Chapter Text
Obi-Wan had not meant to disturb the tomb, for whatever that was worth. And he did believe, as a Jedi, that intention did matter at least a little bit. But he’d been injured and Death Watch was on their tail, and… He hadn’t exactly known when he said they could find some safe harbor from the heat of the wastelands within the caves that they’d been sacred.
Satine had pointed it out, once she’d noticed, explaining the elaborately carved caverns where many clans laid their old iron to rest. The only pieces that weren’t covered in dust were a pair of red vambraces, laid haphazardly against the wall, obviously thrown into the room rather than set gently like the others. Something about that sent a pang in Obi-Wan’s heart.
There weren’t many of the old caches left, looted as they were by Death Watch. Even Satine, who longed to see her people lay down their arms, wrinkled her nose at the disrespect.
“Beskar that’s been deemed kadala isn’t to be used,” she huffed, “Still, it shouldn’t be cast aside so… So callously. Nor looted. This is just another way that Death Watch…”
Obi-Wan nodded along to her as he inspected the carving closest to him. Ancient Mando’a looked ragged, carved in the stone and painted with what looked like it could very well be blood. If he were more of a scholar, he probably could have guessed at what would be important enough to carve here, but instead he just felt disappointed that he didn’t have any way to take a holo. The favor that something like this could win with Master Nu…
“...which is why beskar should be used to build our people up rather than tearing others down. Coating what is supposedly our very souls in blood cannot possibly be good for our psyche, and I’m not even sure I believe in such a trait…”
Obi-Wan hissed as the cold of the cave floor started registering against his raw and blistered feet. The sole on his right shoe had worn through weeks ago, and they hadn’t found any way to fix it yet. He didn’t need to look to know that he was leaving blood behind with every step. He settled down onto the floor to try to wrap his feet. He didn’t have many bacta patches left, so he rationed, carefully cutting one in sections so that only the worst of his injury was covered. The Jedi frowned. Surely they’d find another village soon, one that had a few more supplies to spare.
He worked slowly, letting Satine’s chatter wash over him, as cleansing for him to hear with her light and life as it was for her to speak and release the tension of the day.
“...and giving up Mando’a as a language isn’t necessary, but having a standardized written version that uses Aurebesh–or at the very least Outer Rim Basic–would go a long way towards ease of trade, and it would save on the cost of reprogramming! There are so many ways for us to promote progress without–”
A warning flared in the Force and Obi-Wan held up his hand, asking for silence. They’d been on the run together for months, at this point, and she was quick to comply.
Gleaning from her many diatribes on her personal interpretation of Mandalore’s best future, Obi-Wan knew a few things that he hadn’t at the beginning of this mission: throwing knives were the most popular weapon on Mandalore, uj cake recipes were closely guarded secrets, and the ancient religions were incredibly gory in all of their rituals but details were lost to time. Something about a library being lost in the Dral’han…
A mist started creeping towards them from the archway on the far side of the room. It moved slowly, but Obi-Wan had the sickening realization that as it passed over his footprints, the mist would redden, picking up his blood.
Run, he felt, all the way down to his bones.
There wasn’t time to hesitate. He grabbed Satine’s arm and poured lightness into their feet. The cavern entrance rumbled. He threw his charge out of the door, barely able to gentle her landing with the Force as he used it to leap himself, just as rocks crashed down, blocking the entrance.
That was far too close.
The sun blazed overhead, even more oppressive after the coolness of the caves. Satine scrambled back towards him as he groaned into the earth. She was up and moving, that was good. Master Qui-Gon would have his braid if he let her come to any lasting harm.
She fretted over him, heat slowly eating away his remaining strength as he slowly sat up. Even his thoughts felt sluggish. He got on his feet. The crash had surely attracted their trackers, too. They needed to get moving.
Between one blink and the next, he jolted into somewhere else.
He was looking through a HUD at a navigation map, clearly marked with what seemed to be Death Watch bases, if he was reading the labels correctly.
And he felt very heavy.
Obi-Wan looked down, somehow already knowing why it felt like there was a weight on his chest. Silver beskar greeted him.
Stars, how did he always manage to end up in these sort of predicaments?
In front of her, Obi-Wan lurched in place, then hissed as his injured foot made contact with the hot ground. At her noise of sympathy, he whirled around, like he had meant to turn towards her but had put too much force into it. Honestly, it would’ve been a little funny if she didn’t feel so bad for their situation.
