#ed had kept him away from the rest of the clan when he was sick

[spottedmischief]

Cheezi core honestly

[deepslateemeraldore]

goin’ crazy from the moment i met you

for the @itfandomprompts gift exchange! this is my gift for @a-portable-snack who requested “ (college Au) Losers go to karaoke and Richie sings Untouched by the Veronicas to Eddie drunkenly and Reddie Chaos ensues “! hope you enjoy this!!!

   - 4k words   - Mentions of weed and alcohol   - Mentions of Bill’s past relationship   - Talks of crushes

  Sleepy college towns are never really thought of as anything other than that. They’re small, oftentimes quiet communities, with bands of young adults trying to find their places in the grand scheme of things. There’s heartbreak, love, loss, and on occasion, loud drunken nights singing karaoke obnoxiously and proudly in the shitty little dive bars that offered such sad excuses for attention. Who in their right mind would find such an embarrassing pastime enjoyable?  

   The answer: Eddie Kaspbrak. A rising star in the world of local track and field, and often found running wild with his band of misfits on the weekends (though, to him, the fact that they were misfits is what made their bond so strong). He couldn’t help the image that the town had put together about him, trotting at the heels of the other town losers; Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Stanley Uris, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, and last but not least, Richard Tozier (though, calling him anything besides “Richie” was bound to get you an earful unless you were his mother). 

 If only the judging eyes could see Eddie, laughing himself sick amongst said friends, singing songs that hadn’t been popular since his elementary school years. They’d take turns picking their most hated songs to sing at each other while the recipient of that round would make sour faces at the offender (but secretly, they wouldn’t be upset. They’d think it was the most hilarious thing, only to be replaced by the following week's act of tomfoolery and embarrassment).

 In fact, karaoke had become a sort of group therapy for the clan of friends. It fell into routine after everyone’s first year at college ended with Richie using his newly acquired fake ID to load up the back of Bev’s car with enough beer to last a whole winter. The three drank at Bill’s until their knees went numb, and ended up wandering around downtown for a bit, stumbling into a shitty dive when the need for greasy food set in. By mistake, Bev signed up for karaoke, and the rest is history. Ben came the next time with Mike, who invited Stanley who invited Eddie. The latter of the two had stood solid on their stance of karaoke being dumb and childish until they’d decided to duet to “Total Eclipse of the Heart” in homage to changing majors. Eddie had never felt more alive than in that moment. 

 Over time, the song selection had grown from moody teenage anthems to half-time show routines, before settling comfortably in a genre appealing to only the chaotically single and nostalgically lonely. That’s not to say they were sad songs, oftentimes they were very fun and upbeat songs, but lyrically they could bring a drunk Bill Denbrough to his knees (though that was a very easy task that only required a small amount of hard liquor). 

 However, one particular night at the Bleu Jay will forever have a choke hold on Eddie Kaspbrak’s tender heart. 

 It was an average Saturday in late March, and he and Bev had spent the morning at various craft stores hunting for diploma frames. Bev had graduated the past winter with a BA in Textile and Apparel Studies, immediately accepting an offer to work with the Penobscot Theatre (along with several other theatres in Maine). She became impassioned for the art made by local seamstresses, and it was clear the feeling was mutual as soon as she joined the team. 

 Eddie would be graduating at the end of that spring with a Bachelors in Statistics (although it was assumed he would enroll in a new program for Anatomy and Biology the coming fall), becoming the fourth of his friend group to get his degree. And he was proud of himself, little “Wheezie” Kaspbrak, coddled by his mother until he could break free, going to college against family wishes and proving that he had more to him than what was publicly thought. And it was exhilarating in the same vein, existing outside of his mother's (womb) house. 

 And, as almost every Saturday since becoming legal went, they set out to celebrate with drinks. And karaoke. 

 Mike and Stan arrived first, Bill, Ben, and Richie next, and lastly, Bev and Eddie. The agreed upon meeting time was always seven thirty, and like every Saturday, Bev and Eddie were late. 

 “Man, you guys are s-s-so late,” Bill slurred, sitting shotgun in Ben’s car with the door propped open. Bev hadn’t even put the car park by the time the smell of shitty weed had made itself known. Bev giggled as she opened her door, shooting Eddie a look as if to say “this should be hilarious.” Eddie followed Bev’s lead, opening the door of the ‘99 Camry, careful not to slam the door too hard, and checking that the mirror had not fallen off (again. It was a junk car, but it ran like a dream, Bev would say). 

