Chapter One.     Old Friends Not Forgotten

14 BBY, Dawn Treader
Mid Rim

        Del's master once told them of a phenomenon that she liked to call the call of the void. She'd explained it as that inexplicable instinct to surrender oneself to the crushing vacuum of empty space. When Del has spent too much time staring out into the everlasting expanse, they start to wonder what would happen to them if they were to shatter the Dawn Treader's window and allow themselves to be sucked into the ever-expansive vacuum of space. Would anybody hear their screams, or would their tiny voice just be swallowed whole by the ever-expansive vacuum of space? Would a layer of frost cover them immediately, or would they be allowed a few minutes to gaze at the cosmos around them and listen to the songs of the black holes? They are but a single cloud in an endless sky; so small that if the pressure is just right, they will be crushed.

On some level, Del had always understood that they were all so small and insignificant that although it felt to them as though they were creating tidal waves; toppling entire civilizations and bringing down destruction, to the vast expanse of the galaxy, they are nothing but tiny ripples; small disturbances on the surface of water. When they were young and fighting in a war it felt as though they were moving mountains with every battle that they won, but now that five years have passed and they've only grown older, they understand now that they had only ever been trying to shift a stone that wouldn't budge because when the war was over, they had lost. The Jedi Order had fallen and the Galactic Empire rose from its ashes, wrapping its fist around the throats of so many worlds. And all those lives lost—the Clones, their mother, the innocents, the Jedi—they had all been for nothing. Del gave their blood, sweat, and tears for this and all they came out with was bloody knuckles and a pair of cracked lips, forced to bury who they are deep down inside of them and never to return to either of their homes. The Empire is everything that the Empire is everywhere. How can they dismantle something that holds the entire galaxy in the palm of its hand?

Back when the wounds were still fresh and they were still young, revenge was the only thing on their mind. It was a clean-cut sort of feeling in the pit of their stomach and it was something they had been feeling since their mother had died. It had been small at first, something that they could easily shove away, but as the years passed and the Empire grew, that feeling grew along with it. It was sharp and angry and felt as though it had become their stomach. And suddenly their stomach was trying to consume them, consume the Empire, consume the galaxy. But they were just one tiny creature swallowed whole by a monster and the monster could feel their tiny movements inside of them and remained unbothered.

The Empire is not something that is easily swayed by a gust of wind.

Del understands this now. They understand a lot more now, they think.

They've moved on to destroying something smaller—another small ripple on the surface of the water. Although, what had been a shift in a stone for the galaxy, had been a shifting in tectonic plates for Del. Their mother's killer. Darth Maul. They dream of him sometimes; they dream of taking a knife and driving it into the space between his fourth and fifth rib cage and they laugh and he collapses to the ground and they stab him again and again and again until his blood stains their hands and it pools at their feet and they can no longer hear his rattling breaths. When they wake up, they're covered in a sheen of sweat and their heart is pounding and they have to clutch the rim of the sink in the refresher to steady their rattling breaths and tremoring hands and splash water onto their face until they can look in the mirror and see something other than the monster that has emerged from deep down inside of them. The blood on their hands scares them to death. They understand now why Ahsoka left. Del was young and angry and they let those feelings shape them until they became less of themself and more monstrous. They haven't heard from Ahsoka in years. Their paths had split long ago, shattered by an argument that Del still thinks about—Ahsoka thought it safer to hide away in the shadows while Del had nothing but Maul on their mind—they hope that one day, the paths that they have carved out for themselves will intersect once again and they'll find their way back to each other.

Del flips a small knife in their hand as they sift through the channels of intercepted Imperial Communications.

They're chasing after a ghost—or at least that's what it feels like on most days—but Del would know if Maul were dead. Del is sick of the endless chase, but they're hungry for blood. They are Maul's judge, jury, and executioner. He deserved to die for everything that he had done. He deserved to die for what he had done to their mother. He deserved to die for what he had done to them. He didn't kill Del, but something inside of them died that day and it rotted in their veins. Sometimes, they wish they could lay in their mother's lap and let her stroke their hair. In some other universe, their window is open and they are lying on their bedroom floor with one hand over their chest and the other stretched out on the floor beside them. They are twelve years old again, and nothing bad has ever happened to them. Sometimes, Del wants to go back and stop knowing everything that they know now. But they can't go back. They can never go back. They can bite and scratch and beg, but they can never go back. Everything that they let go of has claw marks on it.

Del can go anywhere they want.

Just not home.

They glance over at Korkie who sits in the co-pilot's seat with a distant, glazed look in his eyes. It's been just Del and Korkie for quite some time now—just the two of them against the galaxy; latched onto the scent of Maul's blood. Satine had been as much of a mother to Korkie as she had been to Del. Korkie's parents—Satine's older sister and her husband—had been two of the first to fall during the civil wars that had ravaged Mandalore. They grew up together; Korkie was there when they took their first steps; he let them play with him when Satine had her duties to attend to and couldn't make time for Del. And so when Del decides that they won't let Maul slip through their fingers so easily, Korkie is the one to accompany them when Ahsoka refuses. He is Del's keeper now that Satine is gone and there is nothing that ties tethers them down. He fears that one day Del is going to drown in the anger that they keep in their chest. Eventually, they won't have any place to put it if they can't let it go.

