The Covenant dragging his SPARTAN's away from him - dying, bleeding, aching, hurting, screaming for him to help them--

John raised his head to the skies and closed his eyes, letting the rain wash over his face. Washing away his sins. Cleansing.

--

"Little one, your brother is doing aay'han. Join him."

--

"Get up."
John lifted his head to see Sam standing beside him, also now drenched in rain.
Sam gave him a mean grin, one that reminded John of boot camp. "Think I'd let you get soft? Get up."

--

Fighting was cathartic for Sam. He understood it intimately.

When he was younger, he thought it was something wrong with him, but since the SPARTAN program, since his rebirth as 034, Sam recognised it wasn't something wrong with him. It was him. It always had been.

Halsey had confirmed it herself; she had hand selected 74 children exactly like Sam. She made 75 children with this 'violence gene' into what they were today. Super soldiers, weapons, and as some would say, Monsters. Because that's what they were - monsters. Monsters of humanity, the dark secret kept in ONI's closet, the skeletons that sat down at the dinner table and wouldn't hide away when asked.

SPARTAN's didn't care how they were seen - only that they got the job done.

Even during the earliest days of boot camp, Sam remembered sparring with his fellow SPARTANs.

He remembered how Kelly favoured speed in their fights, or how Linda's aim was always dead-on. How Kurt used his size to disarm people, and how James didn't play by the rules. Sam knew the others remembered him as 'the one that chats to distract you before biting you in the shin.' In fact, he was relatively sure he only stopped being referred to as this because the helmet stopped him from biting people now.

But, with him no longer wearing a helmet, he was more than eager to fall back into old habits if it meant he got bragging rights.

--

Kelly listened to John and Sam as they sparred on the rocky shores; smiling slightly as John grumbled under his breath about being bitten, to which she heard Sam laugh softly and kick him - presumably in the shins judging by the aghast noise John let out. She heard someone hit the rocks, the noise muffled by the rain, and the sound of them twisting across the ground - grappling and trying to knock each other around.

Some part of her longed to join them, to fight and spar, but she didn't feel like moving from between James and Fred, who were fast asleep on either side of her, not to mention they were shockingly warm.

So, Kelly settled on just listening to her teammates spar, smiling to herself slightly as she began to doze back off; eyes fluttering closed.

--

Successfully exhausted, (and very much bruised), John and Sam padded back over to the rest of the group; stripping off their wet shirts and stringing them up on the branches holding up the roof as they slipped under cover.

Even though they are soaking wet; James still wraps his arms around John and Kelly clings to Sam's back. Fred shifted slightly in his sleep to accommodate the new bodies tangled around him. After a moment, Linda silently pressed herself in Fred's chest and he sleepily wrapped his arms around her in return.

--

As the days changed, the rain didn't let up, and Sam found himself hopelessly bored.

Over the first few of the planet's rotations, Blue Team continued to build out the hut - adding walls, stripping bark off sticks for kindling and skewers, collecting flat rocks for flooring, digging cubbies into nearby tree roots, and collecting flax for baskets. Sam had helped in all of that, but now with his hands still, and the rain still pouring down, he found himself bored as all hell.

Boredom is bad.
Boredom means wandering eyes.
Wandering eyes means liability.

Sam had taken up a position in the back of the hut, toying with a length of vine in an attempt to braid it into something strong enough to hold a basket together against a strong current - when the voice whispered to him again: "Ad'ika."

Sam lifted his head slightly: finally, something interesting.

'What does it mean? You keep calling me that.'
"It means Little One."

Sam internally laughed at that: 'Little One? I am not Little.'
"You have not taken the Verd'goten, and you are the oldest of your siblings. Therefore, you are still little, Ad'ika."
'There has to be a better word, also, what's this- Verd'goten?'
"There isn't, not really. Verd'goten is the coming-of-age ceremony."

Sam sighed softly and slipped the very edge of the knife into one of the vines, holding it down in the dirt - letting Sam lean back and begin to braid the vines together, pausing to tighten the groupings each time he looped another length of vine over the other. 'Well, I don't have anything else to do- tell me more.'

A warm feeling of 'proud' and 'finally' bloomed in Sam's chest and he focused on the slightly fuzzy texture of the vines beneath his hands: not quite ready to unpack all of those feelings, and how they made him feel.

"What do you want to know, little one?"
'How do I ask for help?'
"Gaa'tayl!"

Sam repeated it in his head over and over until he could remember it.

'Water?'
"Pirun."
'Food?'
"Kai'tome."

With each new word, Sam repeated it twenty times to himself in his head. Focusing on remembering the pronunciation and how each word slotted together. With each new word, Sam found himself slowly expanding his knowledge - his usefulness. He didn't know if anyone else in his team could hear the voice, he doubted it, so he was going to work this angle - new information isn't always good information, but it is information.

'What about danger?'
"Buruk."

As the sun set on the fourth day of avoiding the rain, Sam found himself not as bored as he was, and that night as he lay beside John and Kelly, he found himself thinking: 'My Vode. My aliit.'

and the mystery voice softly sang a song of fondness in his chest.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight: Vercopa

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown Location, Unknown system.
Unknown Time.
Current Objective: Vanish.

"We're being followed."

John quietly lifted his head at Linda's words: using the reflection in the water to see the trees behind him. To a normal eye, nothing would be amiss, but to a SPARTAN... well, there's a reason why they don't play hide and seek. Hearing your opponent's heartbeats could be seen as cheating, after all. "We are."

Linda took a bite of (what could be) an apple, and crouched on the rock in front of John, boots muddy and splashed with dirty river water. Her heartbeat was slow and steady, just like John's. "Plan?"

Quietly, John tapped his fingers to his chin and turned a rock over in his free hand. The woods had quietened, and John could hear a set of very slow, very steady, heartbeats coming from behind him: he knew it wasn't his team; they would use the rushing river to hide their heartbeats and breathing: no, whoever these people were, they're good, but not SPARTAN good.

"Grab the baskets," John ordered calmly, picking up his knife and sliding it into his boot again. He made sure to keep it out of sight from the hunters in the treeline. "Act normal. Walk into the woods, drop the baskets behind that tree," John let his eyes flick over to the large tree surrounded by brush and overgrown grass - he saw Linda's eyes follow his gaze and she gave a silent nod. "Then hightail it to the others."

The, 'don't get caught' goes unsaid between them.

Linda nodded slightly, tucking her (maybe) apple into her coat pocket, and did just that, making a show of waving goodbye to John and parting the brush to clear a, very visible, path; letting the fronds fall closed behind her like a curtail. John waited for fifteen seconds, washing his hands in the ice-cold water, before turning and beginning to walk down stream - away from the others and their base of operations.

He walked with the flow of the river, watching the fish dart away from his boots while he pulled on his gloves and eye protection, taking his time since his part of the plan was to play idiot: giving his team enough time to hide the campfire and any other sign they had been there.

John waited another five minutes, plenty of time for any good UNSC fireteam to hide their tracks, then, he turned to the forest where the heartbeats were coming from, and he simply stared - head cocked to the side slightly. He waited, hearing the heartbeats hitch slightly, before he decided, 'good enough,' turning on his heels and wading out of the river. He stood on the shore, heard the heartbeats draw closer, heard a twig snap under heavy boots. He waited until he heard brush rustling, before he threw himself down the slight incline and into the woods.

John didn't wait to see if they were going to follow - they would - before he took off into a high-speed goose chase: crashing and breaking branches on his way to make it obvious he had come through. Normally he'd try not being seen, keep damage to a minimum, but he wasn't trying to hide - he was simply trying to lead them away.

For the next half hour, John ran mindless circles around the forest, pausing only for slight moments to let the heartbeats catch their breaths, before he took off again. He ran over streams, across fallen logs, over hills and under branches.

All in all, it was a nice morning jog.

Finally, John came upon a rushing waterfall - the crystal water fell and collected in a big, blue lagoon below, overlooked by huge stone pillars and big pieces of that same weird green glass Sam and Kelly had seen at the building site. He glanced over his shoulder, heard the crashing of footsteps through the brush and saw a glint of metal through the trees: there wasn't any time to turn and run into the forest, and even if he did, he'd run right into the arms of whoever was chasing him.

John gave it three seconds of thought, before he threw himself over the edge and into the lagoon below.

--

Din broke through the brush just in time to see the boy hurl himself off of the cliffside: his breathing rocketed as he slid to a stop and looked over the edge - scanning the lagoon and seeing nothing. No ripples. No body. No nothing.

Kix and Boba slid to a halt behind him, and Boba lifted his rifle, staring through the scope and beginning to scan the water below. After a moment, he lifted his head and lowered his rifle. Nothing.

"Where did he go?" Kix asked once he caught his breath, his usual medical slacks had been replaced with his armour - the red medical symbol displayed pointedly on the side of his helmet and over his heart, having been re-painted before they came on this wild chase.
Din didn't reply for a second, before he sighed, hands on his hips: "I saw him jump, but I didn't see where he landed."
Boba quietly said: "There's no blood at least," He shouldered his rifle. "It would have showed up on the scope."

Din furrowed his brow: "Let's hope he didn't end up in the water. Who knows what's lurking in it."

The three men stared at the lagoon for a moment longer, before Din realised; "There's no way they'd hide anywhere around here especially with the rain; any sane person would know it's not safe."
Boba crouched on the edge of the cliff, and Din knew he was smiling under his helmet. "He led us on a goose chase."
Kix couldn't help but laugh: "Smart Ad."

The Darksaber thrummed against Din's calf, and he patted it slightly.

'Soon' he thought, and the Darksaber hummed happily.

"Dead end." He admitted to Boba and Kix. "We'll try again tomorrow."

--

It was only once the metal people walked away, that John broke the surface and took several gulps of air. His body ached and his lungs were burning.

Water.

John hated deep water.

Ever since the Gravemind, he never felt safe in water he couldn't see the bottom off. He didn't mind throwing himself into the lagoon in the heat of the moment, but as he bobbed there, that tingling anxiety crept its way up his spine and he found himself glancing down at the darkness below.

The thought of the Gravemind lingering below the surface of the gloom had John's heartbeat racing and he felt the childish urge to curl up somewhere warm and dark and pretend he was anywhere but here - his barracks on the UNSC Infinity, or the old SPARTAN-II training grounds on Reach. Anywhere but where the Gravemind could get him. Anywhere but here.

John quickly dragged himself up on one of the ledges and perched there for a moment to catch his breath. John could feel the beginning of a panic attack - but he forced the anxiety back into its neatly labelled box and began the slow climb up the cliffside - his hands were so cold and numb that it took John almost an hour to climb out of the lagoon and onto the cliffside. His body was aching from what must be the cold, and his scars were on fire by the end of it. It was so bad, that the SPARTAN had to lay there on the cliff edge for fifteen minutes just to make the pain get down to a reasonable level. It was only when he could stand, that John got to his feet and stumbled into the brush to begin the long walk home.

--

The walk back was agonising slow; it took almost two hours because John kept pausing to figure out where he was and listen for any heartbeats that weren't coming from the local wildlife. He got turned around twice and kept needing to catch his breath. At some point he sat down and almost dozed off right there on the rock. But eventually he found his way back to the river and began to wade across when a familiar tuft of blond hair appeared in his foggy vision.

Sam jogged up to John and wrapped his jacket around him. "What's with you and getting wet?" He asked with a smile, ruffling John's wet hair. "Thats two days in a row now."

John rolled his eyes and pulled the jacket closer around him, savouring the warmth against his numb skin. "My clothes will never recover." He grumbled.

Their campsite had been cleaned and scrubbed of all evidence they had ever been there - the campfire was covered with dirt and rocks like it was never there, the ash hidden under a dusting of sand. Their small collection of fishbones had been quietly taken care off, more than likely hidden in one of Kelly's secret cubbyholes around their hut, which was hidden under a curtain of vines and moss that James had painstakingly made over a series of four days in case something like this happened.

If John wasn't a SPARTAN, he might have walked right part the campsite.

"Looks good. Where are the others?"

Sam indicated to what he knew was the hut and John jogged over, slipping under the blanket of moss and into the warm hut where Linda was carving bark of sticks, and James was dozing off against Fred's back. Someone, Kelly, looked up and smiled when she saw them both. "You're wet."

John hummed back softly, eyes heavy. "And you're dry."

Linda glanced over, lowering her knife, and asked: "What happened?"

John sat between her and Fred and began the process of removing his wet clothes, hanging them up over a branch in the back of the hut to dry. "I led them on a chase and threw myself into a lagoon."
"That checks." Fred replied and shifted gently, transferring James to John who held the half-asleep SPARTAN up against his back. "Seeing you are soaking wet, and all."

James mumbled in his sleep, wrapping his arm around John: encompassing him in his grip. John leaned back and sighed slightly - James was warm and it felt nice on his cold skin. John's eyes began to slip closed, and he exhaled softly, lips numb. James quietly adjusted his grip and held him to his chest, nuzzling his neck and wrapping himself around the smaller boy like a weighted blanket.

John's never felt so tired in his whole life. Not even after Halo, not even after Reach. Running around must have drained him more than he thought. (He shouldn't have stayed up so late last night).

"I wasn't followed." John managed to mutter before his eyes shut.

Someone asked if he was feeling well, John couldn't reply.

Another - maybe James - checked his pulse and lifted John's head, peeling open his eyelids to check his pupils. Whatever they saw must have shocked them enough to raise their voice - but by now, everything sounded far away and underwater.

Water.

Gravemind.

He remembered no more.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: Illness.

Unknown Time.
Current Objective: ...?

John found himself in a haze of sleep and awake - not fully aware of anything.

He felt someone holding him- someone.

Dead.

Corpse.

Sam.

(The ship - FAILURE -)

Kelly crying.

No.

She can't cry. She's stronger-- but she.... why is she here?

Where was here?

No.

He didn't even know where he was anymore.

John felt horrible. His skin burned, his scars ached, and his vision in the brief moments he opened his eyes, were hazy. His bones felt weak, like he couldn't trust them.

SPARTANs don't break - so why did he feel broken?

Something brushed against his neck, and John felt tendrils and teeth, and something was digging into his skin and his nerves and his veins and it was in his brain - seeking, rooting, finding. John couldn't let it; Humanity depended on him. He bucked it off - but it returned and cupped his neck gently-- no, not gently, it was waiting for his guard to fall so it could bite him again and again and kill him like Lasky, and all the other marines who fell to the Flood before him.

John prayed he wasn't on Halo.

The Ring.
The Flood.
... The Gravemind.

SPARTANs don't break.

They can't.

So why was he breaking?

John's skin was cold, then it was hot. His eyes burned when he shut them, but they hurt even more when they were open. Breathing hurt, and he couldn't get comfortable.

Perhaps it was the agony of the moment, or the fact he wasn't himself, but John found himself softly crying, begging for it to please just stop. His words fell out in a messy jumble and soon he was sobbing into someone's shoulder - one of his someone's.

SPARTAN's couldn't cry for their families, but they could cry for each other.

--

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown Location, Unknown system.
Unknown Time.
Current Objective: Help him.

John had looked fine when Sam had met him in the river, a little pale and tired sounding, but fine. Then, he had dozed off in James' arm, when suddenly, he was seizing up: bloodshot eyes rolled back as he choked on his own breath. Within ten minutes, John had developed a fever, chills, and was even paler than normal. He had been thrashing so much that James and Sam had to hold him still, before he accidentally hit one of them with the strength he was unable to regulate.

John had cried, only a few tears, and it had broken Sam entirely.

"He needs medicine." Sam hoarsely said, holding the smaller boy in his arms. "We need to get-"
Fred put his hand on his arm and shook his head quietly. "We can't. They chased him for hours! We can't trust them."
"We have to trust them." James replied tersely, pulling on his jacket and rolling up the empty sleeve. A look of determination crossed his face and Sam felt slightly reassured that if anything, James could take care of himself - they all could, just not John, not at the moment. "If we don't, he's going to die."

The door to the hut slid open and Kelly crouched down. "I'm going. You four stay here and watch him."
James shook his head. "No, I'm coming with. You can't go alone."

The two shared a look, and Kelly nodded. "Okay, we're going now."

Fred shook his head vehemently. "No! We can't trust them!"
"We don't even know them!" James replied through gritted teeth.
"That's the problem!" Fred snapped.
"Enough."

Every awake member of Blue Team turned to face Linda, who was sitting in the back of the hut, going through their supplies for anything that could help. She turned to Fred and, in a soft voice, said: "I know you're concerned, and you have every right to be, but there's nothing more we can do." She offered him her hand, and Fred silently took it. Several emotions crossed his face. "You're right in the fact we don't know anything about the people who have been chasing us, but they haven't shot us, and that's enough for me. We need to get John help, if we don't, he could die."

Fred quietly held Linda's hand for a moment. "What if they're the reason he's like this?"
Linda cocked her head, "John would have told us if they were, wouldn't he?"
"I... I suppose."

Linda nodded and turned to Kelly and James. "Be fast. Don't get in trouble. We'll meet you at the flower field with John, Fred will show the way."

Everyone nodded (albeit reluctantly), seeing the logic in moving away from their camp even though they'd feel safer staying here and bringing. But Linda's logic was sound - if things went south, it was always better that no one aside from them knew where their camp was. It gave them a safe place to retreat and regroup. Besides, none of them felt quite comfortable bringing strangers, potentially violent strangers, into their home.

Quietly, Sam glanced at John in his arms and brushed his hair from his face. He then looked up at Kelly and James. "Oly Oly Oxen Free."
Kelly knocked their heads together gently, before resting her forehead against John's, while James softly replied: "All out in the free, We're all free."

--

Kelly ran like she had never run before - James a few feet behind her at all times, pushing himself just as hard as her.

SPARTAN's didn't like reaching out to others for help, but Linda was right, they were out of their league with whatever had gotten John so sick. They barely knew what was wrong, let alone how to fix it. But if anyone knew, it'd probably be the planet's inhabitants if no one else.

They ran up to the worksite, not bothering to sneak in or past the guards who spun around to see them in shock, their weird dogs beginning to bark: they didn't stop. They rushed across walkways and around machines, dodging between piles of broken glass and rubble: sliding to a halt in front of the big group of workers, who stared at them in stunned silence. There were guards and strange people in helmets, but it didn't matter - someone had to help, they didn't care who.

"What should we say?" James asked, heart racing as he looked between the people - trying to figure out who was a safe bet. He got his answer as Kelly yelled out: "Our brother is sick! We need help!"

Someone moved forward, a man in a hardhat with a strange symbol painted on the side, he kneeled and gently asked something in the language neither understood at all. And it looked like he didn't understand a word they were saying either. But he looked kind.

James and Kelly shared a look.

"He'll do." Kelly gritted out, reaching forward and grabbing the man's hat, yanking it off and running away with it. James shared a bewildered look with the man, before he grabbed a pouch on the man's belt, and spun on his heels - taking off after Kelly. This better get someone moving.

Yelling erupted behind them and James spared a second to spin around and yell: "If you want it, come get it!"

The man was running after them now, and so were some of the others: including one of the weird dogs with six legs. The worksite was in uproar, people had stopped their machines and were staring in either amazement or annoyance, James didn't know. It didn't matter - as long as someone was coming with them.

On the way out the door, Kelly grabbed several other items - another hardhat, what looked like a dog leash, and a lunchbox. She dodged one of the men in the weird armour, and jumped over a ditch, landing and rolling to her feet. James followed suit and soon they were breaking into the treeline.

"Did you have to take these?" James asked her, not quite breathless, but close.
"They're following, aren't they?"
They paused and glanced behind them, checking to see if they were, in fact, being followed. (Kelly passing James the second hardhat so she had some freedom to move and not worry if she dropped things).

The first workman, three men in metal, and the weird dog, came running after them.

"Oh good." Kelly said, waiting until they were a few meters away before turning and diving into the forest, James hot on her heels.

--

Once they lost the boy at the waterfall, Din, Kix, and Boba, had returned to Site 20 to do a sweep for any functioning cameras they might have missed. Boba was taking the time to pet Hardcase's Strill, Jarl, while Din spoke with the site managers. They hadn't been there long, maybe three hours, when, suddenly, two of the kids in white ran right up to them.

Kix stood and stared as Hardcase asked what was wrong - the girl yelled something, she sounded panicked, but when no one moved, she shared a look with the boy and promptly stole Hardcase's helmet.

Kix would have laughed at the look on the boy's face if he wasn't as stunned as Hardcase - but he did bark out a laugh when the boy also stole Hardcase's pouch of credits and ran after his sister. (Presumably, they certainly looked similar enough).

It certainly got everyone moving.

Jarl bounded after them, barking as he ran much faster than an old Strill like him should - Hardcase also took off running, and so did Boba, leaving his rifle behind as to not frighten the kids off. Kix and Din weren't far behind, with Din calling for the guards to remain at their posts. No one tried stopping the Manda'lor as he ran past, but several guards got on their comms to probably call off the alarms and their Strills.

The kids paused in the treeline, waiting until they got close enough before running ahead.

They wanted them to follow.

Kix frowned behind his buy'ce and he got a bad feeling about this. He put in a call to his medical staff to prep a bed or two, just in case. Din seemed to have gotten the same idea, and he put in a call to the translators at the Jedi temple founded here in Sundari: hopefully someone would be present to help translate what they could.

Boba ran ahead, flicking down his eye piece to see the children's heat signature through the trees, and Kix did the same. Unlike the forest, which was shown in greens and blues, the two children were red hot - quite literally. Kix wondered if it was just from the exertion of running, but he somehow doubted it.

"Somethings wrong." Din's voice crackled through the comms. "Where are they taking us?"

Kix knew immediately.

"The flower field!" He realised. "They're taking us to the flower field."

Boba shook his head slightly. "What is with these kids and that field?"

Kix didn't answer, running ahead and thanking the Manda for his weekly training sessions with Cody and the guard for keeping him in shape. Still, the kids were faster. Way faster.

It took only ten minutes for Kix to slide to a halt in the flower field, gasping for breath and with his hands on his knees. Boba broke through the brush behind him with Hardcase at his side, Jarl straining against their grip on his collar, followed by Din, who had taken a shortcut and used his jetpack - the bastard.

The two children stood a few feet away; the stolen items clutched tightly in their hands. The boy's chest was heaving slightly, but the girl looked completely calm, like she hadn't just run the equivalent of a Marathon. Now that they were so close, Kix could see them properly.

"It's the boy from the second incident," Kix realised, shoulders heaving as he caught his breath. He was kneeling amongst the wildflowers, rubbing his chest behind his beskar in an attempt to calm his racing heart.

Hardcase gasped out: "And it's the girl from the worksite!"

Jarl strained against his collar and barked, whimpering and tugging desperately to get free. It took all of Boba and Hardcase's strength to keep him under control. But as Kix's eyes fell on the figures behind the two kids, he saw what had gotten the Strill so riled up.

The boy on the grass looked like death warmed over his skin looked pale and clammy, and his eyes weren't open at all. He lay in the arms of the tallest boy in the group, his hands resting on the smaller boy's bare chest, holding him gently like he might break if he didn't.

And those scars-

Din felt enraged. Some sick bastard took a knife to a little kid, had carved him up and sewn him back together again with no care as to how it would affect him down the line. How it would affect him for the rest of his life. How he would be perceived by others - scars don't just go away, especially scars like those.

The red-haired girl took a single step forward and raised her hands, saying something in a calm voice: but her eyes were wary.

The Darksaber thrummed against his thigh, and Din un-clipped it, handing it to Boba, who took it silently and clipped it to his belt.

Din stepped forward - the kids going tense, shifting slightly into defensive stances, all except the girl with red hair. She walked up to him and offered her hand, which he gently took, whispering a soft thank you to her for trusting him.

She pointed at the boy, and said something that Din didn't need to understand. It was universal - understandable on any planet, in any star system.

Help him.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: Mar'e!

(Galactic Standard Calendar)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 2am.
Current Objective: Ade.

Being Manda'lor meant a lot of things. It meant Din could arrive to whatever meeting late, while ordering everyone else turned up on time. He could postpone a meeting, and then postpone again, and again - all under the guise of 'kingly duties'. He could also wake his childhood best friend up at 2 in the morning: knowing he would arrive wherever he asked in whatever time limit Din gave. (With no little amount of Cursing - all Mandalorian's had the vocabulary's of... well... Mandalorians.)

When the children were brought in, they almost immediately got into a fight with the nurse who tried to remove the boy from their sight: half the staff got involved to try and hold them back. It took all of Din's effort to talk them down - he really needed someone to come down and translate, but he also needed some support. The Armourer was out of commission, Luke was sick, and much of his Covert were still scattered across the galaxy.

So, Din called Paz.

The older brother answered his comm with a: "Do you know what time it is, Djarin?"
Din replied with: "Doesn't matter. Get to the medical ward now. Tell Cody to come and bring his jettii as well. I'll see you in ten."

He then promptly hung up before Paz could start cussing him out.

--

"They are very small," Obi-Wan said softly once Din had pointed the group out to them, staring through the glass window that overlooked the medical ward. He had exchanged his jedi robes for much looser fitting yellow ones, and it swirled around his ankles with each step. "But I can feel the Force, on all of them. It's strong."

Din turned to him: "As strong as Grogu?"
Obi-Wan shook his head and brushed his fingers through his beard: "Not all of them. Just the tall blonde."

Both Paz and Din glanced out the window as well, following Obi-Wan's gaze to where the group of children were huddled around the bed. Each of them had been given new clothes, and the old ones had been returned to the homestead where they had been taken from, and the ones that couldn't were sent to be washed and returned. The children had requested eye-protection and face protection (as much as they could with the language barrier) and had been given both - the children had seemed surprised at, but grateful.

The patient - the brown-haired boy - was still asleep in the medical cot; attached to an IV and on a high dose of anti-parasitic-medicine. His fever had reduced, and Kix had declared him out of the danger zone, but he still hadn't woken up yet.

Kix had explained it the best he could to the other children - but they still looked forlornly at their comrade. Clinging to his bedside and mostly ignoring everyone else - sometimes wandering around to stretch their legs but making sure to keep out of the way of staff. On the odd occasion, a newly arrived staff member would ask them where their parents were, only for Kix to walk over and quickly explain that these kids were current wards of Mandalore - which the kids probably didn't know about judging by their wide-eyed awe.

Kix had quietly taken control of the situation, (to which Din was incredibly grateful), ushering the group into the corner of the medical ward, against the wall and separated by everyone else by a curtain. He had brought hot vegetable stew for them, and warm bread: had offered basic medical supplies like bandages and band aids, had brought over jugs of cold water and cups for all of them to drink freely from, and had passed the small group plenty of blankets from the palace supply cabinets.

