Chapter Text
"I was adored once too." – Sir Andrew Aguecheek, William Shakespeare
Inspired by Tracy'ika by TheShinyLizard
Prologue
Padme Amidala screamed as she fought to bring her children into the world.
Twins.
Obi-Wan stood by her side, hardly present, having just left his brother and Padawan to burn on the shores of ash and despair.
He wasn’t really thinking about his friend as she held his hand, feeling her life fade like a flickering flame ready to blow out in a moment.
No, he was thinking about the choices that he had made when he was young and stupid.
Younger than Padme, younger than Anakin.
Pregnant at sixteen, also with twin lives held inside his body, two glowing lights who had been the hope he felt undeserving of.
He had been a failing Padawan, how could he hope to be a good mother to either of them?
Obi-Wan hadn’t ended them, as was offered to him, instead he had chosen an artificial birth for them. All because he hadn’t wanted to be thrown further behind in his journey to become a Jedi Knight.
And look how disastrously that had turned out.
Obi-Wan’s other half, his secondary form, was still mourning for the babes he had seperated them from. His animal half didn’t understand separation, not from the clanmates, not from his master, and not from the man he had mated with only that one night.
And here was Padme who had been able to hide her pregnancy. If only she hadn’t hidden it. If only they had confided in him, but maybe he told Anakin about his own pregnancy he would have been more comfortable.
Or maybe Anakin would have just hated him more for choosing the Jedi over his own personal happiness.
Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure who the Force was trying to punish, Obi-Wan for not choosing a family, or Anakin, for choosing family over the Light.
Anakin had failed Padme, failed his children just as surely as Obi-Wan had failed his own.
How would the galaxy have been different if Anakin had given up his ambition to remain at his wife’s side?
How would the galaxy have been different Obi-Wan had believed in himself and chosen his own sons over the cursed endeavor of chasing after Qui-Gon’s approval?
Obi-Wan shut his eyes, reaching out to the Force, wishing…
Wishing he had followed his instincts and the desires of his heart rather than…
Rather than the principles of a stagnant religion and a corrupted government.
The Force answered his silent plea with light.
Padme screamed again, followed by the cry of a babe as the light consumed them all.
Obi-Wan didn’t fight the Force, allowing himself to fall into its embrace.
He had lost everything, failed everyone, but the light remained.
Until it didn’t.
But Obi-Wan did not fight the darkness either.
All was the Force, and the Force was with him.
Chapter 1 - Once More
Jango Fett didn’t know the name of the strumpet he had met at the bar, not that it mattered.
Jango was sort of dreading whatever price this courtesan was going to ask of him. They hadn’t settled on the fee when the young man had fluttered those long lashes at him, his face painted like a pristine mask, his eyes heavily kohled, and his lips stained a deep blood red.
Jango was twenty and hadn’t been thinking, or at least, not with his frontal cortex.
Still, figuring he would get his credits worth, Jango wouldn’t mind a second round as he idly stroked the other male’s hair. Spun copper that was downy soft beneath his fingertips as the skinworker slept peacefully against his thigh.
Really, it would be worth the credits to have found a courtesan of this calibre–on Jakku of all dust buckets–as he waited for a hit to pass through.
It would have remained a wonderful morning, if not for the sudden shudder that ran through the skinworker’s body, followed by the reak of burning flesh.
“Hey!” Jango exclaimed. Shaking the other man’s shoulder, only to yank his hand back when a slash burn appeared on that pale shoulder.
It wasn’t deep but–
Jango fell out of bed as the skinworker suddenly spiked a fever.
Cursing, Jango scrambled to get his body suit on and his armour. He jammed the warning call on his vambrace because he was almost certain that there was no way Jakku had medical services that didn’t also act as a slave export station.
Jango didn’t try to redress the poor thing, but he did gather up all the man’s belongings and shove it into his bag.
The skinworker wasn’t heavy as Jango wrapped his flushed and feverish body in the sheet.
Having prepaid for the room, he didn’t need to check out as he all but ran into the night.
He felt bad that he had a helmet on while the sandy wind buffered against the man in his arms, the sheet offering a paltry defense.
But Jango was grateful that he wasn’t here alone on this mission.
