Archive of Our Own

“You did good, Boba,” Jango murmured. His son was settled in the co-pilot’s seat after their little adventure with the jedi. He’d give the jedi this: he wasn’t a slouch in a fight. But that just made all of this far more dangerous. He’d only just managed to get out of there with supplies and his son.

“Yeah, Buir?” Boba asked, grinning that evil little smile that always meant trouble, but which Jango liked. Boba was a handful. He wanted to be just like Jango (which was equal parts exactly what he wanted and kind of terrifying). Sometimes Jango wondered if he was like this at Boba’s age, trouble all the way through but still a little boy who wasn’t too big to be held, at least when his parents or Jaster were still around.

It was possible, but Jango didn’t remember much from back then. Too many things had happened in his life, and many of his memories were only of pain and loss. And that was fine. But Jango wondered just how much Boba would take after him.

In an entirely morbid way, it was fascinating watching the clones grow. They had a lot of his attributes, but they weren’t like him. He didn’t look too hard, but since he did train them, it was impossible to not notice some similarities, but only a few. He’d never looked at one and felt like he was looking in a mirror. They’d never known freedom, or what it really was to be Mandalorian. They weren’t Mandalorian. Though, by the metrics of the group that raised him, neither was he anymore.

He cut off that thought. That didn’t matter. The point was that he suspected that Boba would be his own person. That thought was comforting in its own way, but also terrifying. Still, Boba had helped him in the fight, just the way Jango had been training him. That deserved praise.

He ruffled his son’s hair. Boba laughed and ducked his head, but the bright smile on his face told Jango just how happy he was. They were on the run and Jango had nearly been stabbed with a lightsaber, but all of that melted away because Boba was smiling. Jango knew his expression was soft. Boba made him soft the way he was trying to raise Boba not to be. Soft was dangerous, but Jango could (just barely) explain his weakness away as needing to raise an heir.

The alarms started blaring, jolting him from his musings. Jango’s head whipped around to the screen. There was an odd rippling in front of their viewscreen. He’d never seen anything like it, and that was never good. It was practically on top of Slave 1, and Jango knew damn well it hadn’t been there a moment before. He hadn’t looked away for that long. He tried to take evasive maneuvers, but that thing was just far too close and far too large to fly around.

“Buir!” Boba shouted.

“Just hold on,” Jango shouted.

That shimmering thing seemed to reach out, like a sticky tentacle monster. It was dragging them in at a speed that gave Jango no time to maneuver. Dammit it, he had no control and no options.

“Just close your eyes,” Jango told Boba. He didn’t have time to check if his son listened to him, but he hoped if this thing was going to kill them that Boba at least didn’t have to see it happen. But Jango? He’d go to his doom with his eyes wide open.

The thing dragged them into itself, and for a moment it was entirely dark. There was no light or sound. There are the pounding of Jango’s heart, but for just a second that was the only thing he could feel. He didn’t seem to be breathing and even the concept of a feeling of his hands gripping the yoke was nonexistent. Every feeling and emotion were gone. It was only his beating heart reminding him that he was still alive. Then between one blink and the next, everything was back to the way it was the second before the haze captured them, for one difference: the ship was no longer in front of that rippling tear in space. Instead, right in front of Slave 1 was a planet.

“Buir?” Boba asked. “Where are we?”

“I’m not certain.” He started checking the navigation. In almost no time it spat out an answer, one he’d already known: Tatooine. He did business with Jabba. He knew what Tatooine looked like. He just hadn’t wanted to believe it— considering Tatooine was in the opposite direction from where they’d been heading.

Well, it certainly would throw the jedi off their tail.

“It’s Tatooine,” Jango said. “I’m going to land.”

“But Buir, that wasn’t where we were headed.”

“I’m aware,” Jango said, trying to keep his tone free of annoyance. He wanted to say much the same thing. Only the experience of being an adult kept him from saying such obvious things.
“And you said it was too dangerous for me to go here.” There was a pout on Boba’s lips. Jango couldn’t help the way his mouth twitched. The pout was cute.

“Yes, well, that was before.” He didn’t want to be separated from Boba, should the jedi actually find them. The jedi was currently a greater threat than the great slug. “We’re going to see someone I know. He may have information we can use.”

“And I can go too?” Boba asked. He was sitting on the edge of his seat, fragile hope and barely contained excitement practically radiating from his skin.

“You can,” Jango said.

“Yes!” Boba shouted, punching the air.

Jango laughed. “Go find yourself sun cover. Tatooine’s hot. And grab your knife and pistol.”

“Really?” Boba asked, looking like a puppy getting a treat.

“Yes, go,” Jango said, waving Boba to the back. Boba let out a happy yip and was out of the cockpit like a shot.

Jango shook his head and turned his gaze to the damn dust ball. This whole thing was just wrong. He tried to soothe himself, the voice in his head saying, ‘maybe you just found a short cut, like a special hyperspace lane’. But his gut knew damn well that wasn’t true.

Jabba was a bastard and Jango hated bringing Boba anywhere near him; but Jabba was a known quantity. If Jango had something good to trade, be it an item, information or services, Jabba would give him what he wanted. It was as simple as that. He’d have to come up with something to keep the slug’s interest, but he wasn’t that worried as Jabba generally had some job Jango could complete.

Boba came back with a hooded cloak which would neatly hide his weapons and his face if need be. He buckled in, bouncing in his seat as Jango began their descent. Jango couldn’t be excited or amused with him. He only felt tension in his gut.

It was easy enough to breach the atmosphere and Jango knew right where to go. Next to Jabba’s palace was a landing pad reserved just for people like Jango, bounty hunters on Jabba’s favored list. Rather than be forced to cross the desert on foot or by speeder, there was an entrance in the back they could go through. Certainly, Jango did not want to make Boba walk across the hot sands during the hottest part of the afternoon. Nor could he carry him if that was what they were forced to do. He would need his hands free. But no, Jango was welcome in the Palace, and Jabba wouldn’t see Boba as a threat. This was for the best.

He landed the ship, surprised to see a man standing near the entrance, a Mandalorian in green armor. Well, shit.

“Stay on the ship for a moment, Boba,” Jango said. He grabbed his helmet and shoved it on his head.

“But Buir-”

“I won’t leave you behind for long, I’m just going to talk to the guard,” he said. “I promise. I won’t go inside without you.”

That seemed to settle his son, who dropped back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Jango didn’t have time to think about that too much. He headed to the exit and strode out, trying to look imposing. The Mandalorian in green turned out to be a man with a powerful build around the same height as Jango.

When he got a few steps closer he saw something else that almost made him falter. On the other Mandalorian’s chest was the sigil of the Journeyman Protectors, the long defunct group both Jango’s birth father and his Buir once wore. Now the symbol was only associated with Clan Mereel, of which Jango was the last member. Only years of training and experience kept his walk steady as he finished the approach.

This Mandalorian wasn’t in the traditional flight suit, but the black robes made him all the more imposing. Whoever this was, Jango didn’t doubt that they were an experienced hunter. On his left pauldron, which was bright yellow, was a mythosaur sigil. It reminded Jango so much of Jaster’s old insignia that it fueled the anger in Jango’s belly. It wasn’t the New Mandalorian Mythosaur, but the white shield behind the mythosaur was shaped exactly like the gold shield that was part of Jaster’s insignia. And the pauldron itself? The color was identical to the gold shield.

“Jango Fett?” the Mandalorian asked, his accent a familiar lilt of Concord Dawn. It made Jango’s bones ache with the wrongness.

“What’s it to you?” he asked, too on edge to be polite. Intelligence kept him from putting his hand on a holster, especially because the Mandalorian just had his arms crossed over his chest.

“Take off your helmet,” the Mandalorian said. Jango bristled.

“Why?” he demanded.

The Mandalorian reached up, releasing the lock on his helmet and then pulling off. Under that was a man that looked older than Jango, hairless and scarred to hell. And he had Jango’s eyes, nose, mouth and chin. It felt like looking in a mirror , and it chilled him to the core.

“Hello, Buir,” this older, scared Boba said. Jango knew, knew in his bones it had to be Boba.

“I’ll be back soon,” Din promised.

Boba itched to kiss Din’s mouth again, but his helmet was already on. They were on the guest landing pad, and despite the fact that no one would see Din’s face out here, Boba still wasn’t going to take that risk. Besides, he’d had plenty of kisses in their room before Din had put his helmet on.

“It’s fine if you aren’t,” Boba said.

“I know you don’t like Skywalker,” Din said. Grogu cooed in his arms, tipping his head up to look at Din.

“And I think we’ve established already that you aren’t me. Take your ad to lunch, Skywalker too. Put it on my tab. It’s fine, Din.” Boba was this close to telling every shop owner on Tatooine to just put all of Din’s purchases on his tab. He’d given Din a credits card that could be used anywhere on Tatooine and Boba knew for a fact Din had never used it. Boba wanted to let Din maintain some kind of freedom, but it was starting to annoy the shit out of him.

“You’re offering to pay for Skywalker’s lunch?” Din said, his voice as dry as the sands. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“If you’ll use your card, I’ll happily buy Skywalker an entirely new suit of overly hot black clothes he can parade around the entire desert in.” Boba knew he sounded grumpy, and he also knew Din was smiling behind his helmet.

“I’ll consider it,” Din said. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Boba’s. Boba closed his eyes, just focusing on the pressure against his forehead, even through his helmet, and the increased warmth as Din pressed further into his space. Sometimes Boba felt bad for people who didn’t wear armor. They’d never understand this particular kind of intimacy. With Din, it made Boba’s heart race, always.

“I should go,” Din said, stepping back. Boba opened his eyes, looking at the proud posture of his lover. Din was going to be gone for a few hours, not days. They were acting like lovesick teenagers. Again.

“You should,” Boba said. He ran a hand along Grogu’s ear. “Give Master Skywalker hell, kid.”

“Buh,” Grogu said, the breathy little noise he made to say ‘Boba’. It never failed to make Boba’s heart melt.

“Take care.” He patted the kid’s cheek and stepped back.

Boba crossed his arms over his chest, standing next to the door. It gave him a good view to watch Din walk himself and his ad’ika onto the lovely new (old) ship Boba had provided him. Mos Eisley was close, but it was still faster to just park at Peli Motto’s place and walk to whatever hellhole Skywalker was meeting them at. Safer too. And the exit at this landing pad was much more private.

He cast his eyes up, watching Din and Grogu fly away until he couldn’t see the ship anymore. Call him sentimental. Boba knew he was now. He was still a hard man, but this kindhearted Mandalorian wandered into his life and offered him something Boba never had all at once: love, a stable family, and a dutiful lover. He’d rarely had any of those things at all. But Din Djarin was kind and soft. The fact that he could and would take out an army of stormtroopers just added to how attractive Boba found him.

He was feeling sentimental watching Din and Grogu interact. Din was always sad when he had to let the little guy go, but that original wild devastation was long gone. Grogu came back to him regularly, and he could always go to Grogu if need be. As far as Boba was concerned, Skywalker could go fuck himself, but he still let the skinny bastard onto his planet just so Din could have a little more time with his child.

Boba liked watching Din be soft for Grogu. Fatherhood, that was another one of Din’s most attractive traits.

Boba smiled behind his helmet. He could be a forgiven for his half second of inattention. He noted a Firespray landing on the otherwise empty landing platform, but he just assumed it was his own and that Fennec was being dramatic. He noted with amusement just how safe he felt allowing Fennec to fly his ship. But that amusement quickly died when the ship actually landed, and he got a good look at it.

He’d repainted Slave 1 when he was still a boy, but he still sometimes dreamed of it being in his father’s old colors of silver, blue and yellow. He remembered that paint job so well that, even though Slave 1 had spent more of its existence green and red, Boba would sometimes still be shocked to realize his ship wasn’t that old shining silver.

Coldness swept through his bones, followed by sharp anger. Most people didn’t remember Jango Fett anymore. Boba’s own legacy had overwritten his father’s own name and outstripped Jango’s legend by miles. Most of the old Bounty Hunters that were Jango’s associates were long dead, with the exception of Bossk and that damn pirate. Both of them knew better than to arrive at Boba’s Palace on his Planet with a ship identical to his own, painted like his fathers, and without any warning.

Whoever was on the ship was about to suffer for their sick joke. Boba stood up straighter, shifting his shoulders to show off his own size. He would break this bastard with his own hands.

The ramp lowered and a man in Mandalorian armor strode off with a far too familiar gait. For a moment, Boba’s temper flared, thinking this was either another clone who’d gotten his hands on a replica of Jango’s armor or some stupid asshole playing a deadly prank. But then his own observational skills caught up to him.

Clones didn’t walk the way Jango did, or the way Boba used to before the sarlacc. And the armor wasn’t just painted or modeled to look like his and his father’s armor: it was identical. Blue around the visor was for reliability, as once Jango set his sight on prey, he would catch them no matter what. Otherwise, the armor was unpainted. Silver meant seeking redemption, but to be totally unpainted meant Jango had no clan and no people. Unpainted armor was only for people who were no longer Mandalorians, Dar’manda.

Unless, of course, you were Din Djarin. Then you took your new, shiny, pure, unpainted beskar and became Mand’alor.

Boba almost smiled behind his helmet at the thought, but he made himself refocus. Even beskar could get wear and tear, though the beskar/durasteel mix was even more prone to gather damage. His father’s armor had subtle scratches when he wore it, a scar from the paint he purged from his armor once he recovered it. The armor included the thigh, shin, and foot pieces which Boba was never able to recover. It also included the codpiece that was lost before Cobb Vanth ever got his hands on the armor.

