Chapter Text
It's a long trip from Onderon to Lasan, made longer by the weight of his sins and the human soul he's shackled himself to.
The imp lays behind him, lounging on the pull-out cot, Imperial blacks discarded for Durra's spare flightsuit, and sends its loathing to him in sleepy waves. When left to its own devices, all it seems to want to do is sleep, and hey, that's fine by him. That's more than fine. Means he doesn't have to overexert himself to keep up the charade. Considering how long it's been since he's done this sort of kark, and considering what a madthing this particular Imp is, it wouldn't take much pushback to break the grip he has on it.
For now, it's a drowsy predator made docile with lies and booze it was worryingly eager to accept.
Of course, Durra would prefer it if he could decouple their minds, at least while it naps. Hell, Durra would prefer unlatching from its rancid aura completely, putting a hole in its head, and chucking its stupid corpse out the airlock. It's not like it'd be hard, it'd be pretty kriffing easy, now that the Imp's exhausted and half-drunk and fully convinced of its own safety.
More than once, Durra's taken his gun in hand and thought just that; it would be easy. Few times he's even aimed at the thing, right between its evil eyes...but every single time, he'd felt the Bogan's breath on his neck, felt it sizing up his soul, and just couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger.
He's a sinner. He knows he is, and he's been able to live with that fact so far, but killing a Watcher? Breaking that vow? No. No, he can't bring himself to. Even if it is a human. Even if it is an Imp.
More than once he's asked the Ashla why in all Her brother's Hells She'd give a human Her gift, but he's no Wise. She doesn't answer to the likes of him. Never has, never will.
The human didn't know either; Watchers and Guards are just part of its bloodline.
He didn't risk asking it much. It was a gamble to--if the damn thing wasn't already concussed, he's sure it never would have bought his fib about being its brother, and asking stupid questions was a fast way to break the illusion and have the little bogan back at his throat.
The madthing was scary when it got upset.
And Durra doesn't scare easily, alright? You can't, when you work for a bloke like Gerrera.
Durra likes danger. He likes risk. He especially likes giving it rough and raw to the likes of the Empire.
This, though. This is different.
Maybe Durra could take this Imp in a fair fight, if it were just a normal human. Sure, it's on the taller side, but he's got a full head of height on it, and he's easily twice its weight. But it's not a normal human, it's a Watcher. Maybe Durra could draw faster than it could rush him, pull the trigger faster than it could take a swipe, even with its Ashla blessed strength and speed. He can't, though, because it's a kriffing Watcher.
Which is kriffed up to begin with. This doesn't happen. Humans don't have Ashla blessings, he's half convinced most of them don't even have souls, and it's downright insulting to find this one glowing with the Ashla's own light while tearing Her people apart, one planet at a time, for the Empire.
It doesn't even have the decency to be a normal Watcher. It's more like something out of the old legends, back when Lasan warred with Herself and some of the most bloodthirsty tribes trained both Guard and Watcher to wield the Ashla's light as a weapon. That was centuries ago. Generations have passed since that kind of bantha shit was outlawed. He doesn't think anyone knows how to do it now, and he certainly doesn't have the natural talent or technical know-how to protect himself from something that can.
This human, this freak of nature, could turn its aura into a blade, easy as breathing. If it didn't need his Guarding to be sane, there's no way he'd manage to bridle it on his own, let alone keep it bound a whole two jumps.
Which is scary, alright? It's terrifying.
Lucky for Durra, it's not stupid. It knows it needs him. It knows that without a Guard around, it's little more than a kriffing feral animal. So, if Durra doesn't push, it keeps its claws to itself.
Of course Durra isn't just any Guard, he's impersonating the thing's brother. Not his idea, by the way. Wouldn't be his idea in a million years, not just because it's sinful and wrong to use his own blessings that way. It's also a stupid kriffing plan; high risk for no damned reward. It's just, when his aura first reached to it, to calm it, to pacify it, to give it enough sanity to rub together and form a coherent thought, the Imp looked at him, recognized him as Guard and thought 'oh good, my brother is here' and immediately dropped like a sack of rocks, sagging into his control.