He leaves Mandalore behind in the wake of the destruction of the Tribunal and Maul's escape because although his home has fallen into civil disarray and everything that Satine had built up has crumbled down, Del needs him more. The ties that bind him to Del will always be stronger than the ties that bind him to Mandalore. Del's ties have always been light on his shoulders, fashioned by memories and heartstrings, but the ties that bind him to Mandalore rest heavily on his shoulders. They are forged from duty, hot and heavy and suffocating, and press down on his chest when he lays down to sleep. When he leaves Mandalore, Sundari is still in ruins. When he leaves Sundari, he is trying to organize everything that had crumbled down; working in league with the very people who had brought the ruination to his home—the very people who had led Maul right to Satine's doorstep—because there was nobody left to pick up the pieces that Satine had left behind. Duty came for him too early. He was still just a boy when Death Watch came knocking on the front door. War made him old as it did all of them. Del was even younger than him when they were given their lightsaber and told to fight alongside the Clones genetically engineered for battle. Now, he doesn't even recognize the child that they once were.

The knife is too comfortable in their hand.

He's grown used to the clinking of the knife as it lands in the center of their palm again and again and again and the soft static of the communication channels, so when the clinking of the knife stops, he knows that something's wrong. He glances over at Del, who meets his eyes; there's a long-lost sort of twinkle shining in their eyes. They turn up the volume of the channels so that Korkie can hear too.

"...I repeat, a Force-sensitive has been detected on Bracca. This presence poses a potential threat to the Empire. Surveillance has confirmed Force abilities, however, the individual remains unidentified. I repeat this Force-sensitive individual is to be considered a high-priority target. All available resources are to be dedicated to locating and securing this potential asset or threat."

The transmission ends and Korkie and Del exchange a look as they marinate in the silence that the transmission leaves behind. Del feels their heart start to race. This is the closest that they've been to anything in years.

There's a Force-sensitive on Bracca.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*

14 BBY, Bracca
Mid Rim

For a long time after the Clone Wars, Del was alone. Of course, they had Korkie, but this was a different kind of solitude that couldn't be filled in by anybody in particular because the end of the Clone Wars left them with a loose gossamer thread hanging from their stomach. They were never really meant to be alone. Del had lost their brethren when they were taken away from Mandalore for training, but becoming a Jedi had introduced them to a whole galaxy of brethren of all different species—all connected to them through the Force. In a way, they would never truly be alone because the kinship between Jedi is something sacred. They had always taken comfort in the fact that they would always be able to feel the presence of their new brethren through the ebbing and flowing of the Force.

That was until they couldn't anymore.

Bracca is the obvious place for a Force-sensitive to hide.

Bracca isn't much of a planet anymore. Uninhabitable and located in the Mid Rim, it's a junkyard constructed of the remains of the Clone Wars—fallen Venators and AT-AT walkers and droids—that scrappers dissect for profit and sell to the Empire. Most people only go there because they're running from something and need a place to hide from their past. Bracca is the kind of place where nobody pays attention to anybody other than themselves and in the eyes of the Empire, the scrappers are nothing more than links in a chain—they're replaceable, just another cog in a giant well-oiled machine. Bracca is one of those places where somebody can allow the perpetual rain to wash away the person that they once were.

Bracca is the obvious place for Maul to hide—after all, when he'd been exiled to the Outer Rim after his supposed death on Naboo, he had hidden away in a derelict junkyard, half-mad and letting all the hatred inside of him fester. Del imagines that he's spent the past five years holed up in a den that he had built of scraps, filling the silence with conversations with people who weren't there as the rain chipped away at him, driving him further into the madness that had once possessed him. He must have been uncovered by some unfortunate scrapper who had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Del imagines that he isn't quite Maul anymore—but they're not quite themself anymore either. They wonder if he even remembers who they are. They hope that he does. They hope that when they sink their knife in between his fourth and fifth rib he'll look into their eyes and see the ghost woman that he killed all those years ago.

Getting in is easy enough. Korkie is good at making it look like they belong.

Del's helmet fits over their head with a soft click and it melds seamlessly into the space between their shoulders and neck. Their knives are strapped to their belt and their Beskar steel staff is strapped to their back. Their armor bears the symbol of Clan Kryze and though Del does not wear the crown, sometimes it feels as though they are. Still, it's the armor they would have worn if everything was different; if Del hadn't been plucked from the protection of Sundari's glass dome and told to go fight in a war that they did not cause. Peace was never an option for Del no matter how hard their mother had tried to shape them into the person that she hoped that they would become during their childhood. But Mandalore is a planet where its people bleed steel and their hands are claws; they are crafted for war. It is what they are made for. It is what Del was made for.