But it wasn’t just the armor that was right. There were also the subtle things, like the leather vest the armor attached to. Boba had worn cloth, which he had swapped for a different black cloth piece. There was a distinct lack of dents. And the armor lights were dull, powerless. They were made to monitor vitals Jango never used the armor lights once Jaster died in this armor and Boba had to modify them to make them work.

“Jango Fett?” Boba asked, almost not daring to breathe.

“What’s it to you?” the man answered, in the same Concord Dawn accent, with the tone that no other clone ever had, that Boba never had. He’d forgotten what it sounded like, but the memories washed over him leaving a knot in his chest.

“Take off your helmet,” Boba said.

“Why?” his father demanded.

Without hesitation, Boba released the latch on his helmet and pulled it off. He wasn’t surprised by the stunned silence. Most people had opinions about the state of his face, and he definitely got his share of stares now. (And Din looking at him with love and glowing admiration, but that was neither here nor there). Boba gave his father a moment to take in the changes.

“Hello, Buir,” he said, only just managing to keep the emotion in his voice in check.

His father hesitated for a few spare seconds before he removed his own helmet. Dank Farrik, Boba forgot how young his father was. He’d known logically, but Boba always thought of Jango as older. But no, Boba was only one year younger now.

“Boba,” his father said, his voice clear. He knew him. The heat of pleasure filled his belly. “What happened to you?”

Boba laughed out of surprise, making his father go very still. “My apologies, Buir, I always forget that some people don’t know. This is what happens after you fall into a sarlacc.”

His father’s face went pale. Boba strode to him quickly in case his father needed to be propped up. Boba had seen so much stupid bullshit in the universe that he wasn’t certain anything phased him anymore.

“A sarlacc?” his father repeated slowly. “You fell into a sarlacc.”

“And I crawled my way back out,” Boba said. “Probably not the first thing you want to learn about your son’s future, is it?” He couldn’t help the bite of humor in his words.

“Future,” Jango whispered. “This is… the future. Fuck, don’t tell me you’re still working with Jabba.”

“No, one of his slaves choked him to death with his own chain. The slug’s been dead for going on seven years now.” That was certainly the shortest explanation for that entire debacle.

“So why are you here?” Jango asked.

“Because I live here,” Boba said. “Welcome to my planet.”

“Yours,” Jango repeated, slowly looking around at the sandy hellhole where Boba had chosen to live his life. Boba almost started laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“Yes. Would you like to have this conversation inside? Out of the afternoon sun?” Boba pulled his helmet back on. The blazing hot sun was not good for his scars.

“Yes, but I need to get… you,” Jango said.

He looked at Boba for a moment before turning back to the ship. He headed back up the ramp but was only gone a few seconds before he returned with Boba’s younger self hot on his heels. Knowing himself, Boba would bet anything that he’d been told to stay in the cockpit and snuck out anyway in case his father needed him.

“Buir, is this the person you know?” his younger self asked, distrustful of a strange Mandalorian. That was wise.

“Of sorts,” Jango said, his voice dry. “The person I was going to see is dead, so we’re going to play this by ear.”

“But Buir, you can’t sing,” young Boba said.

That surprised a laugh out of Boba. For whatever reason, he’d hated hearing his father singing. Oddly, while the clones all had the same voice, Boba never minded their singing. It had been a real struggle for his Buir to teach him old songs when singing would make him cry as a small child.

Jango ruffled the full head of hair on his younger self’s head. “Behave, we’re on a mission.” Despite the warm gesture, his tone was strict and displeased. An old fear shot right up Boba’s spine. He’d always hated disappointing his father.

Boba scowled under his helmet. He wasn’t entirely surprised to be affected by his father’s tone, but it was unpleasant. Still, that wasn’t the reason for his scowl. He’d never realized that his father was rather harsh with him. Just using that particular warning voice wasn’t harsh itself, but there was definitely a scale up from there.

He’d forgotten. No, he’d remembered, but memories of Din’s gentle love of his own child had softened Boba’s memories. Din would fuss at Grogu, but always out of fear and love. And afterwards there were always hugs and whispered words of love. It just seemed so natural that Boba apparently just applied that same gentle love as a soft filter over his own memories. Fuck.

“This way,” Boba said, walking through the door.

He could hear Jango and his little-self following after him and the swish of the door closing. That was when Boba raised his wrist comm.

“Fennec?”

“Yes, Boss?” Fennec was clearly in a good mood, given the humor in her voice. Boba didn’t resist smiling behind his helmet.

“Clear out anyone we don’t trust,” he ordered.

“On it,” she said. That would assure almost total privacy, which would be for the best.

He didn’t lower his arm, hitting his second speed dial. Din’s voice came clearly through the comm.

“Did I leave something behind?”

“No, just tell Skywalker to stay on planet for the moment.”

There was a pause of silence. “Do I need to return?” Din’s voice was serious and concerned, and Boba would bet good credits that his father was making faces behind his back. He had always preached not making connections. Boba was just too old to stick to that anymore.

“No, just don’t let Skywalker leave. Have Peli sabotage his ship if you have to.”

That earned him a laugh. “I’ll consider it, if for some reason he doesn’t just agree immediately. I’m landing in Mos Eisley in one minute.”

“Understood,” Boba said. He turned off his comm and lowered his arm.

There was a moment of silence as they walked. Boba could feel them both staring at him, but he wasn’t going to break the silence. If one of them wanted to, that was fine.

It didn’t take much longer to arrive to the throne room, which he found blessedly empty except for Fennec sitting on the arm of his throne, “cleaning” her riffle. She looked up, her normal unflappable expression breaking as she took in the sight.

“Jango Fett,” she said, before looking back at her “cleaning”.

“Fennec Shand,” Jango said. “I’m surprised you’re still in the business. You’ve barely aged a day.”

“You haven’t aged at all. Did they put you in a cryo-pod?”

“Enough,” Boba said before this either devolved into an argument or Fennec told his own father how he died before Boba could break that particular piece of news. He reached up and pulled his helmet off. He walked to the throne, setting it down before he turned and faced the three of them.

As he suspected, his father was giving him deeply unhappy, pointed looks. Meanwhile, his younger self had gone a bit still, clearly sensing his father’s mood, but still also deeply curious. Fennec, back to her unflappable self, merely had her eyes narrowed.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Force Osik, probably,” Boba said. Well, that had Jango stiffening right up. “I suspect everyone could use a drink for this conversation.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Fennec said, standing in a fluid motion, setting her riffle in the throne as well and walking right behind the bar. She could mix a mean drink, and Boba knew he needed it.

“What’s going on?” Jango asked.

“Fennec, get something for the kid first,” Boba said before he turned back to his father and his scowling younger self. “I don’t know. It’s not every day someone travels 33 years through time and winds up on my doorstep.”

“Thirty-three years?” Little Boba asked. “So, who are you? Are you a clone?”

“Aren’t we all,” Boba said dryly. That made his father go stiff with unhappiness and discomfort. “I’m you, if you happen to fall into a sarlacc pit at the age of 36. I don’t recommend it.”

“What’s a sarlacc?” his younger self asked, his eyes getting huge.

“A particularly nasty creature,” Jango said. “Try not to worry about it. It’s not going to happen.” He laid a hand on his young son’s shoulder and steered him over to the bar where Fennec had a large glass of blue milk out for him.

Boba followed after them, sitting on the side of Jango that his younger self didn’t take. He was silent for a moment before Fennec slid a shot to him. He threw it back. If nothing else, the burn cleared his mind. He shifted to watch his father throw back a shot of his own while Fennec poured drinks they could actually sip. His younger self drank the blue milk with some bizarre twisty straw that Fennec apparently pulled from nowhere.

The whole thing was surreal.

“Why don’t you tell me whatever it is that you’re worried about me finding out?” Jango asked. His eyes were on Fennec, but his words were directed at Boba.

Boba’s eyes slid from his father to his younger self, who was playing with his straw. He was silent for a moment, wondering what Din would do in this situation. He was infinitely better with children than Boba had ever been. But then, the child here was himself, and he knew death from a young age. He’d also survived everything thrown his way.

“You were headed to Geonosis,” Boba said. He knew without having to be told. He remembered everything from the moment that stupid jedi showed up on their doorstep. Part of him hoped he was wrong, but he knew he wasn’t. “After Kenobi came snooping around.”

“Yes,” Jango said slowly, his posture becoming stiff with unease. “How did you know?”

“From the point you left, there was about a full day’s time before a jedi removed your head from your shoulders.” He took a long swig from the glass set in front of him. Fennec had pulled out the good stuff. This wasn’t swill you just chugged, but Boba didn’t care. Those wounds never hurt less, but his pain tolerance had changed with time. Still, it felt extra painful as he watched his father’s eyes widen.

His younger self grabbed their father’s hand. “Buir?” young Boba asked. “That’s not true, right? That can’t be true.”

Jango squeezed young Boba’s hand, strong and comforting. Boba felt pressure behind his eyes. He hadn’t held his father’s hand in a lifetime. His father’s eyes were trained on him and so Boba managed to keep his composure.

“What happened?” Jango asked.

“Those damn bugs and the Banking Clan decided to execute Kenobi and Amidala in a public arena, but they’d gotten a message to the other jedi. There was a huge battle.” He looked down at his drink. “You got into a fight with Mace Windu. You did good, for a while. But he still killed you.” He swallowed. “That was the first battle your army fought in. Hundreds of jedi died that day too. I didn’t realize it at first, of course.”

His younger self and gotten off his seat and pressed into their Father’s side. Jango let go of his younger self’s hand so he could hug him close instead. His father broke his gaze and turned his eyes down to the boy tucked into his side.

“It makes sense,” Jango said slowly. “I could believe it would happen.” He ran his fingers through young Boba’s curls. Both of them probably needed the comfort. “I assumed you avenged me?”

Boba let out a short laugh. “I tried. But Aurra Sing was not a good mentor.” His father tightened his grip on young Boba’s shoulders.

“Why were you with her?” he snapped.

“Because she’s who found me,” Boba said shortly. “Trust me, if I could go back, I would just shoot her in the face rather than deal with her shit.” He threw back the rest of the drink. Fennec gave him a concerned look but refilled his drink without comment. “In any case, I tried. And I got arrested for my trouble.”

“Now, I haven’t heard this story,” Fennec said.

“Because it’s hardly exciting. I tried to blow up a ship with Windu on it and failed big time. Then it was Aurra’s bright idea to take hostages and trust Hondo Ohnaka. The Republic arrested me and Windu showed up at my damned trial to ask for leniency. So of course, they sent me to the maximum-security adult prison on Coruscant. I escaped when Cad Bane and his little group made a break for it.”

Fennec whistled. “You’ve always been a bit of a tough son of a bitch, apparently. Can’t say I thank you for not shanking Bane in the neck when you had a chance.” She threw back the rest of her own drink and began to make herself a refill.

Boba snorted. He was grateful for her. Fennec knew how to break the tension. “You survived him just fine. And you still happen to be alive, which I can’t say for Bane.”

“How—” Jango started, probably a million questions on the tip of his tongue. That was the moment when the door they had come through only a few minutes ago opened. Jango whipped around, blaster out and aimed at the door with the speed of a legendary bounty hunter.

Din stood in the door, his blaster aimed at Jango, just as Jango’s was aimed at him.

“It’s okay,” Boba said. He stood at patted his father’s shoulders. Jango’s shoulders went tense, but he didn’t seem like he was about to shoot Din. Not that it would matter. Nothing was getting through that beskar. “You’re back fast.”

Din reholstered his blaster and stepped inside. Din trusted him that damn much, huh? To walk into a room unarmed when Jango still had his weapon out.

“I commed Skywalker before I landed and left Grogu with Peli,” Din said. “I thought something might be wrong.”

“You can put that away,” Boba said, which his father did. “This is Din Djarin.”

“An ally then?” his father asked.

“Something like that,” Boba said. He turned and crossed the distance to Din. “Din, um, this is my father and myself as a child.”

Din tilted his eyes, silent for a moment as he examined the situation. When he spoke, Boba felt very much like kissing him. Din was very good at rolling with whatever punches came his way. “I didn’t realize your armor had more pieces. Do you need help searching them out?”

“A few were lost before I was big enough to wear the armor, and the rest was lost in the sarlacc.”

“I’m certain we can have them replaced.”

Boba snorted. “I’d almost be willing to agree, just to watch Kryze and your Armorer’s head explode.”

Jango had seen crazy things in his life. His life really had never been stable. The closest to stability had been when he was still a child, and then when he started to live on Kamino with Boba. He was pretty good at dealing with whatever life threw at him, as terrible as most of it had been. But he thought he was entitled to call today a bit much.

His son, his older son, was both a sight to see and fascinating to watch. The scars were impressive, as was surviving a sarlacc. The way Boba moved made him seem taller than he was. Jango wasn’t entirely certain he’d win against his son in a fight. Finding out that Boba was living with Fennec Shand didn’t make him happy, but Boba living in Jabba’s palace was a pleasant surprise.

The time travel? He could do without that. The way he died? Yes, he could do without that too. Certainly, seeing just the effect just the description of Jango’s death had on his younger Boba gave Jango an idea of how scarring the event was for the adult Boba sitting at his side.

But those thoughts slipped from his mind, shunted to a corner to be explored later. Another Mandalorian had arrived, decked out in pristine, unpainted beskar. Boba knew him. This Din Djarin had been the man Boba spoke to on comms when they were walking to the throne room. Boba hadn’t asked for help, but Djarin came running anyway. And Boba just seemed happy to see him.

Djarin’s unpainted armor gave Jango pause. He thought at first Djarin might be dar’manda, but then Boba mentioned Djarin having an Armorer, so he must still have connections to Mandalore. But it was the other name which made something in his gut pull.