 “I already sm-smoked all Richie’s weed, Bev.” Bill followed up. Eddie took one solid look at his friend and let out his own little laugh. Mike led everyone from the parking lot into the bar, and after having their IDs checked (they came weekly, at this point you’d think the poor old bouncer wouldn’t care) they made way to their table. It was the only horseshoe booth in the place, furthest away from the bar counter, and the best place to be loud without getting any funny looks from other patrons. They were also the largest group to ever set foot in the dive.

 Mike would always sit in the middle, Stan and Bill on either side of him, Ben then Bev sitting to Stan’s left, Richie then Eddie to Bill’s right. Just like always. Stan ordered the first round of drinks, making sure to order Bill’s Bloody Mary with more tomato juice and less vodka (the conversation outside the bar between he and Richie about Bill being a “One Hit Wonder” went right over the accused’s head, making for a good laugh all around) and Eddie’s Appletini sans garnish. Bev chimed in to ask for a basket of fries, making Stan’s eyes shine bright. 

 “I knew there was a reason we’ve kept you around, Marsh.” He teased, clapping a hand on her shoulder. Ben smiled at the interaction, happy to see the most tense member of their group relaxing so soon into the evening. As soon as the waiter stepped away, small talk grew into a medium rumble, and talk about classes and grad school and professors everyone hated began to snowball. It only got worse as drinks made their way around.

 “I thought Richie said Short was a good head for the theatre department?” Mike asked Bev softly. Before Bev could respond, Richie had butted in. 

 “No, Mikey, I said Short gives good head to the theatre department,” Was Richie’s reply as he knocked back a shot of Jameson and winced. “Everyone loves a good gum job from-“

 “Beep Beep, Richie.” That was Eddie, exasperated having to hear about the old guy for what felt like the hundredth time. Richie turned to his friend, mock hurt, and scoffed. 

 “But Ed’s, you love to hear about me getting all the foxy grandpas and-“ Eddie’s cheeks flushed pink. 

 “I said beep beep, Dick. Shut up.” Richie stared at Eddie meekly as Eddie turned back to the group and picked up his martini. Without missing a beat, he spoke to Bill. 

 “So, are you and Audra on speaking terms now?” The table sat quiet as Eddie spoke, partially because the tone he’d just used was borderline frightening, but also because Richie had never shut up that quickly before. Bev would have to commend him on it later. Bill cleared his throat. 

 “We t-t-talked about it on Wednesday. I went to s-see her after her shift and all was f-fine. She said she’d rather see me h-happy with a guy than mi-miserable with her.” He shrugged, taking a sip of the water Stan had slyly moved closer to him. Bev nodded, as did Ben, Richie, Eddie. Everyone took a drink. Richie cleared his throat.

 “I’m happy for you, man. Really. Growth and all that shit. Mazel tov or whatever.” Everyone laughed save for Stan, who groaned, sinking into the booth. 

 “So, are we tipsy enough to start singing or does the Donner Party minus Bill need another round?” Richie asked, looking around the table. He was met with stares of confusion. 

 “Why are we the Donner Party minus Bill?” Ben inquired trying to connect the dots mentally. 

 “Because Bill fell off the wagon after I let him hit BabySpice in the parking lot.”  Ben nodded, not bothering to inquire further. Bill made a noise of protest, but was too eager to make a fool of himself on the small bar stage to say otherwise. 

 And so the night began. They moved as a herd to the DJ booth, signing their names after finding a song (although, Eddie had to sign Bill’s name and song, seeing as the lightweight was a bit too fucked up to hold the pen properly. Seriously, one hit and half a Bloody Mary?), then retreating back to the booth, awaiting their names being called to the stage when it was time. They had a few more sips and laughs in between.

 Mike was called first. Mike usually went first just to ease the tension, but tonight he seemed almost a bit too excited to go first. 

 “Is it just me, or is he skipping up there?” Eddie asked Richie, leaning in and whispering while still keeping his eyes on Mike. He felt Richie lean in a little closer to him, too, making his cheeks flush pink again. 

 “I think he might have a crush on someone,” Richie motioned with his head to Bill very subtly. “But, you didn’t hear that from me.” Eddie’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as he turned to face Richie, who smirked and held a finger up to his lips. “Shhh.” Eddie let out a light chuckle, turning his attention back to Mike on stage. The song started up as Mike waved to his friends, who smiled back and began to sway to the music. 