It became clear these little ones had a favourite: and that favourite was Kix. It had also become very clear that they didn't like being touched.

A medic had kneeled to talk to the red-haired-boy, placing his hand on his shoulder, only to be bitten. This on its own was funny, but when Kix had come over to try and pull the boy off the medic, he had simply growled and hadn't let go until the black-haired boy had run over and pried him off, which made the whole thing hilarious.

A few hours later, a nurse had made the mistake to lift the brown-haired-girl up so she would be out of the way of another nurse, only to have his helmet knocked askew and the girl scrambling back to her friends, (family? It was unclear), who all glared at the nurse like he had forsaken their honour. The poor nurse had apologised constantly and had offered a pouch of sweet candy from the vending machine which the kids took and after a few curious licks, the nurse was forgiven.

Obi-Wan hummed softly, rubbing his chin softly. His eyes were focused on the group, watching them carefully. His brow furrowed and he sighed softly. "The boy's Force signature is bizarre - it feels... stitched."
"Stitched?" Cody asked his husband softly, brow furrowed slightly in confusion.
"Like it's been pulled apart and put back together again: jumbled."

Din glanced down at the children again, the familiar burn of anger thrummed in his chest, and the Darksaber whispered something to him. Din ignored it: "Judging from their scars, I wouldn't be surprised."

Obi-Wan made a face, something between disgust and horror. "Do you think-"
"We haven't confirmed." Din assured. "But it is... a possibility."

Paz muttered something in Mando'a that even Cody nodded at.

The big blue Mandalorian was gazing out the window quietly, and Din knew under his helmet he was smiling: ade were a soft spot for any proper Mandalorian - and Paz's soft spot was a mile wide, even for the children who had bitten and throat-punched him. Not once but twice.

Obi-Wan glanced at Din: "Manda'lor, with your permission, might I try speaking with them?"
Din thought about it for a long moment: on one hand, the children needed time to rest and recover, they had clearly been through enough already, but on the other, if Obi-Wan can get any more information out of them it would help greatly.

"Very well, but take Kix with you, the kids seem to like him more than anyone else." Obi-Wan nodded and offered a slight bow, taking Cody's arm gently - who bowed also - and the two quietly left, leaving Din and Paz alone on the bridge.

There was a moment of silence.

"When they get out of hospital," Paz said slowly. "They'll need somewhere to go."
Din hummed noncommittedly. "I was thinking of putting them up in the palace's spare rooms, unless, you have another idea."
Paz nodded slightly, head cocked to the side, helmet visor gleaming in the low light of the hospital walkways. "... maybe it's best that way."

Din nodded. "Let me know if you change your mind."

With that, the two fell back into silence, and continued to gaze out the window down at the children: who were half asleep at their comrade's bedside.

--

Kix tugged back the blinds and smiled warmly at the bleary-eyed children. He stepped closer and said: "Kid's this is Obi-Wan, he's a Jedi Knight. He's here to help." He pointed to Obi-Wan, who smiled warmly and sat in the spare chair, crossing one leg over the other. "And that's Obi-Wan's husband, Cody."

Cody stood beside Obi-Wan wearing his full uniform: the symbol of Mandalore - the Mudhorn - was displayed on his lapel and on the edges of his collar. He offered a small smile, his eyes warm and gentle.

The kids shifted to their feet and stood around their brother's bed protectively. They spoke amongst themselves for a moment, and the boy with black hair shook his head vehemently at whatever they were saying. The other kids said something that seemed to bring him around, but he cast a suspicious glare at Obi-Wan and Cody all the same.

The blond boy quietly stepped away from the bedside and drew out a chair, which he sat in, knees drawn to his chest: "S-Su cuy'gar." he said softly, and while his pronunciation was rough, it was definitely Mando'a. The other kids shot the blonde-boy looks of shock; the boy with black hair muttered something and rubbed his arms - his sleeves riding up to reveal the mess of scarring that had both Cody and Kix taking sharp breaths as it was undoubtedly burn scarring.

Obi-Wan kept a soft smile on his face, but both clones saw it didn't quite meet his eyes. "Su cuy'gar."
"Cuyir gar a burc'ya?"
"Ni cuy'."

Obi-Wan held out his hand with a smile. The boy stared at the older man carefully, before taking it with a slight nod.

The other kids were staring, dumbfounded as their comrade closed his eyes and joined Obi-Wan in the Force. They shared looks over the blonde-boy's head and looked exasperated. The only one who didn't look some shade of confused was the boy hooked up to the IV.

After a moment, Obi-Wan opened his eyes and smiled: "Hello, Sam."

--

Sam's eyes shot open.

He could hear the rest of Blue Team going silent in a mix of shock and amazement.

This man spoke English!?

"How do you-" He tried to speak, but he didn't know what he wanted to say. He hesitated and the man, (Obi-Wan, his mind supplied, although he wasn't sure how he knew that), offered another warm smile.

"Through the Force." Obi-Wan said softly. "The voice in your head."

Sam couldn't help but stare.

"I'm sorry, can you give us a moment?" Kelly interrupted, grabbing Sam by the back of the chair and spinning him around to face her: "You have a voice in your head!?"

Sam made some exaggerated movements with his hands, floundering for the right words. "Well, yes-"
"And you didn't think to tell us!?"
"It's not a problem!"
"Not a problem!?!"

Sam offered a smile: "It helped us right now, didn't it?"

Kelly stared at him like he had an extra head. She held up a finger to his face, voice shockingly calm: "We're going to talk about this later. Okay?"
Sam nodded: "Okay."

With that, she spun him back around to face the older man with an apologetic smile: "Sorry, continue."

The older man chuckled softly behind his hand: "Don't apologise. I know it can be really concerning to hear that out of context."

All of the awake SPARTAN's gave him a 'you think?' look in varying levels of exasperation. Fred and Kelly, the most exasperated of all.

"You have the voice too?" Sam asked Obi-Wan, breaking the sarcastic tension. He didn't really want to get into a fight with the guy who might be able to help him.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Lots of people do. But we have a special kind."

Sam nodded softly, glancing over his shoulder at John, who still looked paler than normal. His eyes still closed. The heart monitor still beeping. "Can you help him? The medicine is working, but he's still not awake."

Obi-Wan offered a soft smile, it was kind of sad, maybe slightly melancholy. He gently shook his head: "Your friend needs his rest. This is natural. He'll wake up when his body is ready for him too."

Sam slumped slightly: "Okay."

The rest of Blue Team shuffled around slightly. It wasn't the news they had hoped for, but it was still news.

"Do you have names?" Obi-Wan asked softly, and Sam nodded, standing from his chair and straightening.

"Sam-034, sir."
"Kelly-087, sir."
"I'm Fred-104, sir."
"Linda-053."
"And I'm James-005. Sir."

Obi-Wan glanced at the small collection of kids, then to John in the bed: "And what's his name?"
"John-117, sir. He's team lead." Kelly informed, offering a tight nod.

Obi-Wan turned and informed the man in uniform, and the man in the white scrubs, about their names. He then turned back and introduced them to Blue Team: "This is Cody, and the doctor in charge of your friends' case is Kix."

Blue Team nodded and offered various hellos.

The doctor - Kix - stepped forward and held up his clipboard: "I need to check on your brother, may I?"
Obi-Wan translated it to them: "He needs to check on John, is he allowed too?"

Immediately the SPARTANs shifted away from the bed and various machines, giving Kix room to move about without them getting underfoot. The doctor offered a smile and quietly stepped forward to check John over.

Obi-Wan glanced at Sam, who was quietly watching Kix change John's IV drip. "Have you eaten?"

Sam nodded and pointed slightly at Kix, hand resting against his stomach so it wasn't obvious. "He gave us stew."

Kelly pulled a face: "It was spicy."

Obi-Wan laughed softly: "Yes, well, Mandalorians are known for their spicy foods."

Sam glanced up at the ginger man: "Mandalorians?"

Fred padded over, James trailing behind him. Linda was still perched in her chair, completely calm and unbothered.

"Yes, you are on Mandalore. It's the home planet of Mandalorians," Obi-Wan indicated to Kix. "Remember his armour? That's Beskar, its sacred to the Mandalorians."

Fred pulled a face: "I bit a guy wearing that kind of armour."
Linda shrugged, slightly amused: "And I throat punched a guy and stole his knives."

All of Blue Team made varying faces of what could be considered a cringe of sorts.

"Do you regret it?" Obi-Wan asked.

Both Fred and Linda shared a look. "Not particularly."

Obi-Wan laughed, throwing his head back slightly as he laughed. Sam noticed the way Cody's eye's softened, the way his smile showed more than a thousand words.

"Are you married?" He asked, tugging on Obi-Wan's sleeve gently, pointing at Cody. "If not, that question is going to sound really weird."

Obi-Wan smiled and showed his beskar armguard: "We've been married for five years."

The SPARTANs padded over and began to examine the armguard, nodding and congratulating politely. James asked if he could touch it, and Obi-Wan let them all trace the carvings in the metal.

"They're flowers!" Realised Kelly, tracing them with the tips of her fingers.

Obi-Wan nodded: "From the battlefields where we fought together."

"That is sickeningly cute." Fred said, forcing down a smile.

Kelly elbowed him: "Oh, like you haven't brought flowers for Ferret team."

Fred flushed slightly: "They were doing so well! Besides, there aren't any flowers on their shuttle." He folded his arms, staring at the wall above Obi-Wan's head, refusing to look at any of his teammates.

"And it has absolutely nothing to do with the Inspector?" Linda teased, making Fred go bright red.

Sam lifted his head, smirking: "Fred has a crush?"

"I do not!" Fred protested while James laughed. "She threw me down a hill once-"

Kelly laughed again: "And that's enough to make you send her flowers for Valentines?"

Fred made several flustered noises, insisting that he was simply following tradition, while James thumped him on the back and began to tease him relentlessly: Kelly laughing in the background.

"Ferret team?" Obi-Wan asked Sam, brow furrowed slightly.

"No idea." Sam said blankly. "I've been dead for 33 years."

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven: Mouse.

(Galactic Standard Calendar)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 11am.
Current Objective: John.

Sam wanted to bang his head into the tray of soup he'd been given; but to be fair, it'd be a waste of good soup, and it wouldn't help the situation.

"It's fine," Kelly assured, patting him gently on the back, careful not to send him spilling soup all down his front. "I'm sure they don't care about one throw away comment."

Fred absently hummed from where he sat at the foot of John's bed, staring out through the curtains and into the corridor behind them. He was watching the two guards who had been stationed across the hall from him: not even pretending he didn't see them. "And the two heavily armed guards have absolutely nothing to do with it?" He asked, before he drank from his bowl.

James tutted. "Use the spoon you have been given. You are not an ODST."

Fred hummed. Then, he took another drink.

James sighed: "Halsey is turning in her metaphorical grave."

Sam rolled his eyes. Kelly rolled her eyes. John rolled his eyes.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"John!" Kelly leapt up, placing her bowl down onto the bed's pull-out table in one fluid movement, before she was at his side. "You're awake!"

Their team leader grumbled, the remote that controlled the beds folding mechanisms in his hand: "Am I?"

Immediately everyone was at his side with her: smiling down at him in what they hoped was reassuring rather than deeply unsettling. Kelly gently placed her hand on John's knee.

"You've been out a while." She explained. "You had us really worried."

John grumbled again, clicking a few of the buttons on the remote: when nothing happened, he tried the dial on the top of the remove. The bed reclined, and John twisted it in the other direction. The bed lifted up slightly until he was in a sitting up position. He clicked a few more of the buttons - nothing did anything, but he was so tired he just kept clicking them. The doctor - Kix? - must have disconnected the remote. Smart. Any reasonable SPARTAN would know to disconnect the wires and remove the casing to make a shank out of it. Finally, John dropped the remote, uninterested now he had solved the puzzle.

"You must be hungry." James said, indicating to the bowl he still held. "I'm sure with a spoon you could eat some of this great soup we have been provided."

Fred silently glowered at James across the bed, who stared back at him with a pleasant (albeit fake) innocent smile: secretly rather smug. Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Children. He was surrounded by children. (Quite literally. He still hadn't wrapped his head around that one).

"We're at the hospital. You have an infection of sorts." Linda supplied when she noticed John looking around curiously through tired eyes.

"I gathered." He replied, still groggy.

"I thought it was a parasite?" Sam asked dryly, going for a joke, only to watch the dawning horror flood John's face. His skin went pale, his eyes wide, and he immediately scrambled up, dropping the remote on his lap, his heart monitor beeping erratically beside the bed.

"John!" Cried James in alarm. "It's alright! It's gone now! The meds took care of it!"

John's hands were feeling- no, clawing, at his neck: scratching deep welts into the pale skin.

He looked panicked, more panicked than Sam had ever seen him. Quickly, he reached out and grabbed John's wrists, pinning them together in front of him: holding them tightly. He started talking: "John, John listen- It's okay. It's gone. It's out. The Doctor - his name is Kix, you'll like him - he got rid of it. Okay?"

John stared at Sam bewildered. "It's gone?" He croaked out.
"It's gone." Sam confirmed. "It's been taken care off."

With that, John slumped. "Oh good." He muttered, but he still looked really pale. Sam hesitantly let go of his wrists, and John wrapped his arms around himself and leaned back against the soft pillows that seemed to engulf him. Kelly draped herself over him and silently held him. Neither spoke, they didn't have too.

--

Doctor Kix held himself with the knowledge he had everyone's attention and respect at any given time: John liked him immediately.

--

Kix smiled softly at John and gently helped him sit up, examining the back of his neck gently. His touch light as he examined the scratched-up skin.

He didn't ask what had happened, he knew Axe and Koska would let him know once he was finished here. He had some modicum of trust with these children, and he wasn't going to squander it.

The eldest of the children, Sam, was perched carefully on the side of the bed, fingers laced with John's. He was one of John's brothers by the look of it, and a good brother too. He hadn't stopped talking to John while Kix was examining him: his voice soft and kind. He spoke so gently, like a father comforting an upset child.

Kix couldn't help but smile as he applied some Bacta patches to the red skin. Sam reminded him of Rex somehow, and it made him nostalgic for times long since passed. Times where during Kamino's rainy nights, he was curled up with his batchmates, and Rex would come check in on them, he would always smile, dropping some of those standard issue blankets over them, before leaving to check on the others.

"It should be okay." Kix assured, knowing they couldn't understand him, but he wanted to let them know anyway. "There won't be any scarring."

Speaking off, Kix lowered his eyes to John's arms, watching the way Sam rubbed the scarring there with his thumb. The scar tissue was thick and matted, but still had a slight pink hue, indicating while not being recent, it had happened in the last year.

He frowned slightly when he followed the scarring to the tips of John's fingers, right up his elbow, then up under his shirt. Kix didn't doubt it spread across John's back and chest as well: more than likely stretching down his legs and up his spine. Kix gently tugged the back of John's shirt collar down another inch and saw the scars more clearly, spreading up his neck like climbing ivy and running down his spine.

Kix shoved the rage down as firm as he could.

"I'll ask for the nurses to bring another bowl." Kix said softly, smiling down at the kids who smiled back. He smooths the back of John's shirt down before turning away to hide the rage on his face, busying himself in packing his medical kit again.

Din was right. These children had been pulled apart and some maniac had stitched them back together again.

Silently, Kix offered John a lollypop from his bag, and the boy lit up curiously. The other children gathered around him and chatted with him as he fumbled trying to undo the wrapping around the sweet. Kix decided to watch for a moment, as he always found endless amusement in watching kids try to get the wrapping off. He then watched in stunned silence as Fred helpfully offered out a gleaming throwing knife from seemingly nowhere. John nodded and pressed the tip of the knife into the plastic, pinning it too the plastic tray attached to the bed. He then twisted the lollypop, and the plastic was then stripped off neatly. Fred then tossed the plastic into the trashcan.

Because he favoured his sanity, and trying to figure out how a kid knew how to expertly handle a weapon was tomorrow's problem, Kix quickly said goodbye to them and stepped outside the curtains, closing them behind him: glancing over at Ax and Koska - who Din had put in charge of watching these children while Kix was busy. He flashed one of the Mandalorian hand signs: 'OK?' to which Ax discreetly flashed back the 'all clear' sign. Koska simply offered a slight wave before going back to shuffling the playing cards.

The doctor sighed quietly and put a warning into the nurse's station to only send armoured nurses to the kids' room as was standard procedure here on Mandalore when a patient wouldn't part with their weapons. He then clocked out early and decided to go call his husband: he couldn't wait to tell him about the last few days.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve: Mirjahaal

(Galactic Standard Calendar)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 3pm.
Current Objective: Meet and greet.

"A king?" John asked blankly, stirring his tea with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, (which wasn't much). "This planet is ruled by a monarchy?"

Obi-Wan, (who from what John could gather was some kind of wizard space monk), sipped his own tea and nodded with a smile. "His official title is the Manda'lor, but it can be translated as ruler, or king."

Questioning how this man could speak English wasn't very high on John's to-do list tonight, and to be fair, it wasn't the weirdest thing he's ever seen or heard. Sam promised to explain everything, and John knew damn well Kelly would hold him too it. She was a force of nature.

John sighed, then took a sip from the paper cup; it was hot and with just the right amount of sweet. "And he wants to meet us?"
"He does. But he understands you may not be open to talking with him, so he's offering to let me sit in with you."
John glanced at the rest of his team, who were all eating some variant of hospital food, complete with those weird little pudding cups.

Humming, John shifted slightly to get comfortable in the bed: the duvet was too white, and the pillows were too big. He felt like he was sinking into them every time he leaned back. Needless to say, it was very far removed from the UNSC medical wards, where the beds were rough and thin, and everything was overly bright and smelled of bleach.

Sam shifted beside John's bed, offering him a slice of fruit, which he declined. He wasn't cleared to eat solid food yet, and he knew better than to disobey medics - they were some of the scariest UNSC staff, able to corral both ODST and SPARTAN's alike. No one else could boast the same, not even the higher ups in ONI.

John sipped his tea absently: eyeing the IV in his arm, as he lifted the cup to his mouth. "What should we wear to meet this royalty? Hospital robes? Or hospital robes?"

--

Din gently shifted Grogu to sit on the bed besides Luke, turning back to his current greatest enemy.

His wardrobe.

"Can't I just wear my armour?" He grumbled under his breath, running his gloved hands down the soft fabric of his cloaks and capes: each tailored to him, each only worn on the odd occasion to impress foreign delegates and royalty.

Luke shook his head and sipped his caf. Having been on bedrest for the last 24 hours, he and Grogu had discussed this at length, apparently. "Grogu says no. You need to look friendly, and cold armour won't make you look friendly to a group of little kids."

Din sighed, resting his helmet on the door to his closet. "Grogu wears the same three outfits every day. He is not legible to discuss outfits."

Grogu cocked his head, large floppy ears flicking gently. He sneezed softly: "Patoo?"

The Jedi smiled and scooped up the prince, placing him gently in his lap. He ran the fingers of his mechanical hand gently over Grogu's ears, much to the prince's glee. Din watched them carefully and found himself relenting. It was impossible to say no to his husband, or his son, especially when they were together and staring at him with pleading eyes.

"Fine." Din sighed. "Blue or red?"

--

John leaned against the bed as Kelly straightens his shirt out.

"I was joking," he sighed as she lightly tugged on his sleeves, pulling them straight to sit against the fleece he wore under his new shirt. "Do you think he knows that?"

Without sparing a glance behind at him, Kelly replied: "More than likely. But it's nice of him to give us new clothes. Better than the too loose medical clothes, anyway."

Sighing again, John shifted and looked over at Obi-Wan, who was helping James' roll up his empty sleeve and pin it closed against the fabric of his shoulder. He wasn't sure what to think of him: Obi-Wan was polite, humble, quiet, but held himself with the same calmness seasoned veterans did. He stood like his husband did - his spine ramrod straight and his shoulders back, like he was used to standing to attention.

Soldiers recognised soldiers, after all.

"-much better." Obi-Wan said, shifting back on his heels, smiling softly at James who was examining his rolled sleeve: checking to see if it would come undone by hooking his finger on the folded edge, and gently pulling it down. When it didn't move or unfold, he smiled back at Obi-Wan.

"Thank you, sir." He said, standing a little straighter.
"No need for 'sir', James. Just call me Obi-Wan."

John nodded when James' glanced over at him for confirmation.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan."

As Obi-Wan stood, Cody quietly slipped through the curtain and caught their attention. He said something to Obi-Wan, and he nodded in agreement.

"The king's ready to see you. Are you ready to go?"

While John severely doubted the king was going to throw them in a cold interrogation room and in doing so undo all the work and effort the medics put in, the thought crept in still. He spared a glance at his Team, who looked at him with utter trust. John curled his hand quietly at his side, lifting it to brush a non-existent strand of hair from his face - a silent command: 'Look Sharp'.

Immediately, his SPARTAN's stood to attention, John lowered his fist and turned back to see Obi-Wan. "Yes, we're ready."

--

The halls of the Sundari palace were vast and old: having survived a Sith's reign, a pacifist ruler, a genocide, several wars, and of course, the burning of Mandalore. While mostly everything had been left as it was when Din moved in, (aside from the general renovations), he had instructed several garden's to be made on otherwise unusable levels. Back then, it was a way to grow food on the surface without worry of contaminated soil rotting the crop: it had caught on and many people had imported dirt from other parts of the galaxy to build rooftop gardens and greenhouses out of the glass harvested from the planet's surface. It had helped Mandalore and her people get by until they could start setting up trade with nearby planets.

Now, these gardens were home to fruit trees and luscious oasis' where school kids could come and play while learning about the city they called home. They were safe havens of flowers and grass: where birds nested and ponds gleamed with crystal clear water.

The biggest of these garden's was in the Manda'lor's wing. It was where Grogu and Luke trained (when they were not sick), and it was close enough to the kitchen and dining room that the foliage hid Din's face from anyone looking to make an enemy of him.

It was the perfect meeting place for Din and a group of potentially child-soldiers.

Din sighed, leaning back in the metal garden chair.

Potentially was too strong a word. It was all but confirmed at this point.

The scars, the fighting skills, the way they moved - all of it pointed towards someone, some monster, using children to fight their battles for them.

Din tried to believe that maybe these six were the only products of such and experiment, that only six little children were pulled from their families and turned into soldiers, (unless it was their families who did this to them, but Din tried to hold onto hope), but he knew deep down it wasn't a realistic thought.

Hopefully, should the children choose, they would reveal the bastards who did this, and Din could introduce those hut'uun to his fists.

--

As soon as the elevator stopped to reveal a lush oasis of green grass and beautiful blue flowers, John felt his anxiety ease: but only so much. It could still be a trap.

In a blur of movement, Kelly was up to the railing at the edge of the garden, leaning over slightly and gazing down at the city. Cody tensed beside John, but he paid the man no mind as he stepped out into the garden: following behind the rest of his team.

"Wow," Linda said, her normally calm voice tinted with just a hint of wonder. "That is a beautiful city."

They all made various noises of agreement: gazing down at the sprawling landscape of buildings, gardens, schools, ponds, and trees. Everything was so alive! It was nothing like the cities John had spent so little time in. There were no dark corners, no riots, no places where people were hiding to throw bricks at them. No fear.

Fred lifted his head and took a deep breath. "Finally, fresh air."

Kelly snorted: "We spend days in the wilderness, and only now you're commenting on the fresh air?"

Fred shot her a grumpy look, "We've been stuck in the medical ward for hours. It's nice to stretch my legs, and breath air that doesn't smell like chemicals, okay?"

Kelly held up her hands placatingly, and Fred visibly softened. "Don't bite the rabbit, Fred." She teased.

Softly, Obi-Wan cleared his throat, and Blue Team turned back around to face him: offering sheepish apologies.

"Right this way," Obi-Wan said with a smile, gesturing down the rock path that wound through the old trees. "I'll be right behind you."

With a silent nod, Blue Team filed down the path, and deeper into the garden.

Before John walked out of sight, he glanced back to see Obi-Wan quietly saying goodbye to Cody, who smiled at him warmly - like he hung the heavens above his head - before ducking back into the elevator: blowing a kiss to his husband who pressed his hand to his heart gently, as if keeping his love safe.

--

Din lifted his head just in time to see the children walk off the path and onto the grass that led to the table.

The first thing he noticed was that they stood like soldiers: backs straighter than rulers, and hands clasped behind themselves. The second thing he noticed, was they were very slender - not thin, slender. Like dancers or, again, soldiers.

The kids eyed him warily for a moment, before Din quietly broke the silence: "It's good to see you on your feet again, John."

The boy shifted slightly, probably recognising the sound of his name since it didn't have a direct translation in Basic or Mando'a, glancing at Obi-Wan who relayed the information in his language. (Din could already tell this meeting was going to be slow and steady, and he made a mental note to reach out to the archive managers again to see how the progress on those translation devices were going: if he had to bet? Slow. They were only working with what had been captured on Helmet cam footage, and he doubted the children were in the mood to be poked and prodded for data.)

John nodded and turned back to face Din, speaking quietly so Obi-Wan's translation could be heard over his own words.

"He says thank you for letting him and his team stay."

Din nodded. "It's no problem." He then quietly indicated for the kids to sit at the table, where cups of tea had been lain out. There was a seat for Obi-Wan at the far end of the table, across from Din, with three chairs on either side of him.

The kids choose a chair and sat down, brushing down their pants and absently eyeing the tea placed in front of them.

Earlier, once the discussion between what colour cloak he should wear was resolved, (they settled on blue, and when he says 'they' he means Grogu), Din and Luke had curled up in bed to read over the files Kix had sent up from the medical ward. There was blurry security footage to serve as photo guides, but Din could match a face to a name in a snowstorm while reading off a bounty puck, so he managed.

Looking at the kids in front of him, he recognised them and quietly listed of their names in his head.

John was the assumed team leader, Obi-Wan had all but confirmed it after his conversation with them, and he had slightly longer than buzzed brown hair: his skin was pale, but there was a fine dusting of faded freckles across his face. His blue eyes were cool calm and collected, if not overwhelmingly tired. Beside him was Fred - short black hair (which Din noted had streaks of silver) and pale blue eyes. There was a jagged scar in his hairline that looked nothing like anything Din had ever seen.

Across from them, was Linda and James - both had reddish-orange hair, and their skin was just as pale as John and Fred's. They could almost be mistaken for twins, but Linda's eyes were calm and collected, while James' were alight with energy, and Linda was clearly older judging by the slight difference in their faces. Din's eyes momentarily fell on James' missing arm, and he choked back the urge to scoop him up and ask who hurt him: he wanted to do it for all of them, to wrap them up and never let them get hurt again. But something told him they wouldn't appreciate it all that much.