“Kryze, like the Duchess?” He spoke with anger in his voice. Death Watch could burn, but it wasn’t like he liked the pacifist bullshit the Kryze family imposed either.

“Duchess?” Djarin asked.

“Bo-Katan’s elder sister,” Boba said.

“I didn’t realize she had a sister,” Djarin said.

Well, that gave Jango a chill. The way Djarin said it, it was like something had changed over the past decades. Something was wrong.

“I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to give you that whole speech,” Boba said. “The whole ‘Death Watch killed my sister’ bit. She always forgets to mention that she joined Death Watch to oust her sister to begin with.”

Djarin in took in a huge breath and let out a long, tired sigh. His shoulders rose and fell with his breath. “I’ll deal with it later.”

He turned his helmet toward Jango. Jango stood. His Boba was still tucked into his side. It had been a while since his son had acted so childishly, but Jango decided this could be forgiven as everything was screwy right now anyway.

“Boba speaks very highly of you,” Djarin said, offering his hand to shake. The movement drew Jango’s eyes down, which was how he noticed the special weapon on Djarin’s hip.

Jango shook Djarin’s hand. “Well, I know nothing about you yet, but my son trusts you.” Djarin was surprisingly easy to read, even behind the helmet. His pleasure at Jango’s words couldn’t have been more obvious if Jango had been able to see the man smile.

“You’re a traditionalist, then?” Jango asked.

“Yes… how did you know?” Djarin asked cautiously.

“The old timers were like that. A Mandalorian who isn’t pledged to the old Creed will never have such open body language. You have to telegraph more with the armor.” Jango remembered meeting traditionalists when he was still a boy. Jaster refounded the Resol’nare, the creed of Mandalorians, for the True Mandalorians. In doing so, he connected with very old but small sects of traditionalists. They never joined Jaster outright, as they found his interpretation of the six tenets of Mandalore to be too liberal. But they’d respected Jaster, even if they never fully followed under his banner. Perhaps that was why the survived when the New Mandalorians didn’t. Thirty-three years in the future and here was living proof the old ways stayed alive.

“Ah,” Djarin said, in lieu of commenting.

“Now, I want to know who you killed to get that,” Jango said, motioning to the lightsaber hilt on Djarin’s hip.

Djarin looked down at the saber before turning back to Jango. “He’s still alive, as far as I know.”

“My father’s asking which jedi that belonged to,” Boba explained.

“Oh,” Djarin said. “The guy from Paz’s family, right?”

Boba let out a loud laugh. It was a deep belly laugh, the type Jango hadn’t made since Jaster died. “Only you,” he said once his laughter settled. He wiped his eyes of moisture, still chuckling. Djarin shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s just not important for me to remember that?”

“Please let me be there when you tell Kryze that to her face.” Boba was smiling, warm, happy. He was a far cry from the cold, shut off man who just told Jango about his own execution.

“I will,” Djarin said, seeming to warm to the joke. “She deserves it from keeping important information from me.”

“At minimum,” Boba said. “But let’s not beat around the bush. Buir, Din’s in possession of the darksaber. He’s Mand’alor.”

That sent a physical jolt through Jango’s body. The darksaber, the lightsaber forged by Tarre Viszla himself. The title of Mand’alor had been passed down without the darksaber for so long, but Din Djarin wore it at his hip along with his pristine beskar. He was Mand’alor.

And he came running the second he thought Boba was in trouble.

Jango was still reeling when his younger son finally pulled his face from his side and peered up at the stranger. “Did you have that when you were Mand’alor?” Little Boba’s innocent question made older Boba wince.

“Your father was Mand’alor,” Djarin said. His hands started to scramble for the saber at his hip, pulling it from its clasp. Jango went for his closest blaster. If Djarin was going to attack Boba, try to get rid of any competition. “Then-”

“Don’t you fucking dare offer me that thing, Djarin,” older Boba snapped, taking two large steps back. Jango froze, his hand on his blaster, but the blaster was still in its holster.

“You have as much right to it as Bo-Katan,” Djarin insisted. He’d gotten the saber off his belt and was holding it out to Boba, who took another giant step back.

“And you couldn’t pay me to take that headache. You won the cursed thing fair and square, and now you’re stuck with it. If you try to palm that thing off on me, I’ll ban you from Tatooine for a year.”

Djarin froze for a moment, his shoulders slumping. “You mean that?”

“Absolutely,” Boba said, his voice deadly serious.

Djarin was clearly pouting. He probably had his lip out and everything under that helmet. The whole tableau was just bizarre. Jango was certain he’d never seen two men who wanted to not be Mand’alor that badly.

“Can I see it?” his Boba asked from his side. “Buir told me about it before, in the stories.”

“Sure,” Djarin said and ignited the darksaber.

Jango had never seen it before, but it was exactly as the old stories described: black as pitch, a black hole for all light, with crackling lightning inside itself. Entirely one of a kind.

“May I?” Jango asked.

“Of course,” Djarin said. He turned it off and offered Jango the hilt.

Jango took a moment to examine the hilt before pressed the switch, turning the saber back on. The black blade relit. The heat from it was indescribable. It was lighter than a real sword, but there was so much power coursing through it that Jango would have to treat it like a broadsword.

“Wizard,” Boba murmured at his hip.

“I have to agree,” Jango said. He turned the blade off and return the hilt to its owner. Djarin silently returned it to his hip.

“Boba, how come you never told me your father was Mand’alor?” Djarin asked, his helmet fixed on Jango and not his older son.

“So you wouldn’t try to give it to me,” Boba said bluntly. “I’m not Mandalorian, and I’m pretty certain everyone would rip themselves to shreds if you handed that thing to someone who isn’t Mandalorian.”

“There’s a really easy way to fix that,” Mand’alor Djarin said. “Your father was Mand’alor, I just declare you Mandalorian by blood.”

“You do that and every surviving clone is suddenly Mandalorian as well,” Boba pointed out. He sounded grumpy, like he did when he was little and didn’t want to take a nap.

“I don’t see why they shouldn’t be. I’ll declare it at the next conclave. That will be fastest. Skywalker knows people, I’m sure he’ll be happy to spread the word.”

Djarin sounded so sincere while Boba looked like he was in pain. Jango didn’t know for sure, but he suspected this was a political nightmare waiting to happen, and that Mand’alor Din Djarin was about to happily subject it on all of Mandalore. Meanwhile, his son was starting to look like a long-suffering political advisor.

And that did it. The whole day had been too weird, and this was just the icing on top. Jango started to giggle. He didn’t even try to hide it. He covered his mouth with his hand and started giggling like a damned child. But damn, it was funny.

A Mand’alor who didn’t want the job, but who would happily include every single person who had a drop of Jango’s blood? And Boba was about to start arguing about why it was a bad idea? So maybe it wasn’t that funny after all; but that didn’t stop Jango from giggling like an idiot.

He was half bent over with laughter before he felt Boba’s strong hand, dragging him up straight. Seeing his concerned face just made Jango laugh harder.

“Sounds like someone else could use another drink,” Fennec Shand called from the bar behind him. Jango couldn’t speak, but he turned around enough so she could see him nod.

Watching an older Fennec Shand pouring drinks helped him get himself back together. He was able to get air again, anyway.

“Buir, are you okay?” his Boba asked quietly from his side.

Jango took a few deep breaths and pet Boba’s curls. “It’s been a damn long day,” he said by way of explanation.

Fucking time travel! His son watched him die, got eaten by a sarlacc, escaped and became ruler of an entire planet. Also, he was close friends with the Mand’alor, who seemed honorable enough. A traditionalist Mand’alor who somehow didn’t care that Boba hadn’t truly been raised Mandalorian, may well have never set foot on Mandalore, and who clearly had not tried to make connections with Mandalorians.

Jango walked back over to the bar. “Finish you milk,” he told his Boba. “I’m sure there’s a lot more conversation to be had.”

His older son and the Mand’alor joined them back at the bar. Boba sat, but Djarin stood, leaning against the bar. Fennec Shand poured more alcohol. Jango expected her to either pour Djarin a glass as well, or to leave him without anything. Instead, she pulled out something, which from the smell of it was some type of cold tea. She poured it into the same type of tall glass as Boba’s milk and added a straw.

Djarin accepted the tea with a thank you. He released the latch on his helmet, lifting the helmet only enough to get the straw to his lips, then resettled his helmet. He managed to do this without showing an inch of skin. Smart. He took a few sips before setting the glass down.

“So now what?” Djarin asked.

“Now you can call Skywalker and tell him he can come.” Boba sounded damn bitter about it, and Djarin went entirely still.

“Are you sure?”

“You know another jedi we can call?” Boba’s words were soaked in sarcasm. Jango felt a chill go down his spine and fire burn in his stomach. Since when was his son associated with jedi?

“Sort of,” Din said.

“Oh, really? And who might that be?” Boba didn’t sound impressed at all.

“Well, she didn’t say was a jedi exactly, but she can still do the whole Force thing.” Djarin was hedging. Boba looked even less impressed. “Her name is Ahsoka Tano.” Djarin barely got the words out before Boba started shaking his head.

“No way! In no uncertain terms,” Boba snapped. Djarin pulled his shoulders up, clearly taken aback.

“She’s not Skywalker. I know you don’t like him.” That was a relief in any case. “I think I can find her easily enough.”

“And she’s married to one of the clones,” Boba said shortly.

“Ah… no, I don’t get it. Do they not like you or something?” Djarin asked.

Boba barked out a dark laugh. “Considering that I put down hundreds of them for Vader, I can’t say it would be a happy family reunion. And Tano was related to Kenobi. It’s not happening.”

That painted an ugly picture. There were so many things Jango didn’t know. The way Shand stiffened at the name ‘Vader’ made him more than uneasy. Knowing someone paid Boba to kill men who looked like them bothered Jango, even though the clones weren’t family or any more than a product.

Djarin let out a great big sigh. “Why does everyone have a problem with you?”

Boba’s smile was sharp. “I did have a reputation to uphold.”

Djarin shook his head. “I’ll try to smooth it out.”

“If you manage this one, it will be your greatest achievement to date,” Shand said behind her drink.

“You don’t have to,” Boba added

“They’re as close as you come to a tribe or a covert.” Djarin’s voice was full of conviction. “And if I’m making it a law that you’re all Mandalorian, you’re much more likely to run into each other.”

“You’re a terror with your good deeds, Din.” His older son sounded both tired and fond. It was very human. It made Boba look tangible and reachable. It reminded Jango of his own youth, when he had people he cared about, when he had hope. He’d pruned all of that out of himself long ago and was working to it prune in Boba.

If you made it so people you loved could touch you, then that meant that anyone could touch you. His older son had already been through enough. He should know better. An alliance with Mandalore was probably good for business, but it left Boba far too vulnerable.

“Just call Skywalker. And call Peli so she’ll give him the kid,” Boba said.

“Alright. I’m going to wait at the landing strip.”

“Do it,” Boba said with a definitive nod.

Din nodded once and headed out, his wrist comm raised as he went.

“Eh, Fennec, how about you give the kid sniper lessons?” His elder son’s words were less suggestion and more order.

Jango glared at his older son. His Boba wasn’t old enough to start with that yet. But his older son seemed to realize Jango was pissed. He turned to look at Jango, his gaze familiar, impassive, and unimpressed.

“Awesome,” Boba said, jumping up from his seat.

“Ad!” Jango snapped. He was busy glaring at his older son, but he knew his Boba froze instantly.

“I learned to shoot a sniper riffle when I was about his age, and Fennec’s the best sniper I’ve ever met.”

“Aww, high praise from you, boss,” Shand said, her voice laced with sarcasm, but also a strong thread of truth. “Come on, little Boss. Auntie Fennec is going to show you how to blow people’s heads off so they don’t even see you coming.”

“Wow,” Boba said. And being the child he was, he basically ran off with Shand. Jango turned to order his son to return, but his older son grabbed his wrist. Jango whipped back around and glared at older Boba. His grip was hard and Jango was certain in a fight that he wouldn’t be able to rip out of that grip. Jango would have the mobility, but he didn’t doubt that whatever Boba lost in speed he more than made up for in brutality.

“You don’t get to take my feet out from under me with my son,” he said. He jerked his hand away and Boba let him go.

“Funny, I thought I was your son too.” Boba’s words were biting. Those words made Jango’s stomach flip over. Shit.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Jango said, his voice gentled.

“I learned to shoot only a few months after this point. Sing needed me to be able to take the fall if shit went sideways, so she was teaching me. Fennec Shand is probably the most accurate sniper I’ve ever seen, short of one specific clone. But he’s not allowed on my planet so that doesn’t matter. She’s also going to keep the kid safe and entertained while you and I talk alone.”

“I am still your father,” Jango reminded him. “You don’t get to make decisions for me or little Boba.”

Older Boba snorted. “Please let me be there when you call him that. I’d love to watch the fireworks.”

“I’m absolutely not saying that where he can hear,” Jango said. He grabbed his drink and took a sip. “I don’t even know where to start with you.”

“The part where you died? Or the part where I nearly died, or the part where I’ve just invited a jedi into my home?” Boba suggested, smug because he knew exactly what was causing Jango grief.

Jango took a big gulp of alcohol. He stood to grab the bottle and drag it over so he could get a refill when he needed. “Let’s start with that one. You know how I feel about Jedi.”

“Galidraan, I know,” Boba said. “Didn’t stop you from working with the man who led the Jedi force on Garlidraan, did it?”

Jango stiffened. “How did you know that?”

“I spent my life taking everything I needed or wanted. You think I couldn’t find your journals in the old Kamino archives? And you think I didn’t learn everything I could about every one of our supposed allies who were there when you died?” Boba’s voice was as hard and as cold as a dead moon.