Just, you know, after its aura swung at him, trying to flay his mind open for the crime of breathing the same air.
Durra's kept up the ruse since, but he's so kriffing aware he's walking a knife's edge with this thing, every second of it on borrowed time.
He's been in this thing's mind long enough to know it does not forgive. The moment it realizes he's been fibbing--that he's convinced it that it's still on its home planet with its family and not hurtling through hyperspace towards the outer rim--that's the moment it tears him to shreds, he just knows it.
Getting it drunk was his idea, though, and so far, it's worked well. 'Well' in the sense he's bought himself more time. The madthing's company while drunk still left much to be desired. Kriffing everything with this thing was a bad trip. The more he learned about it, the more Bogan cursed the whole thing became. The Imp talked like booze was its favorite food group, but got drunk fast off the watered down shine Durra had to hand, which meant, if he had to guess, the Empire must keep its ranks stone sober, but drink was something the Watcher turned to, back when Guarded by its brother.
From what Durra's put together about how its family does things, he can't even blame it for turning to booze.
The humans are kriffing barbaric. Sick in the head. That he knew already, but the way they handle their blessings is just unforgivable.
Playing into it makes Durra's fur rise, puffs him up like a kit what stumbled across something's kill while playing in the woods. Humans are sick. He's sick for pretending to be one. He's got to lose this Watcher, he cannotkeep this kark up.
Doesn't surprise him this one ran away from home first chance it got. Not a lick. But it chose the Empire to hold its leash, and then Durra had the good misfortune of obliterating it, whatever 'it' was that masked its soul and kept its senses level for it, and now here he is, a nervous kriffing wreck limping home with his tail between his legs, just hoping he can pass the madthing off to someone more qualified.
He never wanted to go back to Lasan. He was comfortable with his line of work. It was of a sinful nature, but it needed done and better him than someone too soft to stomach it.
But he can't kill the human and he can't kriffing keep it, so he's out of options. He'd go to Kashyyyk, he'd love to go to Kashyyyk, but it's under Imperial blockade and there's no guarantee he can find a sect of Guards there, even if he dipped into Gerrera's connections.
The only beings he can entrust this freak to are the Lasat of the High Honor Guard. They're the only ones with the training. Unfortunately, they're also the ones with a warrant for his neck, for desertion, dereliction of duty and theft (of several varieties). Which means there's slim chance of him escaping back into the arms of the Bendu once he's ditched the headcase. He'll be grounded, probably sent to tend after the Wise for penance. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe this is the Ashla warning him away from the Bogan's path.
Maybe he's just got the Bogan's own luck.
Whatever the reason, he's here now. He's doing this. It's all he can do, and it feels like it's a gods damned eternity before they've finished this last jump home.
Finally, it happens. The dash starts ringing, signaling it's time to drop out of hyperspace. Problem is, it wakes the human, who's immediately up and cursing. It goes for its boot, lost somewhere under the cot, with every intention of chucking it at the offending noise, and Durra's forced to split his focus between making the drop safely and tugging the madthing's sense of hearing down low enough, it stops threatening the equipment.
"[No throwing things, this shit's expensive,]" he hisses at it. He can't tell it that breaking something could get them both killed, it'd threaten the illusion. Durra's kept the ruse up this long, he's not gonna fumble it in the literal home stretch.
When his chiding doesn't seem to deter the human--madthing seems to take it more as a challenge, actually; kriff, but it really hates its brother--Durra quickly adds, "[Yer mother taught you better.]" That does the trick, takes the fight right out of it. The human deflates, sullenly tosses its boot to the side as it grumbles something rude under its breath.
He wishes he could say it backed down out of respect of its old woman, but no. No, that'd imply it had family that wasn't sick in the head. Instead, he's learned invoking its mother is more akin to a threat.
Kriffing humans. Backwards and broken, every Bogan damned one of them.