So, Din decided it would come later.

Finally, sitting closest to Obi-Wan, were the two kids from the worksite: Kelly and Sam.

Kelly had brown hair, blue eyes, and a slight smile on her face, and was the smallest in the group, Din remembered her being the one who stole Hardcase's new helmet and the one who had sprinted so fast she had been a blur: while Sam had blond hair, blue eyes, slightly lighter skin, and was the by far the tallest: being the one who threw the chunk of rubble at Hardcase in the first place. Both kids weren't wearing the same thermal under-layer that the others were, clearly not as affected by the cold as the others.

The Darksaber thrummed against Din's thigh: Sam was also Force sensitive.

Din kept this in mind as he poured a cup of tea and indicated for the others to help themselves.

For a moment, no one moved, before Linda sighed and poured herself a cup of tea. Downing it like it wasn't scalding hot, she nodded to the others, and they all collectively relaxed: pouring their own cups and murmuring thanks' under their breath.

Obi-Wan sipped his own tea before asking: "Where should we start?"

--

The questions were relatively easy despite John having to go through Obi-Wan to reply.

"Where are you from?"
"Different planets."
"Where are your parents?"
"We don't know."
"How did you get to Mandalore?"
"We don't know."

(Here Sam muttered something about the Force, but John paid him no mind).

John made sure to keep his answers vague, he still didn't know if he could fully trust the Mandalorians, and he didn't want to accidentally be in violation on the Cole Protocol - even if it were written solely to deal with the Covenant, it was general knowledge to apply it to any alien species: although it was never guessed they'd meet one aside from their deadly enemy.

The king didn't remove his helmet. He did lift it up to sip his tea, but he never removed it fully. John wondered if he was trying to hide something, or if it was just the 'norm' here.

"What are your scars from?" Obi-Wan's voice broke John from his thoughts.

Beside him, the rest of the SPARTAN's froze. Fred midway lifting his cup to his lips, and Kelly mid drink.

John pursed his lips, brow furrowed.

The king tipped his head gently, he glanced to Obi-Wan, who was watching John carefully. He said something and Obi-Wan translated: "You don't have to say if you're not comfortable."

Of course. John felt like an idiot as he glanced down at his arms, where his scars were now covered up, but they weren't earlier. He had let a foreign (alien) government see one of ONI and the UNSC's most well-kept secrets. He instinctively curled his hands into his sleeves, biting his lip.

John didn't need to look up to know the rest of Blue Team were subtly hiding their scars.

Finally, he shook his head.

--

Din watched John shake his head: the way his shoulders curved in slightly, the way his eyes flickered to his scarred hands, and the way his gaze darkened.

There was a history there, and Din didn't want to fracture the already meek trust he had with these kids.

"Okay," He said softly. "I won't push."

The Darksaber thrummed against his thigh, and Din placed his hand on it to quieten it. The sword didn't want to stop questioning, and neither did Din - someone was going to face what could be called divine retribution with the amount of rage Din was going to unleash on the bastards when he catches them - but the kids had already gone through a lot. They had almost lost their brother, had been living in the wilderness for days, and not to mention they probably hadn't been eating properly - not knowing what was safe or not.

But there was something about the way that John answered the questions. He had asked Obi-Wan if it was word for word, and when the older man confirmed, it left Din even more confused.

They don't know where their parents were, and they don't know how they got here? It all seemed very bizarre.

"Are you running from something?" Din asked.

Obi-Wan informed the children what he said, John didn't look amused, but everyone else sure did.

James smirked behind his mug, Linda hummed absently, but was resisting the urge to smile, and Kelly choked back a laugh. Sam covered his chuckle with a cough, pouring himself another cup of tea, topping up Fred's: who was the one to speak, sounding terribly amused, or maybe even thrilled at the idea.

Whatever he said made James choke on his drink, and Linda smacked him on the back to help clear his airways.

Obi-Wan sheepishly smiled: "I don't think I can repeat that."

Din frowned behind his helmet. "Elaborate?"

Once again, everyone seemed amused, except for John, who looked like he'd rather be eating shards of glass than sitting at this table: or maybe sleeping for eternity, definitely sleeping. That boy looked dead on his feet.

Not even Obi-Wan, the great War General and Jedi Negotiator, could keep the hint of laughter out of his tone: "No, your highness, they will not."

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen: Ferrets hunt in groups, don't they?

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown Location, Unknown system.
Unknown Time.
Current Objective: Sitrep.

With a shuddering gasp of breath, Mark-G313 jolted awake and promptly banged his head on something cold, hard, and metal. The resulting clang was so loud, it had him blinking rapidly to clear his vision of the stars blooming under his eyelids.

He lay there for a moment, stunned, until it finally registered that he was in a dark, enclosed space: he could feel it pressing against him on all sides. It reminded him of someone's hands around his neck: someone trying to squeeze the life out of him. And that reminded him of caves - cold, tight, and dark caves, where around any corner could be an enemy he couldn't see.

It reminded Mark of how he died: having his neck broken by hands so big Mark could still feel them around his neck - crushing him, choking him. He could feel his bones cracking and splintering like twigs--

Muttering a curse that would have Veta washing his mouth out, Mark began fumbling around in the dark, desperately searching for a way out. His hands ran down and along the walls of the box he had been stuffed in, and when he found the latch, he promptly snapped it open and threw himself out onto the cold, hard ground outside. The box clattering to the ground behind him with a loud crash.

Hunching over, Mark choked on his own lungs, clutching at his throat - trying to pull imaginary hands away from snapping his neck. He was coughing so hard, he swore he was going to vomit. He didn't, luckily, but the sour, bitter taste remained.

Finally, after what felt like hours of coughing and choking on his breath, his heartbeat slowed and Mark could take in deep, shuddering breaths, without wanting to scream in pain. Wrapping his arms around himself, he rested his head against the floor, taking deep, slow breaths.

In, and out.

Just like Veta taught him.

The room Mark found himself in looked like a storage room, with heavy, hard to move, shelving units which were filled with big boxes like the kind Mark fell out off. They were all empty and covered in a thick layer of dust.

There were no windows, no light except the little strip of light from under the door (which was locked from the outside), and as far as Mark could tell, there was no way out.

Normally, Mark would use the tool kit on his belt to bust open the door, but he found himself not only stripped off his armour and tools, but also his comm - calling for help was out of the equation.

Instead, Mark was wearing a simple white t-shirt, white pants, black socks, and a loose sweater that was hanging off his form.

Speaking of his form...

Mark glanced down and opened his hands. They were smaller than normal. He checked his arms and the muscle there was gone mostly - instead of being toned, he was simply slender. He looked down more and felt shocked as he saw how small he was compared to everything else. Maybe everything else was really big, and he was smaller, or, maybe, just maybe, he was off his Smoothers.

It then became apparent to Mark, that without his belt, he didn't have access to his Smoothers. The drug that kept him in control of his own mind and kept him from getting paranoid, irritable, violent outbursts, and overall making him more of a loose cannon than he already is - a side effect of the illegal procedure added in his Augmentations.

While Mark liked joking with the rest of Ferret Team about how the Smoothers kept him from hearing voices and seeing floating unicorns, but the truth was they were no joking matter. Nor was the 'Gamma Rage' that came with missing too many of his doses.

In this state, Mark could do serious damage to people around him.

He has before.

It was only with Fred-104's words that Mark didn't slit the throat of a UNSC marine who, in that state of mind, he was convinced was an enemy infiltrator. Looking back now, he felt nothing but shame knowing he had helped give SPARTAN's a bad name.

Mark always felt ashamed when he thought of the other SPARTANs. Especially the SPARTAN-II's. Especially, especially, Blue Team.

While he'd never met the infamous Master Chief in person, the stories from Kelly and Fred were enough.

John-117, the Master Chief, held his SPARTANs' in high order. If he ever found out (and Mark was betting, he already knew) that Mark and the other SPARTAN-III's were held together by drugs and illegal augmentations, he'd probably never let them see the daylight again if he could help it: running constant drills to keep them off the battlefield and away from doing harm to civilians.

Veta promised him that it would never happen, that he was just overthinking it, but not even she could stop the fear that would always spike in Mark's chest whenever he thought about the older soldiers, or saw them on posters, or heard their names in conversation.

Ash and Olivia promised Mark that he was overthinking a simple incident, but what is simple for a SPARTAN-III, isn't so simple for marines or the higher ups to understand. If Fred hadn't been in attendance with him during their debriefing, (an ass-reaming more like), Mark probably would have put his foot in his mouth.

Mark was so thankful for Fred: he supposed just seeing a 7'ft tall super soldier, in a pristine uniform, decorated with so many medals and badges that he simply couldn't fit them all, could make anyone shut up and listen without question, even the UNSC.

Even ONI.

Mark was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the sound of chatter, and the sound of feet on metal.

Immediately, he was calm and steady. Heartbeat slowed. He knew it was the Augmentations, but he liked to think he was naturally calm in combat.

Gracefully, Mark got to his feet and (after a moment of silent prayer), he slipped back inside the crate, closing it after him with a muffled snap of the lock.

--

Olivia-G291 broke the surface of the lake with a gasp for air: her lungs burning in her chest as she coughed up a mouthful of icy cold water. In doing so, she struck her head on the underside of the wooden dock with a resounding bang.

Behind her, Ash-G099 broke the surface, his curly brown hair plastered to his face - falling over his eyes and dripping water down his cheeks. Not that you could tell with how soaked through they both were.

He bobbed there for a second before moving for her and banging his head on one of the stilts in the water in the process. He cursed, loud and clear, before biting his tongue to quieten himself down.

Olivia reached for him immediately and he grabbed her back, dragging her to the shore she had failed to notice. They both collapsed on the stones and heaved up the water in their mouths: coughing and gasping for air.

"God damn-" Ash broke off into a fit of coughing that had his shoulders violently shaking. "Mother fucking-" He rubbed his head gently, checking for blood, and Olivia did the same: there was nothing, but it still felt sore.

"W-Where are we?" She asked, placing her hand back on the rocks, and looking around, taking measured breaths to steady her racing heart.

Ash glanced side to side before helping her to her feet, careful not to bang his head on the dock again.

They shuffled out from underneath the dock and stood there for a moment, breathing raggedly.

"You're tiny!" Ash blurted out, before clapping a hand over his mouth.

Olivia went to snap at him, before she realised what he meant. She blinked in shock: "So are you!"

They stared for a moment before Ash began patting himself down, cussing out a string of curses: "Our gear's gone."

Olivia patted herself down and paled slightly, "So are our smoothers."

Ash took a slow breath and forced himself to remain calm. "We need to call Mom, she'll find us."

Olivia nodded and grabbed the corner of her white t-shirt (another new development), before wringing all the water she could out of it. It didn't do much, but it made her feel better. "We best tell her to bring our Smoothers with her."

The brown-haired boy nodded and began to walk along the beach, followed by Olivia, who kept an eye on the foggy shores on either side of the lake.

It took about five minutes of walking before they found a cabin of sorts, perched on the edge of the water. They circled it twice before they deemed it empty, and Ash broke the lock on the door.

"Hopefully there's some clothes laying around." He murmured, and Olivia huffed.

"I doubt it." But either way, she began sliding open drawers and checking cabinets.

Ash quickly rifled through the cabinets he could find and huffed to himself when he needed a step stool to reach the countertop. Olivia snorted to herself, only to have Ash laughing when she also needed the step stool to reach the top of what once must have been a laundry cabinet.

"Oh shush." She muttered. "Find anything?"

Ash shook his head. "No. You?"
"Nothing but mothballs."

Olivia shrugged, padding across the ice-cold floors, her bare feet numb on the metal: "Second floor it is."

Ash paused and eyed another door warily. "Wait."

He pressed his shoulder to the wall beside the door and then pressed his ear to the wallpaper. He listened for a moment before saying: "Let's try in here."

Olivia nodded, glancing at the keypad beside the door for a moment. She shrugged and promptly slammed her fist in the pad: shattering it immediately. The door beeped green and slid open.

Ash rolled his eyes but stepped into what looked like a storage room, Olivia on his heels.

The two glanced around at the shelves, tugging lightly on the empty boxes, finding nothing, obviously. As Ash turned to leave, his foot snagged on the corner of one of the boxes and he jerked forward, Olivia catching him moments before he hit the floor.

The two shared a look.

"Heavy box in a room of empty boxes." Olivia said with a grin. "Jackpot."

--

Mark tensed when he heard a voice that sounded too much like... No. It couldn't be. He flexed his fist against his chest anxiously.

Maybe he was hearing things.

But there was no time to think about that when the lid to his hiding place swung open and without thinking, he lunged, driving his fist into the stomach of-

"Ash!" Cried Olivia, and Mark stumbled back when her own fist smashed into his nose.

Mark grunted, not really feeling the pain, but definitely feeling the rush of power that came from an injury. He stumbled back and his back knocked into the shelving unit: the cold metal digging into his back.

"I'm fine." Ash gritted out, and he turned his hard gaze on Mark: only for his eyes to widen and his shoulders to drop. "Mark!?"

--

Veta Lopis had been in tight spaces enough in her life to know not to sit up right away. She took several deep, slow breaths, reaching up to check for anything, finding and pressing her palm gently on the ledge above her.

With a slow exhale, Veta slid out of the bed and landed quietly on her feet. She stretched quietly and took stock of where she was.

The room was old and almost entirely bare aside from the bunk she slid out off. The blinds were wide open, but the windows were too dusty to see through. The floor had been stripped of carpet, and the drywall was in need of a good fix up.

Once she took stock of where she was, Veta took stock of how she was.

Carefully, she ran her hands up and down her body, running her touch lightly over the new clothing and over her belt carefully. With a softer touch, she began poking at her face and arms, checking for broken bones.

Finding nothing out of place, broken, or otherwise bleeding, Veta moved onto her next objective: find her Ferrets.

She strode to the door and threw it open. She had half expected it to be locked, but it wasn't, so, not a prison then. Veta had been in a few of those too, although she had normally been the one throwing people in them, not being in one herself. Aside from-

Veta shook her head and stepped onto the landing, eying the awful wallpaper distastefully before finding the stairs and striding down them.

Nothing would get in her way between her and her Ferrets. Not even a powerful alien enemy who's gotten too big for its ugly boots.

The sound of talking caught her attention.

Veta paused around the bend in a doorway, but as she listened, she recognised Ash and Olivia's voices. There was someone else, but they were speaking too quietly for her to identify them.

"Olivia? Ash?" Veta loudly asked as she turned the corner. "Where are you?"

The two in question rounded the corner and ran right into her. "Mom!"

Veta kneeled (which she didn't think was odd until she realised just how small the two were), and she began to fuss over them. Checking their faces, asking 'Why are you wet?', 'Why are you so small?' and checking their pulses carefully.

"Mom! Mom!" Ash cried, getting her attention, and it was only then Veta noticed he was crying. "It's-" He was cut off by a very familiar voice that had haunted Veta's dreams for years.

"Mom?"

Veta stared at Mark as he appeared behind Olivia and Ash, hands fisting his shirt: his eyes soft and shoulders hunched with anxiety. He looked so small, so lean and unfed. His clothing was dusty, and he had wet streaks on his cheeks.

Veta recognised her SPARTAN's anywhere. In any lifetime. In any form. And he was one of hers.

With a cut off sob, Veta lunged and wrapped her arms tight around her son - the boy she thought she'd lost all those years ago. She held him to his chest, holding him tight as she could without hurting him.

Mark clung to her desperately and Veta felt a wet patch bloom on her shoulder, but she didn't care. Not when she had her missing Ferret home.

Veta held Mark for what felt like too short a time, hands fisted in his shirt and holding the back of his head gently as she could: pressing it into her shoulder. "Oh Mark-" She gasped, burying her face in his hair.

Mark cried quietly - wrapped tightly in the arms of Veta who covered him with her body like a shield against all harm. She held him together from breaking into a million pieces. Relieved and exhausted all at once.

"Mom-" Mark sobbed softly. "Mom- I-"

"It doesn't matter." Veta told him, cupping his face. "Nothing matters except if you're okay. If you all are okay."

Ash smiled and rubbed her own eyes with the edge of her soaked sweater, pretending it worked and that she wasn't openly crying. She gently leaned into Veta's side again and felt Ash do the same beside her - their fingers tangling in the older woman's sweater.

Mark pulled back with a sniffle, "Mom, you're so small."

Veta laughed softly, "I'm small? You should see yourself."

Ash laughed, Mark buried his head back into Veta's shoulder to hide his flush, and Olivia beamed ear to ear - the banter flowing easily between them, and like that, everything was right in the galaxy, just for that moment. Just for that second. Just for that spin of the Earth. Just for that blink of the stars.

Just for them, the world was whole again.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen: Force Osik.

(Galactic Standard Calendar)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 2:50am.
Current Objective: Faith
TWO WEEKS AGO

The Armourer stood in her forge and stared at the low simmering fire that cast a flickering orange light over everything in the room, herself included.

The dreams hadn't stopped, and realistically, The Armourer knew they were not just dreams. They were visions, a gift from the Manda. A gift from those who were marching on.

She had forgotten a time when she hadn't had these dreams: they accompanied her sleeping hours, and when she was awake, the whispers would start and guide her hands.

Even now, as she held the newly made pauldron - bare off a clan symbol and any clan colours - the whispers continued in her ears. Hands that were not hands guided her movements and held her steady as she quietly turned it over in her gloves: examining the Beskar gently.

Ever since coming home to Manda'yaim, the Beskar mines had been flourishing, and now, the children of the future could be secure in the unbreakable Mandalorian Iron their parents and guardians hadn't been able to have.

This Pauldron had been made lovingly by The Armourer's own hands. The only problem? No one could wear it.

There were hundreds of children ready to take up their armour and their creeds, hundreds of young ade ready to go out into the world and fight for their planet.

But they were not for this armour, and this armour was not for them.

The Armourer knew this as soon as she had the dream. Waking up to a silent, cold forge: possessed by the urge to create,

The whispers had buzzed in her ears as she forged and moulded, hammered and crafted, until six shirts of chainmail, six pauldrons of blinding silver, and the knowledge that six children would help unite Mandalore - for once and for all - had been laid out before her on her workbench.

Only then, did the whispers become words.

'Echoy'la.'
'Cuun Ik'aad.'
'Manda'yaim Ik'aad.'
'Val mhor

And The Armourer listened as the dead wept, clutching to the chainmail with desperate souls. And The Armourer watched as the Forge fires died down. And The Armourer felt as the grief clung to the air. And The Armourer knew, in the heart of her Beskar, that she must hold faith in the Manda.

She must have faith.

Without faith, all falls apart. Without faith, all will fall.

Faith in themselves. Faith in the Manda. Faith in each other.

Faith, that all will be well.

--

(Galactic Standard Calendar)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 5:25pm
Current Objective: Food (is always good).
NOW

After they had concluded the meeting with the king - whose name Sam still didn't know - Obi-Wan had guided them back into the elevator and they had grabbed Kix and Cody from a floor or two down, before ushering them all off to get dinner.

"What is this place?" Sam asked Obi-Wan as they walked into some kind of canteen, complete with long tables, soft overhead lights, and lots of areas to get food, cutlery, and plates.

"It smells-" Hot. Warm. Tasty. "-good."

Obi-Wan smiled and guided them to a table closest to the huge windows overlooking the city outside. "It's the dining hall for the medics who live here full time. Kix pulled some strings to let us eat here today instead of the canteens downstairs."

Sam nodded in thanks to Kix, who smiled and nodded gently. He said something to Obi-Wan who chuckled and turned to John.

"Kix tells me you're cleared for solid food. But in small pieces and without lots of sugar so you won't upset your stomach."

John nodded solemnly, like it was a sacred duty he must uphold. "Will do. Thank you for letting me know."

In groups of three, Blue Team followed Obi-Wan to the various stations, picking up whatever they felt like trying and putting it on plates that were still warm from the dishwasher.

There were various forms of meat, salads of every kind, brightly coloured fruit cups, hot bread, and (to Sam's delight), actual gravy. Not that horrible stuff that came with MRE dinners, but actual, honest to God, gravy.

He tried to think about when he had last had actual food. Not MRE's, not mush, not soup or stew. Actual food that you can sink your teeth into and enjoy.

He found he couldn't remember.

The SPARTAN's dinner consisted off a mix of bread rolls, cut in half and slathered with butter, a helping of salad - Linda and Kelly argued over whether or not potato (or the equivalent off) salad was a real salad (the consensus was no) - and strips of meat.

Of course they had their differences.

Sam had lots of gravy, Kelly had meat that looked like chicken, and Fred was practically vibrating out of his seat when it was confirmed he could have seconds of the Jello cups.

All the while, Cody, Obi-Wan, and Kix were watching them over their own trays: keeping an eye on them in case any of them were allergic to anything in the meals. Luckily, no one was, but it made Sam smile slightly knowing they were ready to leap up and help no matter what.

"I might be in love," Kelly declared as she finished her mouthful of bread. "I don't think I want to leave."

John huffed and pushed around his salad with a fork, smiling slightly under his breath: "The bread is pretty good."

James nodded slightly and cleaned out the rest of his Jello cup, which he said tastes kind of like oranges. "The gravy's even better."

Sam groaned in delight, clasping his hands together: "Real gravy. I never thought I'd see the day."

Linda smiled, cleaning her plate with a chunk of her bread. "Oh hush. Don't be so dramatic."
"I'm not being dramatic!"
"Uh huh. Sure."
"What? I'm not- John, tell Linda I'm not being-"

--

Cody smiled softly as the kids bickered amongst themselves, although judging by their body language, it was all in good fun.

"They remind me of my brothers," Cody murmured softly, pausing from eating his Tiingilar. "So carefree."

Kix hummed gently, a sad look coming over his face. "I need to spend more time with my brothers. It's been too long since I've had them all over for a meal." He sighed softly, thinking off his brothers and where they could be in the wide universe.

"I get that," Cody agreed and glanced at Obi-Wan, who was getting another bowl of stew. His husband was chatting happily with the attendant behind the console, a fellow clone, and Cody fell in love all over again at the smile on Obi-Wan's face, and the way the soft overhead lights made his auburn hair glow.

"-Cody?"
"Mhm?"
"You're staring."

Clearing his throat, Cody sat back up straight and continued to eat his food. "Not a word."

Kix laughed softly and took another bite of his stew.

--

John was falling asleep by the time someone made the educated decision to get them to retire for the evening before the late evening staff came in for their early dinner.

He took Sam's hand, and the taller boy guided him back into the elevator. He was half asleep when Kix mentioned something about there being the possibility of Blue Team moving into a room in the palace permanently.

James asked something of Obi-Wan, and he had translated the conversation between the two sides.

At some point, Cody's warm hand gripped John's shoulder, gently keeping him on his feet, and John found himself not caring as much as he would if he was more awake. He even leaned back into Cody's legs; head slumped against Cody's hip.

The older man smelled of cinnamon and cocoa.

John had never been so tired in his life.

Sam glanced over at John curiously, before he took John's hand and held it gently. A small reassurance for them both: for Sam so he could get John away from Cody in a hurry should he need too, and for John if he woke up in a panic and attempted to stab the older man.

Eventually, the elevator opened, and Cody gently guided John back to the bed, helping him take his slippers off and get up into bed. It reminded the SPARTAN of a child being tucked into bed by their father; warm hands wrapped around him and guiding him back against the pillows.

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Obi-Wan helping James' take his sweater off and, against his better judgement, John didn't tell him to hide his scars. (The next day, he'd really worry over it, but today wasn't tomorrow).

Kix helped the slightly more awake SPARTAN's unwrap the packaging from the toothbrushes in the nurses' station and gave a quick explanation of how to use the weird taps in the bathroom.

John was slipping into unconsciousness by the time Obi-Wan, Kix, and Cody had left - drawing the curtains closed and dimming the lights above their curtained area. He was in the hands of sleep when Kelly pulled her blankets onto the floor and tossed some free pillows down onto the ground to create a nest. He was barely aware of anything as Sam gently guided him onto the nest and curled against his back.

John did remember the feeling off his fam- his team, curled around him. Their arms and limbs askew across and around him. He did remember the feeling off Kelly's head tucked into his arm, Sam's face buried in his shoulder blade. He remembered even Linda getting into the nest and being held gently in James' arms.

It was only in the some-what quiet sound of the medical ward, that Fred sleepily asked; "Was it just me, or did Kix and Cody look alike?"

John wasn't awake long enough to hear the answer.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen: Translation at last

(Galactic Standard Calendar)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 7:50am.
Current Objective: Listen and Learn

When the news came in that the scholars had finally built a proper translation device, Din was thrilled.

He called Kix right away and let him know, before calling Obi-Wan and telling him to come down to the medical ward when he could. Next, he kissed Luke and Grogu goodbye - wishing a quiet almost Happy Birthday to his son - before he pulled on his armour and went down to the medical ward.

The kids were wide awake and pottering around in their curtained off area by the time Din arrived: brushing their teeth and tightening their boot laces almost impossibly tight, except for John who still wore slippers and looked especially grumpy this morning.

Koska and Ax were watching over them carefully from across the hall while they ate breakfast. Having been there for almost three days, Din was especially grateful for their dedication, and he made a mental note to send them some gifts once it was safe enough to let them off duty.

"Ah, Manda'lor, Good morning," Kix greeted, slotting the clipboard into the holding place at the end of John's bed and turning to greet him. "I got your call and came down as quick as I could. Obi-Wan's picked up the archivists and they're heading here now."

Din nodded and glanced at the kids, who were staring at him blankly: faces perfectly neutral. They stood ramrod straight once they noticed his attention on them, with their hands held tight at their sides.

They reminded Din of those little wooden soldiers Ragnar played with when he was younger: organising them in tactical positions to take back the water canteen which had been conquered by the fearsome and unbeatable, pebble legion.

The wooden soldiers never won, and Paz found great pleasure in carving new ones for his sons' collection when the last ones inevitably fell in defeat.

"Have they eaten?" Din asked, folding his arms over his chest.
Kix shook his head, "Not yet."

Din made a mental note to organise proper housing for these kids so they'd have someone to make sure they ate properly, although judging from what Cody had told him about last night, the kids understood the concept of a balanced meal.

The door at the end of the ward opened and Obi-Wan strode in, Cody following just behind with the two archivists at their sides.

"Manda'lor," Obi-Wan greeted while the two archivists saluted. "Meet Dev Marr and Dr Torm Brodi from the University of Sundari."