 Eddie smiled to himself as he zoned out, thinking about what Richie has just said. Mike and Bill. Bill and Mike. It didn’t bother Eddie in the slightest, in fact, he became almost excited at the thought of them two dating. They’d always been close, and they’d always made a really good team. And if Bill thought the same way about Mike, then that’d be just dandy! But Bill did just get out of a relationship, but he also seemed happy to bring up the whole “happier with a guy” thing… who knows? Not Eddie. Not in the slightest. Eddie reached for his drink, bringing it close and sipping it throughout Mike’s song, thinking. 

 He thought about “crushes” he’s had in the past on a few girls from his childhood, then the crushes he had in middle and high school on boys, and the crush that he’s had on the same boy since high school. He felt his neck grow hot and downed the last few sips of his martini. Mike’s song ended and they all cheered, although Eddie wouldn’t have been able to tell you what song he’d even sang. The waiter came by their table as Mike came back, earning a pat on the back from Ben (who was up next) and a thumbs up from Bill who appeared to be… blushing? God, if Bill was blushing then I must look like a damn lobster, Eddie thought, then turned to the waiter and asked for a Long Island Iced Tea, sub the rum for extra tequila. 

 The waiter was back within the first minute of Ben’s song, prompting Eddie to waste no time sucking his drink down. His first sip took a bit more than a third of the glass and burned only slightly on its way down. He took another big sip, the glass now just below halfway, which earned a sneering chuckle from Richie, lightly sipping his fourth Jack & Coke.

 “You got a hot date or s’mthin?” Richie asked, almost a little too close to Eddie’s ear.

Now I probably look like a ripe fucking beet, just peachy. Eddie blinked, turned his head to look at Stan and jeered back:

 “Yes, actually. Stanley and I were talking about bringing a himbo or two back to the condo. Why, you think you qualify?” It was Eddie’s turn to smirk, and the blank look on Richie’s face counted as a victory in his book. Eddie focused his attention back to Ben on stage, clapping for his friend as the song finished, hoping his blush was subtle. Richie sat completely still.

 Bev went after Ben, planting a kiss on his cheek as they walked past each other. Bev sang “Baby Got Back”, much to the surprise of everyone other than Eddie (they’d discussed these important matters on the drive). Bill went after Bev, Richie after Bill (although in everyone’s mind, the “Tequila” song did not count, which earned him a do-over for after Stan went), Eddie after Richie (Eddie was also razzed for choosing “Sweet Caroline” due to its extremely popular nature with the drunk crowd), and Stan following last. Eddie had enjoyed Stan’s song, “SexyBack” but only because once Stan was nearing drunk, he would go all out with his dance moves, getting the entire bar (really, the only 5 others in the bar besides the losers) to clap with him. It was fun! It was all fun! 

 Until Richie got up to perform his do-over song. Eddie had gotten up to let him out of the booth, but the way Richie’s normally swinging gait sagged was cause for concern in Eddie’s inebriated mind. Bill, now far too “drunk” from a grand total of three and a half shots worth of alcohol, was whooping and hollering as Richie talked to the DJ. Eddie was prepared, as was the rest of the table, for Richie to choose something to get off easy, something in the family of “Rolling in the Deep” or “Jolene”, with Stan bidding on “Hand in my Pocket” because “it’s just a karaoke classic!”. 

 The conversation roaring around the table while Richie and the DJ looked for some song that wasn’t coming up in the catalog turned to making fun of Bill, who had claimed his “high was wearing off” and that he had “never been this brunk defore”, earning a hearty laugh from the six. Stan and Eddie worked to prop Bill up so he was at least not head first on the table. In fact, they would’ve all missed Richie starting if it hadn’t been for the tapping on the microphone, followed by:

 “Hello, I am slightly tipsy and extremely sorry for what you are all about to see.” Violins came from the speakers surrounding the stage, and when Eddie looked at the screen behind Richie’s head, the panic set in, surrounding the bar in the sounds of 2000’s pop. 

 Richie began to dance, albeit very poorly, to “Untouched” by The Veronicas. He was a little drunk. Eddie was a little drunk. A man sitting at a booth near the DJ was clapping and cheering, and also probably a little drunk. The losers were clapping and cheering. Eddie felt like he was inside an ice cube, and also like he was going to pass out. 