"[We're almost there,]" he tells it, though he can't say why he tries. It doesn't take his reassurance, just flops horizontal again and gives the bond connecting them a lazy swipe with a corner of its own aura. Hurts like a flick across the temple, nothing more, but gods is it a good reminder why he wants to see the backside of this Bogan damned Watcher.
He holds tight to that thought as he returns to the controls and pulls them closer to the planet he escaped from years and years ago. Holds it tight enough to ache as he guides them into orbit and accepts the hail from the branch of the Queen's Watch that monitors Lasan's airspace.
He makes damn sure the human can't hear a word of it when he opens a channel and requests aid from the High Honor Guard. While he keeps the details vague, he emphasizes the Watcher he's bringing in is strong and dangerous. He needs help from the best.
He deeply considers shooting the Imp and running back to Gerrera when he's told High Honor Guard Captain Orrelios will see to it personally. He doesn't, but he sure as kriff considers it for a good ten, twenty seconds.
The last thing this shitshow needs is a nice little Guard class reunion.
–=-
Orrelios is waiting for them on the landing pad, just as short and straight-laced as Durra remembers him. The officer's cloak clipped over his shoulder with garlynn bone painted in royal gold and red flutters in the wind kicked up by the shuttle's landing, and doesn't he make a pretty picture. Doesn't it all suit him too damn well. Kriffer looks like he'd stepped out of one of those stupid poems from the romantic period he wouldn't shut up about back in uni, top-knot braid and all. It takes all the willpower Durra can scrape together not to say something about it. Kriff him, of course Orrelios got all the way to captain. Of course he did.
"Durranz," Orrelios says, after the ramp has dropped. Doesn't just recognize him, no, this gundark has the audacity to look happy to see him. "The Ashla's called you back."
Durra's ear flicks that assumption away, his aura too strained with his unwanted charge to properly show his distaste at this too-friendly greeting.
"Not to your flock," he corrects stiffly, Lasana feeling strange on his tongue after a decade and change spent spitting Basic at other spacers and mercs. Only the shame of his sins keeps him from sliding something else rude in sideways. "I just...need some help. With this one. Don't--" Durra steps into his path, blocking Orrelios from seeing into the shuttle–or the human from seeing out. He can feel the captain's aura pressing past him, he has to explain fast; "not yet--it's not a normal Watcher."
"You said you needed help." Orrelios' note of exasperation is annoyingly reserved. Durra's put himself between the captain and his job, after coming all this way, but he has a good reason to, dammit. He doesn't care how good the little brown-noser is, there's no way in hell he's dealt with anything like this before.
"I do, but–" he drops back into Basic for expediency sake and because the rougher words just feel right when discussing this thing what crawled out of the Bogan's own asscrack. "[Dammit, it's complicated. Thing's not usedta more than one Guard atta time, and it ain't got the temperament for surprises.]"
All that good nature has soured into placid professionalism. Orrelios crosses his arms and fixes Durra with an annoyingly paternal look of disappointment. "Explain."
"It's an [Imp], captain. One of their officers; [kill us as soon'a look at us.]" This time, when Orrelios starts to advance up the ramp, Durra steps out of his way.
"I'll keep him docile," Orrelios says, tone light, reassuring, "I've heard what these ones do…"
Durra closes his eyes to better concentrate on the human as the two, it and the Captain, come within sight of each other. He readies himself to scruff it, but it continues to lounge, unbothered by the added company, happy to accept this is just some acquaintance of its brother, and therefore none of its concern. Until told otherwise, it plans to ignore them both. Thank the Ashla.
"How in the Bogan's fiery anus did we wind up with a human Watcher?" Orrelios asks no one in particular, once he has eyes on the madthing.
"Maybe they've started making them," suggests one of Orrelios' underlings, lingering just at the edge of the ramp.
"No," Durra says, voice tipped low. He's keeping it deaf to the best of his abilities, but he's a kriffing deserter who hasn't Guarded jack or shit in a good decade. He can't be sure, he has to play safe. "It's a [natborn,] blessings run in its family. It–" he catches Orrelios' eye, sees the stern disapproval and--dammit. "He," Durra corrects, "told me…"
Where to even start?