The Twi'lek, Dev Marr stepped forward and shook Din's hand firmly. His grip strong and his eyes calm. "Sorry for not being in our armour, we were in the middle of an experiment that rejects metal when you called us."

Dr Torm Brodi, a Zabrak, nodded gravely, "Magnets are terrible things."

Din nodded along: "Thank you for coming: do you have the translators?"

Dev Marr nodded and opened his side bag, withdrawing a small rectangular box which he snapped open to show six earpieces. Each was equipped with a small beacon that would help locate them in an emergency, something Din had requested to be added in if possible.

Kelly padded over and peered up at the box curiously. She tugged gently on Dev Marr's shirt, and he knelt down to show them to her with a warning to be gentle.

Obi-Wan said something softly and Kelly lit up, turning and calling the others over.

The other five kids jogged over and chatted quietly amongst themselves as they examined the earpieces. None of them reached to touch them, and they seemed to respect the instructions Obi-Wan was relaying.

"It'll take a while to get used too, and they'll need to remove them at night, or they run a risk of getting an ear infection," Dr Brodi explained to Kix, who was nodding along and reading over the instructions Dev Marr had written out. "The device is modelled after the common translations you can find basically anywhere, but they've been adjusted to fit smaller ears, and if needed, can be adjusted further."

Kix nodded and the two began to talk quietly in the corner about something Din couldn't quite hear.

Kelly lightly tugged on Dev Marr's shirt and indicated to his lekku with a questioning look on her face, she said something that Obi-Wan translated across, struggling to keep the confusion out of his voice: "She's asking what your Lekku are."

Dev smiled gracefully but turned to look at Kix with a confused look, while Din, Kix, and Dr Brodi exchanged curious glances. Din tipped his head and mentally noted the interaction down.

These kids must have been kept away from civilisation, as none of them seemed to know anything about the Twi'lek species, or even what a Twi'lek was. Din didn't doubt they had no idea about Mandalorians either, which would explain why they reacted so harshly at the construction site and in the forest.

"Shall we put the translators in?" Dr Brodi asked with a slight smile. "It might make this easier."

--

The translation device fit like a hearing aid, and John sat perfectly still as Kix powered it on.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen.

"Can you hear me?" Kix asked softly, and John found himself smiling a little bit.

He nodded.

Kix beamed right back at him, stepping back from the bed and letting John hop off to join his team who were grinning happily and chatting to Obi-Wan with bright eyes.

The other adults were watching on fondly, and John felt a pang in his heart that he couldn't quite place. It reminded him of something close to homesickness, but his home was gone.

Reach was gone.

But, the memories remained, and as John seamlessly stepped in between Kelly and James, he found himself deeply grateful that he still had what was most precious too him.

His team.

James silently wrapped his arm around his shoulders: looping behind his neck and holding him close to himself. Protective. Adoring.

--

Din stepped forward and quietly kneeled in front of the kids: "Can you hear me?" He asked.

A series of excited, if not apprehensive, nods.

"Okay," Din laced his fingers together in front of him, taking a deep breath. "My name is Din Djarin, and I am the current ruler of this planet." He nodded. "You already know this."

More nods.

"Can I know your names?"

Sam cocked his head: "But you already know our names?"
"I do. But I want you to tell me all the same, if that's alright with you."

There were a few shrugs, but they introduced themselves easily: shaking hands with Din, who swore his hand was almost crushed by such firm grips. John's especially, and his eyes seemed especially cold. Like he was sizing Din up properly now they could speak to each other.

Rubbing his wrist, Din continued: "I know I asked some questions earlier, but I have a few more."

John folded his arms over his chest; James' arm draped around his shoulders, Kelly standing at his side - hands in her pockets. "We aren't permitted to tell you anything classified."

Din nodded, filing the term John used away for later investigation. "That's fine. I understand."

Linda eyed him out of the corner of her eye, eyebrow shifting up almost imperceptibly. She offered a slight hum, but didn't say anything. Even so, Din felt incredibly judged. It was funny how the eyes of these children made him feel like he was under a microscope.

Obi-Wan gently cleared his throat and Din settled himself slightly as he asked the first question: "Are you siblings?"

"Yes." Was the immediate response from all of them. No hesitation. No hint of doubt.

Fred puffed up his chest: "Closer than siblings, Sir. It's like we're grapes from the same vine."

Kelly snorted, elbowing Fred in the ribs. "Leave the similes to the higher ups, Freddie."

Fred flipped her the bird, Kelly then booted him in the shin, and before anyone could stop them, Fred lunged.

Din moved to intercept, but Sam beat him to it: wrapping his (really rather) quite powerful arms around Fred and hauling him away from grabbing Kelly, who Linda stepped in front of with a cool stare to get her stand down.

Din watched on with a small smile as Kix stepped in to lecture them both about needing to have manners in the hospital indicating to John as a prime example of why silence was needed for recovery. John looked even more unamused than usual and even joined in on the lecturing, speaking fast and with a very stern tone. ("Doctor Kix is right. Can't you see how sickly I am? Shame! Shame on you! We were raised better than this.")

Fred held up his hands placatingly, still held firmly in Sam's arms. "I won't fight."
Kelly just smirked at Fred, waggling her fingers over Linda's shoulder. "Is it because you're worried, I'd win?"

There was no Linda or Sam to stop Fred from lunging at Kelly. Although there was a lot of swearing from both John and Kix who rushed forward to intercept.

Dr Brodi and Dev Marr both took this as their sign to leave, although Din swore he saw their shoulders shaking with quiet laughter as they went.

--

"Are we sure this will work?" Ash asked Veta quietly as they stared at the weird looking ship sitting at the edge of the foggy field. "I've never seen a ship like that before. I don't know if I can pilot it."

After the reunion in the house, Veta had ransacked what she could find before ushering them out the door. They walked North for about five hours - Mark catching up with what his team has done in the meantime. There was a lot of tears, hugs, and apologies. It was only then they stumbled across this here field, and with it, the big ugly, tin can ship sitting at the edge of the weird looking wheat field which Olivia had sworn was glowing purple.

Veta hummed quietly, staring across the field. Tapping a stick onto her palm absently, she squinted to examine the ship the best she could with her non-augmented eyes, but eventually came to the same conclusion that Ash had.

She couldn't pilot it.

There was also the small problem of the Smoothers.

Ferret Team had a shot of their medication just before they ended up here, but after five hours of walking in the wilderness and stalking out the ship, it meant they only had another seven hours before they needed another boost. Veta had seen them off their medication only once, and it still kept her up at night.

All in all? It wasn't great.

With a sigh, Veta rested her head down on the back of her arm and banged it there twice before lifting her head and forcing the cogs in her mind to tick - to come up with a plan. She gritted her teeth and prayed for some of Fred's quick thinking.

Regrettably, she got some of Fred's idiocy instead.

"Fuck it," She slid up and dropped the stick. "How do you kids feel about hitching a ride?"

Olivia pumped her fists and raced off after Veta back into the forest: "Fuck yeah! Free ride!"

With a shrug, Ash followed, tugging Mark behind him.

'I have a bad feeling about this.' Mark groaned but was subsequently ignored.

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen: Beskar'gam.

(Galactic Standard Calendar)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 8:50am.
Current Objective: Lodgings

Sam has had his fair share of dreams.

When he was younger, asleep in the barracks, he dreamed of what he would be facing down in combat: the people he’d have to kill, the blood on his hands.

When he was asleep outside, surrounded by fellow SPARTANs, he dreamed of their deaths, and it pushed him harder to keep them safe. If no one could get to them, no one could hurt them: Sam knew it was naïve, but he refused to let up.

Those dreams were nightmares more than anything, now that Sam really thought about it, but they seemed so silly compared to what he’s actually had to do, that the next thing he could compare them to was a dream.

But this really must be a dream. And a nice one at that.

After Din had pulled Kelly off Fred, he had explained that since now they were (technically) wards of Mandalore, it was up to him as the current ruler to make sure they were provided for. Unless, of course, their legal guardians stepped in to say otherwise. (Which they couldn’t).

It got Sam thinking as they were ushered back into the elevator and taken to the left wing of the palace. Was the UNSC his legal guardian?

Technically, he had been illegally kidnapped when he was six. Taken right out of his bed. So, he really doubted that the UNSC would go through a bunch of legal papers just to say they had legal control over a (legally kidnapped and very much assumed dead) six-year-old, or that any parent in their right mind would sign them.

At least, Sam really hoped that his parents wouldn’t.

The elevator stopped and they got out, with Kelly jogging ahead to have a look around, followed closely by Fred and James. Linda hung back, keeping up her conversation with Kix about the palace itself: Sam caught a few words about sieges and something called 'Siths' but he zoned back out as they kept walking.

After a few moments, John got Sam’s attention when he suddenly stopped right in front of him, glancing at Sam over his shoulder as if to say, ‘pay attention’.

Sam shook himself out of his thoughts and straightened his back, glancing at the door in front of them.

Din stood there calmly with Kix on one side, and Obi-Wan on the other. His silver armour was shining gently in the low light. It hurt Sam’s eyes to look at him, so he didn’t.

“The room is in this wing because it’s the most secure wing of the palace,” Din explained once he had everyone's attention, holding out the passcode for Sam to take, which he did. “No one without a key will get in the palace, let alone near your room.”

Sam glanced down at the symbols on the paper, which he assumed was the language of this planet, and quickly punched in the code on the door using the corresponding letters on the number pad.

The light on the door flashed green, and Sam slipped the paper to John with a silent knowing that John would memorise it and have the rest of Blue Team do the same. Then, the paper would be destroyed. That was one of Mendez's rules: memorise passwords, leave no trace of them, because if someone got hold of it, they would have the means to break into the place you didn't want them to break into. In other words, it was a huge security risk, complete with big red banners that just screamed 'incompetence'.

Stepping through the door, Sam glanced around the room with a careful, calculating eye. Brow furrowed just slightly.

The walls were painted a soft blue colour that reminded him of the sky, the carpet was a non-descript gentle grey, and the window frame was painted a nice cream colour, which matched the drapes.

Sam stepped into the room with John at his back, and the two boys stared at the room's furniture with something close to nostalgia.

The room had bunk beds.

There were three sets of them built into the left wall, and the ladders were between each bunk. The beds had fresh blue sheets and a single grey blanket per bed, folded neatly at the foot of the mattress. Sam saw a shelf in the open closet, (which was built into the wall by the door), had spare sheets, blankets, and pillows, alongside towels for the adjoining bathroom.

There were new clothes folded neatly on a table under the window, complete with better eye protection and face protection than they had currently.

John stepped over and ran his fingers gently over one of the shirts. The material was good, really good, and had (what he assumed) was the King’s symbol embroidered onto the sleeve and on the hem at the bottom.

It looked like a skull with tusks, its empty eyes staring up at the SPARTAN as if it knew something he didn't.

Reluctantly, John nodded his head in approval: placing his thumb over the empty eyes to stop them from staring into his soul.

“The palace tailor was more than happy to put a rush order in, and if anything doesn’t fit let us know and she’ll be happy to fix it.” Din explained softly, watching as Blue Team padded around the room: examining everything with keen eyes.

Kelly glanced at Din, who was lingering in the doorway, and asked: "Is this for us, sir?"

Din nodded politely. "I know it isn't perfect yet, and quite empty, but it is, yes."

Fred and James shared a look, not quite sure if they believed it yet. Although they really did want too.

John narrowed his eyes slightly: "What do we owe you, sir?"

Kix and Obi-Wan shared a look behind Din, and Sam wasn't quite sure how to interpret it.

"You don't owe us anything except to get better and take care of each other," Din said, nodding to John pointedly. "I wouldn't ask ad- children, to pay back debts."

John wasn't sure how to take that.

This culture, from what he had seen and from what had been said, treasured children quite highly. If anything, he could trust that the King would hold his word. But that didn't bode well for when they grew up a little more. Would they be expected to pay them back for the medical bills and such?

John didn't doubt that him and Blue Team could find work, even outside their combat training, because, while yes, they were quite good in active combat situations, Blue Team were more than capable outside of warzones.

Kelly was an excellent runner; she used to run messages back and forth between teams during training exercises: she'd make a great messenger. Linda was patient and calm, and Sam got the idea that she'd do well as a nurse or doctor - she certainly had the steady hands to be a surgeon. Fred was good with kids, really good, so he'd be able to find work basically anywhere, especially considering he was organised and great at organising. James displayed lots of talents, but he was great with anything hands on, often times repainting the walls in the barracks so no one would get in trouble for scuffing the paint or accidentally scratching the drywall: he'd be a good general contractor. Sam was good with people, and was very charismatic, he'd be good in (dare John say) politics, or even simple public facing roles for councils or businesses.

Then there was himself.

John never claimed to be an expert in any field, he never had been.

He wasn't as fast as Kelly, as patient or steady handed as Linda. He had no idea how to speak to children, or how to repair things beyond his armour. And while he was the poster boy of the SPARTAN program, he wasn't good with people that weren't his SPARTANs.

(When you inevitably drop the ball, you're going to be responsible for what happens next.)

Mendez used to say he fit in the gaps left by his team, he held them together, but John never quite believed him. He was a soldier. He did the job and did it well. He didn't fix gaps: he made them.

Maybe there was no other path for him besides a soldier.

--

Din watched the kids explore the room, smiling slightly behind his helmet at the awe on their faces.

Kelly was practically vibrating with energy, looking between Din and the bunks. Her eyes shone with happiness. Maybe it was true every kid's dream was to have a bunk bed, since James' was smiling at the beds as well: lightly running his hand over the mattress with a sort of reverence that came from fond memories.

It really surprised Din at how much the kids liked to talk: Fred was chatting to Sam about the room, his smile bright. Sam was nodding and chatting back quietly, only to offer a high five, which John intercepted, much to Fred's chagrin.

Linda, meanwhile, was in the bathroom: sitting in the bottom of the bathtub and nodding in approval seeing she could stretch out in it easily: a towel cushioned beneath her head.

"How do you like it?" Kix asked, smiling.

Kelly spun around and beamed; "Are you sure this is for us, sir?"

Kix nodded. "Absolutely sure."

Din smiled as Kelly cheered, and the other kids shared high fives.

He regretted not snapping a photo to show Luke, but he got the feeling the two parties would be meeting up very soon.

--

Coming out of her forge for the first time in weeks, The Armourer walked right up to the Sundari palace, and stepped calmly into the Throne room, where the Manda'lor was waiting.

He stood in front of the steps leading up to the throne and bowed his head to her, which she welcomed.

"I got your message, Armourer," The Manda'lor greeted, straightening and folding his arms across his chest: the song noise of Beskar meeting Beskar rang out across the almost entirely empty room. "You had a vision?"

"I did, Manda'lor."

The king nodded in understanding, and led her through to the indoor gardens off to the side, their boots silent on the path. "Will you tell me?"

The Armourer lifted her head slightly, amused by his politeness. Even under the Beskar and even with the Darksaber, Din was still the polite boy she had helped raise all those years. She knew Paz saw it too, which is why he became leader of the palace guard: to protect his little brother.

"The children will not quite be Mandalorians."

Din's step faltered for a moment, before he continued to walk beside her. "I see."

The Armourer shook her head. "You do not. Not quite."

Even though he was going to marry a Force user (which he wasn't really subtle about), had a (really strong) Force sensitive son, and had the (notoriously sentient) Darksaber, Din really could be oblivious to the Force. Even though it was practically woven into his every day life. His Beskar, his family, and his soul.

Oblivious indeed.

"Will you tell me?" He asked her.

The Armourer smiled behind her helmet. Fond. "The ade have promise. Your consort felt it. The Darksaber feels it. You feel it. But you do not see."

Din sighed. "Always riddles with the Force."

On his hip, the Darksaber thrummed and knocked itself against his thigh armour. Din sighed again.

"They are not all children of the Manda, only the boy with the undead soul is," She ignored the head tilt of bewilderment that Din offered to her words. "But one day, they will join our ancestors in the Manda, not for long, mind you, but long enough to see the path forward." The Armourer gently shook her head. "They will be one with our people. But not quite."

Gently stopping Din, The Armourer continued: "Heed my words, Manda'lor. Patience is heart."

And with that, she swept out of the gardens, leaving Din utterly confused in the dying sunlight.

--

"This is a terrible idea." Gasped Ash over the sound of the dying engines. "We're going to die."

Mark, while he still felt guilty for breaking Ash's nose, got the urge to throttle the smaller boy. Instead, he got out between gritted teeth: "Not helping."

Veta blindly reached behind her and grabbed Ash's arm, she whispered: "It's going to be alright. Your a SPARTAN, aren't you?"

It slightly helped, judging by Ash's expression, but he still buried his face in Veta's shoulder. "Right. Right. It's fine. We've faced worse."

Mark got the urge to point out that over the duration of their journey in the cargo hold, they had been thrown from wall to wall, almost got crushed by a loose box, and that this, while technically not being the worse thing they've ever faced, was definitely the most nerve wracking. Not to mention they were almost at the end of their time without Smoothers, and Mark could feel his paranoia slowly rising.

Instead, he murmured: "We're fine."

Veta offered him a soft smile, nodding in approval, before tapping her finger to her lips in an order for them to be quiet. Olivia nodded and Mark pulled the smaller girl into his side, slinking back out of the light cast under the shelving units from the overhead lights.

Ash stifled a worried noise as the door to the cargo hold opened and two pairs of boots walked past them, (not noticing them thank god), and opening the back of the ship: letting the ramp hid the ground (sand judging by the noise). There was some chatter, and the crackling of what sounded like a radio, before another few pairs of boots walked into the cargo hold, and began to remove the cargo from the shelves.

Mark closed his eyes and willed them to look away and ignore the four of them huddled under the shelves: arm wrapped tightly around Olivia. He could hear her heartbeat slow and even out, the illegal Augmentations kicking in and forcing their heartbeats to steady, and their minds to clear.

Listening carefully, Mark could hear the sounds of more voices: eight to be exact.

He did not like those odds.

As the boots drew back up the ramp, Mark prayed to nobody in particular, (although the image of 104 came to mind), that they would be ignored.

There was a moment of silence as the boots stood in front of them, inches away from where they were hiding. Mark held his breath and none of them dared move. None of them dared breathe.

"Do we need the third box?" Came the voice connected to the boots as something was placed on one of the shelves above their heads.
"Nah, we'll move it later. Foreman's orders." Someone said nearby.
"Are you sure?"
"Sure enough."
"Can I get a percent on that?"
"Just leave the box, would you."

Ferret Team exhaled in relief as the heavy work boots withdrew down the ramp and walked off across the sand. Mark felt his heart's rhythm return to normal, and his hearing popped back in.

Veta waited for a beat, before sliding out from under the shelving unit, gently pulling Ash out after her: brushing him down gently before kneeling to help Olivia and Mark get out from under the unit. They slid to their feet and let Veta dust them down, although their once white clothing was now not as white, but it was close enough.

Gently, Olivia punched Ash in the shoulder and mouthed, 'See? Right as rain.'

Ash offered a small smile and Mark sighed gently in relief.

Maybe this-

Before anyone could move, a new voice came from outside the ship:"Where's the third box?"

Mark froze, eyes widening as another pair of boots walked up: coming from along the side of the ship. Ash made a pained noise but Olivia clasped a hand over his mouth just in time to muffle it.

"You said we didn't need it!"
"Damnit Fives, you need to show up to the morning meeting's more. Plans changed. We're drilling today.."

There wasn't enough time to get back under the shelving units, and there was no where else to hide. Mark's heart raced. His scars itched.

"Well maybe if you made the meetings more interesting-"
"Oh hush. Let's just get the damn box."
"Fine. I left my hard hat in there anyway."
"You are so lucky I left my notebook back at the tent. I could write you up for not wearing the proper safety equipment, you know."
"You've gone mad with power, Vod."

As the boots drew up the ramp, Mark didn't think. He grabbed the hardhat off the shelving unit, sparing a second to test the weight in his hand, before he hurled it with all his strength at the stunned man now standing in the cargo hold with a dumbfounded look on his face.

And for the second time in so many days, Hardcase was out like a light.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen: Is it just me?

(Galactic Standard Calendar)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 11am.
Current Objective: Lunch.

"Is it just me, or are they staring at us?" Cody looked up from his pastry to see what Kix was talking about.

The gardens of the palace were beautiful at this time of day with the warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the leaves, spilling across the grass and catching on the fountain in the middle of the clearing.

Obi-Wan had suggested that the kids have some time outside, since their first 'talk' had proved they missed the outdoors, and Din had readily agreed, sending Cody and Kix along for the day to make sure they didn't hurt themselves, and to be close by if they were allergic to something in the picnic basket the kitchens had passed along.

Cody, Kix, and Obi-Wan were sitting under the shade of a nearby tree, while Blue Team - as they called themselves - were seated on a picnic blanket not too far away. In direct view of the adults since the knowledge that their parents were still wandering around gave everyone anxiety, especially Obi-Wan.

Something about the Force. Cody wasn't smart enough to figure that out, he left that to his more than capable husband, thank you very much.

Cody furrowed his brow when he realised that Fred and Kelly were staring at them with hauntingly bright eyes. The sunlight seemed to reflect of them kind of like a Loth Cats would when they caught the light just right. Their lunches were abandoned in their laps (sandwiches complete with sliced fruit and yogurt, paired with some other snacks and pastries deemed safe enough for them to eat), in favour of watching them carefully.

Obi-Wan waved at the two kids, who waved back, before spinning around and launching into an animated conversation with the rest of their team, who listened in immediately.

"Well, they seem okay." Obi-Wan said as he leaned back and took a bite of his Tiingilar, humming in approval.

Cody nodded slightly and turned back to his food, conversing lowly with Kix in Mando'a about when they could next get their brothers together, to which Obi-Wan readily agreed to let them host it at their apartment, and Cody fell in love all over again upon hearing his husband speak Mando'a in that lovely voice of his. Kix just rolled his eyes and shoved the rest of his bread roll into his mouth, ignoring the love-struck looks the two gave each other.

--

Blue Team waited as Linda carefully observed Kix and Cody, her eyes calm and her breathing slow as she examined them.

After a moment or two, she nodded.

"Brothers." She declared, before returning to her meal, ignoring the vindication on Fred's face and the disgruntled annoyance on James.

"This doesn't mean I accept defeat," James grumbled before passing his yogurt cup to Fred, who looked very pleased with himself. "Lucky guess."

Fred rolled his eyes, peeling off the seal on the yogurt with a smug look. "If it makes you feel better, 005."

With a scoff, James turned to John with a 'can you believe this?' look on his face.

John, of course, was busy in an aptly named game of 'Stare Down' with Sam, and didn't react at all when James' turned to him. The two SPARTANs' had been in a perfect standstill for two minutes and counting. It was a game they only played when away from others, since a lot of SPARTAN 'games' often scared or freaked out people who weren't in the know about it, not to mention the games were mostly designed for SPARTAN's to play, not unaugmented people.

Stare Down, for instance, was a game designed to be played in silence: aboard Pelicans, at mealtimes, even during training (John used to play Stare Down with Kelly while the two were planking in the gym, just because). It had started as a way to fix arguments: the person with the most patience won through sheer dedication, and eventually it became more of a fun thing to do to pass the time when waiting in silence. Then, it became a game, and during deployments, even years after Basic, John would find himself engaged in a game of Stare Down with Fred or Kelly while on a long flight. (You never played Stare Down with Linda, she always won).

Sam twitched just slightly - a curving of his lips into a smile - and the game was over. The two shook hands before turning back to the group.

"- you have to admit the resemblance is uncanny." Linda said softly between bites of her pastry, which smelled ever so slightly of chili, or the equivalent here, she supposed.

James rolled his eyes and shifted to lean back on his hand: fingers curling into the grass. "Are we still on this?"

"Yes." Was the immediate response from everyone. James rolled his eyes again.

Kelly turned and smirked at Sam, who was digging into his lunch, passing John a slice of fruit as payment for winning the game. "He beat you again?"

Sam shrugged absently, "John's always been better at Stare Down than me."

Fred huffed softly, "Well, he does have, what? 20 years' experience on you-"

Immediately, he closed his mouth with a click. Brow furrowed. Eyes pained.

The silence was heavy, and it lasted for what felt like forever: long enough for Kelly to slip her hand into Sam's and spoon in Fred's hand to warp from his white knuckled grip, anyway. John's eyes darkened for a moment, and his fingers twitched in his lap: body held impossibly tense. James didn't react at all; his eyes calm as ever - he and Linda locked eyes and the two shared a look.

"Why don't we play Toad then?" James offered, breaking the silence. "Sam has longer legs, it'll be easier for him to win."

Toad was a SPARTAN game too, and is as much as a memory game as it was a game about agility: someone would call out a series of instructions (cartwheel, handstand, flip, jump), and slowly, more elaborate instructions would be added onto it (cartwheel, handstand, flip, jump, jump, barrel roll, cartwheel, handstand, jumping jack, hit the deck), and whoever the last person standing was won.

The game had started during a slow day of training in the gym, when Kurt proposed that whoever could do a handstand the longest could use the treadmills first, and Daisy won with a shocking half hour long handstand. William had asked if she could do a cartwheel, and she did six of them in a row just to prove she could. Immediately, everyone was having a go at it, with someone (John) shouting instructions, and the game was born.

None of them had played it in so long, not since before their Augmentations. They had been too busy with, in Sam's case, dying, and in everyone else's case, war.

Sam scoffed, mock offended. He placed a hand over his heart and dramatically leaned on Kelly, "We're onto pity games now, are we?"

Just like that, the silence slipped away again, and conversation flowed easily between the six of them. Although if John's gaze lingered on Sam's chest, right where his death sentence had been signed, (When you inevitably drop the ball, you're going to be responsible for what happens next.), no one said anything.

--

"Right, what do we know?" Din asked once everyone from his council (plus Ragnar, Fennec, Koska, Ax, and Cara), was seated at his dining table, not including Kix, Obi-Wan, or Cody, who were supervising the kids in question down in the gardens.

Even The Armourer was in attendance, seeing her self-imposed isolation had come to an end: she still smelled of metal and fire, and something about it made Din nostalgic for the tunnels where he grew up.

"They've been trained well," Boba started from where he was sharpening one of the cooking knives. He stood in the kitchen, helmet sitting up on the island, his cloudy gaze focused and calm. Boba had been grumpy ever since his knives had been taken, as he had grumbled several times, they were his good knives - hand made by someone on Tatooine - and he was getting his annoyance out by polishing and shining every single knive in Din's drawer, which Din let him have at. "Trained very well."