It isn't hard to locate the Force-sensitive on the junkyard of a planet. Del has learned over the years that when they're hiding behind their helmet, the right amount of credits placed in the right hands will point them in any direction that they need to be. There's something about this planet that Del can feel seated in their very core; it reeks of desperation and solitude; days just barely scraped through. Even now, they can feel the rain slowly chipping away at them as it pelts their helmet and slickens the ground beneath them. But the rain is also a weapon; masking their footsteps as they dart between the shadows, knife in hand. They slice through cartilage, silently dropping the bodies of stormtroopers in their wake as they make their way closer and closer to that familiar anger that had always been attached to Maul. They can feel the fear, too. It's bitter on their tongue, but the anger is most intense. Maul's anger had always been smothering, it wrapped around Del's throat the day Maul killed their mother and it never really left them; the bruises would always be there on the surface of their skin.

Del scales a steep hill constructed solely of scraps that those on Bracca had deemed useless. Most are so aged and weathered that Del can't tell what they once belonged to—warped metal and loose cogs and severed droid components—but others they can recognize instantly as remnants of the war. Del wonders how much of the war had been sent to Bracca so that its history might be erased so that they too might be burned to the ground just like the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. The thing about the Empire is that it seeks to smother them all and make you forget a time when there was anything other than the Empire. The Empire has a knack for fitting people into boxes. They come for the rebels first because they detest anything that isn't like them—they detest anything that doesn't conform to them and attempt to stomp out the little fires that they start everywhere. Then they'll come for anybody else who does not fit inside their boxes because the Empire values order; it likes to line them up in neat little rows and if just one person is just barely out of their line, then the Empire becomes the butcher and they are all just little lambs.

When they reach the top of the hill, they peer over the edge. Ten scrappers are lined up like lambs at a slaughterhouse, all dressed in identical ponchos. Most of them are young, but there's that familiar weariness in their eyes and that weight resting heavily on their shoulders. Del realizes that none of them carry that smothering darkness that Maul kept buried in his chest. None of them are Maul. Instead, Del realizes with a squeeze of their heart that the smothering anger belongs to the two figures clad in black. None of them are Maul, but Del cannot let one of their own fall to the hands of those who stand before them. Del had heard of the Imperial Inquisitors and their Purge Troopers through whispers in the shadows; those who wanted to destroy the very people that they had come from. Those who were beaten down and broken until they cracked and spilled out across the floor and allowed the darkness to stitch themselves back together. Del had learned how to keep their head down and hide behind their armor. They forced themself to push away the Force, bottling it up inside of them, until it was like it never really existed within them in the first place; cutting and hacking away at the Force until there was nothing left than a few threads that never seemed to snap no matter how hard they try to destroy them. They swore that they would first die than become another one of them; another puppet for the Empire to control, a vessel for darkness.

"It's not him, Korkie," Del whispers into their comlink, voice masked by the sound of the rain against the scraps. "But the Inquisitors are here."

"Dank farrik," comes Korkie's reply. "Get out of there, Del."

Del shakes their head. "I can't. You know I can't."

There's a small resigned sigh on the other end. "I know. Be safe."

"Is this all of them?" The first Inquisitor asks—she stands slightly in front of the other Inquisitor, helmet concealing her face and cape billowing behind her. Del can hear the disgust behind her helmet—they imagine that she would have spit at the scrapper's feet if her helmet wasn't blocking her face.

"Yes, Second Sister," The Purge Trooper closest to her replies.

"We seek a dangerous fugitive," The Second Sister says, addressing the ten scrappers lined up before her as the other Inquisitor—the one that is all anger and brutality and muscle—paces back and forth behind her, grunting and mumbling under her breath as her footsteps echo throughout the secluded area. The Second Sister's voice sounds chillingly warped through the modulation in her helmet. The fear is almost overwhelming now but in a different way than the anger; while anger is heavy and suffocating like the smoke of an untamed fire, fear is putrid and sharp and cuts Del in all the right places. But just barely, through the clouds of anger and darkness and fear, Del can feel something else. A flame, so small that it could be extinguished with a single stomp of the foot, but it was there and it was real. The Jedi. Whichever one of the scrappers they may be. "This is no common anarchist, but a devotee of the treasonous Jedi Order."

A ripple of fear radiates off of the scrappers as they all stare at one another, wide-eyed. These days, being a Jedi is a death sentence, and those who remain and expose themselves as such are plucked off one by one. Those who are caught helping a Jedi—whether or not they were aware of what lay beneath the surface—are punished just as severely. The Empire likes to extinguish those little fires before they have a chance to do any real damage.

"Failure to turn over this traitor will result in a charge of sedition," The Second Sister continues. Del's hand hovers over the shaft of their beskar steel staff—the only known metal to withstand a lightsaber—but they know that revealing themself now would be a suicide mission. "Turn yourself in, or everyone present shall face summary execution."

Instantly, the Purge Troopers fall into position and aim their rifles. Some of the scrappers tense, others step back, and others simply resign to their fate. Del knows that this will be the moment that the Jedi steps forward. A Jedi would never let another die for them. The thing about Jedi is that deep down, they cannot help who they are. Their compassion leaves a trail. The Code is like an itch that they cannot scratch. They cannot help it. Del's eyes land on the two scrappers on the end of the line who haven't moved; a tall Abednedo, face weathered from years of scrapping on this cesspit of a planet, and a pale red-haired boy that strikes something in the back of Del's head.