With what's actionable, just like any other op. What does Orrelios need to know for this all to go green?
"I've made him think I'm his brother, the Guard of the family, but--the way they do things is… vile."
Orrelios' ears have gone from a cautious tilt to a disturbed angle, which is appropriate, very appropriate. "What do you mean?" he asks Durra, matching his volume. "What's he expecting?"
"Obedience," Durra says. "By force, if necessary. Sees his brother like a damned [slaver.] Don't think he ever actually broke the kit, but it's what the Watcher–answers to 'Sasha'--it's what he expects I want. What he thinks Guards do to their Watchers" The revulsion ripples out of him, fur standing on end in a fresh wave of disgust, bristling from the scalp to toe-claw. "I--I couldn't keep doing it. I know what his kind does, what they deserve, but--even for an [Imp,] it's not right."
It's been a long damn time since he's felt another Guard's aura entering his own, and Durra flinches when Orrelios sets his down around them. It's as gentle as ever, comfortable and understanding, and sure, maybe Durra's a coward, maybe he takes the easy way out and passes the memory to the captain to explain the worst of it for him.
The plan, the bombs, the ambush, the explosion, the light from a Watcher's soul erupting from the pile of bodies like a coffin birth. The madthing that clawed itself free from that pile and came for him, then, too blinded by the Light of its own soul to think, only knowing how to hate. The impossible way it tore through his aura when he first reached for it. The surprising acceptance that followed, and its immediate adrenal crash.
"I can feel it off him," Orrelios says as he withdraws all but the calm from around Durra's shoulders. "The fear. The–teeth in his soul. Like he's gone feral." His attention cuts from the human back to Durra, concern giving way to tired reproach. "[You came close yerself. Pickin' off the wounded. You need ta tell the Wise.]" Shame keeps Durra from doing much more than agreeing with a sharp, short nod. The switch to Basic--it's more kindness than he deserves from the likes of Garazeb. Keeping the worst of his sins from the loyalists present, the ones who refuse to learn the galactic trade language out of pride for their own.
It doesn't suit him, that spacer's accent. Not a hopeless, honorable twat like Orrelios.
"For now," and the captain sighs and puts his hands on his hips and gives the human another long, considering once over, "I'll see if this bugger has a setting between 'enslaved' and 'murdering for the Empire.'"
Orrelios opens his aura and waits for Durra's signal.
He's about as prepared as he can be. Durra wants to get this handoff done with, so. Guess that means it's show time.
Durra lifts his vambrace, flashing the sed-dart he has loaded to the Captain, just in-kriffing-case, and, after Orrelios' nod, clears his throat and raises the human's hearing by a couple degrees. "Sasha?"
The human grunts in affirmative, not bothering to so much as look their way.
"[Yer…staying with a friend'a mine.]" The switch to Basic is out of possibly misplaced caution. After all, he knows it's brother's accent is closer to the kind Devarions have, which he isn't even trying to mimic, but. The less he has to fudge with its perception of reality, the better. It speaks Basic, let's just stick with Basic. "[Jus' for a lil' while. Arright?]"
It--he--shrugs. His hate for his brother, for his own gift, floods their connection. The platitude of asking him anything, when his brother's the one who makes the calls regardless of what his Watcher thinks or wants, it's taken as a petty jab, as kriffing bait, and Durra can't pass the bond off to the Captain fast enough, but–-
The damned madthing can sharpen its aura to a knife point, so Durra tacks on a useless, "[Don't cause any trouble,]" before he withdraws entirely. He can feel it was the wrong thing to say even as he beats a hasty retreat. The human turns enough to flash a smirk their way, lips curled back to show them all his inane little teeth. Durra doesn't need their fraying bond to know it's a damned threat display.
But he's done with this kark. He's out, the human's mind is fading to just a point of light within Durra's range of influence, no residuals. A completely clean break.