Paz hummed in ready agreement, arms folded over his chest, "Their form is excellence, and I have no doubt that if they were older, hell, if they wanted too, they could have killed me." He nodded around the table. "Could kill any of us."

Luke folded his fingers together, looking much better than he had been in a while, the sickness was slowly wearing off: good thing too, just in time for Grogu's birthday. "The Force covets them. Protects them from things." He offered no explanation, and no one asked for one: they knew better. Although Boba did mutter something about 'Force Osik' from the kitchen, but it was muffled by the sound of him sharpening the knives.

Bo-Katan narrowed her eyes slightly, fingers twitching against her arm as she considered the question she felt most important, "What about their guardians? What do we do about them?"

The atmosphere darkened considerably in a split second, and Luke excused himself to check on Grogu - it was never smart to be in a room with a bunch of angry Mandalorians, after all.

"From what I've seen," Ax said carefully, eyeing the others at the table carefully. "These kids have been on the receiving end of negligence at best, or abuse at worst."

From the way the kids stand, to the way they're constantly checking everyone and everything as soon as they walk into the room - like the next person to come through the door was going to try and kill them - just screamed that something wasn't quite right.

During their stay in the medical ward, Kix recorded John's injuries the best he could with the time the glance over exam had allowed him, and it even that turned up some disturbing results.

The scars stretched down John's spine, across his ribs, down his chest to the bottom of his feet, spanning across his arms, and even down to the tips of his fingers. Not to mention that from the brief moments the medic had seen the kids with their sleeves rolled up, he knew the other shared John's scars, and had recorded that too, along with some very, very choice words that Din didn't want to repeat aloud.

"I know what we do." Cara declared, placing her cup on the table with a feral grin. Her fingers twitched against the table, itching to grab her gun and go berserk. "We find 'em, and we kill them with our bare hands."

The resounding noise of 'Oya' was echoed even by The Armourer, who was smiling beneath her helmet.

It had been so long since she had been on a hunt. She was going to enjoy this.

--

Lunch had been lovely, so it was no wonder that as soon as Kix returned to the ward, all Hel hit the fan.

Firstly, Hardcase was back with what was likely a concussion. His helmet (brand new) was caved in, and he would have a lovely bruise there the next morning. Kix instructed a nurse to keep an eye on him, knowing that Jarl would otherwise keep his caretaker awake and alert until the danger was passed.

With that taken care off, Kix moved onto the second problem.

What felt like half the staff from Worksite 20 were crammed in the ward: some had bloody noses and split lips, others had wounded prides, and (Kix had to do a double take when he saw this), some of them had bite marks running along their hands and arms.

Okay, no problem. Kix handled worse in the war. He delegated another set of nurses to patch them up and send them home.

Then, there was the third problem.

Sitting between Fives and Echo, was three young children (no older than six or seven), eating ice cream: the first had a bright blue band aid over his cheek and was kicking his feet happily as he started on the cone. The second kid was glowering at anyone who was straying too close to her or her ice cream, staring them down until they got the idea and (smartly) took a step or two back. The third kid was licking what looked like the remnants of a chocolate ice cream off his fingers, nibbling on the flake that had come with the sweet treat with a thoughtful hum.

Honestly? These kids were adorable, and if it weren't for the weird sense of deja vu he was suddenly feeling upon looking at their clothes (entirely all white - he wondered where he had seen that before), he might have sworn the Gai bal manda right there and then.

But that's where the fourth problem came in.

Standing behind the three (very cute) children, was a young teenage girl with black hair. She was also sporting a few brightly coloured band aids across her face and hands, and her bottom lip was busted: dried blood clinging to her chin.

If looks could kill, Kix would be dead: burnt to ash, destroyed in a thousand pieces. As would every member of Worksite 20, and the nurses who were quietly creeping closer, trying (and failing), to at least scan the potential patients currently standing (or sitting in the case of the kids), in their general admissions wing. It wasn't going well for them at the very least - the teen's eyes were thunderous.

"Okay," Kix suddenly said, catching everyone's attention. He could feel a headache coming on. "What the kriff happened here?"

--

"I like him." Mark declared as he finished licking the stickiness of his hands. "He looks sensible."

Veta hummed absently, watching as the man (potentially the head of the hospital, or at least some kind of doctor), was quietly dressing down the construction workers, specifically the man with the big tattoo on the side of his face, who looked thoroughly chewed out. "He does."

There was a moment or two of silence before: "Ash, darling, don't swing your feet when you're eating. You could choke."
"Yes Mum."

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen: Aliit ori'shya tal'din.

(Galactic Standard Calander)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 1pm.
Current Objective: Step back and plan. (Alternative Objective: What the actual fuck.)

Cody wasn't exactly sure how he got roped into walking (the so-called) 'Biting Blues' to the medical ward to see their maybe (pretty much confirmed) younger murder siblings(?) but walking them he was. He was relatively sure it was because basically every other person who might have been available was stuck in the medical ward due to getting into a fight with said younger murder siblings, who (in Kix's words) absolutely rocked their shit so badly, it'd send them all back to boot if their trainers were alive to see it.

Anyway, Cody got the kids out of their room at one sharp and had them in the elevator by two past - arriving at the ward by fifteen past just in time to see the ward at full capacity before Kix started booting people out at half past.

Needless to say, when the Blue's saw the sheer amount of people in the ward, Cody could see them making the mental connections, but he knew they hadn't quite come to the right conclusion yet. Then he saw them physically freeze, look around warily, then watched in amusement as their eyes landed on their equally stunned younger murder siblings, (minus the older girl, who might be an older murder sibling. As of now, unconfirmed, but Cody remains wary of potential biting attacks).

Their reaction confirmed in Cody's mind that they knew each other, but in what capacity he found himself suddenly unsure, judging by how John, James, and Sam stared, absolutely baffled, while Kelly, Linda, and especially Fred, leapt forward to check them over. The blond-haired boy and the black-haired girl leapt at them and the two parties collided in a tangle of limbs and panicked words.

The voices were overlapped and quick, neither side shutting up even as Fred patted the two down and tipped their heads this way and that to see any wounds that Kix might have neglected, (not possible, but Cody didn't mention it). It was only after Fred had checked them over, that he took a deep breath, and started yelling.

Kix couldn't find it in himself to ask him to shut up, too busy laughing behind his clipboard. No one else wanted to interrupt, judging by the way the injured recoiled in alarm at the prospect.

The blond boy was yelling back, looking torn between extreme frustration and absolute confusion. The black-haired girl was looking between Kelly and Fred with stunned bafflement in her eyes, like she was a wet Tooka staring up at its owner in despair at dripping water on its favourite toy, but Kelly just shrugged and wrapped her arms around the girls' shoulders, holding her back against herself, offering no explanation.

After four minutes of exaggerated arm movements and loud yelling, the Blond Boy yelled something at Fred that sounded so frustrated it almost physically pained Cody, and that had Fred yanking his translators out of his ear and off his throat to continue the yelling in their native language. (With plenty of curses, Cody was sure).

It was only when the black-haired boy stepped out from behind the curtain where he was hiding, that the argument ground to a halt: Fred's eyes widening with shock. The teen girl stepped up behind him and wrapped her arms around the younger boy, who looked close to tears.

Kelly made a wounded noise at the sight, and Linda pulled her translator off, turning to the other half of Blue Team and hastily explaining something that had John frowning, Sam blinking in shock, and James' face smoothing into something perfectly, carefully, neutral.

Cody and Kix shared a look over their heads, which was copied by the other people in the ward, especially the nurses who looked moments away from adopting everyone and saying the adoption vows right there and then.

"Excuse me, Mr Cody, sir?" Cody glanced down to see John staring at him, a deep look of 'not right' was settled on his face. "Is there somewhere private we can have this conversation?"

--

Veta ushered everyone into the office the nice man in white had pointed out, and closed the door with a soft click that seemed almost eardrum bursting loud in the sudden silence that engulfed everyone.

Mark was still pressed into her leg, hands kneading the fabric of her pants. He looked both on the verge of tears and running away to hide in the woods somewhere - only one of those things she condoned, and it wasn't the woods thing.

Fred looked like he had aged twenty years in the twenty seconds he had been reunited with the Ferrets, but Veta could see the gears turning in her head: ticking over slowly as he came to terms with everything. Veta almost felt bad for him, but she was already feeling bad about everything else wrong with the galaxy in the current moments, and she did not have time to add him to her already packed plate.

"I'm sorry, can I just- yes, hello-" Veta glanced at Olivia, who was pointing to the three boys none of the Ferret's seemed to recognise. "Who are you?"

The tall blond boy with blue eyes arched an eyebrow, and the boy missing an arm huffed slightly while glancing at the brunette, whose eye twitched slightly at the amused looks that were suddenly sent his way.

"Well, John, why don't you introduce us?"
"You know James, you can be a real dick sometimes."

Almost on reaction, Veta clapped her hands over Mark's ears and Linda did the same with Ash.

"Prudes." Kelly and Olivia said as one, neither moving to cover the other SPARTAN's ears.

The John boy rolled his eyes, only to straighten into a perfectly military stance: "Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra-117, of the United Nations Space Command, at your service."

Ash's jaw dropped and Mark blinked in shock.

"YOU'VE GOT TO BE JOKING! YOU ARE THE MASTER CHIEF-" Olivia started only to have Kelly smack her hand over the younger girl's mouth to stop her ranting and raving.

"In the flesh," John said dryly, and suddenly Veta remembered all the stories Fred had shared about the (in)famous Master Chief and his terribly dry sense of humour. "Or, as much as I can be at the moment considering everything."

John? no feels weird to say - the Chief nodded to the boys beside him: "This is Sam-034, and James-005, SPARTAN's both declared MIA."

Sam did a quick salute and James followed, his calm eyes softening slightly as he regarded Ferret Team. It was almost adoring, like how Veta's father looked at her, but she quickly saw the look fade into something very collected and calm: blank, neutral.

No one seemed to want to mention the whole 'declared MIA' thing, which in UNSC terms normally meant 'KIA but ONI are a bunch of bastards and don't want to admit they got one of the war's poster children murdered', but seeing as they were clearly very much alive, Veta supposed it wasn't necessary to discuss labels. God knows how many hours she argued over Mark being declared MIA when he was very much dead, having had a funeral and everything, and yet, he was miraculously standing beside her right now: one hundred percent breathing.

Maybe it was just her not wanting to break whatever magic spell had been cast to bring back Mark, but she digressed anyway.

"Sir, it's an honour," Veta said softly. "And I think I speak for all of Ferret Team when I say that."

Olivia nodded emphatically, while Ash continued staring, slack jawed. Veta had to clear her throat to have both SPARTAN-III's snapping to attention: Mark still didn't move from her side, and Veta decided now wasn't the time to run drills or to push anything. She simply hoped the Chief would understand.

The older SPARTAN simply waved the salutes away, offering a slight (but awkward) nod. "No need, none of us are in uniform."

Veta spared a glance at Fred then, who seemed to be coming to a dawning realisation. He stepped forward and reached out for Mark, offering out his open and scarred hand as an olive branch, which the younger boy took quickly. Their fingers laced together, and Fred pulled Mark into his arms, holding him gently. They spoke softly for a moment or so, Fred's grip tightening with each kind word shared.

Eventually, Mark nodded and Fred swept him up into a tight hug, as if he never wanted to part again, and judging by the white knuckled grip Mark had on Fred's back, the feeling was mutual.

None of the other SPARTAN's said anything, not even the Chief. Even if he had, Veta realised she would have tackled him out the window: a fierce protectiveness bloomed in her chest. She had always been partial towards her SPARTANs - always one to jump in to defend them - but now the feeling had seemingly doubled for no reason. (She supposed the whole falling through time and space thing didn't help, but oh well).

"Well," Linda said softly, catching the attention of the whole room. "With introductions out of the way, how does some hot food and a good rest sound?"
"Mind my language, ma'am, but fucking heavenly."
"OLIVIA!"

--

Cody stared at John, and the boy (can you believe his audacity?), stared right back: unblinking.

"Let me get this straight," the former Commander started in a soft voice, "You want me to smuggle your siblings out of the medical ward so you can smuggle them into the palace?"

John slowly nodded, not breaking the stare. "Yes, sir, that is correct."

"And you want me to lie to the Chief Doctor - a terrifying man, mind you - on your behalf?"

"Yes, sir, that is what I am asking."

Cody resisted the urge to sigh, he felt far too old when he did. "Fine, but on one condition."

John didn't react at all as he asked: "And what's that sir?"

"You let me alert the palace guard, so no one loses their shit."

"Sounds like a plan, sir."

As John walked away, Cody found himself thinking: 'Manda bless the youth and their confidence, Force knows they will need it.' He then winced as he saw Kix walk over. 'Force knows I'll need it.'

--

With the night winding down, Mark found himself completely drained. Who knew dying and coming back was so emotionally stressful? He sure didn't. That was until now, anyway. The lovely stew that had been shoved into his hands at some point helped a great deal, but he still found himself slowly falling asleep with each minute he waited for the blankets on the floor to be arranged.

Why were they sleeping on the floor and not in the bunks? Mark was unsure, but from what little he cared enough to pay attention too, Linda had a very particular way of doing things and had been shaking her head the past few minutes each time the boys looked to her for confirmation, so the bed pile was getting delayed again and again until she was satisfied.

Finally, (FINALLY), Linda nodded, much to everyone's collective relief, and Mark was guided into the mess of pillows and blankets. He was loathe to admit it, but Linda certainly knew how to make a great floor bed, and he found himself slowly beginning to doze off.

Veta was pressed into Mark's right side, and Fred was on his left: his head lying next to Ash's and his legs tangled with Olivia who was falling asleep in Kelly's arms. John - no, feels weird - Chief was draped over James' and Sam, eyes shut, but Mark found it impossible to know if he was actually sleeping, he was so still anyway: heartbeat so slow it was barely there.

That slow thump, thump, thump of Chief's heartbeat was what lulled Mark into the first steps of Sleep, and just as he was slipping into blissful unconsciousness, Ash shot up and blurted out: "Fuck! Our smoothers!"

And suddenly, Mark was very much awake, even before Veta snapped out, "Language!", and the room descended into chaos.

So much for sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nineteen: (Don't) Panic. (No, seriously, don't).

(Galactic Standard Calander)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 5pm.
Current Objective: Step back and plan. (Alternative Objective: What the actual fuck!?) (PT 2, electric boogaloo).

Din woke up to chaos.

Blearily getting out of his incredibly warm bed - apologising to a very annoyed Luke all the while - he fumbled for his comm, bringing it too his ear, and immediately regretted it.

Kix was yelling. Cody was yelling. Obi-Wan sounded like he wanted to be yelling. Someone sounded like they wanted to cry: Din slightly felt like joining in, but that wasn't very kingly of him, so reluctantly he slumped out of bed, yanked on his helmet, and stomped out of the room. (Keeping his footsteps light as he could as to not wake Grogu. He knew Luke was already awake, and Din got the horrible feeling he was going to get his ass handed to him next time they sparred. He thought it was kind of hot, but that's not important right now).

Din stepped into the hallway of his wing, meeting with Paz, who was also now wide awake, clutching a comm unit that was creaking under the pressure from his grip. The two shared a long-suffering look: the work of the mighty never end, or however the saying goes. Something, something, Din is really tired someone give him a cup of Caf.

"What's going on?" He asked blearily, cracking his back before attaching the Darksaber to his belt. It was positively vibrating with excitement, which really couldn't be good.

Paz yawned as they walked into the elevator, adjusting his armour and weapons so he was prepared for anything which was chronically he had always done. Din thought it was very Mandalorian of him, "No idea. Your guess is as good as mine."

The two shared another look, helmets tipping slightly in the same direction.

Finally, Din turned and punched in the override code for the elevator, and Paz jabbed the button for the floor where the 'Biting Blues' were currently residing.

"Today is going to be a long day."
"Oya."

--

Sam was too old, (young? time travel fucking sucks. Time travel? What is this nonsense- you know what, leave the thinking to the higher ups, at least they get paid for it), to be dealing with this right about now.

He stood between Cody and Obi-Wan, watching as the argument intensified between Veta and Fred, and the yelling between everyone and everybody else slowly began to overlap the angry bickering. To be fair, he wasn't sure what he was looking at right now, the SPARTAN mind wasn't adept at dealing with social situations after all, especially not when tired and running of the dying dregs of adrenaline. Sam liked to compare it to the feeling one gets when looking at the gross tasting, kind of cold, final mouthful of coffee in the bottom of a mug.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY HAVE LLEGAL AUGMENTATIONS?!"

Sam glanced passively over at Cody, who was on the comm too someone, talking fast while Obi-Wan was assuring the Ferrets, wrapping them in blankets from the shelf. The kids looked half traumatised, perhaps they kind of were. This, (whatever 'this' is), sounded like a nightmare. Not that Sam would care, he's been dead for, (years? days? decades?) awhile.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN ILLEGAL?! AND WHY DO YOU THINK I KNOW!?"

Maybe it was a good thing he died when he did, it certainly kept him from the paperwork logistics nightmare. If there was something SPARTAN's really hated, it was sitting still. Linda was the exception, not the rule, but Sam knew even she got antsy after a while, even if 'a while' for her was four months, when it was four minutes for any other SPARTAN. (Four seconds when made to sit down and do paperwork).

"BECAUSE YOU'RE MORE OF A SPARTAN THAN ME!"

Now this sounded interesting.

"Oh for- VETA!?"
"FRED?!"

No, never mind, back to nonsense.

Kix shifted in the corner of Sam's eye, and he turned to watch the medic scan the Ferrets, (such a cute name. Sam wishes he'd seen a real ferret before he died, shame, guess his cute distant maybe cousins, related by shared trauma, will have to do), with a weird device he half remembered Kix using on John when they first came into the medical ward. That felt like an eternity ago, when it was only a couple of days. God. Time fucking sucks.

"- yes, I'm so sorry, we need to-"

Obi-Wan has a lovely voice, Sam realised. He should start a band. Maybe Linda could join him, she also has a lovely voice.

Sam glanced at the main argument again, and realised Fred also has a nice set of vocals as well, if he ever stopped yelling long enough to do anything with it.

--

"Why were you guys here to begin with?" Kix asked the Ferrets, not worrying if they could understand him or not - the emotion would carry over through his voice and actions- brow furrowed with worry, patting them down and checking for any physical marks, even though Kelly had tried to explain that it was more mental than physical, but they had both agreed it was better safe than sorry. "I directly told the nurses' to keep you in the medical ward for examination!"

Kelly silently looked at Cody, and Kix slowly followed her gaze to see the bronze skinned man (maybe his brother) pale slightly.

"Cody-"
"Not now, Doctor."
"Oh, it's Doctor now, is it, Commander?"

Cody closed his eyes: seemingly counting to ten, and Kelly almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

But one of the things about being a SPARTAN was learning not to hold yourself accountable for others idiocy. As Chief Mendez said, 'don't feel bad when a moron ignores the signs at the zoo and gets eaten by crocodiles,' he'd then throw a live grenade at them. Good times.

Kelly missed Chief Mendez more than she should. He had always been a rock for the SPARTANS, and she still remembers when he left, and how she had lain awake that night, feeling completely alone. Everything had felt like it was changing, and change was dangerous: change meant the possibility of getting your team killed, change meant things became unpredictable. Kelly was old enough now to look back and know that those emotions had been a young soldiers' thoughts, that she had been afraid, and that was what it was.

"Kelly? What are they yelling about?" Ash suddenly asked: trembling slightly, eyes nervous.

Popping her translation device off her throat, Kelly explained that Fred and Veta were arguing about their augmentations, (which was worrying even for Kelly. She wanted to go and dig up Kurt's body and throttle him), but that it came from a place of care, and it wasn't their fault. Not at all.

Ash nodded and rubbed his eyes; he looked so tired. Kelly patted his shoulder gently and wrapped the blanket back around him. She wasn't great with children, but SPARTAN's stuck together. It didn't matter if you were a Gen-II, a Gen-III, or a Gen-IV, at the end of the day SPARTAN's were SPARTAN's, and they helped each other out no matter what.

"I've never seen them yell like this before," Ash said softly, "The closest they ever got to... this, was on Mark's birthday."

Just then, something snapped into place in Kelly's head. "Wait, how old are you guys?" "I was 20 before I woke up in this body. Olivia was 21, and Mark was 20 when he- you know."

Kelly swore her brain short circuited as she stared at Ash, kind of stunned. Slowly, she held out her hand and hovered it out over Ash's head. "Woah."

Ash shared a look with Olivia, who also looked stunned.

"Is that... odd to you?" Olivia asked, sounded kind of amused.

Kelly nodded slightly, holding out a single finger before glancing over at Linda and waving her over. "Take a random guess: How old do you think they were before we all got here?" Linda hummed softly, "I don't know. 16?" Kelly shook her head slowly, pointing to Ash with a calm look, "20." Linda arched an eyebrow, eyeing Ash head to toe in surprise. "Really now?"

Ash threw his hands up, "Oh, come one! We're not that small!" From where he had been listening in nearby, James snorted: "I mean, you kind of are. Look are you! I could pick you up and I only have one arm."

Ash folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes up at the older SPARTAN: "Prove it!"

Shrugging, James stepped forward, "Alright, munchkin, arms up."

--

When Din and Paz finally arrived at the scene, they were faced with utter chaos.

"Are there more of them now?" Paz asked, stunned. He placed his hand on the door to stop it from sliding closed and waited for Din to do a headcount. "I swear there was only six of them this morning." Din lowered his hand and nodded dumbly. "There's ten." Paz choked on his own tongue and muttered: "When did we get four more ade?"

They let their eyes skim across the group, when: "Oh Manda above they are tiny. Look at them!"

Din let himself look and stared at the tiny ad currently slung over James' shoulder. He was adorable, wrapped in a blanket which was half hanging off his lean form: white sleeves rolled up to reveal the same scars the Biting Blues had. Din's eyes then skimmed across the other three Ade, two of which shared the same scars, and the third of which was clearly older: she was also yelling at Fred, who was yelling back at her, arms thrown up in indignation.

John was standing nearby, trying to diffuse the situation, while Linda was trying to get the ad in James' arms down without breaking anything: themselves or otherwise.

"Kriff," Whispered Paz. "Where to start?"

Luckily, someone bet them to it.

--

"Hi! Hello, sorry!"

Fred clicked his mouth shut and looked over at Olivia. Veta followed his gaze, everyone did, it seemed.

The younger SPARTAN, now with everyone's attention (Cody, and Kix, included), stuck her arm out from under her blanket cape and pointed at the King who had mysteriously materialised in the doorway, accompanied by the man Fred had bitten in the woods. "Who's the fucker in the cape?"

--

Whatever the young ad had said certainly shut the room up, and for that, Din was grateful. But judging by the red face of the ade, it really must have been good.

"What did she say?" Din found himself asking John, who's lips were pressed tightly together as if to either stop himself from laughing or cursing, both seemed apt for his expression. "I don't think I'm not allowed to repeat curse words to royalty, your highness."

Din waved his hand slightly, not feeling like unpacking that. He weakly offered: "Please, just call me Mando." But was cut off when the girl who had been arguing with Fred turned and glowered at him, saying something that sounded vaguely too snarky to be kind, and then Fred rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"Sorry, why are there more of you?" Paz asked suddenly, and everyone glanced over at him. "Also, uh, hello... again."

Fred winced from behind the girl and James smirked, finally dropping the ad around his shoulders back onto his feet.

"Magic." James smirked and Linda smacked him in his side.

Din nodded slightly, slumping. "Right. Not the weirdest thing I've ever heard. Hardcase has certainly told me weirder over a round of drinks." "Whose Hardcase?"

"The man from the Worksite," Kix butted in, pointing to Kelly. "You stole his helmet," Then to Sam. "You dented said helmet," Then to Mark. "And you threw that helmet at him."

Realisation dawned on both their faces, except for Mark, who cocked his head in confusion. Linda whistled again.

John whipped around and stared at them, "Stole?"

Kelly held up her hands, "In my defence, you're half my impulse control, and you were unconscious at the time. It's kind of on you if you really think about it."

"I was dying!"

"Excuses."

Before anyone could start bickering again, the young girl threw up her hands and asked something to which John sighed and explained: "He's the ruler of the planet, the Manda'lores--"

As once, Paz and Sam corrected him: "Manda'lor."

John nodded tiredly, "Yes that."

The kids glanced blankly at him. John sighed. "I'll explain later."

Din dragged a hand down his face and then glanced at the time on his internal HUD. "It's too late for this argument."

Rolling his eyes, Paz said: "Please don't tell me you were already in bed."

Exasperated, Din cocked his head and grumbled: "It's been a long week, okay? Can we all just get back to sleep-"

A resounding cry came from the Biting Blues, startling everyone in the room: "NO!"

Startled and very caught off guard by the sudden cry, Din held out his hands, hoping to ease the situation, "Easy now, ade no need to yell. What's wrong?"

In a rush to make sure no one interrupted, Fred explained: "The Ferret's need their medication or they'll go insane!"

With a neck snapping ferocity, Kix spun around and barked out exactly what all the adults were thinking: "WHAT!?"

--

Quietly, so no one could hear, Paz asked: "The Kriff is a Ferret?"

--

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty: Ja'pir

(Galactic Standard Calander)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 5pm.
Current Objective: God please don't eat that.

Kix was nothing if not an excellent medic, and he had control of the situation in under a minute.

Firstly, he calmed Fred down enough to hear the full story, which went something like this: Ferret Team have an illegal augmentation which altered their frontal lobe. It enhances their aggression, and without a special drug nicknamed Smoothers, they suffer a mental decline. This includes severe paranoia, schizophrenic-like tendencies, and over time, they cease being able to tell friend from foe. (Here, Fred looked he wanted to provide an example but decided against it after he and the girl, Veta, shared a look).

Next, as any sensible person will do, Kix rushed them all down to the medical bay for a full check-up. The nurses were already on standby and as soon as the doors slammed open, they were leaping into action.

Scans were done. Blood samples drawn. Histories written down. Heartbeats recorded. DNA logged.

The older kids were slipping into whatever role needed off them: John organised everyone else seamlessly, and Din realised how proficient the boy was when in this domain, it was a marvel to behold - he just had everyone moving so well together. Sam was John's right hand: always ready to issue his orders, running from Blue to Blue to relay instructions as soon as John spoke them, keeping everyone informed. Kelly and James escorted the younger kids whenever they were made to split from the group: always a step behind them like silent shadows. Fred was updating the younger kids on everything, and, when he was finished doing that, he turned to John and grimly told him something in hushed whispers that even Din's helmet speakers couldn't pick up.