"I think it's time someone came forward," the Abednedo says loudly, voice wavering slightly as he takes a step forward. Could the Abednedo be the Jedi? Del watches as the boy shakes his head, wide-eyed, and reaches out for the Abednedo before letting his hand drop back to his side. And they realize: the Abednedo is not the Jedi, he's protecting the Jedi, he's protecting the boy. And a Jedi would not let another die in their place. "I, uh, I—I've been working on this heap for a long time. Way before the war. We refit and rebuilt ships. Best in the galaxy."

Del keeps their eyes trained on the Jedi as he inches his hand so imperceptibly slow that if Del's eyes had not been trained on him, they wouldn't have noticed. The boy is reaching for something behind him where no doubt, a lightsaber is concealed. Del and Ahsoka had buried their lightsabers in the snow the moment that the Tribunal had crashed on that snowy planet because on some level, that day they knew that it was safer for them if everybody believed them to be dead. Del Kryze and Ahsoka Tano had died that day; burned away in the wreckage of the Tribunal and just another part of the mass grave of soldiers who had fallen too soon. The fact that the Jedi still has his lightsaber and keeps it with him means that he is either very stupid or very brave.

(Del is currently leaning toward very stupid).

"Then came the Empire," the Abednedo continues, turning to face the Second Sister with a scoff. The longer he talks, the more the fear fades away, snuffed out by this newfound courage that grows in him the longer that he speaks; the longer that he makes a stand against the Empire after being just another brick in its wall for so long. But while the Abednedo's confidence grows, a sinking feeling grows in Del's chest in turn. The Empire does not tolerate the little fires that people try to start. They itch to intervene because even though they've cut away their ties to what remains of the Jedi Order, it's who they are. They cannot help it. But they also know that showing themself would only result in two dead Jedi instead of one. "And engineers...became scrappers. The workers—just started getting worked. We all know the truth. We're just...too afraid to say it. To the Empire, we're all just expendable."

"Yes," the Second Sister says, stepping forward and reaching for her lightsaber. "You are."

Del's hand flies to their mouth to muffle their cry as the Second Sister buries her lightsaber into the Abednedo's chest.

"NO!" the boy screams, lunging forward and igniting his brilliant blue lightsaber.

The Second Sister ignites the other half of her blade, blocking the boy's blow with ease. Blue bleeds into red to create a vibrant purple. Del feels something twinge in their stomach as they watch the Abedenedo's limp body slide off the opposite end of the Second Sister's lightsaber. It's still so storage to Del how the Abedenedo was there one second and completely vanquished the next. The Second Sister doesn't even give the Abednedo a second glance. The Empire just takes and takes and takes. Del finds their body moving of its own accord as they rise from their crouched position, knife in hand. They can't just stand by and watch as another one of their own is added to the tallies of fallen Jedi.

"Look at this," The Second Sister taunts. A beast toying with its prey before it finally goes in for the kill. "A lightsaber."

With a powerful push of the Force, the Second Sister knocks the boy off of his feet and sends him stumbling back into the waiting arms of the second Inquisitor. The second Inquisitor holds the boy tightly in her grip, dangling him high above the ground; his head rolls limply and he has an almost dazed look. Del leaps from their vantage point, no longer able to stand by idly and watch. They soar in an arc, jetpack burning streaks into the sky and beskar staff held high above their head as they descend upon the Second Sister. She turns around at the last second, parrying Del's blow, attention ripped away from the boy, still dangling limply over the ground as she eyes Del through her mask.

"A Mandalorian," the Second Sister muses. Del thinks that they hear a hint of amusement in her voice. "You're a long way from home."

Del doesn't answer. They only stare at the Inquisitor silently, falling back into the opening stance of Form V; blade held high above their head and angled down at 45 degrees. Del tries their best to unlearn their teachings at the Jedi Temple, but some things will never really leave them. No matter how far down they bury their teachings, they always manage to resurface. Their teachings interfere with the Mandalorian techniques that they try to adopt and end up finding a middle ground between the two.

"This will be fun," the Second Sister comments.

Del ducks and rolls across the ground, unsheathing one of the knives strapped to their side as the Second Sister swings her lightsaber at them—they don't need to be stronger than the Second Sister, they just need to be faster. As soon as they rise out of their roll, they throw their knife at the larger Inquisitor. The knife hurtles through the air, spinning before hitting its mark and embedding itself in the other Inquisitor's leg. The other Inquisitor grunts in surprise and drops the boy to the ground. Instantly, he's snapped out of whatever dazed state he had been feigning and lands in a crouched position, lightsaber drawn.

Del ducks beneath another swing of the Second Sister's blade before blocking a blow with their beskar staff. Staggering back underneath the sheer pressure that the Second Sister forces on them, Del risks a glance over to see that the Jedi has remained motionless.

"What are you doing?!" They shout at the boy in alarm. "Go, go, go!"

(He's definitely very stupid).