“I’m sorry you saw that,” Jango said. The grief in his voice was real. “What happened?”

“Your jetpack shorted. They couldn’t get you when it was working. But when it was just you and the Master of the Jedi Order, what do you think happened?”

“Fuck,” Jango said, adding jetpack maintenance to his immediate to do list.

“Don’t worry, you’re in good company.” Boba sounds deeply sarcastic. He turns to fully face Jango. “I ended up in the sarlacc because a blind idiot suffering from carbonite sickness managed to hit my pack just right and shorted it out. And there you go. One lucky shot’s all it takes. Though it wasn’t really luck that took you down, was it?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t died yet, have I?” Jango asked, letting his voice go hard as durasteel. He didn’t like the way this Boba was speaking to him, nor the accusatory look he was giving. “But that doesn’t get to the point. Why are you having a jedi here?”

“Because there’s no one else who can figure out what the kark is going on,” Boba said. “Trust me, if there was another option, I’d pick anyone but him. His friend is the one who knocked me into the damn sarlacc. I would rather eat bantha shit than have him here. But there’s no one else.”

“If you’re so excited to have a jedi come, why not call a different one then?” Jango asked.

To his surprise, Boba started laughing. It was ugly and dark and bitter, so very bitter.

“What?” Jango demanded, wanting that laugh to stop.

“You don’t know anything, Buir. Don’t worry, I’ll give you a short history lesson. See, that army they made from you had these little chips in their head with all type of orders. One of them was to kill all the Jedi. And they did. The Chancellor set off the chips, told all of them to kill Jedi and they did. Then he made himself Emperor and everything went to galactic shit.”

Jango was silent. He was just too stunned to speak. He knew the clone army was made to harm the Jedi, and that never bothered him because he wanted his enemies dead. But to think of the Jedi actually being killed? It just seemed inconceivable now that it was presented to him.

“All of them?” he asked weakly.

“Some of them escaped, but then the emperor’s right-hand man, Darth Vader hunted the rest down. There are only two survivors that I know of. One of them was Tano, and only because she was on Mandalore when everything went to hell, and she isn’t a jedi. The other is Din’s little foundling who ages very slowly. Skywalker wasn’t even alive then. Hell, I found out about a year ago that he was Vader’s son. But he’s it. The last Jedi. The only Jedi left alive. So yes, there isn’t anyone else. It’s just him.”

Jango could hear roaring in his ears. He’d loathed the Jedi, but that was a lot… a lot of people to suddenly die. He took a breath, desperately pushing back the memories of the slaughter of his own people. He hadn’t realized that this knowledge would affect him like this.

“You said she was on Mandalore?” he asked. He didn’t care, he just needed to change the subject and give himself a second to breathe.

Boba grabbed his drink and threw back the rest. He turned back to the bar, placing his hand over his mouth. “Death Watch went after the Duchess. Vizsla was an absolute bastard and wanted to be back in power. That was when Bo-Katan was still with them. She changed sides eventually, but that’s not important yet. What is important is that Viszla lost Mandalore to this Zabrak, a dar’jetii. He killed the Duchess, and Bo-Katan lead the charge against him.”

What could he even say to that? How was he supposed to react to knowing that all his enemies died, but that he went down in the process?

“What then?” he asked weakly.

“The Empire broke Mandalore, but the tribes came back together. Someone from the Wren clan won the darksaber and gave it to Kryze. Then an Imperial wipes the floor with her and takes it. So there goes the unity, and the Imp glasses the planet.”

Jango’s world tilted. He had to hold onto the bar. He didn’t truly know what glassed meant, but he couldn’t ask and have Boba lay it the truth of the damage. He didn’t want to know that Mandalore didn’t exist anymore. That had been his home. That was what his Buir fought and died for. That had been his planet to rule until he lost everyone and walked away from it all. Glassed.

He went to pour himself another drink but thought better of it and drank from the bottle, just to have something to do that wasn’t sinking into his own imagination.

“And you friend? He took it from the Imperials?” Good, just keep the story going. He could push this painful knowledge to the back of his mind.

“The Imp took his son. Kryze wanted revenge, so she was willing to help because Din provided himself, me, Fennec and a New Republic Marshall. We were a better than Kryze had in years. So, they’d take over the cruiser, and Din would get the kid and Kyrze would fight the Imp and win the darksaber and the right to be Mand’alor for real this time. Except the Imp was threatening the kid and Din was there while Kyrze wasn’t, so he beat the bastard into the ground and accidentally won the whole shit show.”

“That… would be a shock,” Jango agreed.

“Din wasn’t raised on Mandalore. There wasn’t a Mandalore to be raised on after a while. Some of his people are old Death Watch. They went underground. They didn’t teach the history of the planet, nor the clans. It’s the creed and the fighting. And he’s the best. Better than you or me or any Mandalorian I’ve ever met.”

“That good, huh?” Jango couldn’t help but be sarcastic. Sarcasm was better than starting to scream, after all.

“He’s powerful and stubborn, and kind.” There’s something soft in Boba’s eyes that makes Jango feel sick. “He won’t stop helping people. He won’t stop caring or loving. And he doesn’t know the history or have any of the old prejudices. He doesn’t look at me and see a disgrace and a liar who pretends to be Mandalorian. He sees me as Mandalorian because you were Mandalorian, and because I’m a powerful warrior and I wear and value armor.”

It pissed Jango off to hear how Boba was treated, but that was pushed down for the wonder in Boba’s voice. He was getting a bad feeling that Mand’alor Din Djarin wasn’t just a close friend. Traditionalists didn’t just accept people who didn’t kept their helmets on. And Death Watch was just fanatics. He couldn’t imagine tossing them in with traditionalists would do anything but make anything but an even stricter and more fanatical group. And yet, Djarin was here.

“He doesn’t look at Kryze and see her clan, or her revolving door of loyalty, he sees a tentative ally who he knows wants his position more than just about anything but putting Mandalore back together. One of the surviving members of his covert is a Viszla, but he doesn’t see Paz’s clan or their fraught history, he sees the asshole he grew up with. So, he runs headfirst into historical landmines that just bounce off him because he doesn’t know to care. And no one can argue with him. He’s good at his job and would never throw a fight just to be rid of it.”

“So,” Jango said, looking away from his son. He took another gulp from the bottle. “How long have you been in love with him?”

Well, that certainly wasn’t what Boba wanted to hear, but he also knew it would come out eventually. “Since the first time I met him,” Boba said. That was a whole story. Boba knew Din Djarin was a man of honor and strong, so he had tried to reason with him, but he’d been prepared to kill him. He was a traditionalist, after all. But instead, Din gave him back his armor and trusted him with the life of his child. Boba couldn’t think of anyone who ever just felt safe with him. But Din had from the moment they stopped fighting.

Being trusted was a hell of an aphrodisiac.

His father slammed the bottle down on the bar, shattering it in his anger. What was left of the alcohol was now dripping off the bar. “I taught you better than that!” he snapped.

“You taught me to be alone and then died and left me with no one and nothing I could trust,” Boba snapped in return. “It’s a testament to my own stubbornness that I’m even still alive.”

“You let people in and you give them the power to hurt you.” Jango glared at Boba, his anger heating his skin. “Nothing good comes from letting your defenses down. You know that. It’s a way for someone to stab you, or for you to not see the dagger coming for someone you’ve allowed yourself to care about. It’s dangerous, a way to get yourself killed. I know I taught you to survive.”

Boba stared for a long moment, his eyes running over his father’s far too familiar face. “It’s amazing,” he found himself murmuring.

“What is?” his father demanded.

“There’s no one like you, Buir. When you move and the way you speak. I know it’s you. But when you’re still, glaring at me, you know what I see?”

The suspicious look on his father face felt vindicating, almost. “What?”

“I see a clone. One of millions. Just like me and every other one. The face of thousands of men I’ve personally killed with my own two hands. It doesn’t matter that you came first. You’re just like all the rest of us. An identical face in a sea of identical faces. Interchangeable. A fraction of a piece of a weapon for a dar’jetii to use at his whim. Just another insignificant clone.”

His father’s face filled with a dark flush of anger and actual embarrassment. “How dare you—”

“The only people who remember you are me and a couple bounty hunters who were alive back then. I overwrote everything you did with my own name, and Palpatine did the rest.” Boba stood and walked away. “Enjoy your drink. Don’t fucking come near me or I’ll break your trigger fingers.”

He knew how to storm out and make a dramatic exit. It was as useful as the rest of the mystique about Boba Fett. But this wasn’t an act. He was just angry. He itched to smack his father so hard that he’d break bones. He wanted to scream. He wanted to attack. Instead, he ran away from his father and right back up to the landing pad.

Out there, Din was waiting, standing in the shade, waiting for Skywalker to come fix their problem. He didn’t even jump when Boba threw the door open. Boba strode the last few steps and placed himself at Din’s side.

Din turned, drawing Boba’s hood up, over his head to shield his scars and face from Tatooine’s brutal sun. Boba nearly let out a hysterical laugh. He’d forgotten his helmet on his throne. He’d left it back with his Buir. Boba leaned into Din, and Din, bless him, put his arm around Boba.

They were silent there for a long moment. Din didn’t ask him what was wrong. Boba always liked that about him. He didn’t press. He didn’t press, but he would always accept whatever Boba had to offer, even if it was awful.

“I just said the worst thing I possibly could to my father,” Boba said.

“Do you feel better?”

Boba snorted. “No, but I don’t regret it. He started chewing me out for my relationship with you.”

Din went still, his shoulders getting stiff. “Did I do something? Is it the foundling thing?”

Boba turned and gave his lover a soft look. Din had found out that a lot of Mandalorians didn’t consider anyone not born in the Mandalore system to be Mandalorian. Boba also got the sense that his foundling status had always made things awkward in the Covert as well. He had anxiety about it, and Boba hated stoking that fire, even on accident.

“No, he was a foundling,” Boba said gently. “It’s not you, it’s that I have a lover at all.”

“Is… no, I don’t understand.”

“I told you about Galidraan,” Boba said.

“I remember. He lost his people there and was captured.” Din had been very interested in that story. Boba’s father had been what was considered dar’manda by traditionalist ideals, as he not only lost the battle of Galidraan but also everyone who followed him into that battle. Not only had his helmet removed after the battle, but his entire armor stripped off his body before the treacherous governor and his Death Watch allies sold his father to pirates. Jango Fett’s armor hung on the Governor’s office wall for years. It was a total defeat. And yet Jango Fett still crawled his way back. He’d escaped, killed the Governor and defeated Death Watch. The only bitter part of what otherwise seemed like a Mandalorian fairytale was that too many of the True Mandalorians were dead for Jango to accept his mantle once more. Instead, he’d denounced his title of Mand’alor and his Mandalorian heritage and left. Really, Din had always been happy to listen to Boba tell stories about his father for hours. Of the two of them, Boba was the only one who’d had a parent long enough to remember anything story-worthy about them.

Now, Boba couldn’t help but look back at those stories colored by hero worship and want to cry. Fuck, this hurt.

“He was wounded. I see this now. It broke him. I mean, I knew, but I was a child and I thought he was the best in the whole universe. And then he’s sitting at my bar in my Palace and shouting at me because I have people who I love. He’s just a fucking child. He’s like me as a preteen, angry at the universe and out for blood. But he’s a fucking adult. Even I knew better before I ended up in the sarlacc pit.”

Boba pressed his forehead against Din’s shoulder and Din turned to wrap both his arms around Boba, sheltering him from the sun and his own painful thoughts.

“I’m stronger now because I’m not shut off. I’m safer because I love you and Fennec and the kid. My life is better, fuller here than it ever was before. I’m no longer dying and killing myself because I don’t have anything but my father’s need for me to be just like him. It’s no longer the need to be his legacy that’s keeping me alive. How dare he look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong, when I’m alive and he’s not?”

“I’m sorry, Boba,” Din murmured. He let go of him with one arm. Boba knew he was removing his helmet before he even heard the latch. Boba peered up at Din. Din peered right back; his expressive brown eyes focused solely on him while he held his helmet just off his head.

“I’ve never been happy before I met you, not since he died. And you would never demand that I not have anyone else. You’d never demand your ad to have only you. You would never isolate us.” And that was the sticking point for Boba. Jango Fett wasn’t the only one who lost everyone. Din loved Grogu enough to let him go. He didn’t think Jango would have done the same for him.

“It’s been a long day for everyone. Maybe it will be better later,” Din suggested. His voice was so handsome without the helmet. He always sounded like he needed to be taken to the bedroom and fucked. But it was soothing, private. But Boba didn’t want to hear it right now. Maybe Din was right, but he didn’t think he could hear it right now. He couldn’t have that hope.

“Just kiss me,” Boba demanded. As always, Din gave him everything he wanted.

Din pressed against him, grabbing the hood with one hand, which was big enough to mostly obscure his face while he gave Boba the types of kisses that made him feel warm down to his toes. Boba grabbed Din’s hips, dragging him so they were flush against one another. Din’s lips didn’t get dried out the way Boba’s did now. Right now, Din’s mouth was as warm and soft and welcoming as the man himself.

Din was his home, more than the Palace or anywhere else. The Palace was Boba’s seat of his power. It was where he lived, where he worked, where Fennec was. But it was also the place he’d worked like a slave for Jabba as a child. What made it a home was the fact that Boba had set up a crib for the kid in the corner of his room, and he had an entire chest dedicated to toys. Home was dishes stained orange with Tiingilar. Home was the wall hanging Din bought him when he was out on mission. Home was Din’s new amban riffle propped against a wall, and his and Boba’s boots by the door. When Din was there, the Palace was warmer, richer, more colorful. When he left the Palace never returned to the cold, soulless place it had been before, simply because Din had been there .