Whatever he told John had the older boy gritting his teeth and stalking off into an empty hallway: head down, hands tangled in his shaggy brown hair.

When he didn't return after a few moments, Din went after him, waving for Paz to take his place: pushing open the doors and quietly closing them behind himself - cutting the noise from the hospital ward off entirely. As he walked down the quiet hallway, he passed by a few nurses who asked him what he was after: Din explained in a quiet voice that he was just looking for a friend, and not to worry. The nurses eyed him warily, fully knowing he was one to jump the Medical Ward (a very Mandalorian habit), but whatever they were looking for, they didn't find, so Din was left to run down his missing Blue.

He found John tucked in a corner, forehead pressed to the white wall of the stairwell, hands curled into fists at his sides. He was breathing slow and steady, quiet as he tried to focus on his breathing.

"Kid- John?" Din asked gently, walking closer and adjusting the Darksaber clipped to his belt, which was positively vibrating with an emotion Din couldn't place.

Upon hearing his name, it’s like a switch flipped in John's head, and he straightens up: like a soldier standing to attention.

“Sir! Forgive me, I just-“ he cuts himself off, and Din knows that tone of voice. He knows because he’s felt the same way John does more than once in his life: the feeling of not knowing what you want. Din felt it lots in the early days of Mandalore's rebuild, that and the feeling of being stretched in every direction, trying to catch everything while balancing the load you already have.

Din quietly waves him off and leans against the wall beside him, watching John carefully out of the corner of his eye: all the emotions that warred on the young boy's face stirred something in Don’s heart. It reminded him that John was still a kid, a very young one at that.

“Do you want to talk about it?"

John seemed surprised at the offer, brow furrowing and a nerve jumped in his temple. He seemed to be thinking, before he slumped against the wall and slid to the floor. "I- I don't know if I can."
"Tell me what you feel like telling me, I promise not to push." Din gently said, shifting slightly to give John a little more space.

The boy scratched at his translation earpiece, which was buzzing in his ear slightly, before rubbing his eyes tiredly, then he buried his face in his hands as he spoke: "I was away for a while not so long ago, caught up in something I couldn't get out off- trapped, I guess." He paused for a moment, before continuing, his voice unwavering. "And when I was away, Fred had to handle Blue Team. He's a good leader, Fred, I wasn't worried about that. But I was worried about, well, what could happen to them when I was away."

John leaned back against the wall, hands on his knees, shoulders slumped. "What could happen when I wasn't around. Because I let down the team by not being there."

Din listened carefully, making sure not to give anything away in his body language, when all he really wanted to do was scoop John up in a hug and hold him tight. But something about John screamed that he didn't want to be touched at the moment, and Din didn't want to scare him away, not when they were just opening up to each other. "You feel responsible for them."

John nodded. "They're everything I have, sir. I don't know what I would do if I lost them too."

Those words struck something in Din's chest.

If I lost them too.

"You've lost people before?" Din gently asked, trying to sound as open as possible.

John didn't speak for a moment, picking at the stitches of his shirt. Din immediately regretted asking after a sensitive topic, but just before he could apologise, John quietly said: "Haven't we all?"

And it was there and then, that Din decided he would burn down the galaxy to find those responsible for hurting these children, and he would burn them too. Manda will it be true.

--

Kix checked his chart once, then twice, then finally a third time just to be sure.

"Good news," he said to the gathered members of Blue Team and Ferret Team (to him, they sounded like Military team names, Kix promised himself to look into it later), minus John, of course. "There are no abnormal readings."

The relief was immediate, with several of the kids slumping in their chairs, especially Veta: who had her hands over her face to hide the exhaustion clinging to her. Kix had seen her moving between speaking with several nurses about medical history (Ferret Team had a horrifyingly long history of broken bones, torn muscles, and internal bleeding, all things Kix swore to look into and bring up to the council, because if someone didn't adopt these kids to keep them out of trouble, by the Manda he was going to), and comforting Ferret Team, who looked moments away from collapsing back into sleep. They were shockingly calm about the needles, and machines, and scans, but it may just be because of the afore mentioned exhaustion: Kix checked his report again.

"There is one thing a little off," He lowered it to stare at Ferret Team in question, brow furrowed slightly. "You'll be needing to take Iron supplements. Looks like you're all low on it."

Veta uncovered her face to stare at Fred, who was translating everything Kix said from beside the doctor. She said something in confusion, and Fred relayed it: "She's asking if they're anaemic?"

Kix shook his head, mentally adding 'contact Din's university contacts about more translation devices' to his steadily growing list of things to do. "Not at all. It's nothing dangerous, just something I noticed."

The little blond boy, Ash if Kix's memory served correct, asked something which had everyone looking at Kix. "He's asking about the mental components. Regarding the Augmentation."

The Augmentations. Both Fred and Sam had confirmed that both Teams had special things called Augmentations, it explained their insane speed, accuracy, and strength (as seen by the chases through Site 20, and Hadcase's now twice over broken helmet), but also their body structures and why they could stretch and bend the way no one else in the galaxy Kix had ever seen could (as seen through their games in the garden, which Kix had originally chalked up to daily stretching). Fred had even demonstrated their excellent hearing, having stared at the nurse standing by the vending machine across the large medical ward, and repeating word for word her schedule for the day, and it was then that every one of the adults gathered around him had simultaneously realised why Blue Team had asked for eye and mouth protection, which pointedly, they were all wearing currently.

The Augmentations themselves showed up on Ferret Teams' X-Ray's as strange grey lines which the devices used to scan them couldn't identify. It was worrying, and Kix found himself adding 'call emergency meeting of the Council' to the top of his to-do list as he watched more of those grey lines pop up on their X-Ray's.

"The charts say nothing is wrong, but we'd like to keep you in overnight for observation." Kix explained, and Fred relayed it. No one seemed happy about spending another night in the hospital, but no one said anything, except for something snarky Sam said which didn't translate. "However, if what you say is true, and you've been almost 24 hours without a dose, I'd like to wager on something having cancelled out your Augmentations."

Kix wasn't quite sure if that was possible, but judging by the sudden quick discussion it sparked, it might just be true.

--

"Could it have been the portal?" Fred asked in a hushed whisper, finger tucked under his throat translation device to keep it from revealing what they were talking about. "Maybe it short circuited something?"
Veta frowned, tapping her finger to her chin as she considered this possibility, before eventually just asking: "Is that even possible?"
"Everything's possible, no matter how improbable." Sam shrugged slightly, pulling Mark up onto his knee, much to the tired boys delight: he seemed to have a fondness for the younger Ferret, and the two had bonded over their time in the medical ward, with Mark trailing after Sam whenever he wasn't being examined. "Even something as impossible sounding as this."

Olivia peaked out from around Linda's arm. "Does that mean we could lose our strength since it was given to us through our augmentations?"

That seemed to have everyone worried, judging by the frowns and confused glances they all shared. Even Linda was frowning.

"Well, if it was the portal, then it hasn't affected us, and we've been here longer than you." James explained in a gentle tone. "Maybe it's only that specific Augmentation?"

Linda shook her head. "That seems too specific."
James shrugged as he scratched his shoulder. "Just throwing stuff at the wall."

Glancing around, Kelly lowered her head to be back in the little ring they had incidentally formed. "Where's John?"
"He went out for a moment; I had to tell him about the caves."

Both James and Sam frowned at this.

"What do you mean, caves?" James asked slowly, narrowing his eyes at Fred who dragged a hand through his hair sheepishly.

"It's how we met Mom," Mark said softly. "The Gao Caves, with the weird murders going on there."

As one, James and Sam gasped, with Sam indicating at them all in vague shock: "Murders? What do you mean, Murders?!"

Veta rubbed her temples and Fred shushed them: "Now's not the time-"
"Nows as any good a time as any," John said tiredly as he walked over to join them, Kelly and Sam making a space for him to stand with them. He looked tired, but like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, even if it was a small one. "But you're right, we should probably stow it. Did the good Doctor give any updates while I was away?"

Kelly looped an arm around John's shoulders, thankful for his lucky timing. "They're in the clear but are being held for observation overnight. Did the royal highness say anything interesting?"
Instead of answering, John just tapped a finger to his lips, and the conversation picked up again on a different subject, this time with Sam explaining everything Kix had said to catch John up to speed.

"It's good news," John said after a time, folding his arms across his front. "Not the best news, but good news anyway. I'm sure none of us have any arguments about staying the night here again? Usual sleeping positions, although Veta, if you want to share the chair with Fred, that means we can fit everyone in one room-"

--

"Everything alright?" Paz asked as Din padded back over to him by the entrance to the lift, helmet cocked to the side.

"Just a small talk," Din assured, although he disproved himself by lifting his comm to his helmet and calling his council. "I'm calling an emergency meeting. Everyone up and awake, you have fourteen minutes."

Paz scoffed once Din turned his comm off. "What happened to its 'just a small talk'?"

Din shook his head gently, glancing over his shoulder to catch Kix and Cody's gaze, the two men looked worried, but resolute. "It really was a small talk, Paz. It's nothing. But I feel like we have some things to discuss."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-One: Together.

(Galactic Standard Calander)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 7pm.
Current Objective: Have faith.

Din's council, in the beginning, was simply two people closest to him, Paz and The Armourer. He trusted them with his life, and they him. They helped him navigate the complex world of Mandalorian Political drama: filling in the gaps of his knowledge. Then, Boba came along: he offered solid advice that helped Din bring the wayward clans back to their home world, and when it was needed, Boba could provide a really good bottle of whiskey.

For a while, Din was content with this council, although back then he didn't think of them as his council, more his advisors. They were the smartest people he knew after all, and the kid loved them, and they him in return.

Then, Din met Luke. The grey Jedi didn't originally belong to the council, he simply came to one of the meetings to clarify a few things wrong on a report, but eventually he found himself staying, to the objection of no one: he brought with him a clear head, not muddled with complex laws and Mandalorian expectations. Fresh blood, Boba said. It was only natural Obi-Wan came with him, and where Obi-Wan went, Commander Cody followed: a bronze shadow that protected both Jedi with his life. Him and Paz got along like a house on fire, and even to this day, they remain incredibly close friends.

Three more additions to the council meant their meetings had to be moved to a proper room, not the rickety table they had set up in the (back then), newly repaired throne room. Din liked to sit on the steps to the throne and clean his spear, but even he had to admit the new chairs in the meeting chamber were an improvement for his back. So, when Bo-Katan came along, she took her position at the table, bringing with her the publicity that would have everyone - for better or worse - paying attention to Mandalore if they weren't already.

Suddenly, the Senate was inviting them to peace talks, meetings, galas, and of course, the Senate itself.

Much to the shock of the Galaxy, Mandalore declined.

The Emperor may be dead, but the Senate was still corrupt, and Mandalore had no intention of walking into a razor wire lined trap. Then, Leia took her seat and unleashed the hounds of war to sniff out every shady action, every covered-up word - everything. She tore the Senate apart from the inside out and no one saw it coming. No one, that is, except Mandalore, who sat back and smiled at the chaos brought about by foolish politicians.

The final addition to the council was more one of respect than necessity.

Kix, from the moment Din had met the medic, terrified him. That man was a storm in white clothing: he was perfect.

And so, at last, the council was complete.

Paz. The Armourer. Boba. Luke. Obi-Wan. Cody. Bo-Katan. Kix.

Din's closest circle. His most trusted confidants. The only people in the galaxy who could tell Mandalore's king - the Manda'lor himself - the most brutal truths that no one else had the guts to. They made Din feel ramikadyc, like he could conquer anything.

So naturally, when he was faced with a situation unlike anything he's ever experienced before, Din would turn to them.

And as any good council would, they answered his call.
(Not that there was ever any doubt).

--

Mandalorians were never known to rage quietly.

More children? Young children? Bruised? Changed on a fundamental level?

Anyone normally not wearing a helmet made sure to bring one to avoid a traumatic head injury: even Luke slipped on his helmet to avoid having something heavy caving in his skull.

Once the rage settled down, the cool calm demeanour settled over all of them, and the planning began.

"We find the demagolka who have done this, and we ven piruni sur'haaise!" Paz declared firmly, hands curled into fists. He was shaking with rage. Ever since he had Ragnar, Paz's fatherly instincts had kicked up a notch and Din understood it in full. Mandalorians were already protective over children, but a parent's rage was truly something to behold. When Paz had seen the children in the forest that day, he had sworn he would help in any way he could. He could not imagine Ragnar in the same situation, and he cursed the monsters that pushed those children into hiding in the forests, scared of any adult, even those who simply wanted to help.

"Elek," Din confirmed, the Darksaber vibrating against his hip: reaching down, Din placed his hand over it to still the humming that emanated from it. Once it stilled, he removed it from his belt and placed it on the table with a hollow thump. "From what I have seen, and from what the ade have confirmed, something horrible is happening. Saying that, I no longer feel confident in letting the children sleep in the palace alone, knowing that whatever creature that did this is still out there makes me worry for their safety."

Luke carefully folded his hands under his chin and cocked his head, curious. "What do you propose?"

Din took a calm breath, "I believe it best we place them with a temporary cabur until we can resolve this situation."

The table broke out into soft murmurs over vocorders and helmet speakers, chatting quietly amongst themselves. Din held up a hand and the table fell quiet: silent as they waited for Din's next words, knowing that whatever he said would be important.

"We must decide as a council where to go from here." Simple words, but really, in truth, Din simply didn't know how to continue from here. On one hand, he wanted to keep the ade close to the palace where they can be safe and close to medical care in case anything popped up: they'd be together as a unit, and Din felt like the group wouldn't want to be split, nor did he feel any inclination to split the small aliit after all they had been through. But on the other hand, having a bigger support network in the community would help them: they'd have a clan that would look out for them, to train them, to provide their first pieces of armour, to protect them from whatever hurt them. Having said that, however, attempting to have ten children adopted as one group... let's just say the odds were a little farfetched even for Mandalorian standards.

More murmurs. More quiet discussion. More silent looks.

Obi-Wan leaned forward on the desk, catching everyone's' attention as he spoke: "At least one of the children is Force Sensitive, perhaps a proper test should be conducted? Maybe there would be a place for them at the temple-"

On the table, the Darksaber rattled in agitation: both Obi-Wan, and Luke winced at the noise. Whatever the ancient blade had said culled Obi-Wan's suggestion before it left his tongue.

"Maybe a group home? A bounty guild would be sure to accept a strong group of warriors looking for work-"
The Darksaber rattled again, prompting Din to place his hand over it. They waited for a moment before Din removed his hand and addressed Boba's question. "Maybe, but we cannot force the children to work as hunters, it sounds like they have had their fair share of fighting."
"Perhaps a temporary placement-"
With a thunderous crackle, the Darksaber ignited and everyone at the table leapt out of its way. Din made no effort to move, knowing that he had faced the glowing black blade away from himself: not to mention he's had far too many run ins with the stubborn sword to know it wouldn't really hurt him, or any of the council for that matter.

It was just being melodramatic.

"The ade must remain with you. Here. Fate is at hand."
"Could you maybe not talk in riddles for once?"
"They stay."

Din quietly sighed as the blade deactivated with a sizzle, leaving thin scorch marks running across the surface top.

The room was staring in silence.

"Any objections?" Din found himself asking, and when nobody raised their hand or voiced disagreement, Din sighed and sat back down in his chair, hooking the sword back to his belt. "Wonderful. The Children stay, but the hunt continues. Paz, Cody-" The two men perked up at their names, "-reach out to anyone you know can be discreet and ask a few questions, nothing much, just that you're investigating something of great important. Kix-" The medic lifted his head slightly as he sat back in his chair, running the tips of his fingers across his helmet now sitting in his lap. "-I'm sure your husband might know someone useful?"

Kix nodded the affirmative. "Pirate networks are no joke, sir. He'll find something."

Din nodded back. "Good. Mister Kenobi, do you still have Hondo Ohnaka's comm code by any chance?"

The Darksaber on Din's hip hummed softly, content. Its job was done. Now all that was left was for it to wait and see.

--

"I'm sorry."

Veta lifted her head from her pillow to see Fred wide awake beside her, staring at the ceiling. His brow was slightly furrowed; lips pressed in a firm line. She cocked her head to the right as she watched Fred through the gloom of the darkness. "What for?"

Fred's face was a mask of guilt as he quietly murmured: "For yelling earlier, I didn't mean to raise my voice. It was wrong of me."

Veta hummed softly as she learned over, closing her eyes and resting her head against his chest, much to Fred's surprise, whose arms hesitantly wrapped around her to hold her against his chest. Because they were sleeping on the floor, Fred didn't mind sprawling his legs out to hold her more comfortably: one of his arms tucked under his head. "I know. I'm sorry too."

The two stayed in silence for a moment: listening to the heart monitors connected to Ferret Team, feeling the warmth of each and the peace they felt together. The universe felt right, even if they were asleep on the vinyl floor of an alien kingdom's hospital, with their Ferret's hooked up to machines just in case they suddenly go insane. But if you ignored that, everything felt almost normal again.

"What do we do now?" Veta found herself quietly asking, and Fred, for once, found he had no answer.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Two: Vercopa.

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown Location, Unknown system.
Unknown Time.

If anyone asked, SPARTAN's do not have nightmares.

They were soldiers: strong, fierce, and super in all the ways. They didn't do something as simple as have a nightmare: when they woke up screaming in the middle of the night, it was a security check, not a nightmare. When they couldn't sleep in fear of seeing their dead teammates faces, it was alertness, not a nightmare. When the world faded at the edges, and exhaustion weighed them down - they did not sleep, and they most certainly did not dream.

If you asked a SPARTAN, they would say the same.

'We don't dream often,' but that does not mean they don't dream sometimes. Dream of better days, of better battles.

Of better outcomes.

Sometimes, very rarely, when SPARTAN's are alone - entirely alone, with no one but each other for miles - they would speak of what they see when they sleep.

Sam knew that each of his teammates had dreams, they liked to pretend they didn't, but they did. Even back in basic training - night one of the program - they had dreams: dreams of betterment, dreams of helping others, dreams of home. But as they got older, many SPARTAN's stopped dreaming: they simply wouldn't let themselves fall into those night cycles, it wasn't productive, nor was it helpful to the missions they were on.

Then the augmentations happened.

Overnight, half of the brothers and sisters were gone. Half of that half were dead. The other half crippled and unable to walk. Sam never saw any of them again. (He lately found himself wondering that, if he had lived, would he have ever seen their faces again?).

The funerals came and went, the 'washouts' were escorted away, and that's when the dreams came back: but they weren't dreams anymore. They were nightmares.

Sam still remembers the nights where he would crawl into John's bunk: tangle their damaged bodies together and listen to his heartbeat just to remind himself that they were alive. Others weren't, but they were, as small an achievement as it was. When you are a SPARTAN, you take the small wins when you could get them.

The nightmares ebbed and flowed, coming and going: some nights Sam would be trapped alone in the void of space, heart racing, oxygen dropping, and no way out. Other times, he'd be running after the ghosts of his fellow SPARTANs, only to be made to watch them get gunned down by men in familiar uniforms: insurrectionists. Those were the nightmares that had Sam shooting awake, stumbling for the bathroom so he could vomit and gasp for breath.

Those were the nights when Kelly would silently lock the barracks door and sit with him on the floor of the bathroom: knees touching, hands linked. John would guard the door: a silent presence.

Those were the nights where Sam came closest to crying. But he refused time and time again. SPARTAN's do not cry, after all.

Those were the nights where Sam felt closest to his SPARTANs, even though they were miles away, ships and planets apart: it was in those low moments, that he swore he could feel his other SPARTANs as if they were right next to him. Fred - before Sam even went on a real mission with him - was training in the gym: Sam could feel his heartbeat against his skin. Linda was meditating planets away, peering down the scope of her sniper, waiting for the perfect shot: Sam could hear her humming. Solar systems away, Sam knew that his brothers and sisters were sleeping, some having nightmares, others, dreams, others, nothing at all.

But, if Sam had to pick a second night where he felt closest to his SPARTANs, it would be right now.

The Ferrets, (Sam always wanted little siblings), were curled up in beds spanning across three curtained off areas, although Fred had quietly adjusted the blinds just before he went to sleep, so they created one large area where everyone could see everyone. They looked so small compared to the pillows and blankets which just seemed to swallow them. Small wires were attached to their wrists and heads to monitor them closely, just in case, so they were all sleeping on their backs.

Beside Ash, Veta and Fred were tangled up on the floor: Veta using Fred's arm as a pillow, and Fred with his head slumped against the vinyl floors, not caring about how uncomfortable it was, SPARTAN's had slept in worse places. Sam didn't know much about Veta, but from the details Fred had provided, she was basically an honorary SPARTAN, she certainly had the skillset and the mindset. Not to mention she was the one that had taken care of Ferret Team when they were working all those years, and taking care of one super soldier, not to mention multiple, was certainly a feat.

Sam imagined they were dreaming about home, Fred about the forests of Reach, and Veta about her home aboard the ship with the Ferrets. That's what he imagined their homes were.

Beside Olivia, Kelly and Linda were draped in the terrible plastic hospital chairs and dead asleep: James' head rested on Lindas knee, hand twitching in his lap quietly. All three of them were breathing quietly and if Sam couldn't read them so well, he would say that they were dead because of how little they were moving - minus James' hand.

James, Sam knew, would be dreaming about the climbing frame back at Basic, he recognised the flexing grip they used to climb that huge wall: the way your fingers would go numb from the cold if you didn't. Linda would be dreaming about quiet fields and babbling brooks. Kelly, Sam liked to guess, would be dreaming off their first ride in a Pelican, how John had hijacked it and flown them all to safety.

Finally, Sam was sitting in the chair beside Mark's bed: a thin blanket draped over his lap and the stolen knife slid up his sleeve. The cold metal was biting his skin, and keeping him awake, not that Sam minded, he was on watch after all. John sat across from him, arms folded across his chest, head slumped down.

John wouldn't be dreaming of anything. Sleeping for him was the one time he could shut off his mind and not have to think.

"Do you think we'll be able to go home?" Mark suddenly asked, and it took all of Sam's training not to whip around and throw the knife at the younger SPARTAN. His heart was still racing as he considered the question.

It was a good question, and Sam was never the smartest SPARTAN. He was good with explosives, guns, and numeracy, he wasn't good at reassurance. But the look on Mark's face gave him pause. It was a sort of desperate 'wanting to know' but also, 'I need to be told it's okay', but there was a slight, 'please don't leave me alone' that flashed across his face in quick succession. So, Sam swallowed his nerves and quietly told him: "I don't know. But we have to try."

Mark stared at him for a moment, then nodded, returning to picking at his blanket. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay."

They lapsed back into silence, and Sam kept looking at John, since there wasn't much else to look at.

"How did you die?"

Mark's head shot up and he stared at Sam in shock: "Neck snapped. How did you-"
"Fred told me."

The younger SPARTAN ducked his head, embarrassed. "Right, sorry."
Sam paused then confirmed, "And because I'm the same." At Mark's curious, and awed look, Sam shrugged: "I hugged a nuke."

The silence didn't feel suffocating, it felt more freeing, like they had realised in that moment just how alike the two of them were, and at the same time, how different. Whatever brought them back made sure of that. They were not the same people they were before, but at the same time, they remained unchanged.

"Do you hear it too? The song, I mean." Mark asked softly, thinking to the drumming in his ears he had heard during the scuffle with the men at the worksite: over and above the shocked yelling and yelps from whenever Mark's teeth sank into something soft and squishy.

Sam nodded slowly: "It sounds liminal, but at the same time, like drums? I don't know how to explain it."

Mark shrugged lightly, smiling slightly under his mop of unruly black hair: "I understand, don't worry."

And for the first time in a really long time, Sam feels like someone really does understand, and for the first time in a really long time, when he fell asleep, he didn't dream of broken bones and scream filled white hallways, nor did he dream of bloody battlefields and the sticky red that covers his hands. No.

He dreams from the top of a cliff, he steps over the edge: he falls, and he flies.

--

As the sun rises over the Dome, the SPARTAN's drag themselves out of bed, ushering the Ferrets into the elevator, where Sam strips the wires and overrides the elevator, (after lots of trial and error since literally every wire is the same colour), and they wander into the dining hall just as the morning sunlight begins streaming in through the large windows.

John pads up to the counter and explains they're here for breakfast, before asking for ten trays. The workers give each other amused looks, before nodding and handing over the required trays, leaving the kids to the mercy of the pick-and-choose breakfast options.

The SPARTAN's are relatively uncaring at the possibility of being allergic to something, considering they can eat and drink most poisons no problem, so John lets them off their 'leashes' so they can go and examine the options. Although it goes unsaid, he does tell Blue Team and Veta to keep an eye on them, just in case.

Ash as the tallest sees over the glass no problem, while Olivia and Mark team up to examine the options: with Mark kneeling and letting Olivia stand on his knee. Veta just rolls her eyes and wanders over to lift Olivia up so she can see, with Ash smirking at Mark before doing the same, much to both the Ferret's chagrin. They look like kittens being manhandled by their parents, and it makes James snort with laughter as he grabs his own tray, passing by them with a smirk at Ash, who looks annoyed at realising James' was right with his earlier assessment.

Breakfast consists of the universally available bread, fruit, and variants of the Jello cup-like things from a few days ago. There are also several meats available which John and Fred shrug at before placing on their trays: it doesn't smell bad, quite the opposite actually.

Everyone avoids the spice options, and Sam regrets leaving his eye protection up at their room, he can feel his eyes watering from being so close. He quickly wipes them and grabs a cup of something warm before retreating back to the table they had claimed in the far back of the room, closest to the corner where the concrete walls intersect, while still being able to look out the windows.

Veta manages to get the Ferrets away from the windows just long enough to eat something before they're back and staring out the windows in awe. Sam and Fred go join them, cups of hot... something, in hand, which they sip at occasionally while answering the questions Ferret Team was throwing at them.

Linda invites Veta back to the table, and the two start talking about random topics while they pick at their trays: trading commentary on how amazing the bread is compared to the usual MRE's they had gotten used too. That got them comparing all the MRE's they had eaten over their lives. They seemed to really hit it off, and the others left them to their conversation.

John's sitting at the head of the table, absently putting together a roll, complete with some kind of salad, strips of the mystery meat, slices of a tomato look-alike, and some salt. It wasn't the best sandwich he had ever eaten, but then again it was the only one he's ever had. He sipped his cup of (assumed) tea, and kept a close eye on the others at the table, plus the Ferrets' who were now attempting to slip away from Sam and Fred to do god only knows, although they weren't getting very far, as the older SPARTAN's would hook a hand into their shirt collars when they got too far away, without even looking up: keeping them within arm's reach and out of trouble.