Durra's aura up and leaving, it wipes that smirk right off the human's face. His fear hits the air a second later and Durra's stomach turns over from the guilt of it. There's just something god awful about a Watcher so afraid of his own blessings. It's never sat right with him--Gods, this is exactly why he wanted off this damned planet in the first place. He never wanted this responsibility, but his damned instincts as a Guard refuse to let him close his heart to it. He didn't have a choice but to put distance between him and Watchers in general.
It doesn't matter–-the Captain is right there, laying his wide, steady aura down around the Imp within the next breath.
"[Hello,]" Orrelios says, voice hitting that timber, that…special range that Watchers reacted so well to. It sends Durra right back to Guard fundamentals, hearing him drop into that tone, natural as anything.
The human seems momentarily stunned. Durra half convinces himself the Captain's gonna talk this one down, the Imp stalls out for so long, but no. No, that'd be too easy. Too kriffing civil for this Imp's tastes.
No, this one's too damn feral to be guided gently away from the edge with a handful of sweet nothings.
The scent and empathetic weight of Durra's own fear fills the shuttle as the human curls over itself, fists its hands and grits its teeth and puts everything it has into tearing the Captain's aura to shreds.
It's a credit to the Captain and his skill that only a few of those first, frenzied swipes land. Orrelios doesn't retreat, doesn't lessen the clarity and support he offers the madthing, he moves with it. Refusing to fight, refusing to exert control, but also refusing to leave the human to the sensory overload awaiting it, should it get its wish and decouple their auras. It needs a Guard. Durra thought the damned Imp understood that!
Maybe its brother was the only exception. Maybe--maybe if it saw all Guards as would be tyrants, it refused to answer to anyone but family.
The longer their auras clash–-it and the Captain–-the better the Captain becomes at predicting its movements. It must realize this after five full seconds go by it of not landing any of its swings, because it shoots from the cot with a roar, throwing itself at the Captain, the force of their collision sending them both tumbling out the shuttle and rolling down the service ramp.
What follows is something between a pub brawl and a mauling. Humans don't have teeth or claws strong or sharp enough to be considered weapons, but apparently no one told this human that. It throws everything it's got into drawing blood. Orrelios has its bottom half restrained almost immediately but can't seem to get the top half under control. It slips out of any pin he tries, moving and thrashing in a way that makes a clean shot from Durra kriffing impossible.
That's not even the craziest thing! The craziest thing is Orrelios is still trying to talk it down.
"[Buck–Buck, no one's trying to hurt ya!]"
The human spits and snarls in its native language, furious, deranged, absolutely feral.
"Captain!"
One of his men calls to him and Durra remembers, there's a small platoon at Orrelios' back, and there has been this whole kriffing time. Each Guard has their auras at the ready, positioned over the fight, looming, and Durra realizes this has only gone on for as long as it has because Orrelios' has let it.
The human is trying to dislocate the Captain's thumb and chew through his palm all at the same time, when Orrelios relents with a snarl of his own.
"Drop'em!"
A half dozen auras descend on cue, pinning the human in place. It struggles, lets out an angry roar of defiance, its raw fury rising to match their collective training and skill.
No match for a sed, though. Durra gets it right in the neck, practically in that big artery humans got framing their throats. Between enough juice to bring down a bantha and a handful of the best Guards Lasan has on offer, this gigantic pain in Durra's as is down for the count.
Still, it takes several long seconds before the human drops limp. The last thing it does before slipping unconscious is look Durra's way and lock eyes.
Bogan's wrinkly ball sack, he's almost glad he's getting shipped off to the Wise. He doesn't think he can shake that look of betrayal on his own. It's gonna come for him next he tries to sleep, he's sure of it.
"Absolute madthing," Orrelios hisses. One of his men helps him stand, another transferring the now unconscious Watcher into his arms once he's up and steady. "I've seen worse," he says, "but just barely."
Durra stares at him. That has to be a joke but he delivered it straight, and as Durra remembers it, Orrelios had an obnoxious habit of always laughing at his own jokes.
Orrelios isn't laughing.
How the Kriff has he seen worse?
Nonplussed, Orrelios catches Durra's eye and, ears tilted gratefully, gives him a polite nod. "I've got him from here."