Mij Gilamar was waiting for him, ramp down.
The medic was not impressed with Jango when he saw who, or rather what, was in his arms.
“What did you do?” Mij snarled as led Jango to the medbay and helped him set the skinworker out on a coot.
“I don’t know!” Jango exclaimed, suddenly feeling so young. He might have passed his trials four years ago but he didn’t feel prepared for this. “I was– I mean, we were, you know, but then he was just sleeping. He was just sleeping!”
Mij slashed his hand in a downward motion, silencing Jango as he set up the scanners.
“Breathe,” Mij ordered. “What made you hit the emergency signals?”
Jango took in a harsh breath, let it go, and repeated a second time before answering. “I smelled burning flesh, he spiked a fever, and I couldn’t wake him up. And it’s Jakku. No one will help him for free.”
“Here,” Mij stated coldly. “No one karks for free either. He’s young, Jango.”
“Is he okay?” Jango asked chest tightening with guilt even as his own cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Mij didn’t answer as he ran through a number of scans.
“Mij?” Jango asked again five minutes later, though it might as well have been five hours.
“Did you use protection?” Mij demanded.
A fresh wave of heat rushed to Jango’s cheeks so fast, he felt almost faint.
“No,” he admitted.
Mij set down his pad, grabbed a hypo from a refrigerated cabinet, activated it, then turned on Jango.
Jango flinched, tensing his muscles to not fight the medic as the syringe was plunged into his neck.
It karking hurt.
“Go get cleaned up,” Mij commanded. “Then get us into atmo. I did a level two scan, I can’t find a chip. I’ll do a deeper bio-scan and then we can take off.”
“But our mission–”
“The target took a different route, Myles’s team gottem. I was giving you time to enjoy your night, which was clearly a mistake. Now, go.”
Jango bowed his head, leaving to do as he was bid.
Jaster may be the Mand’alor, but Mij was still the medic.
A medic’s orders almost always won out.
oOo
Mij sighed as he finished yet another scan.
It took him a lot not to smash his tablet.
Jango had no idea how badly he had screwed up.
To be fair to him, this… child posing as a skinworker was incredibly lucky to escape his enslavement. The collar scars were encouraging if only that it was further evidence that he likely had never been chipped.
No, the problem was all in his bloodwork.
Mij gave his machines another hour to reconfirm what he already knew to be true, using that time to clean the boy up from his night’s activities.
Mij locked his door, sitting beside the cot as he called his Mand’alor on a holo-recorder.
“Mij,” Jaster Mereel greeted.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
Jaster’s sigh was loud over the speak, and Mij heard laughter in the background.
“ Good news ,” Jaster sighed.
“You’re going to want to find some privacy,” Mij said earnestly.
“ Not encouraging.”
“Jango is fine, though he’ll be getting another class on reproduction and safe sex.”
Jaster groaned even as he gave the signal to confirm his privacy, “ He got someone pregnant.”
“Probably,” Mij agreed.
Jaster was quiet for a moment, “ Isn’t that a yes or no question?”
“It’s been less than a day cycle, so no, but the boy’s Stewjoni, so the answer is probably yes because neither had protection.”
Jaster cursed, long and true, until he finally managed something coherent, “ Why?”
“To Jango’s credit, the boy’s cosmetics are excellent, but his bloodwork has him somewhere between fourteen and eighteen. The only reason we know what to expect from a Stewjoni is because of the records you collected from that ‘exclusive’ slave-ring a decade ago. They are some of the most fertile species in the galaxy, and abortion is complicated even if he wants one.”
“We’ll adopt the ad if the boy doesn’t want them,” Jaster said immediately.
“Yes, well, currently, he’s running a fever I can hardly stabilize, and there’s more you should know.”
Jaster ran hand down his face, “ What?”
“He has the mystery gene that all the slavers paid ennormanite amounts for.”
“ The one we still haven’t discovered because they all end up dead before we can get to them?”
“The same.”
What neither of them voiced was all of the corpses they had found had been skinned alive.