 “I go ooh ooh, you go aah aah,

Lalalala, lalalala,” Richie began to sing, his voice reaching somewhere between a valley girl and a horrible Britney Spears impression. 

“I wanna wanna wanna get get get what I want, don’t stop,” Richie sang to the man in the booth, who hadn’t stopped clapping. It occurred to Eddie in that moment that Richie couldn’t be drunk. Drunk Richie was funny, aloof, extra clumsy, and could barely mutter out a proper sentence. No amount of alcohol would make him do this.

 Eddie tore his eyes away from his friend on stage, intensely studying the remaining ice in his glass. He tried to bring a hand up to fiddle with the straw, to keep himself distracted, but the way his hand shook was going to give away everything he was trying to keep in. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look UP. If he thought about it hard enough, Eddie supposed he could have made himself throw up from the amount of sudden stress (which was code for Gay Panic) building in his abdomen. He could faintly hear Bev and Bill cheering, and out of the corner of his eye caught Stan standing up in the booth to join in the support of his friend. Close your eyes. Close your eyes. Close your eyes. 

  “Cause you’re the only one who’s on my mind, I’ll never ever let you leave, I’ll try to stop time forever, never wanna hear you say goodbye,” jerked Eddie back to reality, but only because he could feel his worst fear currently coming true. 

 Richie had stepped off the stage, and Eddie had looked over at him just as he had made his way through the small crowd of the bar (and as far as the mic cord would allow). Eddie could feel the eyes shift to him, and was certain that if you hooked him up to an EKG, he would be legally pronounced dead. 

 “I feel so untouched and I want you so much, that I just can’t resist you,” Eddie could tell by the look in his eyes, Richie was determined about something. 

 “It’s not enough to say that I miss you,” maybe this was directed at Bill, because Richie had a crush on him once upon a time. 

 “I feel so untouched right now, need you so much somehow, I can’t forget you,” or maybe this was directed at the guy, sitting alone by the DJ who hasn’t stopped clapping. Maybe Richie was being dramatic, building tension. 

 “Goin crazy from the moment I met you.” It was the direct eye contact Eddie had accidentally made with Richie that kick started his heart. This was directed at him holy shit. 

 “And I need you so much,” Eddie could hear Bev yelling for him to get up, he could feel Stan trying to shove him out of the booth, to go up there right fucking now because this is your one fucking chance. And like some miserable, absolute asinine fool, Eddie stood up, betraying every nerve in his body. He couldn’t hear Richie singing anymore, he could hear anyone in the bar clapping or hollering, hell he could barely even make out Richie’s face as he walked towards him. He watched his lips move, god I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more than right now, tip toeing, trying to keep his balance, trying to make it to Richie before someone else takes the opportunity. 

 There were only a handful of times where Eddie Kaspbrak had felt completely in charge of his situation. The most notable being the day the town bullies broke his arm, and instead of letting them win, he got up and laughed in their faces, sending them running for the hills. However, that was about to be bumped down.

 Without breaking the eye contact, without breaking the cadence of his walk, Eddie Kaspbrak reached out to grab Richie Tozier, his crush, his damned high school through today crush, by the collar of his unbuttoned flannel, god it’s so soft, causing Richie to drop the microphone just as Eddie pulled him down to kiss him. Edward Kaspbrak was kissing Richard Tozier right now in the shitty karaoke bar in fucking Bangor, Maine. And it. Felt. So. Right. 

 It was like all was suddenly right in the world, the planets had aligned, and Santa Claus himself has just had delivered the best fucking gift to the both of them. Eddie felt Richie’s hands grab at his cheeks, then fly around his shoulders, trying to get closer, both of them numb to the fact that they we’re making out in front of their friends and a handful of strangers in a shitty dive bar! Who FUCKING knew?!?

 Eddie pulled away first, partly because of shock, partly because he wanted to open his damn eyes and look at this, commit it to memory. Everything around him became more clear. Bev and Stan screeching, the rest of the losers whistling, and a few of the random patrons subjected to this very odd-and-overtly-sexual non-verbal confession of love. Of love. Richie let the microphone fall to the floor, feedback scratching through the speakers. 

 “This isn’t the way I thought this would happen,” Eddie chuckled, letting Richie pull him into a hug, still in the center of the bar. “But it makes too much sense because it’s you.” He felt Richie press a kiss to his hair, then drop an arm to grab one of his hands. 

