#twin sons

[mercurydancer]

An Unexpected Chance Pt. 20

Taking Overs and Happenings

_

Boba would give Jango the pleasure of seeing all that he might have become had he grown up with a loving and caring father... - R. A Salvatore, Attack of the Clones Novelization

"The government he would serve would be Authority personified. Human Authority… At war's end the aliens would be crushed, stripped of all they possessed, and their systems and their wealth would be given to the hands of the only beings who could be trusted with them. Human beings. Dooku would serve an Empire of Man."

"He's no longer even entirely human. With Grievous, the use of those bio-droid devices is almost forgivable; he was such a disgusting creature already that his mechanical parts are clearly an improvement. But a blend of droid and human? Appalling. The depths of bad taste." [Dooku to Sidious about working with Anakin] - Revenge of the Sith Novelization Matthew Stover pg. 49; 51

(and anyway did you all know that Dooku was a racist ableist bitch because I tell you the fuck what... Dave Filoni makes those fucking weird choices broskis.)

_

          Shmi Skywalker stood on the exit ramp leading to a place that a piece of her heart had always lingered, and yet had never seen, and knew that it was time.

          Her husband, Cliegg beside her, Owen and his wife Beru, behind them, and even further back four Nightbrothers that had joined them in their quest, had become a part of the White Sun. To free others like them, certainly, to find the one that had saved them, absolutely.

          Shmi took a few steps into the Jedi Temple Hanger, aware of the eyes that were on her, the recognition that spread, and wondered how long it would take before…

          The doors at the far end of the hanger burst open, and for a moment Shmi was staring at the living embodiment of her own heart, staring at a young man in dark Jedi robes, Padawan haircut strange and resplendent, blue eyes that held the skies of Tatooine within them, and a smile that rivaled the sun.

          Ani.

          Her boy ran towards her with more speed than seemed possible, and enveloped her in warmth, in the depth of his love, and in that one moment it did not matter that he was taller than her, it did not matter that she could feel the power that radiated towards her in a way she never could when he was young… All that mattered was the arms that were wrapped around her belonged to her boy.

          Shmi Skywalker Lars was holding her son, and it was like no time at all had passed.

          Shmi pulled back slowly, reaching up to brush her hand through her son’s bristly hair, taking the padawan braid in her hand. She looked over the beading, the careful weaving, and then looked to her son’s eyes, smiling.

          “I am so proud of you.”

          Anakin’s eyes filled with tears, and he smiled at her. “Mom,” he said softly.

          “Hello, Ani,” she said, “it’s so good to see you.”

          “It’s…” Anakin took a step back, wiping his eyes, “it’s so good to see you,” and then he looked back at the others, taking in her small family – their small family, and the Brothers they had with them. “What…what brings you here?”

          “I came to see my baby,” Shmi said. “But I have also come to reunite Brothers and because White Sun was called.” She smiled at him, “You apparently have a lot of slaves to help free. We are only the first, the Mandalorians are coming as well.”

          “The Mandalorians?” Anakin asked, and then blinked, looking back at the Brothers, and then smiling at her. “You’ve been working with Maul.”

          “We have,” Shmi smiled. “But before he gets here come, I need to introduce you to some people.” Shmi took his hand and brought him over, standing him before her small family. “This is Cliegg Lars, he is my husband.”

          “Hello, son,” Cliegg said, and then almost immediately winced, “not…that I have to call you that now, you…you likely have to get used to the idea. I understand. I’m sorry, I…”

          “I…have a dad?” Anakin asked, his nose wrinkling slowly as he looked at him, and Shmi laughed aloud.

          “You do,” she said, walking forward to press a kiss to her husband’s cheek, and then taking Owen by the hand, “and this is Owen, he is your step-brother, and this is Beru – his wife.”

          Anakin absolutely boggled, and Shmi could not stop the laughter that rose in her chest, the warmth in her at seeing her small family interact. The Brothers were hanging back, but there was nonetheless a quiet sort of joy in the way they watched. Once Anakin seemed to have settled into the idea of having this bit of family, once he had realized that they were not vanishing, and could see the way they loved each other, could see the way they fit, Shmi took the hand of the oldest brother and led him forward, smiling at seeing how the brothers linked hands together, all approaching as one.

          “Anakin,” she said, getting his attention, “this is Venom,” she said indicating the tallest and the oldest, his tattoo markings standing out black on orange, “this is Spite,” she said about the shortest, who stood beside him, tattoos curling and elegant. “This is Grudge,” she said about the one whose skin was the darkest and whose tattoos were sharp and black. “And this is Wrath,” she indicated the last, skin yellow as the sun, and eyes quick. “They are looking for the one that saved them. They are looking for Maul.”