The other Inquisitor recovers from her initial surprise, wrenching the knife out of her leg and reaching for the boy again, this time throwing him straight over the side of the cliff. Del swears loudly as he disappears, leaving a trail of his screams behind. They risk a glance over their shoulder to gauge how far away from the cliff they are. With all their might, they push back against the Second Sister's blade until she relents, giving them just enough time to jump out of reach, using their jetpack to give them a boost before diving over the edge after the Jedi. They can see him farther below them, arms circling and legs kicking as he fights a losing battle against gravity as he plummets toward the train passing below them. Del sighs, keeping their legs and arms at their sides as they boost themself with their jetpack, sending themself hurtling faster and faster, closer and closer toward the Jedi—and to deadly impact.

They close their eyes trying not to think about what would happen if they were to miss and just keep plunging down and down and down, swallowed by the void of the scrapping planet, never to be seen again. Their stomach twinges. Del had never really gotten over their fear of heights even though exploits with Anakin Skywalker frequently involved jumping from varying heights at the most unexpected moments. Back then, they at least knew that they could always rely on the Force to come between them and their bone-crushing death because the Force would always be there, speaking to Del through the midi-chlorians in their cells. Now, the only things that stands between them and their death is their jetpack, but even technology is faulty. Technology would not be there forever. Technology does not live and breathe within them the same way that the Force once did.

Del catches up to the Jedi, catching him around the waist with both of their arms before flipping and changing trajectory so that they might fight their way against gravity, up and out of the chasm. The Jedi struggles against Del's tight grip, writing and scratching.

"Stop—" Del grunts as they dodge a jab of the Jedi's elbow, "struggling—idiot—I'm trying to—ow!"

A particularly well-placed jab to the jaw causes Del's grip to slacken on the Jedi as they swear loudly. He writhes out of their grasp and plummets again, crashing through the roof of the train car below them, burning hunks of metal and glass down with him. Del lets out a sigh and slips through the hole that the Jedi had created, to find him in a crater of his destruction. He'd landed hard, scattering the craters that had been stacked against the wall across the small train car. His face is twisted in pain as Del approaches him.

"Augh, that hurts," the Jedi groans as he pushes himself up from the ground.

"Are you okay?" Del asks, reaching out to help the Jedi up, but he steps back, pushing Del's outstretched hand away.

"Hold it! Don't move," A voice demands. Del looks over to see two Stormtroopers approaching them from the entrance of the train car, blasters aimed directly at them. Their hand hovers over the blaster at their side as the Stormtroopers approach them slowly. "How'd you get here."

"Easy now," the Jedi coaxes, concealing his lightsaber behind him.

"Got stowaways," the Stormtrooper continues.

"Hey, you don't need to call this in," the Jedi continues, holding a calming hand out toward the Stormtroopers. He doesn't want to have to use his lightsaber against them because once he does, there's truly no going back. He'll be branded as a traitor to the Galactic Empire and they will not stop hunting him down until he is dead and he'll have to spend the rest of his days hiding in the shadows and shedding his past lives like skin—if they even make it out of here alive.

"Quiet!" the Stormtrooper barks.

Del's hand twitches over their blaster just as the Jedi's finger moves to the ignition button of his lightsaber. At the same instant, they attack. The Jedi leaps forward and slashes through the closest stormtrooper, cutting smoothly through the white armor while Del creates a map of blaster holes in the white chestplate of the second stormtrooper before he can even really react. Small whisps of smoke rise from the tiny craters in the armor. Del lets out a breath and holsters their blaster as they gaze at the fallen bodies. There was no going back now for either of them. Del has managed to keep their face concealed behind their helmet, but the Empire will find them out sooner or later. It does not tire easily.

And then the Jedi's blade is turned on them, leveled just at their throat.

"Who are you?" He asks, voice cold.

It's now that Del is able to get a clear look at the Jedi's face, illuminated by the soft blue glow of his lightsaber and the passing lights through the slatted train car windows. Green eyes and bright red hair and a square jaw and freckles scattered across his face. And suddenly, they realize that they recognize those green eyes. They recognize the freckles that are spread across his face like the stars in the sky. They remember the last time they had ever charted constellations across his face. They had been on the cusp of their third year at war. Before Mandalore. Before the Tribunal. They had been twelve years old and they were saying their goodbyes to each other—he and his master had been assigned to secure Bracca with their legion of Clones—when they were still so young and full of light and full of love. It was only supposed to be days at the most, and then everything had crumbled beneath them, and they thought that he had died with everybody else—thousands of miles away from them. Back then, there had been that understanding that it wasn't really a goodbye—as long as the Force was with them, they would never truly be apart. They would be reunited as soon as the war was over. But then the Purge came along and Del thought that they were alone—that they and the boy that they had once called their best friend were separated.

"Who are you?" The Jedi repeats, more forcefully, when Del doesn't respond right away.

"A friend," Del answers after a moment.