His kisses kept Boba upright. They made his heart soft and his backbone as strong as beskar. Kissing Din out under Tatooine’s twin suns made Boba’s toes curl in his boots from happiness. The bitter feelings from speaking with his father were still there, but they didn’t matter compared to the love of the man who kissed him on the Palace rooftops.

Their kiss broke at the sound of an X-Wing getting closer. Din broke the kiss and quickly pulled his helmet back on. It wasn’t like Luke Skywalker hadn’t seen Din’s face (or Fennec, or Din’s friend Cara, or, annoyingly, Bo-Katan and her girlfriend), but Din chose to keep his face covered, even in front of the people who’d already seen. The helmet was his face. Boba understood that quite intimately.

“Right on time,” Boba said, pulling his hood back enough that he could see.

The X-Wing lowered itself onto the platform. As soon as it landed, the hatch opened. The first one out was Skywalker’s annoying, ancient murder droid. After reviewing old footage, Boba was almost 100% certain that the droid had belonged to Skywalker’s jedi father, which made the droid’s rudeness make sense.

Next out was Skywalker himself, with Grogu hugged to his chest. As soon as they got out of the tiny ship, the kid was reaching for Din. Din, of course, crossed the distance and scooped Grogu out of Skywalker’s arms. Boba, of course, followed after him.

“It seems you finally remembered that you used to live here,” Boba noted. Skywalker had worn black on a desert planet way too much (not that Boba could really talk). Today Skywalker was in an outfit of shades of brown and beige, and his jacket actually had a hood. For once, he was dressed for the weather.

“Good to see you too,” Skywalker said dryly before turning his gaze to Din. “You said there was a problem.”

Boba did not like Skywalker, and the feeling was mutual. Despite the fact that jedi weren’t supposed to have attachments, Skywalker could really nurse a grudge. Their relationship was defined by true slights and petty grievances. Boba had taken Skywalker’s friend as a popsicle to Jabba because said moron hadn’t paid Jabba the Hutt. Boba had been paid well by both Vader and Jabba for trouble. But Skywalker’s idiot friend had also knocked him into a Sarlacc to slowly die in horrifying agony. Besides that, Luke Skywalker was a jedi, which Boba never liked. And Boba, for his part, happened to know a lot more about Jedi history than Skywalker did.

This part wasn’t Boba’s fault exactly, but he’d made it his business to learn everything about Mace Windu and Obi-Wan Kenobi, as well as any other jedi he could find out about. They were the reason his buir had been enslaved. They were the reason that Boba lost his buir when he was a child. Even after they were all murdered, Boba still collected information for a while. So, he knew a damn sight more about Jedi laws and past jedi than Skywalker did. He also knew way more about “Ben” Kenobi than Skywalker did, even when Kenobi had supposedly been Skywalker’s teacher. And yeah, Boba enjoyed holding that over Skywalker’s head. It wasn’t like he ever got to use all that now useless information for anything else.

That being said, Boba could say a few things for Skywalker. The first, and most important, was that he cared for Grogu with true love and compassion, which made Din’s separation from the little gremlin bearable to Din. Skywalker was also kind and respectful of Din and Din being a proper Mandalorian. He’d even taught Din a few lightsaber tricks so he wouldn’t accidentally cut his own arm off wielding the symbol of his power as Mand’alor. Skywalker was also generally decent as a person (which Boba could not say for himself). The little twit also had a wicked side that Boba liked despite himself. If Skywalker’s idiot friend hadn’t sent him careening into a Sarlacc during Skywalker’s idiot plan to rescue said idiot friend, then maybe Boba would be willing to meet Skywalker halfway.

As it was, they had a truce, which revolved entirely around Din and Grogu. And it meant that when Din said Boba needed help, Skywalker came running. Go figure.

“There’s been some sort of magic- uh, I mean Force anomaly, and Boba’s father and younger self came back from the past,” Din said.

Skywalker’s eyes got comically wide. “Well, that’s a new one on me,” he said, his voice more cheerful than this mess deserved. “And I’ve definitely never read anything about it in any Jedi text.”

“Don’t you only have a dozen books?” Boba asked dryly. Skywalker flushed with embarrassment. Boba suddenly grieved the loss of the Jedi archives.

“Well, I haven’t heard of anything like this before,” Skywalker said. “But I bet with some investigation, we can get an idea of what to do.”

Boba rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to not get pissed at Skywalker. The jedi was doing him a favor and hadn’t even asked for anything. He needed to keep his temper and try to not make things worse. Plus, Boba was angrier at his own father than Skywalker at that moment.

“Alright,” Boba said. “My father hates jedi more than I do. If I tell you why, will you promise to try to not step on any landmines?”

“Well, I definitely don’t want him to try to kill me, so of course,” Skywalker said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“My father was Mand’alor once, when he was in his early twenties,” he started.

“Really? Din, did you know?” Skywalker asked.

“Yes,” Din said instead of telling Skywalker that he’d found the truth out within the last hour.

“In any case,” Boba said shortly and loud enough so Luke would look back at him. “There was a civil war, where the True Mandalorians and Death Watch were trying to kill each other. My Ba’buir was Mand’alor, but he was killed by one of his lieutenants. The position went to my father, and the True Mandalorians were winning under his leadership.”

Grogu cooed. He was way too young to remember this or have heard of it, but sometimes Boba swore the kid knew more than he really should. He looked at Boba with those old eyes of his. Boba gave his ears a pet, which soothed his own shot nerves if nothing else.

“So, they were hired by the governor of Galidraan to put down some rebels. But Tor Viszla, who led Death Watch, was conspiring with the governor. They called the Jedi and told them that my father and his people were killing Garlidraan citizens. So, the Jedi came in force and slaughtered my father’s people. My father killed a good number of jedi as well but was eventually captured. He was turned over the Governor, who took his armor and hung it in his office as a trophy, and then sold my father into slavery. The governor split the armor of the dead with Death Watch. My father eventually freed himself and got his revenge on the Governor, but the True Mandalorians were dead and Death Watch took over. Of course, they were knocked down by the New Mandalorians, who turned out to be pacifists.”

“Bo-Katan’s sister?” Din asked. Boba nodded.

“And then Death Watch aligned themselves with a dar’jetii and overthrew them. And the war started all over again.”

Skywalker was the one pinching the bridge of his nose now. “War’s unending,” he muttered to himself with the exhaustion that eventually came to every foot soldier. Boba couldn’t even argue. He barely remembered a time when there was actual peace. That time was mostly spent on Kamino, far away from the galaxy at large.

“Alright,” Skywalker said, straightening up. “I can’t apologize for what happened in the past, but I am sorry. I know a thing or two about losing people. And that was a stunning betrayal of which the Jedi were instrumental tools. I’ll do my best to be respectful and not try to say anything about the old order.”

Boba let out a breath and nodded. “Appreciated.” He was still pissed at his father, but he still didn’t want him to get hurt, especially by such a painful memory.

“Shall we head back?” Din asked.

“Yeah, best to do it now before my father gets alcohol poisoning,” Boba said dryly.

“You know, it probably isn’t my place—” Skywalker started.

“Oh, I’m certain it definitely isn’t,” Boba said.

“I know what it’s like to have a complicated relationship with fathers,” Skywalker said, stopping Boba before he could make another sarcastic comment. “And to meet him when you thought he was dead.”

It hit Boba that Skywalker might actually understand better than anyone. “Vader didn’t like most Imperials, you know. I can only think of maybe three he could actually stand.”

Skywalker’s smile was strained. “Thank you, but you don’t have to try and make it better.” He waved the fingers of his mechanical hand. “I know exactly who he was, and who he is. He’s dead, and even if I couldn’t talk to him sometimes, it would still be complicated. It really shattered ideas I had about him. I heard he was a jedi. I heard stories from in the Rebellion of this cool, righteous jedi, and I thought I would be like him. And then I found out who really was, and it broke me.”

Boba hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Things look different when you’re taller.”

Skywalker snorted. “Yeah, that’s it… anyway, I know it feels bad, but it gets better.”

“I don’t need to be comforted by you, Skywalker. I don’t like you.”

“I don’t like you either,” Skywalker said cheerfully with a smile with far too many teeth. “But I still get it.”

“I’m sure you do,” Boba said honestly before turning to the door.

He led the fun little party down into the throne room. Behind him he heard Skywalker say something to the effect of ‘Ooo, I’ve never been this way before.’ Boba pulled his hood back and decided to pretend like he hadn’t heard anything.

He didn’t really want to see his father again so soon, but he had to admit, it was a pleasant surprise to see his father had broken into the water rather than continuing to drink. Boba, knowing what a bastard he himself could be when he was drunk, hadn’t really been looking forward to working with a plastered Jango.

Jango was standing behind the bar and had clearly snatched a few water packs from the chiller, as well as some of the salty nuts the bartender kept around. At least it was a nod to sobriety. His eyes met Boba’s as he finished sucking moisture from the pack he had in his mouth.

“Is this the jetii?”

Wonderful to know that Boba’s avoidant personality came naturally. A normal person would apologize, or say something, not just ignore the big blow up. Typical. Unfortunately, Boba was just as bad, so he didn’t comment about it either.

“My name is Luke Skywalker,” Skywalker said pleasantly. “I’ll try to figure out what’s going on and then get out of your hair as quickly as I can.”

“Pleasure,” Jango said, managing to not sound like he hated Skywalker’s guts, which was definitely more than Boba expected.

“Can you tell me what you remember before you arrived here?” Luke said. He walked right to one of the nearby tables and sat down, looking right at home.

“I was flying from a pursuer. We were in the clear, headed to Geonosis. I looked away for a second, and when I looked back there was this glowing… thing in space. It was like a tear, except that it also had these light tentacles. It grabbed us and dragged us in. Between one blink and the next, we were just outside of Tatooine.”

“Oh, that’s fascinating. Come sit with me for a minute. I’m going to meditate a bit and see what I can find out.” He patted the back of the chair next to him.

Jango didn’t look particularly happy, but he got up and went to the chair Skywalker indicated. Without asking, Skywalker took his hand. Boba got to watch his father tense up.

“Just try to relax. This won’t hurt. Try to think of the oddity you saw.” Skywalker closed his eyes.

Jango wrinkled his nose but did as Luke requested. His shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes. Then there was silence.

Jango tried to just think of whatever that odd rip in reality was. He focused on the memory until he felt a little tap tap tap on his mind. That would be the jetii asking for entrance. That was something Jango did not want to give. Still, he opened his mind just a little. Skywalker pressed in, committing the Force-equivalent of of getting a foot in the door. Jango quickly focused on the colorful thing in space.

But the image didn’t just stay there. His mind seemed to drift, moving from that moment to arriving at Tatooine, thinking about having to grovel for Jabba, knowing something was wrong. It got to meeting Boba before it froze. Then his mind rolled back, to the escape, and then before that, to Kenobi’s arrival, then further back. Images of the clones flashed in his mind, and the cloning facility. His mind went back to Tyrannus’s test but then immediately jumped forward, going back to the facility. Jango remembered leaving Boba, going to work with Zam, the absolute fuck up that was the attempted assassination. He remembered killing Zam, seeing Kenobi and the kid he was hauling around.

Then came the escape from Coruscant, running back home. He was holding Boba, telling him about his adventures while he changed. He had dinner with his son. It was a few quiet days. Then Kenobi arrived and got way too curious. Kenobi caught a glimpse of his armor, and Jango saw recognition in his eyes. The fight, then Boba lowering the ship so Jango could get on. Then they were in space. He thought of what was on Geonosis: the bugs, the simpering fools from the trade federation, and Darth Tyrannus.

His mind returned to that moment on the ship, the pride he felt for his child. He blinked and looked at the screen. There were the warning sounds. Telling Boba to close his eyes, but keeping his own open as that thing pulled them in. And then Tatooine. His memories returned to the thing in space where it stayed until Skywalker stopped touching him.

“I didn’t give you permission to poke around in my head,” Jango growled.

“I’m sorry,” Skywalker said. His pale cheeks flushed. “I rarely get any information on Ben or my dad, or my mom. Did you know your last job was to kill my mother?” Despite declaring something which should have been bad news, Skywalker was grinning.

“And your father?” Jango found himself asking.

“That ‘kid’ Ben was dragging along,” Luke said, his expression soft. “I really am sorry. I did need to explore that moment, and then I needed to go back some for some context to the threads I was chasing. I tried to not linger on anything too personal.”

“Don’t ever do it again,” Jango warned.

“I won’t,” Skywalker said.

“So?” his older son asked. “What did you find out?”

“Well, it’s definitely a force anomaly,” Luke said. “I’ll need to double check a few things, call up some ghosts to be sure, but I think I know what happened.”

That pronouncement was followed by a few seconds of silence. “So,” Boba said, “what happened?”

“So, as far as I can tell, there was just a blip in the timeline, where Jango was pulled through to here. Because he was trying to protect the kid version of Boba, the blip pulled him to where you were.” Skywalker paused, nodding at older Boba.

“Right, so?” Boba pressed.

“So, it’s less of a timeline than another dimension, I think? Anyway, Jango has to go back at some point, and I think his memories won’t stay.”

“So, whatever he finds out, it won’t even matter,” Boba said, clearly bitter. Jango was too. What was the point of all of this if nothing was even going to be able to change?

“So, I just go back and get killed while my son watches?” Jango snapped.

“Well, I mean, you don’t have to. Well, someone has to go back through to close this rip, since it’s really not supposed to exist and can’t possibly be good for either universe. Since you and both Bobas share identical DNA, only one of you has to go.”