Kelly was dozing off against Linda's back, empty tray neatly stacked in the middle of the table.

Suddenly, Mark spun around and managed to duck under Sam's arm, sliding across the floor on his knees before leaping up and running down the length of the windows. He was practically vibrating with energy as he spared a glance over his shoulder, only to run right into the armoured leg of the man in blue.

Ferret Teams cheers tapered off into confused glances.

“Hey! It’s the guy from last night!” Ash noted, and Fred promptly choked on his mystery drink; immediately recognising the man.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Three: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

(Galactic Standard Calander)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 7am.
Current Objective: Have faith.

"Lost them?" Din found himself incredulously asking, rubbing his nose bridge firmly. "What do you mean, lost them? They're in the second most secure part of the palace!"

Kix, sounding like he had lost the will to live, calmly replied: "Well, you see sir, when I mean I Lost them, I mean, they were in the second most secure part of the palace, and now they're not."

Din pressed his helmet to the doorframe and bit back a tired scream. "Give me five."

"Sounds like a plan, sir."

--

"Okay, what's this called?" Olivia asked, shoving a plate in front of the Blue Mandalorian, who had since introduced himself as Paz. "It smells like beef."

Paz peered at the dish, peeling apart the sandwich and examining the meat inside closely: "Nerfsteak. If I had to guess. Obi-Wan's friend must have provided the recipe."

The gathered SPARTANs muttered amongst themselves in interest before Olivia grabbed John's tea and shoved it at Paz: "And this?"

"Tea."
"Okay, what kind?"
"Mandalorian tea."

Olivia squinted at Paz, annoyed. "What kind of Mandalorian tea?"
"The very, very mild kind."

Sam blinked and glanced down at his cup, swirling the final dregs around curiously. It certainly had a nice taste, and it kind of reminded him of the crisp taste of barbeque, or charcoal.

Sam startled as the tip of a shoe nudged his shin, and he glanced across the table to Kelly who quietly asked: "What did he say?"
"Mild Mandalorian Tea," he offered out his cup and Kelly took it curiously: "Good right?"

She took a small sip and nodded, passing it back: "Very good."
"Are you sure you don't want my translator?" Sam asked, accepting the cup and downing the rest, which was now only luke-warm. "I don't mind."

Kelly shook her head, "I'm all good: I don't care for convos like these. Olivia seems to be having fun, anyway."

The three Ferrets were completely unafraid of Paz, and had dragged him over to the table, chatting away. At first, the older SPARTANs had frozen in place and stared, especially Fred who looked like he was choking on his own tongue, but when Paz played along and didn't complain, slowly they unstuck themselves and hesitantly came over to sit around Paz.

The Ferrets, especially, were entirely at ease, and had since crowded against him on either side, handing him plates and asking for an ingredient run down. Paz quietly and kindly broke down each ingredient, explaining how Mandalore got them and where they were grown. He even explained some of the more traditional dishes that had appeared when the Ferrets then dragged him over to the cafeteria food options and he even seemed surprised when all the SPARTANs gagged at the amount of spice that the dish contained.

"How do you live when everything is dialled up to eleven?" Paz asked once they were seated back at the table, handing Olivia the Jello cup she had asked him to identify. "I can't imagine it."

Absently, John shrugged and finished mopping up the remaining food on his plate, "You get used to it."

Over Johns' head, James and Sam exchanged grimaces. You never got used to the enhanced senses; you just learned to live with it: not quite overcoming it, not quite forgetting it's there altogether, but just adapting, learning to live with everyday tasks being dialled up to one hundred all the time.

For normal Marines, like the marines' in Tango company, putting a kettle on in the mess room was a normal morning sound. Albeit the whistle of the jug is slightly annoying, but not world ending. Neither is the scrape of fork and knife on plates, or the rustle of a ration bar, or the static on the TV. All things that are considered more annoying than ear splitting.

For the SPARTANs, however, the weeks after the augmentations was a living hell. Every noise, no matter how small, felt like someone fired a gun right by their ears.

Sam remembers how for the first day, he couldn't bear to move even slightly in the scratchy hospital bed he had been given, over and above the absolute agony he was in physically, the noise the sheets made when brushing against his arms made him want to peel his skin off. The crinkle of the paper pillows made Sam want to scream, and he hated the way he could hear the heartbeats of the nurses as they came to check on him: the shuffle of their slippers on the tiled floor gave them away even twenty metres down the hallway. Not to mention, nurses didn't move how soldiers did: they didn't mitigate unnecessary noise.

Those early days post-surgery were hell.

Back before he died, Sam had begun to train himself not to lose his focus whenever someone straightened his covers or closed the door to the barracks a little too rough. He got used to the crunch of gravel underfoot through the SPARTAN's morning runs, and he had even gone out of his way to overstimulate himself in the mess hall kitchen, so he'd get used to the absolute sensory hell he was going to be living through on a day-by-day basis for the rest of his life.

He didn't know it back then, but he wouldn't live long enough for any of that to matter.

--

The more time he spent observing the so-called 'Biting Blues', the more Paz realised how fascinating they were.

As soon as he had rounded the corner, the Blues had gotten to their feet, ready to throw hands with him, which was admittedly the proper reaction considering how Paz and they had been introduced, but as soon as the Ferrets - Olivia, Mark, and Ash - had dragged him to sit at the table, the Blues had lowered their hackles and silently slid back into their seats.

It was clear the Blues trusted their little siblings, and while they may not agree as much with their siblings' decisions, they backed them all the same.

Paz respected that.

They had made it clear before that they were more than willing to throw hands, so Paz made sure to move slowly and carefully. Whenever he reached for something, he'd lift his arm slowly so everyone could see what he was doing, before he grabbed what he was aiming for. He made sure to keep his hands on the table in front of him, so everyone could see he wasn't reaching for a weapon.

In short, Paz applied the same rules one would apply when dealing with a slightly feral Tooka.

It was shockingly effective.

--

Fred tensed ever so slightly as Veta leaned back against him, only to relax as she slipped her arm around his shoulders.

"So," She said, taking a bite of her half eaten fruit, "Your family is very unique."

Unable to help himself, Fred smiled and leaned over, taking a bite of Veta's fruit. He chewed thoughtfully, then spoke: "Not a bad, unique, I hope?"

Veta smiled, "Far from it."

The two waited in silence for a moment, just watching the Ferrets chatting the blue- Paz's, ear off.

It took a lot of Fred's will to not deck Paz as soon as he came around the corner, but there was something about the way the bigger man gently grabbed Mark's shoulders, steadying him carefully, like he was delicate and would break easily, that made Fred pause. It made him hesitate: freeze to the spot.

He had never seen anyone treat the Ferret's like that except for himself, his fellow SPARTANs, and Veta.

Thank god for Linda, who had been the first one to break the stillness, stepping forward to gently grab Mark from Paz's hands: starting a conversation that had thawed the tension just enough to get everyone back to the table. She really was a saint, her and Veta both.

Speaking off...

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Fred asked, slowly looking at Veta, who had an odd look in her eyes.

Veta glanced at Linda, who smirked. Fred felt his stomach drop.

"So," Veta drawled, "Biting randoms. Is that a special SPARTAN tactic, or...?"

He takes it back, they're devils, both of them.

--

Only when the Biting Blues and co were packing up to return to the medical ward, did Paz quietly comm Din, letting him know that he had the ade under his watch, and to let Kix know they were on their way back to the medical ward for a final checkup.

He sent the message just as they were stepping into the elevator, and Paz looked up just in time to see Sam carefully removing the panel off the control display.

Part of him, the part hardwired to protect any and all ade from a terrible decision, was twitching to weld the panel back to the wall, but he found himself instead watching in stunned silence as Sam stripped the wires and connected them: booting the elevator into gear.

On Paz's other side, Kelly stepped into Linda's hands, who boosted her up to click the button with the medical symbol on it.

With a low rumble, the elevator began to move and Paz silently found himself wondering what else these SPARTAN's could do. Aside from being adorable, of course.

--

"-AND TO THINK YOU DIDN'T CALL ME EARLIER!? PAZ VISZLA WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?"
"I had them within arms reach, Kix, I thought-"
"ARE YOU A DOCTOR? NO! I THOUGHT NOT!"

Din was really glad not to be Paz this morning. He had only ever seen Kix this angry once, and it was when Rex walked into the medical ward two hours late to an appointment with Ashoka slung over his shoulder: the rest of his squad filing in behind them in various levels of wounded. Apparently, they had run into pirates, but Din had gotten the feeling that it was less of a 'ran into a group of pirates' than, 'sought out our little brother's boyfriend so we could give him the shovel talk, only to end up playing Saabac and getting into a fist fight.'

But even then, Kix hadn't yelled. He had just stared, unblinking at Rex's sheepish face: left eye twitching. When his brother went to speak, to apologise or explain it didn't matter, as he went pale the second the clipboard Kix was holding snapped in half.

Din was drawn from his thoughts as Grogu purred and reached out for the three Ferrets, who had poked their head through the blue medical curtains. The kids had been given a check over by Kix before he went on his tangent, and the nurses had since provided some fresh clothes, (more than likely taking the old clothes to be washed and returned to their rooms, pockets full of sweets and small toys since not even the professional nurses of Kix's hospital wing were immune to the adorable ade who had been dropped in their lap).

The girl, Olivia, wiggled her fingers in hello, and Grogu clapped happily. "Patoo!"

Din laughed softly as The Ferret's basically melted, padding over to sit on the floor in front of Grogu, (completely ignoring Din, which, fair), offering him their fingers and lighting up when Grogu wrapped his small fingers around them.

His laughter faded as Din saw the stretching scars winding up Ash's pale arms, the same ones that the Biting Blues' had. His heartbeat slowed and the Darksaber on his hip thrummed angrily. Immediately, Din slapped his hand onto the hilt, (not noticing how Sam flinched as the dark voice in his head cut off mid sentence), causing the Ferret's to glance up at him curiously.

Grogu purred, the anger faded to a dull throb in his chest, and Din reached out, gently running his fingers along his son's ear, which made him chirp happily.

"C-Can- Are we allowed...?" Din nodded to Mark, who shyly smiled up at him before he reached out to carefully run his fingers along Grogu's ear, his movements gentle and kind as to not hurt Grogu by accident.

"Their very cute," Giggled Ash, and the noise made Din visibly soften, "Are they your child?"

Din nodded again, "This is the Way."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Four: Mando'ad draar digu

(Galactic Standard Calender)
Hyperspace, exit location: unknown.
Time: 12pm.
Current Objective: Seek.

"It's destroyed, Mando."

Din sighed over the comms, the little blue hologram flickering and twitching above the dash. The comm's always were a little finnicky in Hyperspace. "I know, you've mentioned, but we need to be sure."
“Are you asking as a friend, or as Manda’lor?”
There’s a pause and Din sighs again: “Both.”

Boba shoves down the slimy feeling creeping up his spine and reluctantly punches in the coordinates for what remains of Kamino.

“Thank you, Fett. Normally I’d ask someone else, but you’re the closest.”

Boba stares at the flicking image on Din sitting on his display, and, naturally, makes a crude gesture.

It’s not his proudest moment, but he likes to think that, somewhere in the Manda, someone’s laughing.

—

(Galactic Standard Calender)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 12pm.
Current Objective: Friends are worth more in spades.

"And this?"
"Pillow."
"And this?"
"A glass of Water."
"And him?"

Mark eyed Ash carefully from where he was sitting cross legged on the edge of the bunk bed. The blond was half asleep, but his senses immediately honed in on Mark and Cody's conversation. The two Ferret's exchanged a look, and Ash frowned: suddenly very on edge.

Mark nodded: "An idiot."

-

Cody stifled a laugh as Ash leapt up and began arguing with Mark, who looked very proud of himself.
-
"Are they arguing again?"

"Yes?"

"Are we stepping in?"

Veta snorts. "God no, this is hilarious."

"You are a terrible woman," Fred chuckles, focusing back on the game of tic-tac-toe someone had drawn up on the board by their bunks. "Absolutely terrible."

"Yes," Veta muses, shifting in the bunk she had taken over, glancing at Fred with a smirk. "But you love me."

Laughing, Fred shook his head, hiding the blush creeping up his neck and turning his cheeks red: "Ah, yes, I suppose I do."

Linda eyed her brother with annoyance before swiftly taking the victory: striking her three circles with a little more force than necessary just to push the point home. Judging by the love struck expression on Fred's face, he could care less, but it was the principle of the matter.

-

John abruptly lifted his head from Sam's back, squinting off into the middle distance with a neutral expression on his face. His fingers twitch on his knees and he slowly turns his gaze back up to the palace, staring in the vague direction of their bunk room. "Mm."

Obi-Wan who was leading Sam through a meditation exercise out on the front lawn, opened his eyes and asked: "Is that a good 'Mm' or a bad 'Mm'?"

With the enthusiasm of a tired parent, John simply responded with another, "Mmm."

Cracking his eyes open, Sam glanced at his brother with an amused expression. "The others doing something bad again?"

"Mm."

"Are we stepping in?"

"...mm."

"Okay. Go back to sleep."

The former general smiled softly as John curled back up against Sam's back and dozed off again: his head tucked into his brother's neck like a tired loth kitten. He himself settled back into his meditative state, eyes fluttering closed and his breathing steadying. He could feel Sam joining him and his heartbeat joined The Force that swirled through the garden: more present than ever before as he sank into the mindless void.

Gently, as to not startle Sam, Obi-Wan reached out through The Force and gently took his 'hand'. Sam's brow twitched, but he relaxed again, realising it was Obi-Wan. The boy reached back and poked curiously at Obi-Wan's mental shields. When they didn't give, he poked again, a little harder. Obi-Wan stifled a smile: it was exactly what Anakin did when they meditated for the first time.

An emotion similar to melancholy echoed in the Jedi's soul.

Sam must had recognised that and drew back, feeling guilty. He closed off his mind like a beetle rolling up into itself, showing off only the hardest parts of its shell.

Across the Force, Obi-Wan assured him he didn't do anything wrong: sending him a picture of a bubbling brook - the crisp sound of birdsong in the trees above, the gentle swaying of branches, the rushing of water over rocks and the breeze ruffling his hair - hoping it would calm him enough to open back up again.

After a long moment, Sam uncurled in The Force and sent back his own image.

It silently surprised Obi-Wan to see Sam already able to push thoughts across The Force, it took many years of practice for any youngling to push feelings across The Force in a way that wasn't overwhelming, that wouldn't show off your whole soul to someone. That's when it hit Obi-Wan.

Sam was sending him a memory. A comfort. An apology.

The boy had reached into his own mind and pulled out the first thing he thought off that could bring Obi-Wan warmth.

The thought touched him.

"Sam."

Obi-Wan opened his eyes at the same time the boy did, and the two watched each other carefully. "You don't have to do that for me."

The boy shifted and ran his hands down his arms, careful not to jostle John who was dead asleep against his back. "I'm... I'm not sure what I did just then."

"You gave me a memory."

"Oh." Sam stilled and glanced at Obi-Wan nervously. "Which one?"

Smiling softly, Obi-Wan held out his hands and when Sam took them, he said: "The memory of a hug."

At that, the boy relaxed slightly and exhaled softly in relief. "Just.. just that?"

"I didn't go poking around in your head, if that's what your worried about."

Sam nodded nervously. "I don't like people poking around in my head." "Have people done that before?" Jedi don't get angry, Obi-Wan reminded himself: shoving his anger into The Force a little harder than he should. Like one would when the trash can is overflowing but you're stubbornly refusing to take it out, thinking to yourself, 'I can make it fit' even thought you really can't: that kind of shoving. "I promise, Sam, I won't do it without your permission."

The boy nodded slightly. "Promise?"

"Promise," Obi-Wan murmured. "I can even teach you how to put up mental shields to stop people from poking around again, if you want."

"I- I would like that. Thank you, General."

"Please, Sam, just Obi-Wan."

"Thank you, Obi-Wan."

The smile on Sam's face was worth it's weight in credits, and Obi-Wan smiled back, feeling slightly guilty. While the memory was just that, a memory of a hug, there had been a split second when Sam had pulled back, and Obi-Wan saw through the boys eyes, one who was smiling softly, sadly, mourningly. The other boy had spoken, and while the memory was mostly feelings and emotions, Obi-Wan had picked up lip-reading during the war. The boy had said: "If we don't survive, I'll meet you again- good luck-"

So when Sam sank back into meditation, Obi-Wan found himself pondering what exactly that meant. Survive what? Meet again? And why were they in an entirely white room? Why could Obi-Wan smell antiseptic?

Despite not knowing the answer, Obi-Wan had a bad feeling...

Just then, a splitting pain broke across Obi-Wan's skin: like he had been shocked by lightening. His eyes flew open and he jerked back, like he had been stabbed. He heard Sam cry out as well, and as his vision faded, the last thing he heard was John yelling for help.

-

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown location, Unknown system
Unknown Time,
Current Objective: ?????????????????????

The sky was spinning- no, sorry, his vision was spinning and he hated it. He hated this. This sucked. This was definitely up there on his top ten list of things that sucked. And whatever this was? Yeah, it sucked. And that weird glowing light thing? Yeah, that sucked too. Everything sucked at the current moment.

"Ow." He mumbled, slowly twisting onto his side and resting his head on the grass. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow."

If Chief Mendez could hear him now, he would never let him hear the end of this. He'd say something about: "SPARTAN's don't say 'ow', they say, 'Bring it on.'" But Chief Mendez wasn't here, and he hurt a lot, so he was going to say 'ow' as much as he damn well pleased.

Being an adult rocked.

Slowly, carefully, gently, he rolled onto his back, and grabbed for the grass, which crunched under his fingers: the sweet smell filling his breath. It reminded him of Reach, reminded him of... of home. But Reach was gone. It had been gone for a very long time, and there was nothing he could do about it. Many of his SPARTAN siblings were gone too. The pain of that memory filled him again and he blinked back the grief.

"Dammit." Deep breath. "I need to get up."

"Hello, little one."

Shooting to his feet, (which was a terrible idea since it made him want to vomit), he turned and came face to face with a small group of people - mostly children - including a tall person wearing bronze armour, and whose helmet he didn't recognise the make off, but it had spikes which was awesome in his opinion- again, Chief Mendez was rolling in his grave.

The cool, calm, competent mask he wore when in battle slid on and he shifted into a battle stance: glancing around only to find that the garden was surrounded by similarly armoured warriors: the clashing colours of their armour was disorientating to his blurry vision and he blinked back tears. The warriors lurched forward and guided the children back into the edges of the garden, covering them with themselves while staring at him from behind their blank visors: he wasn't sure if they were friends or foes, but he was prepared for the latter option: "Who are you? Where am I?"

The figure cocked their head, and he knew he needed to run. This wasn't good. This was very, very bad. The garden's had no open exits, and he became shockingly obvious to the fact he wasn't wearing his armour, nor did he have any weapons. Not good. Very not good.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what your saying. Perhaps you should come with me," The figure quietly stepped forward, hands outstretched: reaching for him- going to hurt him. "You're bleeding, you need medical attention. I just want to help-"

Chief Mendez used to say, "Strike first, apologise later if you survive."

His fist curled and struck out lightening fast, smashing into the armoured warriors' exposed throat, sending them to their knees: Jerome-092 always was good at following orders.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Five: Punch first. Ask questions later.

KIX POV - (CHIEF DOCTOR)

(Galactic Standard Calender)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 2:05pm.
Current Objective: Friends are worth more in spades.

"There we are ma'am, any remaining feelings of brain fog?" Kix asked as he clicked his pen and slid it into the breast pocket of his doctors coat, nodding to himself as he read over the chart. Nothing abnormal, and only minimal reported bruising. All signs point to her being in the all clear.

The Armourer adjusted her helmet seal before stepping out from behind the curtain. "None at all."
"That's a good sign," Kix peeled off his gloves and dropped them in the trash chute built into the wall: "Do you have ice and medical supplies at home?"
"Plenty."

Kix nodded again before turning and waving down Din and John, who had been waiting patiently outside the special built examination room. "Helmet's on. You can come in now."

John offered a jerky nod, but remained in the uncomfortable plastic blue hospital chair he had claimed as his, while Din jogged over and murmured a quiet thanks to Kix as he passed to check on the Armourer, the two sharing a hushed conversation in Mando'a.

Kix picked up a couple of words, but nothing enough to piece together the conversation. But he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with their guest in bay five, which was only a few doors down from their current exam room. The boy had been brought in clearly distressed, and as much as it had pained his inner Mandalorian, Kix needed to sedate the boy to calm him and get him in for a full check up.

The scans had come back with exactly what Kix suspected.

Firstly, he shared the same scars with the Biting Blues, and Ferrets. Down to the exact scar colouration. It narrowed down Kix's belief that the scars had to be only months old at best. The stitching was gone, but they were still healing: still pink at the edges. Secondly, he had a broken nose and hand, which Kix patched up easy enough with the bone knitter. The kid would wake up bruised, but as long as he didn't shatter his hand between two stone boulders, his hand would remain unbroken.

Kix had gotten Paz to carry the boy from gurney to machine, which wasn't exactly standard procedure, but the nurses and other doctors had to keep back the worried Mandalorians who had heard of the mystery children by now.

The story, apparently, had spread like wildfire and before you could curse your enemies, half a dozen adult Mandalorian's had crowded Kix's waiting room to give over gifts: clothes, food, training weapons, and even some stuffed toys. Kix wasn't sure if the SPARTAN's would be okay with any of that, so he had begged his fellow armoured nurses to, please, for the love of the Manda keep them back out of the ward because these children need space especially after another fucking one of their (maybe) siblings came out of a glowing, maybe (probably) Force related, portal.

His staff, (bless them they all get bonuses come New Years), had agreed and herded the Mandalorians into a different waiting room to sort it all out. That whole dilemma was later Kix's problem, as most things were nowadays. (Manda, he missed his husband).

The sudden absence of his staff left this side of the hospital wing really rather empty, so when the alarm Kix had slapped above the new child's bed started blaring, (sue him if he wanted to make sure this kid didn't run and get himself into another first fight), it was quite the shock to the core. Such a shock in fact, that Kix jerked backwards and slammed his head into the curtain frame with a loud bang.

By the time he pulled himself together, John was gone from his chair.

-

JOHN POV - (MISSION LEAD)

(Galactic Standard Calender)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 2:00pm.
Current Objective: Strength is best in numbers.

With Sam injured, John was reluctant to leave his side.

Sure, his brother in arms wasn't bleeding out his eyes, (anymore), and was curled up in an unused office a door away, but even so, John felt too far away. Hundreds of thoughts rattled around in his mind: if something happened, could he get there in time? What if he has another Force Seizure? What if he dies, (again), when John isn't there? What if he-

John's knee began bouncing up and down anxiously as he waited for Mr Din and Doctor Kix to finish up with who he believed was called The Armourer. It didn't translate across perfectly, but he was hoping that was about correct: he didn't want to accidentally insult someone who had the King's ear. That wouldn't bode well for anyone. Not to mention Din had every reason to kick all of Blue Team and the Ferrets out: they were a bunch of kids who were taking medical supplies and space without giving anything back. There had to be someway to start paying the debt back. There just had to be-

'No.' John thought, shaking his head furiously to clear his mind, 'Stop. That isn't important. You can handle that when it comes to that: Get it together.'

What was more important was another one of his SPARTANs, (if this is a dream, he never wants to wake up), had returned. Alive and well.

John knew him. Knew his face and hands and hair and eyes. Knew him even when he was asleep.

John knew Jerome anywhere.

He knew any of his SPARTANs, and he pitied to fool who got between him and his siblings. His brothers and sisters. His warriors. His family.

The only family he needed.

-

JEROME POV - (PRISONER?)

Month Unknown, Date Unknown (Unknown Calendar)
Unknown location, Unknown system
Unknown Time,
Current Objective: ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? (Potential Objective: Fight anyone who breaths at you wrong)

Jerome did not like this new planet: and you could quote him on that.

Firstly, the warriors (one of them at least) wrapped him in a cloak? blanket? like some kind of pissed off rooster before dragging him kicking and scratching to some kind of medical ward, where this, (frankly rather lovely), asshole of a doctor stuck a needle in his neck.

Did he like any of that? Not particularly. He's half sure he ripped a hole in the blanket? cloak? and kicked someone in the ribs. He must have kicked their armour, though, because he could feel the vibrations right up his leg and into his hips from the blow. Normally, Jerome at his full strength could dent metal and punch holes in iron sheets. That armour, whatever it was, didn't even buckle.

That, he did not like. Not one bit.

What he did like, however, was waking up in a warm bed feeling better than he has for years. All his normal aches and pains had faded to a dull nothing in the back of his head, and he slept better than he has in... forever, really.

It was heavenly.

So of course it had to end.

Eventually, Jerome realised he had one arm cuffed to the bed, (later him would realise that the cuff was padded and there to keep him safe, not to imprison him), and wore a small bizarre bracelet around his wrist, where a small green disk was embedded. It didn't take a genius to realise that it was some kind of tracking bracelet.

Frankly, it was stupid to think a pair of handcuffs and a tracking bracelet could keep a SPARTAN down, so he reached out and promptly tore them off his wrist: tossing them aside on the bed.

He really should have thought that through, but to be fair, he was still half asleep, and high as a Pelican. Whatever meds they had him on were fabulous: the best drugs he's never done, 10/10, would be forcibly injected with again.

It was only when he slipped out of bed did the alarm above his bead begin to blare. It was loud, bright yellow, annoying, and he could hear the rushing of padded feet down the hallway, probably coming from murderous nurses come to check on their new favourite prisoner.

'Ah,,' Jerome distantly thought through the brain fog, before he promptly grumbled: "Fuck."

-

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Six: Punch First. Ask questions later. (PART TWO)

JOHN POV - (WORRIED BIG BROTHER)

(Galactic Standard Calender)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 2:05pm.
Current Objective: Reunion.

John was moving as soon as the alarm went off: his steps were loud in his ears as he ran down the white corridor. Door one flashed by, then two, three, and four. He skidded to a halt outside five and slammed it open: "Jero-"

It really didn't surprise him when he was greeted with a fist.

SPARTANs had this annoying habit of greeting each other with violence, and again, John should have seen it coming, but for whatever reason, be it his rush, or a moment of surprise, he acknowledged said fist with his face.

Johns nose crunched and he stumbled back, trying to balance Jerome’s weight but eventually he gave into gravity and they crashed to the floor.

He vaguely saw the boots of Din and Kix flash by in his vision as he rolled on top of Jerome, aiming to pin his hands down and catch his attention, but only getting himself punched in the face again.