Del sees something flicker in the Jedi's eyes—hope, perhaps—and he wavers for a moment, just barely lowering his lightsaber. But then he catches himself and sets his jaw, keeping his lightsaber level. He's smart to keep his suspicions; it wasn't long ago that Mandalorians used to hunt and kill Jedi. They raise their hands slowly to show him that they conceal no weapons in their palms. He shifts slightly as their hands travel further up until their fingers are hooking beneath their helmet. They pull their helmet off of their head with a small hiss; steel-blonde braid falling down their back. For a small, heartstopping moment, Del wonders briefly if he would even recognize them. They're older than they were the last time that they had seen each other all those years ago. They fear that Bracca has stripped away everything that they once knew about him and that their Cal Kestis isn't their Cal Kestis anymore. After all, Del is not the same Del that they were all those years ago.

"...Del?" Cal whispers, almost as if he doesn't really believe it. Del offers a weak grin. And then, Cal seems to decide that he's not imagining his childhood best friend standing in front of him and a wide, ear-splitting grin is spreading across his face and Del can't help but to let a similar smile reflect on their own. "Del! You're alive!"

Suddenly, he's barreling toward them, wrapping his arms around them in a hug so tight that Del is scared that he'll crack their ribcage right down the center with a happy laugh. Del closes their eyes shut tight and hugs Cal back, just as tightly. They bury his face into his shoulder and they realize that this is the closest they will ever come to going back in time and shedding all the years like layers of coats. They don't want to let go. But it's over all too soon and Del can faintly hear Korkie's voice from their helmet. They let out a heavy sigh and pull away from Cal's embrace, fitting their helmet over their head once again.

"What is it, Korkie?" Del asks.

"They're calling for backup," Korkie tells them. "The whole planet's going to be after you soon if we don't get out of here. Where are you?"

"...On the train," Del answers.

There's a moment of silence on the other end—Del pictures Korkie letting out an exasperated sigh and burying his face in his hands. "How the kriff did you manage to get on the train?"

"Jumped off a cliff," Del replies.

"I—" Korkie audibly sighs. "Just...keep moving. I'll catch up to you."

"Copy that," Del hums. "See you soon."

"Korkie?" Cal echoes. "He's with you?"

Del nods. "And he says the whole planet will be after us if we don't get moving."

"Let's do this, then," Cal replies, readying his lightsaber.

The door at the end of the train car slides open as the two run toward it. Del makes sure their helmet is secure as the raindrops continue to pelt it; it's relented slightly, but it's still heavy enough to be used as a weapon. They keep one hand over their blaster as they approach the two stormtroopers that linger a few yards away, oblivious to the two Jedi who lurk in the shadows. Cal and Del move in sync as they approach the stormtroopers and it feels as if nothing between them had ever changed. They'd always understood each other on a level deeper than everybody else. Cal was always predictable, and they found comfort in that small form a stability. And they'd never really had trouble percieving those invisible lines that everybody else always seemed to have when they were with Cal and so, they tended to stick by his side as much as possible so that they didn't have to worry about toeing those lines.

"Did you hear that over the comm?" One of the stormtroopers asks.

"A Jedi?!" The other exclaims. "Stay sharp!"

Del springs out from the shadows, drawing their staff.

"A traitor! Blast 'em!"

Del ducks underneath the first stormtrooper as he attempts to hit them with the end of his blaster. They weave around behind him and grab him by the shoulder, shoving the sharp end of their staff straight through his armor before drawing a knife and driving it through his front chest plate, and wrenching the knife back out. The stormtroopers' armor is sturdy, Del will give them that, but it is nothing compared to beskar steel. Del yanks their staff out of the stormtrooper's back as he falls limp; gravity does most of the work as the limp body slides toward the ground.

"Contacts confirmed," A voice calls from above. "Shoot to kill!"

Blasts bounce off of Del's armor and they feel it as nothing more than a few light taps against their chest. In its purest form, beskar can withstand direct blaster fire, but even pure beskar is rare amongst Mandalorians. Most armor has been diluted, and manufactured with other less durable metals. Del is lucky enough to wear the armor of their ancestors from long ago when beskar steel was bountiful and Mandalore had not been rendered an inhospitable desert—they find some irony in the fact that they are the one who wears the purest form of Mandalorian culture when they've never felt farther from the rest of Mandalore their entire life. They are not a Mandalorian in a rightful way—they had come to understand that a long time ago. They would always be on the outside looking in, just because of the circumstances in which they were born; a child bred for pacifism with midi-chlorians breathing through each and every one of their cells. And now that the Empire controls what is left of Mandalore, purging it of all of its natural resources and ravaging anything that they can get their hands on like a hungry mouth, Del wonders if pure beskar will ever exist again.

Cal deflects the blaster bullets with his lightsaber and Del watches as both stormtroopers collapse.

He moves forward to enter the next train car but Del reaches out a hand to stop him.

"Wait," they say. Cal turns around to look at them curiously. "There's probably more waiting for us in there. I've got a better idea."

"Okay," Cal says.

"Do you trust me?" Del asks.

"Of course," Cal answers without a hint of hesitation.