“So, you’re telling me I could go back, and my father and my younger self could stay here?” Boba asked.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Skywalker said. “I’m also not certain there’s like a time limit on it. I need to check some things out, investigate. I may have to go off planet to get the full scope. But basically, I’m pretty sure what I’ve told you is right.”

“And why do I have to go back?” Jango demanded.

Boba dropped heavily into the seat next to him. “Because Kenobi was on your tail. He follows you to Geonosis and gets captured. The Jedi come to rescue him and bring the clone troopers. It’s the start of the clone wars.”

Jango sucked in a breath. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Alright, none of this was what he wanted to hear, but he could live with it. After all, he could survive anything. Except a lightsaber to the neck, apparently. He tipped his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“In any case, Skywalker, are you staying?” Boba asked

“If you’ll let me,” Skywalker said.

“I’m tempted to give you Jabba’s old room, but sure,” Boba said. Skywalker wrinkled his nose.

“Thanks, you’re a real friend,” Skywalker said with deep sarcasm.

“And it looks like you and the kid will be staying here for a while longer too, Buir,” Boba said. He pushed himself up from the table. “Let me show you where you’ll stay. I think you should probably get some rest.”

“Fine,” Jango said, not feeling up to arguing against what was clearly an order. Boba was still pissed at him, and Jango had just dealt with far too much bullshit today to want to fight.

He and Skywalker followed Boba down to the rooms. Boba called Shand on his wrist comm as they went. As such, little Boba was waiting for them when they arrived at the rooms old Boba was giving them for the time.

Jango gave a terse “thanks” and then steered his younger son inside. He locked the door almost immediately and let out a long sigh.

“Buir, is everything okay?” Boba asked, his voice full of nerves.

“It’s not,” Jango said. “I didn’t say you could go off with Shand. Don’t think I forgot that.” He spun around to regard his young son with an unhappy glare. “How dare you disobey me like that?”

Boba’s head dropped; his eyes fixed on the floor. His mouth was set in a stubborn line. Jango knew that expression. He’d bet good credits that Boba had learned something he’d wanted to tell or show him. Boba always got excited when he got to learn a new weapon. He looked so exceptionally small standing there. Jango remembered coming to his mother, excited to share something, only to be shot down by thoughtless words. Every time he dropped that thing and never came back to it.

Boba was so small. Jango couldn’t shake the feeling that he may have just caused a permanent wound. His older son was just so big. He was larger than Jango. His entire aura outstripped Jango by leagues. Jango lost his family and was adopted by his Buir, who was Mand’alor. He was raised for years by Jaster and took over his position after his death. He led people for years. He was an adult when everything truly went to hell. Then he dragged himself out of it, took his revenge and walked off Mandalore’s gameboard.

His older Boba had lost everything as a child. There was no Jaster, no new Buir. Just Aurra Sing, prison and a galaxy that would happily treat him like shit. No one remembered Jango, but Boba Fett was infamous. He hadn’t seen it for himself, but fuck, his child ruled a planet. He had a hand in Mandalorian politics (whether he wanted that or not). He’d achieved more than Jango and was still younger than him. He wasn’t a little boy Jango could control anymore. That Boba was powerful, willful, and he knew exactly where to dig into Jango to hurt him.

Jango wasn’t mad at his young son for running off. He was mad at older Boba for stripping him down with his words and walking off. He was pissed that he couldn’t correct him like he would as a child. Most of all, he was pissed because he was certain Boba hadn’t lied. So maybe Jango was angry with himself too.

But that left a small boy who was ready to accept a punishment he didn’t deserve because Jango couldn’t keep his damned temper in check. That wasn’t going to work.

He walked to Boba and scooped him up off the floor. Boba’s arms wrapped around his neck. How many more years before Jango couldn’t pick his son up anymore? What was the last time his older son was picked up by his Buir? Had Jango scooped him up like this when he came home, the way he always used to? Jango didn’t remember. He hugged Boba even tighter.

“Everything is in chaos. I need you safe most of all,” Jango said rather than apologize. Boba squeezed his neck. Jango felt his boy pressed his face into his neck, hiding away from the galaxy and from Jango’s wrath. He felt when Boba started to cry and when Boba’s tears soaked his collar.

“It’s been a really bad day, hasn’t it?” he asked. Boba nodded, still not making a sound. Jango walked them toward the plush bed they’d been provided. “I think maybe it’s time for bed. Do you want to help me with my armor?” He felt Boba nod against his shoulder. It still took a moment before Boba pulled his face away and allowed himself to be put down.

Boba’s eyes were red, but Jango didn’t comment. He let Boba help him take off his armor and asked him about what Shand taught him. Boba’s voice was quiet and tentative at first but picked back up on some of his excitement from before. It was still muted, though. Jango cursed himself mentally but didn’t let Boba see it.

He had Boba wash his face. The pair of them stripped to underclothes and climbed into bed. Jango pulled Boba to his chest before Boba could ask if it was alright. This Boba hadn’t lost him yet. He Jango doubted he’d sleep without squeezing Boba to his chest for quite a while.

Boba woke with the sun because someone had to hand the kid off to Skywalker when he came knocking for morning meditation. His thoughts were too jumbled to lay back down. Instead, he settled in for his own type of meditation. He sat on the rug near his bed with his back straight. Din was asleep in bed and Boba wanted him to stay that way. The man never got enough sleep.

Boba started to breathe, focusing on the slow expanding and deflation of his stomach . His mind just was running in circles all night long. His dreams were full of old memories and new imagined horrors. He breathed in and out. The air he drew in went to his stomach, which grew round with breath. He let it out; his stomach descending to a flatter plain. Inhale, exhale through the nose.

He knew how to block out all kinds of physical pain and memories that could make him bleed. He needed to in order to work. Sometimes meditation was the only rest he got since his dreams would be plagued by the thoughts he’d suppressed during waking hours. He’d slept well since the Sarlacc. He just didn’t hold all of those things as tightly anymore. Once his armor was returned, the bad dreams had gone away entirely.

Of course, his father just shored all of it back up. Those old memories were never going to let him go. There was no such thing as peace in this entirely fucked up galaxy. But there was meditation, the stillness of the morning, and the way his mind went quiet when his only focus was his own breathing, in and out. The silence made everything else in his head shut up, and for a few minutes there was just blessed quiet.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt less harried and chased. He also knew it was probably solidly into morning. Din’s hands came to rest on his shoulders. Boba tipped his head up to look at him.

“Did you sleep?” Din asked.

“I did,” Boba said. “I just needed a little silence.”

“Mmm,” Din agreed.

“Do you have plans today?” Boba asked.

“Grogu,” Din said. “Mostly. Would you mind hosting Bo and Koska for a few days? I need to have words with her.”

Boba snorted. “Yeah, sure. As long as I can watch you chew her out.”

“I’ll wait until you and your father are gone,” Din assured him.

“I’m almost tempted to tell you to bring her here immediately so Buir can force her face into the floor,” Boba said.

“Almost,” Din noted.

“Almost,” Boba said. Bo-Katan didn’t deserve to meet his buir. Skywalker didn’t really either, but he was their best option, so Boba hadn’t had a choice. But he wasn’t going to allow anyone else to meet his father.

“How would you feel about sparring?” Din asked. “We can invite your family and Fennec.”

“How very Mandalorian of you,” Boba said. But it wasn’t a bad idea. It would certainly be easier to talk to his buir after they’d beaten the shit out of one another. “Invite Skywalker. You’re getting sloppy with the darksaber.”

“Yes buir’ika,” Din teased. He bent down and gave Boba a kiss, which Boba happily returned.

He nudged Din away so he could stand and drag Din to the shower. The upside of ruling Tatooine was that he could occasionally take a long, hot water shower with his lover, where he could stroke Din off and Din could happily swallow his cock, and not have to worry about water consumption. It was still nothing compared to the baths Jabba used to insist on.

They pair of them, warmer and more relaxed, dressed and separated to go collect the others. The droids should have breakfast ready anyway, and after they could have a good spar and maybe Boba would feel less itchy to cause violence.

He knocked on his father’s door and waited to be admitted. In no time, the door slid open and there his young self was, looking grumpy and unimpressed.

“Do you need something?”

“Is Buir awake?”

“He’s in a bad mood,” his younger self admitted. Boba was surprised for a moment, and then he wasn’t. He wouldn’t admit such a thing to a stranger, but he was himself. Of course, his younger self would accept he would need to know and would know what it would mean.

Boba grinned with too much teeth. “Excellent, we’re going to spar after breakfast.”

That cleared up his younger self’s dour mood. He stepped aside and let Boba in. Boba let himself drop into a seat at the table, where his younger self had originally situated himself with a datapad of information about Tatooine.

“A desert seems depressing,” little him said.

“So does a rain planet,” Boba said, his voice as dry as Tatooine itself. “It doesn’t have to be. Tatooine is the trading hub for anything the New Republic doesn’t want on the books.” Well, not everything, but Boba made certain that some of the changes he made weren’t known on the planet so he could still get information he needed. It was easier to get information about slavers when they came knocking on his front door.

“That’s what this says. But it also said it fell off the past few years.”

“That’s outdated,” Boba said. “But correct. After Jabba’s murder, Bib Fortuna, his hanger-on, took over and turned everything toward making himself fat and well fu- ah, fat and happy.” Not that his younger self hadn’t already heard worse, but it was instinct from Din and Grogu.

“So, you haven’t been here long,” his little self said.

“We’re coming up on two years. Most of the changes are internal or about putting the original trade routes back together. It’s not flashy, but don’t let anyone tell you that stability isn’t a damn victory.”

Little him nodded, though his eyes were running over Boba’s face, no doubt tracing the scars. “So, a sarlacc?”

“I don’t recommend it,” Boba said. He patted the top of his head. “I miss my hair.”

“And the Mand’alor?”

“What about him?”

“Does he miss your hair too?” Smug brat.

“I met him after the sarlacc,” Boba explained. “But I suspect he wouldn’t care even if we’d met beforehand.”

“What’s he like?” His little-self glanced at the shower before whispering. “Is he nice?”

“Very, and handsome too,” Boba said. He saw his younger self grin. It surprised him until a memory came screaming to his mind.

He used to love fairytale romances. He’d kept it from Buir, but he used to imagine someone coming to make Buir happy so he wouldn’t be sad all the time. He’d forgotten, like he’d forgotten so many things. He knew his expression turned into a frown.

“I won’t get distracted,” his younger self said quickly, misunderstanding Boba’s expression.

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “I don’t care if you do get distracted. Not having anyone was much, much worse. Especially compared to how happy I am now.”

His younger self nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “Do you not like Buir?”

That didn’t catch him as much off guard as he wished it did. “No, I still love him. I’m just… frustrated with certain things. And he doesn’t know what to do with me. It’s an adjustment period.”

“Is he going to hate me?” little Boba whispered.

Big Boba’s expression softened. “Never. He doesn’t hate me, even. We’re just having an argument.”

The fresher door opened, steam pouring out. His buir stepped out, his hair damp and half dressed. He didn’t have his armor on yet, but that was clearly the intention. He paused when he saw Boba sitting there.

“Do you need something?”

“Sparring?” Boba asked.

Jango’s shoulders dropped in relief. “Sounds good. Just need—”

“Breakfast will be in the training room,” Boba said.

“Fine,” Jango said. He moved to pull on his armor, which both Boba and his younger self watched with fascination.

It was the oddest thing. Seeing how Jango put on his armor felt deeply wrong and yet nostalgic. Boba had put his armor on for so long, there was a manner and rhythm to it. Multiple times, Jango did something and Boba almost jolted to correct him. Except that Jango had probably always put his armor on this way. Boba had just forgotten.

“Shall we?” Jango asked, his helmet tucked under his arm.

Little Boba hopped up. Boba stood and guided the pair of them out and down the long halls until they reached the training room.

Fennec was already there, eating breakfast sandwiches with Skywalker, who looked far too chipper. Boba made his way over and grabbed a sandwich.

“Good morning,” Skywalker chirped.

“Of course, you’re a morning person,” Boba said. He wasn’t not. He’d never had the luxury of being slow to wake, especially once his father died. But he wanted a reason to bitch at Skywalker, and this would do.

“It’s not every day I get invited to sparring practice,” Skywalker said. “Normally it’s just me and a droid. Or me and an enemy that wants me dead.”

“Make more Mandalorian friends. You can even use your lightsaber, as long as they have proper beskar.”

“So, basically just Din then,” Luke said with a laugh.

Din was playing with Grogu off to the side, doing a modified version of a game Skywalker called “push feather”, which generally involved two jedi pushing and pulling a feather back and forth. Since Din couldn’t do that, the kid would push the silver ball to Din, who would clench it as tight in his hand as he could. Grogu would try to pull it out, which sometimes meant he was dragging Din halfway across the room. When Grogu got it out of Din’s hand, it was then Din’s job to catch it before it got back to Grogu and drag it back to him.

“Good resistance training,” Fennec said, her eyes following Boba’s gaze.

“More like endurance training,” Skywalker said. “I’m not nearly as good at it. I don’t have the physical strength. And Grogu likes throwing me around.”

“Good,” Boba said.

“What are they doing?” his little-self asked, having come over for food. Fennec handed him a sandwich.

“Playing a game,” Skywalker said. “Training too, but the best training can be really fun.”

“How is that training?” Jango asked. He too had grabbed a sandwich.

“Grogu can get knocked out if he uses the Force too much,” Boba said, his eyes on Din and their son. “Din’s the only one of us strong enough and agile enough to be able to give the kid a rounded challenge. It’s Din’s job to keep the ball from the kid, and the kid’s job to get the ball.”

