Chapter Text
It's supposed to be a nice day. Nicely clouded and not so hot as for Kal to have to put the aircon on in his beskar while traveling on a speedster.
Or, it would be, if there wasn’t a body laying in the wastelands between Shuror and Sundari.
Kal’s stepping off of his speedster without a second thought as he nears them.
They’re half covered with sand as it slows and gently rests on them with the light breeze.
They look past their vergotem– if just slightly. Copper hair that shines in the sun makes them stand out even more against the white sand when it's clearly a stewjoni ade he’s looking at by his feet.
Their gauntlets are equipped to the brim with weapons; a flamethrower, whipcord launcher, rockets and a poison ejector. Not to mention all the blaster rifles and pistols stashed all over their body. The armour is both slightly too big and too small in all the wrong places. Clearly second hand and not retailored by a goran.
Stewjoni’ade were not known to wander off of their planet since the Mandalorian Empire fell. Least of all to Manda’yam. Which Kal doesn’t blame them for. So it's curious as to how one ended up in the very heart of Mandalorian Space.
The kid’s clearly injured, they're covered in bruises and scrapes, there's a head wound above the kids forehead and by the touch of the kids vambrace they've been laying there a while.
He checks the kid's vitals through his HUD and finds nothing immediately life threatening enough that the kid would die before he reached Keldable with them. He heaves them up onto the speedster in a fireman's carry before settling them down onto the back.
The ride feels longer with a verd’ika on the back of his vehicle.
Bringing the kid to the fortress is a hassle.
First he gets stopped by a few of Kamin’s scouts on the wastelands an hour away from reaching Keldabe only for them to coo at the verd’ika on his back and call ahead to the med bay which he is a bit thankful for if not for Mij calling him with concern for his health right afterwards since the verde forgot to specify that it's not him in need of the med bay but the teenager now unwillingly strapped up and unconscious on the back of his speedster.
Which really doesn’t sound all that good either if Kal is being completely honest.
….
Something’s wrong.
Obi-wan stills as the Force around him swirls with anxiety that is so heavy it makes his chest hurt with it.
….
There's a stewjoni ade in the hospital ward of the fortress and Jaster doesn’t know what to do.
There’s not been a case of any stewjoni migration onto Manda’yam in decades now, and, with the beskar the teenager is wearing, it's clear they've been with Kyr’tsad for some time.
“Report?” He asks the adolescent head medic, Dzija.
“Not great, Manda'lor. They have metal and glass shards grown into their liver and spleen that seem at least a few years old. It’ll need surgery.” She grimaces, “ There's signs of old bone fractures and torn muscles. They’re malnourished. The good news is that their head wound is superficial and their shoulder is sprained and not broken but it's really not looking great, Jas'alor.”
Jaster grimaces in sympathy at the teenager lying on the hospital bed.
“And, I think– I know what a slave collar scar looks like.” Her brows furrow at the verd’ika.
…
There’s a presence guarding him in his dreams.
Every time Obi-Wan tries to reach out to them the faintest flicker of mirith-warmth-safe floats through the dreamscape and leads him back to full awakeness before the sun starts peaking over the horizon of the desert.
The Force tugs him in the direction it wants him to follow as he comes awake and disappears right after consciousness returns to him.
…..
Obi-wan wakes up wrong. He’s not greeted with the sun blazing its rays into his eyes or his armour overheating from the aircon having broken the first few weeks on the run.
He’s in a bed, a lumpy medical bed that feels like heaven compared to the desert sand he's been sleeping on the last while. The sound of a heart monitor wakes him and he finds himself panicking before he realises that no, he’s not being held hostage. There's no Force Suppressors on his wrists or neck and he's still in Tor’s armour. Darksaber strapped to the inside lining of his kute and buzzing with excitement.
The Force feels laid back and at ease when he feels for it.
There's a few cots scattered around the room. All with their curtains drawn open. There’s a youngling a few years younger than him drawing on the other side of the room. She’s not strapped to a heart monitor unlike him and is sitting with her legs crossed on top of her cot.
She waves at him which he returns with a smile before going back to her drawing.
“Oh! You’re awake! I’ll get a medic for you.” Speaks up a voice in Mando’a to his right, peaking through the doorway, their accent different from what he’s used to. They’re in armour. All silver with streaks and parallel lines of blues and greens that cover the vambraces and knee pads in swirling patterns.
Satine used to exaggerate her o’s and use hard g’s even when speaking Basic while the Mandalorian has a more mellow tone with fast o’s and longer sh-sounds.
The medic comes by with a data pad on her arm and her buy’ce in her other arm. She’s radiating concern, and quite frankly her thoughts are loud.
Clearly, Obi-Wan needs to work more on his shields if a medic’s concern is enough to give him a headache.
“Hello. My name's Dzija. House and Clan Mareel. I’ll be your primary doctor for the length of your stay.” She starts off before looking at her datapad.
“Would you mind telling me your name?”
“Ben.”
“Allit?”
He shakes his head. “None.”
“Okay. I know this is a sensitive and a bit stupid question, but I have to ask; are you aware you’re stewjoni?”
“Yes, I do.” He keeps the grimace at bay. He releases his fear into the Force. Most people assume him to be human if not near human. And those that can tell him apart from them are usually slavers and pirates wanting to sell him for a high price.
This is bad.
“I assumed so but I just wanted to double check with you since you’re still going through puberty.” She smiles and then writes something on her pad. “Any allergies to be aware of?”
“Hoi broth.” He speaks in Basic.
“Okay, that's you nearly done. I can’t discharge you just yet as I’m still monitoring your vitals but if all goes well you’ll be out of here tomorrow.” She says, “Would you like a datapad to keep some boredom away while I update your file?”
….
The pad is in Mando’a.
Mando’a that Obi-Wan can’t read.