          “They have found him,” Maul’s voice rang out, and Shmi turned her attention back finding him standing there as well as other faces that she had grown more familiar with over the years, as well as two other Brothers.

          Shmi smiled, she remembered the reports from Soln, she knew who was standing there.

          Maul had brothers. She supposed the ochre one was Feral, the one that had been with Soln as he took him to the Temple. The other, Savage…well, she had been less than pleased to hear the report from the one that took him.

          Hondo was always a pain to deal with, made worse when he was preening, and he had been preening about something even more annoying given the fact that Shmi found herself interested. Shmi looked directly at Maul and found herself smiling.

          “I see that you have found yourself restored,” she said. “I am pleased to see it, though I see it came with a few added centimeters?” she raised a brow, smiling. Maul ducked his head briefly and she laughed quietly, approaching, and standing before him, putting her hands on his shoulders. His skin was warm, and whole, and he stood before her silently as she looked him over. “You look good,” she said.

          “Thank you,” Maul said. “It is good to see you, thank you for coming.” He paused. “Why did you come?”

          Shmi smiled, “I was called,” she said, backing away, and looked to Mace who approached, his hands folded before him. “I hear you have a lot of Blood Slaves that need help.”

          “We do,” Mace said. “I do not believe it will be the same that you usually deal with, but we are not sure. Tiq has been the one that has been talking to them the most, and he will be able to help.”

          “Healer Tiq, who helped both of my boys, where is this Rodian, I would like to thank him.”

          “Oh!” a voice called, and her attention swiveled to a blue Rodian, who took a few steps forward. She met his red eyes and smiled. “Hello,” he called out as he approached, and her smile widened, reaching out to take his hand that he was very happy to give her. “It is good to meet you in person, congrats on your marriage.” He dipped his head to her husband, and smiled at her family, and Shmi watched as her husband glowed, taking a few steps forward.

          “Thank you,” he said. “I got the best deal out of it, I’m sure.”

          Shmi laughed, “Hush.” She turned to Tiq again, taking in his smile, “thank you for doing what you have. Thank you for taking care of them.”

          “Of course,” Tiq said softly, “I had much help.” And the look he gave her was warm and significant, the Rodian that she had spent much time talking to through all hours as the night as they worked together a dear friend. “They have both been wonderful and I am proud of them every day.”

          “So am I,” Shmi smiled, and squeezed his hands in both of hers, before turning to look at Maul. “I brought more of your Brothers. They have been wishing to see you, and have been very patient.”

          Maul took a moment to look at Shmi, and then to turn his attention to the Brothers, Shmi very aware of the way Wrath took a few steps forward first, the others slowly following. But as Maul watched, as his attention fixed they froze. Shmi watched as Maul’s hand curled into a slight fist, and she could see the slow shifting of something like grief, something like sadness in his eyes.

          Feral walked forward then, laughing, and carefully hooked his horns in his brother’s, and as he did Shmi could suddenly see the resemblance for what it was, could see the similarity in jaw, in facial structure, and she beamed. Feral tugged Maul’s head into a gentle angle, pointing the horns off to the side, careful, “Don’t worry,” he called, “come on, Wrath, my brother is not going to fight. He was enslaved by another Master; he does not know yet how to make friends. We shall teach him, though, yes?”

          And Shmi watched the realization spread, even as Maul’s body language relaxed, as he fell further into the invitation, and Wrath’s face spread into a wide smile.

          “Of course, we will teach him much!” and the laughter that bubbled in his voice was audible. “First lesson, then?”

          “Destructions are always better when~”

          Shmi caught the way Feral whispered to his brother, caught the moment when Maul started to stiffen and then very carefully relaxed, and that was the moment when Wrath barreled into him.

          Maul allowed himself to be rolled over in a tangled mess of fabric and limbs and laughter, helped along by the others immediately working to join in, squishing in close, Maul sitting in the middle of a tangle of brothers, including two of his own blood…

          Shmi was aware of the tears that slid down her cheeks.

          Shmi did not care, unable to stop, and unwilling to, pride and joy mixing in her chest. She remembered the young man that had first found them, the one that was looking so hard for a place to belong, a place where he could be himself, a place where he could learn… To see this…? It was all that she had ever hoped for and more.

          Shmi could also see…the moment when it began getting too much.