He turned to look at his father, who was now looking at the game with interest. He assessed the game with a professional’s eye. Boba noted he actually looked a little impressed.

“Din, you ready to start practice?” Boba called.

“Alright,” Din called, back, letting go of the ball. It zipped right into Grogu’s hands, and he cooed happily.

Skywalker crossed the distance and scooped Grogu up from his perch. “Come on, Grogu, let’s watch your parents bash their heads together.”

Boba threw the last bite of food in his mouth and put his helmet on before walking to the open sparring area. Din joined him. It was easy for Boba to see that Din was pretty excited for this. Boba wasn’t the only one who wanted to show off, after all.

“Hand to hand?” Din asked.

“Agreed.” They would fight with blasters and blades sometimes, but not when there were kids in the room.

They moved into the “ring” which was mostly a big clear spot on the ground. They did have mats if they felt like they needed them, but this was a proper spar, and that meant they both wanted the full grip of their boots on the ground.

They both stood for moment, straight backed, examining one another. They knew the rules already, fight until you were down or tapped out, or they just decided to call it a draw. For another moment they waited, then they both moved at the same time.

Din was patient and sometimes would wait for Boba to come at him, but clearly it wasn’t one of those days. Either Din figured out Boba needed to get his energy out or Din needed to get his own energy out. Either way, Boba wasn’t going to complain.

Din went for a punch in Boba’s side, which Boba only just moved out of the way of enough to not get a bad hit. He, on the other hand, got a good hit on Din’s arm, which was precisely where he predicted it would be when Din moved in for that punch. Of course, even with what would be a hell of a bruise, Din just kept going. Boba felt fingers driven into his ribs like a spear. He grabbed Din and went with a solid kick.

Din stumbled away, catching himself before he attacked, diving for Boba’s legs. Boba should have known what Din would do, but his left knee was a weak point. Din knew Boba would rather go down and grapple his opponent to the ground in the process. That close together, body to body, Boba’s powerful strikes were liable to do damage. But the fall still sucked.

Din was too tall and too heavily armored to be able to move out of the way or slip out of a grapple. But what he was good at was taking punches. Boba knew he hit like a mudhorn, but Din’s signet was a mudhorn for a reason. He was good at surviving.

The pair of them grappled on the floor for a while. Boba needed to get his hands free to do damage, and Din needed to get his hands free to get up and out of Boba’s reach. As such, Boba kept hold of Din so he couldn’t escape, and Din kept his limbs pinned so Boba couldn’t cause too much damage. Boba finally managed a solid punch to Din’s side, which gave him enough leverage to flip them. Boba realized his mistake a second too late.

The Keldabe kiss wasn’t unexpected. Din used his whole body in a fight and hitting an opponent with a beskar helmet was a good strategy. Boba’s helmet wasn’t pure beskar and that meant that even though Boba managed to pull his head back some, it still hit hard enough to temporarily leave his ears ringing. Din used the distraction to get up. Boba scrambled up as quickly as possible.

They ended up body to body. Din’s punches had good accuracy, and he was able to get in more punches than Boba, but Boba’s hit way harder. Din was hurting, and Boba could feel himself slowing down.

“Draw?” Din asked.

“Draw,” Boba agreed. They stepped away from each other.

“It’s over?” Boba’s younger self asked.

“We could pound each other into the floor all day, but that would be counterproductive.” But more than that, Boba could see his father watching from the sidelines, and he wanted that fight even more.

Din stepped away to grab a water pack and toss Boba one. Boba pulled his helmet up to drain it. Jango wasn’t looking at him, but he had been. That he’d shifted to examine Din just gave Boba a moment to look at his father.

Jango was frowning, but he didn’t look upset. His gaze was assessing and curious. After a moment, his eyes slid back to Boba’s, who offered him a smirk in return. He was tempted to ask something stupid like “great ass, I know right?”, but managed to stop himself.

“Want to go a round, Buir?” he asked instead.

Jango gave a short nod and walked into the ‘ring’, pulling his helmet on. Boba pulled his own helmet down to hide his grin. He’d always wondered how he would measure up, and now he had a chance to see. He crossed the distance to join his father in the ‘ring’ as well.

“Fight goes until one of us is down, taps out, or calls tie,” Boba said.

“Works for me,” his father said.

Unlike with Din, Boba attacked first. His fist collided with his buir’s rib, just under his raised arm. His father had him by the throat, but Boba also felt his father give under his blow. Boba grabbed Jango’s wrist and twisted until he had to let go. They both turned, trying to grab the other in a grapple, which didn’t quite work. Instead, they broke apart and circled each other.

Boba went back in, and his father met him halfway. They were both searching for weak spots. It didn’t surprise him that he had a decently easy time finding his father’s weak spots. It did surprise him that his father didn’t have the same ease with him. Boba was his clone, after all.

It occurred to him suddenly, after he got in a solid keldabe and his father had to take a step back, just what was going on. Boba had fought and won against his father hundreds of times. All clones had the same training Jango Fett did. He designed it, after all. Boba used to hunt clones. He put down more than his fair share and took the rest in for their bounties. Boba knew his father’s style of fighting quite intimately. A normal clone’s “enhanced” bodies could be faster, certainly. However, they weren’t used to a scrappy little bastard who knew all their moves and needed to eat.

Jango Fett wasn’t enhanced, but he was at the top of his game. Just because Boba could read him didn’t mean he could stop him. He would do his best to lessen impacts, but his father had been Mand’alor for a reason. Still, Boba had a reputation for a reason as well. He was a durasteel wall, and people didn’t just get through him. Even without weapons, Boba could take a beating and give it back.

He kept pushing his father back, further and further toward the edge. Jango didn’t give ground easily, but Boba didn’t give up either. He also didn’t play fair at all.

“Buir!” his younger self shouted when they’d gotten so close that the boy was right behind Jango. That threw his father off just a little, just enough that Boba was able to pull Jango’s feet out from under him and pin him to the ground.

“Yield,” Boba growled out. If this was a real fight, Jango would probably escape. If this was a real fight, Jango could injure Boba, or himself to get out of the grip and keep fighting. But it was only a spar. Boba could see Jango coming to this same conclusion and relaxing his body.

“I yield,” he said.

Boba stood and helped pull his father up. For a moment they stood there, close, hands clasped. Boba swallowed. He was glad his bucket was still on. Seeing Jango Fett wearing his helmet healed something Boba had held in his chest for far, far too long.

“Good match,” his father said. “You’ve become quite a tank.”

“Thank you. It helps to scare the shit out of whoever I’m hunting. You should see me with a gaderffii stick.”

Jango laughed, his voice slightly distorted by the vocoder. “I’m sure you’re a menace with it.”

Boba nodded, biting his lip for a moment. “You’re welcome to stick around the gym for a while.” He stepped back and let go of his Buir’s hand. “It’ll be good practice for everyone.”

He turned away quickly, heading to Fennec, hoping she could be coaxed into practice with him so he could have an excuse to distract himself. He wasn’t ready to confront those emotions yet.

Jango drank two water packs. It gave him time to catch his breath and get a sense of the others. Boba and his riduur had put on quite a show. They were familiar with each other, clearly. Jango hadn’t needed to go against Boba to know he hit damn hard. He was glad he did, though.

He sat back, watching Din Djarin and the Jedi have a lightsaber duel. The darksaber sat comfortably in Djarin’s hand. Skywalker didn’t seem to have the same formal saber training Jango remembered, but he also knew brutality and simplicity. Occasionally, Jango would see a flash of a form he remembered, especially from Kenobi, who was particularly fresh in Jango’s mind. But no, Skywalker fought with the force. Still, Jango was almost curious to try shooting with the kid. He had a feeling the jedi knew his way around a blaster.

Djarin had clearly been practicing for a while. He wasn’t a jedi, but he was familiar with the weapon. He was comfortable with it. The darksaber seemed like a part of his body rather than just a weapon. Skywalker had declared he wouldn’t use force tricks to win and Djarin wouldn’t try to tackle him or shoot him. Under those conditions, Djarin was holding his own really well.

Jango’s eyes went back to his son, well, his sons. His older son and Fennec Shand were teaching his younger son how to escape a particularly difficult grapple. It was nice, seeing the boys getting along. His older son was patient, and his younger son clearly soaked up everything like a sponge. He wanted to learn every new thing, even if he’d forget it all when they went back.

Jango hadn’t been joking when he told Boba he’d become a tank. He was thicker than Jango. Jango had noticed the weaker knee, probably a gift from the sarlacc. He wasn’t as fast as Jango either, but every hit was like being hit by a rocket. The brutality made sense if Boba really had trained with the Tuskens. And he had described a particularly difficult life after Jango’s death. It made sense.

He could see why Boba had a reputation in this new universe. If Jango was suddenly gone, and Boba turned into this man, then this Boba would have overwritten him. It felt good. Boba was a proper legacy. But bitter anger and sorrow hung around Boba’s neck like a weight, and Jango just hated it. He’d planned to show his son that the universe was cruel so he could be prepared, but Jango hadn’t wanted Boba to suffer the same types of losses. Instead, Jango left his son far more isolated than Jango himself had ever been. At least Jango had people and a place to go back to.

Fennec Shand, Din Djarin, the little green child and even Skywalker were Boba’s people. This planet was his place. Jango had never had anything quite so steady and stable, not since he was a child himself. He was proud, despite his own anger and frustration. He was proud.

Skywalker managed to disarm Djarin with the Force and Djarin tackled Skywalker to the ground for his trouble. Both lightsabers switched off as they fell back, and Skywalker ended up cackling.

“Okay, okay, I give!” he laughed out. Djarin took his saber, stood, and offered Skywalker a hand up, which the jedi took.

“You’ve improved a lot,” Skywalker said. “I assume you’ve gotten practical experience?”

“You could say that,” Djarin said. His head turned toward Jango. He was staring at him, and Jango was staring back. “Excuse me,” he said to Skywalker. He clipped the saber onto his hip and then crossed the distance to stand in front of Jango.

“Spar?” Jango asked.

Djarin just nodded once in lieu of speaking. The pair of them walked to the cleared space Skywalker had now vacated. They walked a few paces apart and Jango pulled his helmet back on. They sized one another up in silence.

“Same rules as before?” Jango asked.

“Yes,” Djarin said. Then the shifted into a stance. “Go.”

Jango went first. He wanted to test this Mand’alor. Djarin caught his punch on his bracers and then went to knock Jango down. Jango danced out of reach. Djarin came running for him like he was a battering ram. That was when the fun started.

After five minutes of having to dance out of Djarin’s way or risk taking multiple punches or full body slams, Jango suddenly understood what Boba saw. Boba was a wall, like a trash compactor wall. It wasn’t stoppable. It was going to catch you and it was going to break you. Djarin fought with his body too, but it wasn’t the way Boba did. In a less sturdy armor, it could easily be suicide.

Djarin’s body was the weapon. He was the battering ram, the club, the shield, the very moveable object. Djarin could take hit after hit after hit and just keep going. Raw determination and faith in his abilities, his armor, and possibly whatever quest he was on drove him to keep going. Jango had fought a lot of Mandalorians and Djarin wasn’t exactly the best fighter, but he wouldn’t stay down, and he wouldn’t stop coming. It was like each fight was life or death.

A Mandalorian who was hunter and hunted. Well, Jango knew a thing or two about that. But he also knew that Boba hadn’t gone easy on him. He was still tired and sore from that fight. And Djarin had fought Boba and Skywalker and hadn’t had time to rest after Skywalker. Jango could keep going for a while, but he’d bet good credits that Djarin would be able to keep going even longer.

Jango kicked the man in the stomach to get some distance between them. It wasn’t much, but Jango held up a hand. “Truce?”

“Truce,” Djarin said, relaxing. “Thank you for the fight.”

“Thank you. I see why you are Mand’alor.”

He smirked, seeing the way Djarin ducked his head. He’d bet the other man was blushing under there. He could almost feel Djarin thinking ‘not you too’. Instead, he said a polite “Thank you”.

“How did you meet Boba?” Jango asked.

“He was searching for his armor. I was trying to protect my ad,” Djarin said.

“How did he lose it?” Jango asked, pulling off his helmet.

“Sarlacc and Jawas.”

“Ah, right. So, you knew who he was and returned it to him? Made a deal to protect your child?”

“Not exactly. I didn’t know who he was, and he continued to help me when I said he didn’t have to. Apparently, I am not very good at learning things that don’t pertain to anything practical,” Djarin said.

Jango snorted lightly. “He’s very protective of you.”

“I know.” But he sounded charmed none the less. “I love him. He’s my home.”

Jango was caught off guard by the blunt answer. “He seems to feel the same about you.”

“I know,” Djarin said. “Look, I don’t know if it helps, but he’s not really angry at you.”

“Right, just disappointed,” Jango found himself saying.

“No. Mourning.” Well, that wasn’t an answer Jango expected. “He forgot things about you. He had a mental image of you, good and bad. But it’s been a long time. You weren’t what he remembered, and I don’t think that bothers him as much as just reminds him of what he lost.”

Jango’s stomach flipped over. “I wouldn’t abandon him like that on purpose.”

“I understand,” Djarin said. “I take risks too, but I always make sure that someone’s there who I can trust to take Grogu. Even before I met Boba or Luke, I still found people he would be safe and loved with. Now, I have a list of contingencies. Do you?”

Jango had a couple of people who he wouldn’t be unhappy with raising Boba. However, he’d also never told them, nor had he told Boba this. He’d gone out on dangerous missions all the time, but always assumed that he would come home to Boba. There always seemed to be more time. And then there wasn’t, and who had Boba had?

“I need to speak with him again,” Jango said.