Del shakes their head slightly with a small smile. Despite everything, he's still far too trusting for his own good—these days, trust is not a thing that people can afford to give out willingly, even if you are giving it to the face of an old friend. Still, Del finds it slightly endearing. But, in another world, Del may be wearing the face of a friend, but they're still wearing the armor of a bounty hunter. In another world, they might be taking him in for their own gain because, in these desperate times, it is either kill or be killed—and Del is not the same person that they were before the purge. In another world where old friends and old faces and Jedi meant nothing to them, Del could be handing their oldest friend over to the hands of the Empire in a heartbeat instead of plucking him from this junkyard of a planet. Del would never hurt him, but if they were anybody else, Cal would be locked away on a transport ship on his way out of Bracca by now.

"Okay," Del says, wrapping their arms around his waist, "jump on three. One, two, th—"

"Wait," Cal says. "Three and then jump, or jump when you say three? Because some pe—"

"Just jump!" Del exclaims.

Cal complies and Del uses their jetpack to give the two of them a boost as they soar in an arc toward the top of the train car. Del sets Cal down lightly on the roof, relinquishing their grip around his waist. The wind is stronger up here and the rain pelts down a little harder. Cal's wearing a wide grin as he runs a hand through his windswept hair and turns to face them with a child-like gleam in his eye.

"Pretty sweet, huh?" Del says.

"Yeah," Cal agrees.

"Let's go."

Del dashes across the tops of the train cars, closely followed by Cal, just on their heels. Del finds it funny how the roles have suddenly switched around. Back when they were still children, Cal would always be the one in the lead with Del just on his heels. They were always a bit more hesitant than Cal; always unsure of their footing—caught between their duties as a Jedi and their role as their mother's child. It was something that their master had pointed out time and time again. It had taken the death of their mother and the fall of the Jedi Order and the only homes that Del had ever known for them to finally find their footing and really accept their place in the galaxy now that neither of the sides was really there to tear them apart.

They dash across the tops of the train cars, leaping across the gaps between them. The rain and wind relent momentarily as the train passes through a tunnel. The rain had come to a stop by the time they reached the end of the tunnel, and just in the distance, Del can see the front of the train.

"Get to the front, stop the train!" Cal calls over the wind as they jump down from the roof of the train car to a flatbed, a few stacks of crates are lashed down to the bed. "Hopefully Korkie can catch up with us."

They dash across the flatbed before Cal suddenly tackles Del to the ground, rolling them behind a stack of crates just as an Imperial fighter fires off a round of shots. Small coils of smoke rise from the places where the shots had made contact with the flatbed, leaving it pockmarked with small holes. Del leans the back of their head against the stack of crates and lets out a breath.

"We're going to have to move in between bursts," Cal says as Del pushes themself off of the ground. "Now!"

They dash across to the nearest stack of crates and duck behind it just as the fighter fires another round of shots. They fall into a pattern, zig-zagging across the flatbed. Del's heart jumps into their throat. The longer that they take, the closer that their enemies get. And Korkie is nowhere in sight.

"Korkie!" Del shouts into their comm. "Where are you?"

"I'm a little tied up at the moment," Korkie responds.

"Dank farrik," Del mutters.

"We have friends," Korkie tells them. "They're on their way. We can trust them."

Del raises an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"No," Korkie answers. "But it's your safest bet. We'll rendezvous as soon as you're out of there."

"Okay," Del replies. "If we die, I'll kill you."

Cal raises his eyebrow. "What's that about?"

"Korkie's tied up at the moment," Del tells him, "but supposedly, we have friends who are willing to pick us up."

They push forward through the next door. A stormtrooper stands waiting for them in the train car.

"I'm ready for you traitor—"

Before either Del or Cal can react, the stormtrooper is downed by a round of blaster fire that passes through the grated wall of the train car.

"Well that was easy," Del mutters.

They emerge on the other side of the train car only for the Imperial fighter to shoot at the spot just before them. Del grabs Cal around the waist again as he raises his hand to shield his face and pulls him back into the safety of the car, just as the flooring falls from beneath his feet. This time, Del doesn't let go of him as quickly as if he might slip out of their grasp again and plummet (and this time, there might be nothing Del can do to stop him from meeting that fate). They watch as the car in front of them suddenly implodes in a fiery explosion. Del shields their eyes from the brightness of the flames, though their visor does most of the work. The train smokes as the metal starts to pull away, the train falling apart at the seams, leaving only a thin pipe holding the train together.

"They shot the coupling out!" Cal shouts.

Del realizes that they're still holding Cal and they quickly relinquish their grip.

"Kriff," Del mutters. "Hold on."

Wrapping their arms around his waist again, they jump, bridging the gap between the two train cars with ease. But just as they touch down lightly on the top of the next train car; little fires burning everywhere, the train begins to detach from the rails. The train car begins to tilt and Del lets out a yelp as Cal falls into them. They tumble backward down the train car, drawing closer and closer to the endless abyss below them before Del is able to activate their jetpack. Scrambling, they jump off of the slanting train car before landing safely on a ledge made of bent and twisted metal in the aftermath of the Imperial fighter's rain of blaster shots.

"That was close," Cal mutters.

The Imperial fighter bears down upon them and Del lets out a sigh. "Spoke a little too soon."