When he finally managed to settle, her Jedi protector pinned her with a glare. She delicately raised her brow.
He scowled, “Who the fuck are you?”
Well, that was decidedly not good.
Jango was not interested in being the jetii bodyguard of Kryze, no matter how many times she tried to explain it, shoving a lightsaber hilt into his hands. The whole situation was osik, and the moment he figured out how this was happening, he was going to crack some heads until it got fixed.
The little Duchess scrunched her nose, like she couldn’t believe that she had to put up with him. Well, if she’d stop trailing after him, she wouldn’t have to. Who followed someone around when you didn’t even know their name?
It didn’t help that he could feel the Manda around him for the first time in his miserable life. If this was what it was like to be ka’ra-ad, then he was all too happy that he didn’t have to deal with this. People who envied it were di’kute. Kryze’s panic and confusion battered at him, kriff, even the ground stank of a profound sense of loss.
That wasn’t even accounting for his current body’s sorry state. He hadn’t been this hungry since his early slave days. His feet burned, and it must’ve been a miracle or jetii magics that kept them from being infected. His skin was tender, like it had just recovered from sunburn. He felt absolutely exhausted.
And worst of all, he recognized where they were. Manda’yaim. The opposite side of the galaxy from where he started. And he recognized the cave, too. It was where he’d dumped his unsalvageable pieces after he recovered his armor from Galidraan’s now very dead governor. It had torn him apart to lose any piece of the beskar’gam that Jaster had gifted him.
He looked up at the closed cave entrance, his feet stinging. It had been six years since Kyr’tsad had set up the Haat’ade to die at jetii hands. He looked down at the kad’au and grumbled. If they were going to fix this, they were going to have to get in contact with the jetii in his body. He turned towards where he knew the nearest town was and started walking, channeling spite into every painful step.
Someone better have a comm on hand or he was going to lose it.
It was well past sundown when they made it, and his stupid body was trembling. He scowled at the way it reminded him of the spice withdrawals. He rapped his shaking knuckles on a familiar door and shouted in Mando’a, “Wake up Vau, you stubborn bastard. I’ve got an absolute shitshow to deal with and I need fresh eyes and more hands.” The vowels of the language tasted odd in this voice, too high pitched and slightly accented as his mouth refused to move in his normal way.
Still, it worked well enough as he heard and felt angry tones on the other side of the door, “Who’re you, the Mand’alor? No one here that goes by Vau, and you can’t go ‘round busting down doors like this. Have some stars-damned manners!” Then the door swung open, and there was Walon Vau, all black armor and blacker humor, just like Jango remembered, last time he’d seen him less than a year ago. The man frowned down at them, “Ben? I thought I told you not to come back here. Last thing this town needs is to be occupied by the Death Watch, and you got your supplies.”
Jango gritted through Ben’s teeth, “See, I remember you taking a vow to me, Walon. I wasn’t kidding about the shitshow. Now, let me inside so I can explain it.”
Vau glanced back at Kryze, who shook her head. Then he stepped aside.
It took less time than he thought it would to convince the man that he was, in fact, Jango Fett in a starving jetii body, thanks to their history.
Then they made their way to the town’s long range comm. Jango dialed his own number and left a message. Within minutes, they got an answer.
On the other side of it, Ben wore Jango’s face and looked very relieved to see him. Jango did not like how soft it made him look. They'd have to work on that if the jetii was going to have to pose as him at all before they figured out how to swap back.
Obi-Wan felt like he could cry with relief when he opened the comm to see his own face. He’d already had to decline three calls from some Mando named Skirata, who was becoming increasingly belligerent with every avoidance. Besides learning that he was apparently in the body of one Jango Fett, a name he did not recognize but who was someone that had an obvious grudge against the Death Watch, he had also navigated the small starfighter back towards the Mandalore sector. He hadn’t been able to get ahold of his Master, nor the Temple.
So, watching his body bunch up and hurl increasingly irate expletives about the situation in his own voice was honestly a bit cathartic. Another part of him cringed, as it was not the way a Jedi was meant to behave if they wanted to uphold the reputation of the Order.
It wasn’t the most productive call; he was already on course for the planet to pick them up, so yelling at him to “get the hell over here” was redundant.
At least, it seemed redundant until the pirates showed up.