"Jerome!" John yelped as his fellow SPARTAN, (younger brother? he didn't know and was too busy trying not to have his skull bent in to care), grabbed him around the waist and threw him off himself. "Jerome wait-!"

Over the sound of loud cursing, smacking, grumbling, and the yelps he let out each time Jerome's teeth snapped closed just a little too close to his throat, John heard his battle-brother yelling: "Where is he! What have you done with my brother!?" "Here! Right here! You absolute idiot- JEROME!"

Later on, when the chaos is sorted out, John would be reminded of how childish he sounded in that moment, yelping and yelling like someone had pulled his hair, but in the moment with a seasoned SPARTAN trying to crush his skull in, he didn't care how he sounded, only that he didn't die before he got to properly hug him.

"Jerome! You thick skulled-" Another strike to his face, "-dim witted, annoying son-of-a-banshee-" Jerome's knee dug ferociously into his ribs and John snarled out, "-It is me!" as he punched Jerome squarely in the face, unbalancing him enough for him to leap up and grab the smaller boy in a headlock. When he wrapped his legs around Jerome's waist, John saw Kix approach with another sedative: "No! You'll only make it worse!"

As soon as Kix backed up, indicating for the others - Blue Team, including Sam who was back on his feet, Din, Paz, and the woman in bronze - to do so as well, John realised his mistake.

Fumbling around with the hand looped around Jerome's throat, John tore off his translation device, and yelled: "Dammit, Jerome, Listen!"

Like a switch had been flipped, the SPARTAN in question slumped and went limp as jelly in Johns arms. Despite this, he waited a moment to see if he was going to get punched again, before he reluctantly dropped him and the two sprawled across the floor, catching their breaths. John let his head slump back against the tiles, groaning as the pain slowly trickled back in.

His nose was probably broken, and he could taste blood in his teeth. Wonderful.

"Oh," Jerome grumbled, his head resting on John's thigh. His weight was comforting against John's tired body, "Hey, Johnny."
"Hey Jerome."
"Sorry about that."

A little hysterically, John snorted and blindly reached down to pat Jerome's hair, only managing to find his face, which he half patted, half slapped. "It's fine."
"Oh thank god, otherwise I'd feel really bad."

Remembering his team and the others, John flashed a thumbs up and soon he was surrounded by the familiar faces of his teams, and the (regrettably) familiar face of Kix, who knelt and helped them both sit up: checking their eyes and heads before calling in for backup over his helmet comms.

"You still scream like a Grunt with its ass on fire."
"You still leave your throat open for attack."
"Yeah," Jerome snorted: "Tell that to the Flood."

John shuddered, "I'd really rather not."

Kelly glanced at him as he said that, and glared slightly, "We still need to talk about that."

John doesn't pout as he says, "Do we have too?"
"Yes, John," Jerome mumbled, letting his head fall backwards into Kelly's hands. "Listen to Kels. She's the sensible one."

That got a small incredulous snort out of Sam.

"Wait, you're supposed to be dead," Jerome pauses, hazy eyes focusing slightly on Sam, who smiled sadly at him: "Weren't you?"
"You were in a wheelchair the last time I saw you," Sam replied as he clasped Jerome's hand and laced their fingers together, "Whose to questions miracles?"

That got a small murmur of agreement from everyone, excluding the Mandalorians who were looking on in surprise and slight confusion if the head tilts were anything to go by.

"This better not be a hallucination, but if it is-" Jerome laughs maniacally. "-then these drugs are fucking great!"

--

"I'm going to adopt them," Paz said, a little lovestruck, as Din buried his helmet in his hands. "All of them. They're perfect."
"Mmhm."
"And Ragnar always wanted a sibling."
"Mmmmhm." Din felt Luke pat his shoulder and even as he had a bit of a breakdown, he was grateful for the Jedi, who exuded calm and zen despite everything that had happened in the past... well, forever, really. It might be the Jedi magic, but Din was half sure the blond was just like that.

The Armourer, who was quietly stirring her cup of caf by the balcony, nodded absently: "They will make fine warriors, should they wish the walk the path. The song calls for them."

"The drums of the Manda is strong in those ones."

Din jerked slightly as the blade whispered to him, instinctively slapping his hand over the hilt to get it to still on his hip, not wanting to wake the children who were curled on the floor of the living room: draped in blankets and coiled around each other in what looked like a both incredibly uncomfortable yet oddly wholesome pile of sprawled limbs and mismatched pillows.

Fred was cradling Linda in his arms, with his head on James' shoulder, who had Kelly draped over his legs. Despite being out cold, her arms were still neatly folded over her chest, holding Olivia closely even though the girl was star-fished out across the floor: one of her feet were shoved up Ash's shirt, not that the boy cared seeing he was dead asleep: head resting in Veta's lap. The older girl was sitting back against the couch, head slumped back on the pillows. One of her hands was buried in Ash's hair, the other on Mark's chest, over his heart.

The couch itself was taken up by Jerome, who was wrapped in two blanket to keep him from rolling off the couch, and was hooked up to a small device that was hung from the curtain rods above him. Din wasn't a doctor, but he was half sure the device measured Jerome's heartbeat and other important vitals, since he was still technically meant to be on observation in the medical ward. But it quickly became apparent that all of the Biting Blues, the Ferrets, and Jerome himself, weren't happy about being there, Kix reluctantly let them take over the spare rooms in Din's suite - with permission from Din and Luke.

Grogu was more than happy to have an impromptu sleepover, and was curled up between Din and Paz on the other couch, sliding in and out of sleep as he snuffled to himself and stubbornly tried to stay awake. His little clawed hand was gripping Din's belt, and the dad in him melted into a little puddle. His ad was so strong, yet he trusted Din enough to keep him safe as he slept, and Din would never betray that trust: he was always going to be there to watch him every time he wanted to be looked over.

"This is the Way." Din murmured to himself, and he quietly heard Paz whisper it back to him. Luke, The Armourer, and Kix - who was patching John's nose at the table and listening to Sam as he rambled - all echoed the mantra: feeling it resonate deep within themselves.

--

"What does it mean?" John asked, wincing as Kix gently pressed a damp cloth to his skin, wiping away the dried blood. "The Way?"

Kix hummed quietly, focusing on cleaning John's face and figuring where it was best to apply Bacta, seeing as John's face hadn't started to bruise yet. It was half a guessing game, half lightly tapping his fingers on the boy's skin to see where it hurt and going from there. "Mandalorians are a very ancient race, but through the ages, we have always tried to follow the Resol'nare."

At the curious face John made, Kix continued: "It's the six tenants we live our lives by, to the best of our ability," Kix considered talking about Dar'Manda thinking maybe it would help John open up a little, but it was late, (early?), and John looked so tired, Kix could feel it. So he didn't. "They go as follows: wear the armour, speak the language, defend our families and ourselves, raise foundlings and our children as Mandalorians, contribute to your clan, and answer the Manda'lor's call."

John nodded slightly, wincing as Kix gently peeled a strip of Bacta and applying it to his nose bridge: the cold slimy feeling probably didn't feel right on his skin, and he shuddered. "R-Right."

Sam glanced at his brother curiously, and Kix saw a flash of worry in his eyes, before the boy settled his head back onto his folded arms: peering at Kix over his sleeves to keep an eye on everything. Sam was looking better than he was a few hours ago, although he was barely awake. Obi-Wan, once he was awake and had been fussed over by his Fellow Jedi and his husband, had assured Kix it wasn't anything to be worried about. He had explained that the Force was like a river. Older Jedi, those with more experience, were the rocks that knew how to let the water rush around them. Younger Force users, i.e those who didn't have the experience, were the smaller rocks that got swamped by the water: hence the sudden unconsciousness for them both, but why Obi-Wan was awake earlier, and why Sam was still exhausted hours later.

"What does it mean if you don't follow the tenants? Are you not Mandalorian?" The boy in question asked, pulling the doctor from his thoughts.

Kix offered an apologetic look, not wanting to destroy Sam's curiosity, but the boy looked half dead and he stood by the belief that it wasn't the time for this conversation: "Maybe you could ask your teacher that when we get you one? Or maybe you could ask Paz tomorrow over breakfast? He has a soft spot for you and your siblings."

From the couch, Paz gruffly murmured: "I'd be honoured, ade, but not tonight."

Sam nodded and reached out to snatch John's sleeve between his two fingers, holding the piece of cloth tightly: rubbing his thumb over the material. "Okay."

As he applied the final Bacta strip, Kix smiled at John and brushed away the rubbish, standing and helping him to his feet: "Let's get you to bed, Verd'ika. Both of you."

The doctor indicated for Sam to join him, and the boy leapt up from his seat, keeping a hold of John as they padded back to the living room. John yawned and rubbed the balls of his hands into his eyes, trying to fight back yawns, but failing. Kix resisted the urge to squeeze John's cheeks, seeing as it probably wouldn't be well received no matter how much the kids liked him.

Kix turned away for a second to accept a blanket from Luke, but by the time he turned around again, John and Sam had become one with the pile.

Sam was curled up in James' side, shuffling into place to get comfortable, while John had flopped down beside Fred: face turned to the side to avoid pressure on his healing nose.

Everyone in the room resisted the urge to coo, and Kix quietly draped the blanket over the small group. Kelly made an annoyed noise in her sleep, and Kix paused to see if she was okay. The girl remained quiet, so Kix carefully stepped out of the tangle of children, and returned to the table, packing up his medical supplies and tossing the rubbish away in the bin.

When he finished, Kix cracked his neck, glancing at Luke as he asked: "How's the cold, Master Skywalker?"
"Please, Kix, just call me Luke," The Jedi said sheepishly, brushing down the front of his oversized shirt that Kix knew belonged to Cody at some point, but had somehow made its way to Luke. "And the symptoms have gone away. For me and Grogu both."

The Doctor nodded and checked his comm unit, making a note in his journal, "That's good. Just keep up the rest for another day or so, and you should be fine. If it returns, please come find me, Luke."

The Jedi nodded softly, brushing his blonde hair out of his face. "Thank you, doctor. Say hello to the Husband for me."
"Of course," Kix smiled back and glanced at the others, only to find Kix, Paz, and Grogu asleep on the couch. The Armourer was gone from her place by the balcony, and Kix was reminded how shockingly quiet she was. It had always unnerved him how she could just vanish from crowded rooms. While, yes, it was a useful skill, the military training in Kix told him it was worrying. He shook the feeling off and quietly took his leave.

The moon hung high in the sky, as Kix walked back to his house: checking his comm for any notifications. He found his husband hadn't texted or called tonight, and for a moment he was worried something had happened, but when he saw the red speeder outside the front step beside his own, and the heavy boots sitting inside the front door, Kix raced inside and happily met his husband half way into a soft kiss.

"Hello, my star," Sidon murmured from behind his helmet. "It's good to be home."

--

(Galactic Standard Calender)
Hyperspace, exit location: unknown.
Time: 5am.
Current Objective: Alert.

Boba Fett had his feet kicked up on the dashboard when he dropped out of Hyperspace around Kamino: cleaning his blaster.

The planet loomed from the darkness of space, like a rotten blue pearl, and Boba eyed it warily, half expecting it to... he wasn't sure. Something was off. He wasn't sure how to explain it, but the feeling felt like a lead weight in his stomach. It reminded him of when he first stepped foot on Tattooine after dragging himself out of the Sarlaac: that uncomfortable, suffocating feeling of not knowing what he was expecting from then on out, but how it couldn't be a good thing.

'Damn it,' Boba thought to himself as he removed his boots from the dash and punched in the landing sequence: 'I have a bad feeling about this...'

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Aliit

(Galactic Standard Calender)
Sundari, Mandalore, Mandalorian System,
Time: 10am.
Current Objective: Breakfast is the best time to have conversations.
Luke woke up before the sun rose and stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water, where he found Sam glaring at the toaster like it had offended him.

"Are you alright, Sam?" Luke asked quietly, rubbing his eyes and fumbling to turn on the lighting strips above the counter. "It's very early."

Sam blinked at Luke tiredly and whispered: "I had a bad dream."

There was something about the way the boy said it that had Luke reaching out for him: "I won't push if you don't want me to, but a lot of the younglings at the temple have bad dreams sometimes too, and it helps to talk about them sometimes." Luke carefully placed his hands on Sam's slender shoulders and when the boy didn't pull away, the Jedi guided him to the table and sat him down. "Do you want to talk about it, Sam?"

For a moment, the only sound was the quiet ticking of the clock above the mantle in the living room, and the soft breathing of the others, then, in a soft whisper, Sam said: "No."

Luke offered a gentle smile: "Okay. That's alright. Would you like to help me make breakfast instead?"
A gentle nod.
"Alright, we have to be quiet though." The Jedi explained softly, standing up and grabbing an apron off the hook behind the kitchen door: "How good are you with knives?"

For the first time that morning, a slow smile crept across Sam's lips: "Oh, very."

--

Mark was rudely dragged out of unconsciousness by the small clawed hands that tapped his temples, but all the annoyance vanished as he recognised the small child from the medical ward.

"Oh, hello again." He whispered with a yawn, not wanting to wake up his team who were asleep all around him. "Where did you come from?"

The little green child purred quietly and toddled off Mark's chest, towards what he could only assume was the kitchen. After a moment of debate, Mark pulled himself to his feet and trailed after the little one, careful not to make too much noise or accidentally bump into the kitchen table on the way past. "I don't think we're allowed- oh, hey Sam."

The SPARTAN-II in question smiled and waved hello to Mark from where he was quietly slicing something bright red and sweet smelling: neat, colour coded piles of sliced fruit sat in several bowls around him, each one cut perfectly neat and exactly the same sized. "Morning, Mark. You want to lend a hand? I think Mr Skywalker is struggling with the stove."

From where he was standing over a pan of eggs, Luke chuckled fondly: "Ah, not struggling. The oven's just old."

Mark placed the small green child down on the table, where he padded over to stare at the sliced fruit Sam had lain out: the SPARTAN-II eyed the child warily, sliding his open hand between the childs small claws and the bowl of red fruit. Mark cocked his head at the sight before turning and glancing at the machine in question. Then his eyes snapped up to stare at Luke: "Wait, you speak English?"
"Is that what this language is called?" Luke mused as he lightly prodded the edge of an egg, trying to see if it was cooked through.

Sam, from his place by the table, blankly said: "Jedi nonsense."
"Oh, don't you start," Luke light heartedly grumbled. "I get enough of that from Paz already."
"You called my name?"

It took all of Mark's training not to scream at the sudden appearance of the rumbling voice above his head, although he still whipped around and drew his fist back, ready to punch someone's head in, only for his knuckles to slam into solid metal. Normally, metal would buckle under Mark's enhanced strength, except, this time, the metal tried to buckle his hand in instead.

What an amazing start to the morning.

Holding back several vulgar curses that would have Veta washing his mouth out, Mark hunched over and bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed. Blinking through the sudden pain, Mark gasped out: "Ow."

He supposed this answered the question if his augmentations were still in place. It seemed his strength wasn't, nor was his pain blockers, since both of those things hadn't worked.

Great, just great.

Warm leather hands gently caught Mark's shoulders and guided him to sit at the table. They left for a moment only to return with an ice-pack wrapped in a tea-towel. Mark obediently held out his hand which had started to go red and throb with pain for it to be bundled in. Glancing up, Mark saw Paz carefully crouching in front of him to check his hand and see if there was anything broken.

Sam paused from his work and slid into the seat beside Mark. He looked torn between laughing and fussing over him. (Is this what it's like to have an older brother? For some reason, the thought warmed him slightly). Cradled in Sam's arms was the small green child who warbled sadly at the sight. The noise made Marks' heart clench and guilt ate at him for some reason.

"Looks like Kix could be joining us for breakfast today." Luke mused as he passed Paz a cloth for Mark's lip. "Should I set another place?"
Paz just grunted while worriedly cupping Mark's face: holding the cloth to the slice in the boy's lips with a fondness that Mark didn't want to look into this early. But if he leaned into the touch just slightly, it was between him and himself.

--

Turns out, the grunt was a 'No', and luckily, there were no more injuries or accidents by the time the others woke up and joined them at the table. Mark had stopped bleeding by then but it still hadn't stopped Fred from sleepily holding his face with a confused squint: examining him quietly while Sam set out table mats and Luke dished out strips of meat and toasted bread amongst all other kinds of plates.

"You're hurt." Fred murmured quietly so the others wouldn't hear.
"I bit my lip." Mark shrugged off Fred's hands and assured: "It's nothing. Don't worry."

Fred hummed, unconvinced, and pointedly took the seat beside Mark: grumbling when he realised his feet didn't touch the floor. Mark huffed a laugh and glanced over Olivia as she slid into the seat beside him: taking a bite of a fruit cube, humming in delight. The small green child, (Mark really should ask for a name), wandered over to Olivia and she happily cradled him in the edge of her arm, passing him a cube of fruit which he nibbled: staring up at her with wide eyes.

John, (The Master Chief! Mark was still trying not to fangirl too visibly), silently stepped into the kitchen and took stock of the room: Ash hanging onto his arm sleepily. Luke caught John's eyes and waved hello, which the SPARTAN-II mimicked back to him.

"Kix tells me you're cleared for solid foods," Luke explained with a smile. "So take what you want. There are plates everywhere."

The room fell quiet as the SPARTAN's all stared at Luke like he had grown a second head.

"He can speak English?" Linda asked from her seat across from John, and if she was stunned, Mark couldn't tell. Her voice and heartbeat were so steady it sounded like she was asleep every time Mark tuned in to her specifically. It was almost disconcerting, but if the others noticed, no one had mentioned it yet.

"Are you a Jedi, like Obi-Wan?" Ash blurted out, not quite awake enough to activate his filter, although he didn't normally have one on the best of days. Luke just smiled in response as he slid the eggs onto the plate beside him at the stove, passing it to Paz who placed it on the table with a soft thump.
"I am," Luke cocked his head. "Well, kind of, but it's hard to explain."

John stared quietly at Luke before grunting and taking his seat beside Fred, clearly deciding this was above his paygrade. Ash let go off his arm and wandered over to Luke, who smiled at him and passed him a plate with a warm smile.

Just then, the silver man, (Mark remembered Fred calling him 'Din', but it didn't really sound like a real name so he decided to keep his mouth shut until he could check his information), appeared in the kitchen and looked around at the group. The tension in his shoulders bleed out when he finished the headcount, head tipping back slightly as he breathed a sigh of relief.

Kelly snickered slightly at the visible relief lining the silver man's form and shoved a piece of bread into her mouth with a wide grin. Jerome just grunted into his cup of (maybe) coffee and then downed the rest of it like it was a shot at the bar and not a cup of burning hot (probably) coffee. James pulled a face at the sight and returned to buttering his bread with a disgruntled look, not approving of his companions morning attitude.

The silver man took his seat at the head of the table, and Paz sat beside him, although neither moved to remove their helmets, instead they just started talking quietly between themselves in a language Mark didn't know as the kitchen bustled around them with noise and food and people. Mark found himself watching them quietly before turning back to his empty plate, deciding he should probably eat before the food vanished, and judging by the look on Veta's face, she was moments away from snagging the last bread roll, so Mark quickly took it, not wanting to miss out.

--

"Is he alright now?" Din asked, folding his arms across his chest, half listening to the chatter of the table, and half listening to Paz as he spoke.
"I put some Bacta on his hands, once I iced them, and his lip has stopped bleeding," His brother replied, absently stirring a cup of coffee that he had no intention to drink just yet. He was going to pour it into his canteen and drink it later on his break, it was a bad habit drinking caffeine at ungodly hours, but it was a habit Paz couldn't be fucked to break and Din wasn't going to knock him for it. "He's alright now. But I'll keep an eye out."

Din smiled behind his helmet as Luke sat at the other end of the table, immediately being folded into conversation with the Ferrets; who were way too energetic this early in the morning. In fact they were basically bouncing off the walls. The Biting Blue's (and Jerome) had a little more restraint this early in the morning: sipping their caff quietly while barely awake. They were only speaking when the Ferrets asked them questions or Luke offered them more toast, and only in 'yeah's 'no thanks's and 'mhm's.

John was on caff pot duty and was topping up everyone's cups when they ran close to empty, he was also acting as Jerome's leaning post: sitting ramrod straight so Jerome wouldn't slump over or hurt his neck. The older girl, Veta, was also helping him stay awake in between slicing bread for Grogu and passing fruit around the table. Grogu was sitting beside Veta and nibbling on the fruit cubes she passed him. He was humming happily and cooing quietly to himself with a gummy smile. Veta stroked his ear gently before going back to her own plate.

"I put in a call to the university," Paz explained to Din, drawing his brother from his thoughts. "They say they can have a few more translation devices made by tomorrow if the call comes from you."

Din nodded to himself and made a mental note: "I'll put in the call. Did Kix give clearance?"
"Haven't asked yet."
"Make sure you do. There's no need to have you chewed out again."

Paz grumbled as he shifted in his seat: "Ragnar hasn't let me forget that. Laughs about it daily."
"How's he doing?"
"Training's coming along fine. I have him staying at the 'Batch's place until I can swing by and pick him up."

Din nodded and leaned back in his seat: "We won't keep you long then."
Paz just grunted.

--

Jerome was barely awake, blinking vaguely at John as the pair were ushered into the elevator. "Where are we going?" He yawned, craning his neck to see what button Din was pushing. "I didn't finish my coffee."

John hummed and gently grabbed Jerome's hand, helping him stand up as they waited for the elevator to go down: "Kix, the doctor, is going to do a quick check up. Until he clears you, we'll be doing this every morning. Apparently."
"Roger that." Jerome yawned again and squeezed Johns' hand, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

The two were ushered out of the elevator by Din and they walked down the relatively empty hallway to the medical ward, but once the doors opened, Jerome tensed. A Mandalorian, (that's what John called these warriors), was leaning against the front desk, holding a small red box.

Squinting quietly at the warrior, Jerome gripped John's hand tightly and they both came to a stop. Din stood behind them quietly and cocked his head at their stopping. He turned and asked John something that the SPARTAN shrugged at before glancing at his brother: "Jerome? What's up?"

When he got no response, John let his eyes sweep the room and they landed on the Mandalorian with the box. He arched an eyebrow, only to also tense up as the Mandalorian began to walk over.

Din silently folded his arms and let the Mandalorian approach, although his hand lingered near the Darksaber, just in case. He was already protective over these kids, and he would let nothing hurt them again. Din hoped no one would fault him for being just a little (over)protective.

"Do you know him?" John asked, finger hooked under his translation.
Jerome shook his hand, but his brow furrowed slightly: "I think I kicked him? I... kind of recognise the cloak."

The Mandalorian knelt and bowed his head, offering the red box out to Jerome and John. Both boys tensed, confusion written across their faces as the Mandalorian spoke. Din seemed confused? Maybe? It was hard to tell when he gave so little away through his armour.

"W-What did he say?" Jerome asked, glancing at John who had a confused look written across his face.
Din placed his hands gently on their shoulders and glanced at them. He spoke softly, and John blinked in surprise.

"Oh?" He asked, stunned. "Uhm. Din says that he's offering a gift. For you."

Jerome arched an eyebrow and quietly reached out to take the bow, offering a dipped head and a small nod. "Uh, thank you."

The Mandalorian said something to Jerome before nodding to John, standing, and walking away.

Once he was out of sight, all three of them relaxed, and Jerome glanced at the box curiously. He shrugged and peeled the lid off the box, glancing inside with a hum of confusion. "It looks like cake."
John blinked and leaned over Jerome's shoulder. "Huh. It looks like a nice cake."

The two stared at the box before glancing at each other, then up at Din, who simply cocked his head.

"Well," John said quietly, looking back to his fellow SPARTAN, "No time like the present?"
Jerome snorted: "Pun intended?"
John sighed. "Just, don't get poisoned, okay?"
"Wouldn't dream of it." He replied blankly and took a bite.

--

The kids seemed to take the gift well, and Jerome even had a nibble on the cake before sharing it with John. The two were chattering quietly as Kix ran through the basic tests, checking Jerome over and making sure his wrist set properly. When he was given the all clear, Din took the two kids back upstairs, talking with Kix quietly on the ride up in the elevator about things to look out for and plans in case something else went wrong.

Once they entered Din's apartment, the small group stopped in their tracks.

"Luke? Everything... alright?" Din asked, ignoring the way Jerome was holding back laughter and the way John was choking on his own tongue. Kix just folded a hand over his mouth and resisted the urge to laugh his head off.

The Jedi in question was standing in the living room by the low glass table, sipping a cup of tea while watching over the rest of the Blues and the Ferrets who were carefully stacking small boxes on the table in question. "Yeah, we're fine, why do you ask?"

Din indicated vaguely to the boxes piling up around the room. Luke just offered a shrug. "They were dropped off when you left."

Mark offered a bright smile from behind the couch, holding up a box of razor sharp blades with ornate carvings on the hilts. "They gave us knives!"

John paled slightly and Fred swore loudly, shoving the box he was holding at Kelly before leaping over the couch: trying to take them back from Mark who was now sprinting around the room with even more energy than he had when they left - laughing maniacally. Veta ran after them, cussing under her breath as Mark cackled from under the dining table.

"We were gone for five minutes!" Jerome yelled.
"Yeah, well, they got you too." James said from where he was draped over the armchair, sipping a cup of tea. He nodded to the red box Jerome was holding. "You were only gone for five minutes."

Kix just chuckled under his breath as Kelly dumped an armful of stuffed toys into an empty cardboard box, which Ash curiously began to pick through, overseen by Linda who was wearing a new cap that held her hair back from her face. John sighed and closed his eyes, ignoring Jerome who took another bite of the cake with a slight shrug.

Luke smiled at Din's stunned face and took another slow sip from his tea: "Paz went to go get Ragnar, I'm hoping he'll come back to help organise all of this."
Nodding, Din crouched and picked up Grogu, who was waddling over wearing a shirt way too big for him, but would be about the right size for one of the Ferrets. "Looks like the news has reached the public."

Luke smiled slightly and placed his cup down on the nearest spot that wasn't taken up by a box or stuffed toy. "Can you get the door please, I have a feeling Paz won't be able to open it."

--

As always, Luke was right.

Paz had been ambushed by some local Mandalorians, and he and Ragnar were carrying an armful of gifts. The boy managed to wave at Din before he needed to dump the gifts on the floor to avoid dropping them. Paz just grumbled good naturedly as John and Jerome turned to help him unload everything.

"Never let it be said that Mandalorian's under do anything." Luke smiled at Paz, who promptly flipped him off.

Din just sighed.

It was going to be a long week.