Cal steps in front of them, drawing his lightsaber, only for the fighter to be shot out of the sky by an unfamiliar ship, but the model is recognizable all the same—a Stinger XL luxury yacht. This isn't a fighter. Del tilts their head in curiosity. Are these the friends that Korkie had mentioned? Cal shields his eyes as the Stinger draws closer to them and the hatch opens up and a woman leans out, still too far to really pick out any significant traits.

"We're here to help!" The woman shouts over the sound of the wind.

"Who are you?!" Cal calls back in response.

"No time!" The woman shouts, gesturing toward the still-distant front of the train. "Keep moving! We'll pick you up when we can!"

The Stinger flies away, leaving Cal and Del standing on the ledge. Del glances up and wraps their arms around Cal's waist, soaring past the dangling grating and landing them safely in the next car. Electricity hums around them and small fires burn everywhere. The train car rocks with a small explosion as Del holds onto Cal and leaps, flying them up to the top of the next train car where an array of stormtroopers stand awaiting them. Another train pulls up from the opposite direction and the doors to a car roll open to reveal more Stormtroopers armed with blasters.

"Cover me!" Del calls before jumping into action.

Del charges, dodging, blocking, and parrying and sinking their staff into any soft parts of the stormtroopers that they can find as Cal deflects the blaster fire from the adjacent train car. Cal watches as the last Stormtrooper collapses before turning to watch Del further down the train car; they duck in and out of the shadows, fighting with a sort of brutality that Cal didn't know they were capable of—it's almost as if the armor gives them a strength that they would have otherwise. There's something different about them too, something that Cal notices almost right away.

Del no longer hesitates.

Del had always pulled their punches growing up—even on the battlefield when most of the time their enemies were just the sand-colored battle droids. It was something that their master had observed and pointed out time and time again but could never really squash, and it was something that Anakin Skywalker had always commented on—it was always with a hint of endearment and an affectionate ruffle of the hair. Del had once confessed to Cal that they never felt like they were keeping the peace, only perpetuating the clean-cut bloody cycle of violence that held the galaxy captive and that they felt remorse for every enemy that they cut down—even if they were just wires hidden behind husks of metal. Del had always been soft despite everything—Cal had always supposed that they had their mother and her pacifistic ideals to thank for that—but he wonders now if the past five years had managed to beat all of the soft parts out of them.

The roof is a mess of limp bodies and pools of red by the time they're moving on. Del grew up in a war, and sometimes it feels like the battle never really left them. The war is never really over for those who survive, and sometimes, there's that tiniest part of Del that just thinks it would have been better if they had died with the rest of the Jedi. The person that they have become scares them and they often find themself pondering what their mother would say if she could see who they are now.

The door at the far end of the car is already sliding open for Del when the train rocks. They turn to look over their shoulder at Cal, who only shrugs. Then, the train pulls to a stop.

"What just happened?" They wonder aloud.

"Train stopped," Cal answers with a shrug.

"Well, yeah, but I mean, why?"

Cal only shrugs again before they set off again through the next car. They scale up the grating and pull themselves through the hatch in the roof. The rain has started again, once again pelting their armor. Cal lets out a small yelp from beside them as a bomber ship flies low above them. He and Del watch as the ship flies off into the distance, disappearing into a speck on the horizon of the junkyard planet before resurfacing into vision, miles down the train tracks. Del plants their feet into the roofing as the train rocks suddenly.

Little fires explode miles down the tracks as the bomber ship flies steadily toward them.

"Oh, this can't be good," The Jedi murmurs from beside Del.

"You don't say..." Del muses.

An explosion rocks the train in a supernova of fire and suddenly, Del and Cal are being thrown downwards as the train tilts off of the destroyed tracks. With a yelp, they hurtle down the roof of the train car, through the next one, and out onto the last platform. Crates and hunks of metal fall around them and Del covers their head as a particularly large sheet of metal soars above them. The end of the train car is drawing near with a neverending fall following it.

And just as the end is approaching and Del thinks that this is the end of them, the Stinger hovers before them. The woman is on the outstretched platform.

"Jump now!" Cere yells down to them.

Del closes their eyes and takes a wild leap of faith, pushing off with their hands and using their jetpack to give them a boost. They soar through the open door, past the woman, tumbling into the opposite wall with a crash. They groan in pain, yanking their helmet from their head as they push themself up from the ground. They turn to face Cal with an exhilarated grin only to find that they boy hadn't made it into the ship with them.

"Hold on!" The woman is shouting, still balanced on the ramp.

Del scrambles toward the woman just as Cal's grip on the edge of the ramp slips and the boy is sent tumbling down into the abyss.

"No!" Del shouts.

They'd just found Cal again. They aren't about to lose him again just as quickly as the first time.

And so, before they can even really think about it, they jump and tumble after Cal, down into the abyss.

Author's Note: woooo!! this was a long time coming, i was struggling with this chapter for FOUR WHOLE MONTHS. apologies for this being almost 10k words, there wasn't really a good place to cut this off but future chapters probably won't be as long. but i'm finally happy with where i've decided to start this and where i plan on taking this. hope you guys enjoyed :)