“Maybe he can tell us–”
“Why would he tell us anything?” Mij asked. “He might not even know. If the spikes in his hormone charts are anything to go by, this is his first fertile cycle. He likely doesn’t even remember where he came from.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jaster said. “ Stewjon and her citizens are under Mandalorian protection, my protection. He’s young enough to be adopted into a clan and even if he doesn’t want to stay with us, we can set him up better than using his body credits on a cesspit like Jakku.”
“What do I tell Jango?” Mij asked.
“ I’ll talk to him,” Jaster stated. “ Anything the Stewjoni boy needs, I will personally pay for. He is under the protection of House Mereel now.”
Mij nodded and sighed as the holovideo closed and he looked up at the Stewjoni whose life support monitors refused to settle.
“What’s going on, little sparrow? Why does your heart race so?”
oOo
Master Qui-Gon Jinn felt the bond between himself Obi-Wan shatter. The Padawan-Master bond running deeper than he had ever believed.
He wanted revenge, he wanted there to be anger, rage, but Qui-Gon felt himself crumble.
He had three Padawans, each one lost to death, and Obi-Wan’s blood was purely on his hands.
This time, when Qui-Gon Jinn vowed to never take another Padawan; it was a vow he kept to the end of his life.
oOo
Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi burned with the Light that coursed through his being.
He burned for days.
And when the fever broke, the cold nearly stilled his heart.
The darkness would have killed the Padawan, and it was not hope that saved him.
No, it was the knowledge of a Master Jedi who knew that life was not fair, the world was not balanced, but the Force was everything, and so long as there was life, there would always be Light in the galaxy.
Beyond hope, there was always something worth fighting for.
To be a Jedi, was to believe in the Light, even when you could no longer see it.
Padawan Kenobi woke with a scream, the knowledge of his future and failures burning the inside of his mind as his heart that had nearly fallen still kicked like a trapped bird against the cage of his chest.
Obi-Wan curled around himself, crying as he remembered all that had happened, all that he had lost, and now, all he had left to lose.
oOo
Jango was very sick of watching the Stewjoni teen shiver. They had made it back to Mandalore and the boy’s state had not improved.
He knew, he knew, the boy was burning up, and had been for weeks. Still, he couldn’t take it anymore.
Pulling another blanket from the closest, Jango got into the medical bed with the little Stewjoni and wrapped the blanket around them both.
Jango pulled the shivering teen back into his arms, where he fit, where he felt… right .
And the shivers began to ease, and weirdly, the fever, while it didn’t stop, dropped to more humane levels.
When Mij came in to check on him, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“It’s still not normal, however, it’s better.”
“Which is good?” Jango said, though he couldn’t kept the question out of his voice.
Mij mussed his hair, “It’s good, adi’ika.”
It would be a total of two months before the Stewjoni woke, by which time, they knew for certain the teen was pregnant with Jango’s child.
The Stewjoni did the best when he wasn’t sleeping alone. Jango had to switch off with others. Mij being needed elsewhere often, meant he mainly slept with the Stewjoni during his own sleep cycles, while Jaster and his riduur, Kal Sikrera, took turns staying with him.
oOo
Obi-Wan saw Jango, only it wasn't Jango, it was a million faces whose Force signatures had gone dark as they turned on their Jedi.
No, not dark, not dead, not evil, just shadowed.
The Jedi may have been the commanding officers as far as the rest of the galaxy was concerned, but to almost every Jedi, especially the Padawans, the clones had been more than family. They had been… They had been the only reason to continue fighting. The clones could have asked them for nearly anything at the end and it would have been given gladly.
As one of the High Council Members, Obi-Wan had had a fair insight into the number of Jedi offspring who like Obi-Wan's children, would carry Fett's blood with them.
The Jango currently before him took a step forward and Obi-Wan couldn't help but flinch away, remembering the time this man had tried to kill him.
Unexpectedly, every Mandalorian in the room tensed and Obi-Wan watched in shock as Jaster Mereel drew a blaster on his own son.
Jango had his hands up and there was fear in his eyes.
Obi-Wan breathed in sharply tying to understand.
“Did Jango take you against your will?”
“What?” Obi-Wan squawked.
“Did he ra-”
“No!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, voice breaking. “No. That was the best sex of my life!”
His first heat, his first and last imprint.
It had been… Life affirming.