 “Let’s, uh, let’s get out of here, yeah?” Richie struggled to get out, his smile distracting Eddie from the fact that his hair was matted to his forehead via sweat. Eddie only nodded, leading Richie past the table of their friends (who had begun to chant “Get a room! Get a room! Get a room!”, earning a swift flick of the bird from both Richie and Eddie), out the door of the bar, giggles from both parties ringing out all the way to Richie’s car, then into Richie’s car, and finally as Richie drove away in his car. 

 The losers had gotten up one by one to follow them out, not even upset at the fact that they would have to cram into two cars now. Stan and Bev were out the door first, still wolf whistling as their (lovebird) friends drove off, Bill, Mike, and Ben at their heels. 

 “Wow, now that’s the m-miracle of lo-blargh,” everyone had turned just in time to see Bill barf up soggy French fries and an obscene amount of water. Calls of:

 “Jesus Christ,”

  “Eww, Bill,”

 “And that’s why we give you water, lightweight,” rang out in their circle, the friends taking a step back, Mike motioning for Bill to take a seat on the curb they stood on. 

 “I think that’s our cue to leave,” Bev stated.

“Ben, you wanna run in and pay the tab real quick? Take my card.” Ben nodded as Bev extended her hand with a card to him, disappearing back into the bar a final time. 

 “So, Marsh, where’s that twenty you bet me our Senior year?” Stan joked, helping Mike get Bill standing again, heading towards the cars. Bev laughed, throwing her head back. 

 “Where’s my twenty for saying Eddie was going to be the one to kiss him first?!” Bev shot back, reaching into her bag to pull out a crumpled twenty. Stan reached into his pocket, producing a folded crisp bill. They exchanged cash, laughing. 

 “This made no sense,” Bill offered coherently, stumbling closer to Mike. Stan and Bev turned to face him. 

“Why did Mike sing a Blondie song if he’s not blond?” It was Mike’s turn to throw his head back, letting out a hearty guffaw, before turning to Bill and responding. 

 “It’ll make sense someday,” Mike offered, wrapping his arm around Bill’s shoulder. Bill smiled, and shut up promptly. 

 They all sat around the parking lot for a while talking, sobering up. Bev had had a few cigarettes, sharing with Bill hoping to bring him back to earth. It was just as Mike and Bev got ready to drive off when Richie and Eddie pulled back into the parking lot, swinging between the two cars. Both were smiling messes, giggling and pink with a few new bruises on each of their necks. 

 “Just to put this out there, Eddie Kaspbrak fucks!” Richie yelled, peeling out from between his friends' cars, Eddie laughing and yelling “no! No! Shut up!” Between laughing fits, pulling back out onto the main road once more, riding off into the night. 

 “Let’s make that an extra twenty, Miss Marsh.” Stan smirked, waving at Bev shaking her head. Ben waved back as they pulled out of the lot. 

 “I should’ve thought this through more.” Bev laughed, reaching for Ben’s hand, and joining the other two cars on the road home. 

[ooops-i-arted]

“Who told you that?” For the 101 AU please

Din scanned his room, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.  His armor was on, he’d packed extra weaponry onto the Crest, and he had extra supplies on board just in case his trip and stay on Coruscant took longer than expected.  Skywalker had promised that he’d make sure Din got anything he needed and even offered his own place for Din to stay, but even though Din respected the Jedi Master well enough by now, he still preferred to be self-reliant.

He found the Mandalorians squeaker toy Ika’ika was so fond of under his bed and tucked it into a pouch on his belt, hoping it wouldn’t make any noise at the wrong time.  All that was left was to retrieve his littlest one, and then they could depart.

The kids were outside, being entertained by Skywalker - they loved playing their sorcery games with an adult who could actively participate, not just repeat “Don’t lift me up!” - but Din had left Ika’ika in his crib because he was asleep, and needed the rest before the trip.  He walked over to the bassinet in the middle of the room.  “Ika’ika.  Are you awake?”

He looked inside.  Ika’ika was not there.

Din sighed.  Impossibly tiny, so many genetic abnormalities Din didn’t even know if he would survive another year, only started crawling a few months ago, and he was still the finest escape artist of the entire clan.

Well, at least he’d grabbed the damn squeaker.  “Ika’ika,” called Din.  “Ika’ika.  Come here.”  He squeezed the toy, which squeaked obnoxiously.  Nothing.