“I know he’d appreciate it. He is happy to have you here,” Djarin said before stepping away, heading right for Skywalker and his little green child.

Jango watched him go and then went to try out some of the equipment. Djarin’s words swirled around in his mind. He stayed that way, alone and quiet for the rest of the session until his older son declared that gym time was over.

His younger son approached him, looking tense and nervous. “Buir,” he said, his voice more formal than it should be. “Ms. Shand offered to teach me shooting again. May I go with her?”

Little Boba looked like he was ready for the blow, the denial, the angry words that Jango had given him the previous night. The formality was a shield. He was scared to ask. Jango felt a little proud for his Boba being so brave, even standing up to him.

“Yes, you can go. I want to hear all about it when you’re done,” he said.

“Yes!” Boba gave him a tight squeeze around the middle and then ran right back to Fennec Shand, who gave him an indulgent smile and lead him out of the gym.

With them gone, that left Jango with his older son. Djarin, the Jedi, and the kid had apparently slipped out earlier. Considering that Boba wasn’t leaving, Jango had a feeling this was on purpose.

“Do you mean to fight me again?” Jango asked, pulling his helmet off. Boba did the same. They both crossed to the closest table, setting their helmets down and then turning to look at one another.

“Not right now anyway,” Boba said. “I’m not going to apologize for anything I’ve said, because I am right.”

Jango had an irrational moment of anger before he just let it go. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

Boba was taken aback. He looked away and bit his lip for just a moment. Between one breath and another it was all smothered back down and he was once more the hard-faced ruler he’d made himself into.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice still holding some emotional strain.

“I did have people I would have left you with. But I never spoke to any of you about it. And that allowed Sing to get her hands in you. You suffered a lot because of choices I made. Even if I hadn’t faced that jedi, just my choice not to have a contingency plan were bad. Anything could have gotten me killed at any time. I don’t even want to know what would have happened to you if I’d died while you were on Kamino.”

“I do,” Boba said. “Your DNA started to break apart. The younger clones had some weird DNA. I know Kamino was looking for me for a while. They needed my unaltered DNA. I was just so far in the wind at that point that it didn’t matter. I only found out far later.”

Jango swallowed and nodded. There was another thing he hadn’t accounted for. Of course they’d need a perfect clone for exactly the reason Boba had raised himself: Jango’s sudden untimely death. He could have looked this up himself. He had access to most records. He just hadn’t wanted to think of any of it. It was too uncomfortable to look into. And here he was with the result.

“I think you should leave my younger self here,” Boba said suddenly, drawing Jango out of his reverie.

“What?”

“I think you should leave him here. Only one of us has to go back, but you won’t have your memories. So nothing that happened here will matter. You’ll go to your death, and he’ll grow up just like I did. I turned alright okay, but it fucked me up none the less. Is that what you want?”

“I’m not just going to abandon him,” Jango growled out defensively.

Boba was silent for a moment. When he spoke, Jango wished he’d stayed quiet.

“You’re going to abandon him when he watches your head be removed from your shoulders.”

“Shit,” Jango cursed. He kicked the table and turned away, looking up at the stone ceiling.

“I’m not saying being left behind won’t fuck him up, but do you really want him to live through everything I did? Do you want him to grow up in a galaxy at war, being imprisoned, burning with a rage he can’t get past, watching everything burn around him and being too focused to care until it’s almost too late?”

Jango licked his lips and closed his eyes tight. “You turned out okay. You turned out more than okay.”

“Am I what you want for him?” Boba’s words were an accusation, not a question.

“I would be proud to have him become you. I’m very proud of you.” Jango turned and opened his eyes, looking at his adult son.

Boba Fett was a brutal bounty hunter and tight-fisted king of an entire planet and a massive swath of Hutt Space. He was also a loving partner, parent and friend. Jango couldn’t think of a better man for his son to be.

Boba was looking at him with naked surprise and a pain-filled desire. He could practically hear his son’s thoughts (spoken in his younger voice). ‘Is that true? Please, let that be true!’

“I am proud of you,” Jango said. “And the man you’ve become. You’re beyond anything I ever could have imagined, because you’re right, in a way. I was looking for a clone of me, a legacy who had more time to keep doing exactly what I’ve been doing. But you’re your own man, and that’s so much better.”

Boba blinked, his eyes shining. He didn’t break eye contact. His boy was brave like that, after all. “Thank you, Buir,” he whispered.

“But I also don’t want him to suffer like you have. I’d fix it for you too if I could…. But you’re right. I need to leave him here.”

Boba let out a stuttering breath of relief. Then he braced himself, standing up tall and proud. “Skywalker said we have plenty of time. You should stay for a while, spend some time with us both.”

“I will,” Jango said. “If I have time, I’m going to use it.”

Epilogue

Boba was saying goodbye to his father today. Jango had stayed nearly a month with them. Most of that time was spent with Boba’s younger self. Boba couldn’t resent the boy that. Boba was used to not having his father, but his younger self wasn’t. He could admit he was a little jealous that his younger self got the extra time that Boba would have given anything for. But that didn’t mean that Boba didn’t get anything.

He and Jango had sparred often. And they talked, both about all the billions of lightyears between them, and about where they came from. Boba had a tall stack of recorded material that Jango had put together for him and his younger self. It was their history, about Jango’s family, Arla and Jaster and the True Mandalorians, and everything that Boba had never had a chance to truly learn. It was songs and stories that they’d lost, and a code that Jaster Mereel crafted himself and led a people with.

There were also recorded messages for him and his younger self, but those were for later.

Right now, his younger self was doing a last walk around on Slave 1 while their father put his supplies away. Boba was standing next to Din, who’d come to stand with Boba. Fennec and Grogu were still inside the palace, but Skywalker was also outside with them out of necessity. He’d be the one sending Jango away.

His buir and younger self emerged from the ship. Young Boba had been waffling between angry, pouty, and nearly in tears all morning. Boba understood those feelings. He knew what it was like to be abandoned. He knew his younger self knew there was no other way, but Boba also knew the boy was feeling abandoned and like his father didn’t love him enough to keep him. He and his younger self got on quite well, and Din was quite thrilled to have another child around, but none of them could replace Jango Fett.

Jango walked right over to Boba until they were standing face to face. A number of possible ways of saying goodbye flashed through his mind, from a handshake to a short keldabe and a brusk goodbye. What he didn’t expect was what Jango actually did. His father threw his arms around him and grabbed him into a bone crushing hug. After a second’s shock, Boba wrapped his arms around his father and hugged him back just as fiercely.

“I’m glad I met you now,” he heard his father whisper. “I’m proud of you, Bob’ika. You’re better than I could ever have dreamed. I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Boba said quietly. “I love you, Buir.” There was pressure behind his eyes and moisture on his face before he could stop it. His father was leaving him again. And he knew why his buir had to leave, but it still felt like he was being abandoned again.

His younger self wasn’t the only one who was feeling this loss.

They tightened their hold and then both pulled away. Boba wasn’t ashamed of having to wipe his eyes. Jango’s eyes had a shine to them too, but he managed to not start crying at least.

“Goodbye, son,” he said. He stepped back, heading right for younger Boba.

“You’re leaving now?” his younger self asked. His voice wavered, despite the obvious effort to sound normal.

“I have to,” Jango said.

“You don’t,” his younger self pleaded. “Someone else could go. Or you could take me.”

“No,” Jango said. He laid his hands on his young son. “No, Boba. It has to be me. I’m not going to risk our fail-safes not working and you having to watch me die.”

“So, I have to watch you leave instead?” Young Boba asked before bursting into angry tears. Jango dragged the boy to his chest, holding him tight there. Young Boba struggled for a while before the fight left his body. He drooped and wrapped his arms around Jango.

The tears turned to sobs. Their buir just held him. He didn’t tell young Boba off. He didn’t push him away. He just held him and let him cry. It wasn’t the way older Boba remembered his father being, but he thought that was good too. Jango could grow and change too.

Eventually, the sobs subsided into sniffles. Young Boba just clung harder. Still, Jango didn’t make any move to push him away. There was silence, just the sound of the wind and the occasional sad sniffle.

“Now,” Jango said, his voice cutting abruptly through the stillness. His grip only tightened on his younger son. “I want nothing more than to return to you. If there’s any way possible, I will come back. But if there isn’t, then know that I would spend my whole life looking for a way back to you. You are my son, my pride and my joy. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone else. There is nothing I won’t do for you.”

Jango’s eyes lifted from the shaking boy in his arms to meet Boba’s gaze as he spoke the last few sentences. Boba swallowed. He got the message. It wasn’t just for his younger self; it was for him too.

Jango and his younger self slowly unwound for a moment to look at each other. “Listen to your big brother. Don’t let the gremlin bully you. Learn as best you can. You’ll grow up to be great, different from me and different from your older self. That’s for the best. Don’t chase our shadows. Chase your own sun. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Buir,” his younger self said. He raised his arms in the universal sign of “please pick me up”. That was what made Jango Fett crack.

Their father grabbed his younger self off the ground, cradling him tight to his chest. It wasn’t the boy who was sobbing this time, but the older man. This wasn’t easy for any of them. Boba knew his father loved them, but it meant something different seeing it.

A familiar hand grabbed his own and laced their fingers. Boba turned to look at Din, who looked back. Even under the armor, Boba could read the concern and love Din was feeling for him. Boba gave a weak smiled and squeezed Din’s hand in return. He wasn’t alone. They weren’t alone. He and himself would be okay this time.

Jango’s sobs eventually came to an end. It just left a father pacing back and forth in front of his ship, holding his son for what may be the very last time. Young Boba’s arms were wrapped tight around his father’s neck. The pair of them continued like this for about twenty minutes, neither wanting to let go. Boba didn’t have a problem waiting, even when his bad knee started to get sore. He didn’t want to see Jango leave either.

But eventually, Jango had to put little Boba down, and little Boba had to let go. They clasped hands for a moment and then Jango stepped away, heading right up the ramp and closing the ship.

This was Skywalker’s part from here. He would be navigating for Jango so he’d hit the anomaly properly. Boba, his younger version, and Din just had to wait, staring at Slave 1 until it was outside the atmosphere. Boba didn’t move until Skywalker finally turned the comm off and said, “It’s done.”

“I’m going to lay down,” Boba said.

“Kid, would you like lunch?” Din asked, which Boba was grateful for. He didn’t have it in him to comfort himself right now.

“I could eat,” his younger self said quietly.

“Then let’s go to the kitchens.”

Boba headed back inside, not watching them. He was giving himself an hour to not be okay, then he could handle it and help his younger self. But first, he needed a little time to himself.

Jango opened his eyes. The lights had passed. He turned to say something to Boba and froze. His son was gone.

“Boba!” he called but didn’t hear anything except the sound of Slave 1 speeding through space. He looked at the seat again, as if that would make his son appear. That was when he noticed a comm sitting on the chair with a blinking message.

He grabbed the comm, flicking it on to the message. If someone had managed to kidnap Boba, he’d—

The comm flickered on to an image of Boba, just as Jango remembered him. “Buir,” his son said. “We don’t know if this will work, but if it does, I need to you to listen to this whole message. I’m safe. You chose to leave me here because you knew it would be safer. I’m in the future.” There was some noise in the background. “I’m going to hand you over to older me.”

His son handed the comm to a man who was scared and older and who looked dangerous. But then the man spoke and Jango got the very peculiar feeling that he’d met this man before, and that he was, in fact, Jango’s Boba.

“Buir, this is also Boba,” the man said. “Younger me is correct that you were in the future. We don’t know if any of the messages we left will get to you. We’ve left a few, including one on your comm, and you’ll probably find one programmed into your helmet comm. We don’t know what would or would not go back with you.”

That was smart, Jango thought numbly. He was starting to feel numb all over.

“If everything goes the same today as it did for my past, you will arrive on Geonosis. There will be a public execution of two jedi and the senator you didn’t kill. And then a bunch of jedi will attack. You would have your head removed from your shoulders by Mace Windu. He’s the only one with a purple lightsaber, and he’ll come to the box to arrest Count Dooku. I would have seen all of this and be left stripping your armor off your dead body. After learning this and a bunch of other kark from the future and chose to leave my younger version behind. Only one person with our DNA needed to go through the rift.”

Jango felt that tickling in the back of his mind, like maybe he’d known this, or been told it before. But the information was definitely new to him and absolutely shocking.

“My riduur happens to know a jedi, who helped you get back. He believes that you can be sent forward again. Perhaps anyway. We’ve left instructions on how to do this, as well as recordings and records of as much history as possible. Hell, Skywalker, that’s the jedi, he sent a damned holocron. I don’t know if that made it with you, but it’s easiest if it did. In any case, this information will need to get to the Jedi. I know you hate them, but Chancellor Palpatine is playing us all for fools. Not doing this might means death to all Jedi, and a glassed Mandalore.”

A shiver went down Jango’s spine. He didn’t know what glassed was, and he had a feeling he didn’t want to know.

“With any luck, the Jetii will be able to send you back. My younger self and I will both be waiting for you, if we can. Stay safe, Buir.” This older Boba’s face took on a familiar expression. Jango had seen it so often when his Boba told him to have a safe trip. It was a longing and desire to see Jango again before Jango had even left.

“The next recordings are information. Use it well. Good luck, Buir.” His older son smirked. “And may the Force be with you.”

The message ended and transitioned to another of a blond stranger in all black. Jango paused the message before it could start. He had plenty of time to get filled in, but he needed a moment. If what his boys said was right, he had a chance to do something. If he was supposed to die, then that should mean he could go back, right? After he wasn’t needed.

“I’ll come for you Boba,” he murmured at his comm. “I promise.”

The End