“Ha!” Jango barked, followed by, “Ow!” As his father hit him over the back of the head.
“How old are you?” Jaster asked more gently.
Obi-Wan swallowed over the lump in his throat.
He was thirty-five, sort of but physically, he was of age at least. “I'm legal, I'm sixteen,” he managed to say. He met Jango's gaze, “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” Jango answered though he looked embarrassed.
Obi-Wan wasn't. Four years wasn't that big an age gap and Obi-Wan had suffered at the hands of beings much older when he had been thirteen in the undersea mines.
His body hadn't even been ready then.
“What's your name?” Obi-Wan asked though he knew already. “Please call me Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
Force help him, his whole body was on fire.
He would have loved to say it was because of the vision or time travel or whatever this was, but he knew it was the pregnancy.
His body was changing fast.
It's why Master Che had made him decide within the week of returning to the Temple if he wanted to get rid of the babies or go into seclusion for two years.
Time to both have the babes and be weaned from them.
Last time, Obi-Wan had chosen Qui-Gon and his apprenticeship, this time…
He had been trapped on Jakku where he had been immediately pinned for being too young. He had ‘borrowed’ a woman's cosmetics and made himself into someone desirable enough to have a choice. Jango had been more than a lucky find, being part of a group that protected his native people.
Obi-Wan could have asked for help, could have asked for credits, but Jango had been, or was, such a beacon of light at this age, and he had just wanted to be as near to him as the man would allow.
Obi-Wan knew that he was practically panting as his body tried to urge him to shift.
Shift into what, he did not know. There was never a situation where shifting into a creature of unknown size and ability, yet with a bounty on large enough to purchase a city, had ever seemed like a wise choice.
After they had taken the embryos, Obi-Wan had chosen to be sterilized and put on one of the harshest cycle surprensents imaginable. Comparing his memories with now, he realized how much more sensitivity he had given up with that choice.
His sense of smell and hearing were so much stronger right now, and while his emotions being so heightened hadn't been a good thing, maybe it would have been healthier for him to learn how to make peace with them than have them chemically suppressed.
“I'm Jango Fett, and this is my buir, my father, Jaster Mereel. This is our medic Mij Galimar and my father's second in command Montross.”
Jango hadn't finished saying his name before Obi-Wan was snarling at the man.
Obi-Wan remembered, oh remembered the research he had done on this man who had most definitely been working with the Sith to destabilize Mandalore. Because if you wanted to rule the galaxy, neither the Order nor Mandalorians could be allowed to run free.
The Sith had been too aware of that.
It was his instincts that overcame him, but it was the Force itself that guided him forward.
oOo
The sound that left the young Stewjoni had every hair on Jango's body standing on end.
He had never heard a less human sound come from a person, somewhere between a a nexu’s warning growl and a Loth wolf snarl and some subsonic sound that didn't so much have a sound as a vibration in his bones.
Stewjoni were used outside their planet for the skin trade, but they had a record of a subgenre that had been hunted like an exotic game.
Jango swore he saw something ripple in the teen's face, that for a moment his blue eyes turned golden amber.
Jaster who had thankfully stopped threatening to kill him for a crime he hadn't committed, didn't move as he coaxed in a gentle voice, “Obi-Wan, if Montross has wronged you, you need to tell us how, in words.”
Obi-Wan hissed, coiling his body on the bed.
“Words,” Jaster commanded.
“I'm Force sensitive,” the teen admitted.
Mij swore, likely because the theoretical price tag on this boy's had just doubled, if not tripled. It was a wonder he had somehow escaped enslavement.
But Obi-Wan wasn't concerned with that, now he was glaring at Montross, one of the most dangerous bounty hunters in the galaxy like he believed he could match him in a fight.
He couldn't.
“And you're Death Watch,” Obi-Wan stated out of the blue.
They all froze, but Montross, Montross with his hot temper and bold strategy gave himself away with his flinch and side eye to Jaster.
He didn't laugh off the accusation, and he realised that he was a split second too late to manufacture a believable reaction.
If they hadn't all been Mandalorians, they might have missed it, but a True Mandalorian listened to their instincts.