“Ika’ika.”  He squeaked the toy again, pacing quietly through the room.  “Ika’ika, I’ve got your favorite toy for you.”  He activated his HUD, scanning for tracks, and to his surprise saw not Ika’ika’s miniature prints, but one of the older kids’ larger footprints.

“Ika’ika?”  The tracks led to the hallway, over towards the kitchen and into one of the cabinets.  Din switched off the HUD and squeaked the toy again.  This time, a returning squeak came from the cabinet, along with a “Shh!”

Din crouched down and opened the cabinet, finding his oldest and youngest tucked among the foodstuffs.  Ika’ika squealed happily, drooling down his front and immediately reaching out for Din, but Yod’ika shrank back, clutching Ika’ika tightly in his arms.

“What are you two doing in here?” Din asked.  Yod’ika kept his mouth pressed tightly shut, clinging harder to Ika’ika, who giggled and squirmed.

“You need to be gentle with him,” Din reminded Yod’ika.  He reached out a hand.  “Give him here.”

“No!” said Yod’ika, to Din’s surprise, scooting further back into the cabinet.

“Yod’ika,” said Din, trying to sound both stern and patient.  Yod’ika was never more prone to acting out than when Din was about to leave, but much as Din wanted him to be reassured he didn’t want Yod’ika thinking that delaying the trip was acceptable.  “You know Ika’ika and I are leaving with Skywalker this morning.  You need to give him to me.”

“No!” cried Yod’ika, yanking Ika’ika away and shoving himself further back into the cabinet.  “No, I won’t let you!”

Now the light reached Yod’ika’s face and to Din’s surprise, he could see tears welling up in his son’s eyes.  “Ad’ika?  What’s wrong?”

The tears spilled all over Yod’ika’s face.  “You’re g-gonna take him a-away!” wailed Yod’ika, clutching his littlest brother close.  “Y-you’re gonna g-give him t-t-to doctors and they’re gonna keep him in a lab and - and -”  He dissolved into sobs, unable to finish.

Din was torn between concern and sheer bemusement.  “Who told you that, ad’ika?”

“I h-heard you and M-Mister Luke and M-Miss L-Leia t-talking about it!” cried Yod’ika.  “Y-You’re gonna take h-him away and leave him there!”

“Of course I wouldn’t do that,” said Din.

“Yes you would!” screamed Yod’ika.

It was like a vibroknife had gone straight through his beskar.  Of course, why would Yod’ika think otherwise?  Hadn’t he taken Yod’ika - a little, innocent child who knew nothing about bounty hunting, only a Mandalorian he already loved enough to save him from a charging mudhorn - and left him in the hands of demagolke?  Din had never figured out what had happened during those terrible few hours he’d left Yod’ika there, but the equipment he had seen and the fact that Yod’ika never, ever spoke a word about what he’d faced had been enough to convince Din it had been horrible.

Without thinking, Din scooped them both up and held them close.  Belatedly, he wondered if he’d only scared Yod’ika more, but his son clutched tightly to his jumpsuit and cried, face buried in Din’s cloak.  Ika’ika reached out for the toy that had fallen from Din’s hands, and it floated up into the air until he was able to nab it and start gnawing on it.

Din adjusted them both so he could pat Yod’ika’s back, rubbing circles on it and murmuring soothing things until finally the crying died down to sniffles, trying to think about how to explain everything to Yod’ika.  He couldn’t leave like this, not with his son sobbing and afraid for his brother.

Carefully, Din set Ika’ika in his lap, making sure he was occupied enough by the toy and trapped in Din’s legs so that the clan’s master escape artist would have trouble trying to run.  Hearing Yod’ika stop crying, he placed his eldest on his knee, wiping away tears from his face.  “Listen, ad’ika,” he said.  “I promise, I promise I won’t let anyone hurt Ika’ika.  I am not leaving him.  I am going to stay with him, and bring him back home.  I promise.”

Yod’ika sniffled hugely, swiping at his tear-streaked cheeks, looking doubtful.

Din took the corner of his cloak to wipe his son’s face some more.  “Do you remember what I told you?  About why you have all your brothers?”

“Y-yes.”  Yod’ika swallowed, scrubbing at his face, and continued, “You s-said they took my genes a long time ago, when I don’t ’member.  From my b-blood or something.  And they made lots of copies of me.”

“Yes, they cloned you,” said Din, his chest hurting.  No child should have to know this, or have it explained to them.

“B-but when they made my vode they changed my genes,” said Yod’ika.  “So they’re the same as me.  But different too.”