          Maul was a complicated and utterly tragic combination of touch-starved and so utterly alone that overstimulation was not just likely it was almost always close to the surface. She saw the moment when his enjoyment turned to that prickling desire to pull away, to run. She also saw the moment when something else shaded his gaze as well, and she wondered.

          Being a child for nearly seven months, only to finally grow, to come back, and to be…so different. For everything to be different.

          His Master was dead. Had Maul even been given the opportunity to truly process that, to process what it meant?

          But her worry was alleviated when Savage softly began extracting them, when he pulled his brother up to his feet, and when Maul turned and walked away did not do anything to stop him, nor even appear upset. Instead, he took hold of Feral’s hand, and knocked his horns against the other Brothers, ones that Shmi realized Savage likely knew.

          “My brother has been alone for a long time, and much has changed,” he said softly.

          “It is alright, Brother,” Venom said, “he will be alright.”

          Shmi caught Tiq following after, and she turned her attention to Mace, before looking back to Anakin. “We will have more time to be reacquainted soon,” she said, “but we have been called for a reason.”

          “We have more Blood Slaves to help,” Anakin smiled, and Shmi could feel nothing but pride.

_

          Maul walked.

          He did not particularly know where he was going, and he was not sure if he cared. All he knew was he had to move, he had to…

          So much was happening, so much had changed, and he still did not feel right, and he had been… Maul had been behaving erratically for a Nightbrother. They had seen him and known that he did not belong and that was why… Maul thought of all the other Brothers that he had saved. All of the other Brothers that he had taken to safety before he had heard of the Holocron… All of the ones that had been distant, that had not wanted to stand near him…

          Maul had thought they had been afraid of him because of what he had rescued them from. He had thought it had been because they were wary of his touch and his presence… Now Maul was realizing that he had simply…warded them off. He had not known how to welcome their presence and so none of them had come.

          Maul was buzzing. He did not know if it was better or worse to understand that it was because he truly did not know how to exist as a Nightbrother.

          And then…and then…Maul’s Master, he had been…

          But…

          “Maul,” Tiq’s voice called out, sending his thoughts stuttering to a brief halt, even if his legs kept walking, and Tiq quickly caught up to him, walking alongside. “Talk, pressure, movement?”

          And the question was so familiar, was one that they had worked on, a quick and dirty sort of way to figure out what his first need was, and then the possibility of going from there.

          “Movement,” Maul said, almost without thinking of it, led by the feeling of itchiness in his skin, the slight stutter in his walk that he was sure only he could feel. He needed to get used to his own body once again, and the fact that it was once again was somehow even worse. How much more could he go through? What else was he required to give? How many bits of his own hearts would he have to sacrifice before…

          “Come,” Tiq said, and turned on his heel, walking without once touching him, and Maul followed immediately. It was a drill they had perfected over the years, one that Maul could fall into and just…not think about it.

          Maul was tired of thinking.

          Maul stood in the elevator next to Tiq, closing his eyes, bouncing on his toes, feeling the way he wanted to balance, aware of his own weight in a way that he was unused to. Everything was strange.

          “Obstacles or contact?” Tiq asked softly.

          “Obstacles,” Maul said. He did not want to touch anything, not even if it was to hit it.

          He was at the point where he was certain that he would wind up hitting harder than he wanted to.

          “That’ll be good for you, yes?” Tiq hummed, “give you an opportunity to feel how your limbs want to work.”

          “Yes,” Maul agreed softly. “I am sorry.”

          “Do not be,” Tiq said. “Let’s get your energy out, give you a chance to get used to yourself, and then we can go from there. Orientation times five, yes?”

          “Who, what, where, when, why,” Maul hummed. “What is the date?”

          “The fifteenth, fifth month of the year 7954. It is eleven fifty-four in the morning, and we are in the Halls of Knowledge on the elevator heading towards the Master’s Training Room. It seemed appropriate given the circumstances.”

          “I agree,” Maul said softly. “Tiq, who am I?”

          “You are Darth Maul,” Tiq said softly, “you are a twin, you are twenty-six years old, and you are the younger brother of Savage and Feral. You have an unnatural fondness for spice,” Maul smirked, “a tendency to fling yourself in situations that are much too big for you,” that smirk shifted to a smile, “and you are also someone that I care for a very great deal.”

          Maul opened his eyes and met Tiq’s own, taking in the smile.

          “I am very proud of you, Maul,” Tiq said. “You are alright. You have been given a great deal to hold all at once, do not worry if you find yourself unable to hold it all. It is expected that you will leak a little. Let us get all of that energy out of your system and we can work on processing it.”