Montross pulled his blaster, not on Jaster, but on the Stewjoni, a final act of revenge, but Jango, who had never liked the giant, was a faster draw and put a blaster bolt between the traitor’s eyes before he could aim properly at the pregnant teenager.
The moment Montross’s body hit the ground, Obi-Wan relaxed. “I'm sorry, but he would have killed you in the end.”
“How do you even know about the Watch?” Mij asked.
Obi-Wan gave the medic a look, “Stewjon is a Mandalorian territory, the only slavers that get through are Death Watch.”
“Is that what happened to you? Was Montross involved?”
“I'm Force sensitive, I saw him killing you and your people, while helping to sell him,” he gestured to Jango. “--Into slavery.”
Jaster let out a harsh breath, “Pity you can't kill a man twice.”
“You shouldn't tell people you're Force sensitive, it's dangerous,” Jango rebuked.
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, breathing deeply as he still looked feverish before saying, “You're Mandalorians. You're either going to help me or kill me. But I was hoping the Mand'alor of the True Mandalorians would be less barbaric than that, especially as you all owe me a life debt now.”
Jango gaped at the blasie way he said that but Jaster threw his head back and laughed.
“Oh, ner ad’ika, we owe you much more than that. You're pregnant with my son's child.”
“Children,” Obi-Wan corrected, as if he wasn't constantly challenging Jango's view of reality. “I'm having twins.”
Jaster seemed both exasperated and delighted by this news, “If you don't want them–”
“I want them,” Obi-Wan said immediately. “And before you ask, no, I have nowhere to go that would be safe for them. And the Stewjoni certainly don't want me back.”
“Why not?” Mij asked.
“Because I'm Force sensitive and because I have that gene that's making you look at me like I'm a genetic anomaly.”
“Why would that, whatever, put off the Stewjoni? I thought it was a Stewjoni gene?” Jango asked.
“The gene only presents after, or I should say during, the first pregnancy. The Stewjoni would never take back one of their twice cursed. They call us changelings, they believe when their children are born, a river demon steals their birth child and replaces them with an animal capable of disguising itself as a human.”
“So you're not human,” Jango stated.
“No. However, beyond being told from the legends that I will turn into a demon or animal, with an apparently pricey pelt with supposed magical properties, I have no idea what's going to happen to me.”
“You don't sound afraid,” Jaster noted.
Obi-Wan smiled, “I kind of feel high right now, or as if I'm being baked alive.”
“You are welcome to join my clan, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Jaster said. “Anything you need will be yours and I will do my best to provide what you want if it is within my power, for you and your young. Jango will take as much responsibility or, as little, for the ade as you desire. However, if you pursue any sort of partnership with him, know that you are consenting to a joint custody and they will be regarded as my grandchildren.”
Jango shared a look with Mij at the possessive statement.
But everyone knew that Jaster wanted more kids but refrained because of the inherit dangers in his status, it was difficult to be adopted into that as most children wouldn't understand the depth of responsibilities or threats.
Jango had been pretty much feral when Jaster and more a danger to himself than any outside enemy could hope to be.
Obi-Wan cocked his head to the side in a very inhuman-like gesture, “I want it.”
“You want what?” Jango asked.
Obi-Wan smiled at him, “I want to belong. I want to belong to you and have a family. They can be yours, but only if you don't separate me from them. I will kill you all before I am taken from them.”
It was perhaps one of the most Mandalorian sentiments that had ever been said about a buir’s children.
Jaster adopted Obi-Wan on the spot.
Jango couldn't help but feel what should have been his biggest mistake, was about to become the source of the greatest joy in his life.
For when Obi-Wan looked up at him, sea blue eyes swimming with emotions, Jango couldn't help but think how beautiful he was, and how lucky he was that such a being had agreed to bear his children.
Perhaps they were young for this but they had family and a whole clan to support them.
oOo
AN: So not my typical story and it likely won't be that long unless I get better at writing this. But I really wanted to write Obi-Wan basically having puppies and just causing so much chaos the galaxy takes care of itself. Plus Jango's angst subdued by fluffy cuddles and Jaster being the proudest and smuggest ba’buir.
Requests, puppy-kitten-bird hybrids, or feedback, pretty please?