“Yes, that’s right.  Lots of differences, some you can see, some you can’t.”  Din scooped up Ika’ika, keeping him from crawling up Din’s leg and setting him back safely in his lap.  “Like what color your skin is.”

“’Cuz we’re all different,” said Yod’ika, nodding.  “But especially Ika’ika.”

“Yes.”  Din glanced down; Ika’ika’s almost-white skin was stark against the dark blue onesie he was wearing.  All the kids were varying shades of green from genetic manipulation, or so the files he’d stolen from Kamino said, but where the others were subtle variations, not noticeable at a glance, Ika’ika’s pale green stood out.  “Especially Ika’ika.”

Din chewed at his lip, trying to figure out how to phrase it and get Yod’ika to understand.  “It’s not just color, though,” he said.  “And not just the Kaminoans who changed the genes.  The sample from you they had… as they got older, they degraded.”

“What’s de-grade-ed mean?”

“Um…”  Din glanced around, thinking, then said, “Starting to break down.  Like my old cloak, the one with holes in it.”

“Oh.”

Yod’ika nodded thoughtfully and seemed to understand, so Din continued.  “The gene sample was breaking down when they made Ika’ika.  So his genes aren’t just different, but some of them are… not the way they’re supposed to be either.  Broken, or without the right copies he’s supposed to have.  And because of that, he’s not as healthy as he should be.”

Yod’ika’s ears drooped as he looked down at his younger brother.  “But you take care of him, Dad,” he said.  “He doesn’t need anyone else…”

“Well, I don’t know everything, ad’ika,” said Din.  He scooped up Ika’ika in a bout of need to hold the tiny precious infant; the baby rolled over in his hands and squealed in delight, unperturbed by the serious conversation his father and brother were having about him.  “I can’t do a good job taking care of him if I don’t know what he needs.”

Yod’ika leaned forward; Din tilted his hands so Yod’ika could peer at his little brother, who was now entertaining himself by grabbing Din’s fingers and trying to eat them.  “He looks fine.  And he’s happy.”

“I know,” said Din.  “And I want to keep him that way.”  He caught Ika’ika before the baby could flop right out of his hands.  “Remember he got a rash from that first kind of diaper we got him?  And how he got sick from some kinds of food?  It might get better as he gets older, or it might get worse.  If someone looks at his genes, they can maybe tell me what kind of help he needs.”

Yod’ika scowled fiercely.  “You are taking him to a doctor!  In a lab!”

“Well, her title is doctor.  And yes, she works in a lab.  But she’s a geneticist.”  Din stroked his son’s head reassuringly.  “That means she knows about genes.  She can help Ika’ika.  She’s not going to hurt him.”

Yod’ika shook his head, starting to cry again.  “You can’t take him there, Dad!  You can’t!”

“Listen to me, ad’ika.”  Din set Ika’ika down in his lap and cupped Yod’ika’s face in his hands.  “This is not like the place I took you to before.  Or the place where we found your brothers.  Master Skywalker told me this place is safe, and I believe him.  I would never take Ika’ika there if I thought he would be hurt.”

Yod’ika sniffled, glancing down at Ika’ika.  “What if it is bad?  What if they try to take him away from you?”

“Then I’ll shoot them.”

“What if there are lots and lots of bad people?  Too many for you to shoot them all?”

“Master Skywalker said he would help me.”  Din wiped a stray tear from Yod’ika’s cheek.  “He knows about how we found your brothers.  He promised he would tell me if Ika’ika felt too scared in the Force, and that we could leave any time we wanted to.”

Yod’ika scooted closer, curling up at Din’s side.  “You won’t leave Ika’ika there?  You promise?”

Din hugged him close.  “I promise. Haat, ijaa, haa’it.”

Yod’ika leaned into the hug, staying there for a long moment before he reached down and picked up Ika’ika instead.  “It’s okay, Ika’ika,” he said, clumsily rocking his brother, who giggled at the sensation.  “Dad will take care of you.”

“Is he scared?” asked Din.  Yod’ika in his oldest brothers were very good at picking up on what the babies felt, a skill he relied on frequently.

“No,” said Yod’ika.  “He likes being with you.”

“Then he’ll be happy.  Because he’s going to stay with me, no matter what,” Din told Yod’ika firmly.

Yod’ika held Ika’ika for a long moment, but then finally handed him over to Din.