          Maul was quiet for a moment, taking all of that in, and softly, “Pressure would not be bad…” he breathed.

          Tiq immediately pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing, Maul finding himself leaning into it, and finally going to hug him back.

          The sound of the elevator doors opening caused Maul to take a step back. The hollowness was still there in his chest, but it was not as yawning.

          “Come on,” Tiq said and led him to the training rooms.

_

          Tiq was aware of the way that Maul was buzzing, could feel the burn in the other’s presence, the flickers of flame that shivered. Tiq could not blame him, and when they finally came into the training rooms, Tiq walked off to the side, very aware of the way Maul launched himself forward into a sprint.

          Tiq picked up the player that he had left here, and flicked through the songs, before finally humming and picking the tune he thought would work the best, and pressed play.

          Tiq moved to sit with his legs crossed and watched.

          As the music swelled Maul ran, leaning further and further forward before finally rolling forward and springing up, landing on his hands and letting himself fall backwards in an arch, catching himself on his feet and once again springing. He smoothed his motions as the words in the song crooned, allowing himself to stretch his limbs, to roll and pose, to leap and to adjust.

          It was always spectacular watching Maul move, and he had only improved with age.

          As the song crunched Maul sped up, letting his knees go to his chest, his limbs to akimbo, his feet to nearly fly across the mats, twisting and rolling and spinning, and then when the singer’s voice began he once again slowed his movements, letting himself stretch, to grow accustomed to that extra length.

          Maul slowly grew more comfortable, letting himself leap higher, roll longer, and finally begin to leap off the obstacles that were scattered. He ran up walls, swung himself over edges and plummeted sheer drops, rolling and spinning and twisting as he did so. As the song ended, Tiq picked another, humming quietly as he crunched through and found one whose energy cranked even higher.

          The drums pounded, escalating, as it beat and beat and beat…

          And finally, it all exploded, and Maul launched himself into motion.

          There were no attempts to stretch this time, no attempts to slow it down, the motions violent, a kata in air, all swift kicks, and fists and what would be blood.

          And then finally the song cranked down, and Maul froze, foot high in the air above his own head, a straight-line drawn heel to heel, and he slowly lowered that foot down, brought it level to groin, and held it, still keeping to that line with his thighs. It wound itself up and Maul kicked straight up, fell backwards, and rolled into a series of twists and rolls, ending finally as the song warbled and trailed off with that same line with the other leg.

          And finally, he stood there, bouncing on his toes, and began slowly easing himself into a much gentler series of movements.

          And so Tiq played one last song, smirking softly as the soft cords resonated, and the song truly began, and Maul blinked, before laughing, and then closed his eyes and just let himself move.

          Sweeping low, all movements about length, about reach, about growing used to the limits of his own flexibility… He let his limbs stretch and curl and pull and push, shifting as the pitch warbled, as her voice bent and he slowly allowed himself to follow. Tiq watched as the last song moved him through a cooldown, as he let himself roll forwards along the ground, to touch his toes, to lean his chest to the floor between his split legs and bring them slowly up over his head, and then slowly to stretch out along the floor again.

          Tiq was certain his own bones would have broken.

          The song carried Maul through his final movements, through the drawing of several lines, and finally Maul lay on the ground completely flat, his eyes closed, and the tension that had been in his limbs, had been vibrating just under the skin had finally eased.

          “I would have thought you’d develop a spine with age,” Tiq called softly, “it seems I was wrong.”

          Maul laughed.

          Tiq counted it as a win.

          Maul slowly stood up then, shaking his limbs out once and then finally approaching Tiq, and Tiq could see how much smoother he was, how his gait had gentled, and he seemed to fit himself more, before finally sitting down crossed legged before him.

          “Hello,” Tiq said with a smile.

          “Hello,” Maul said, breathing deep and slow. “You said you had something for me?”

          “I do,” Tiq said. “And for as much as I wish to give it to you now, I think we need to settle everything else first. It’s…a gift, but it can also be a double-edged one.”

          “And double-edged sabers are handled with much care.”

          “Exactly,” Tiq grinned. “So first…how are you?”

          “I…” Maul laughed, rough, and understandably wet, “Tiq I do not understand, so much has happened, I just…” he closed his eyes. “I feel like everything is moving so fast, and I am… I have brothers? I have brothers and they love me, and I remember…so much and not enough, and I have…all of this is inside of me, and I do not know where it goes, I do not know where it fits with who I am and what I became, and… There is a part of me that feels like I can allow…I can allow…myself to breathe…the space to relax…and the other part of me that knows better. My Master is dead, and my brother killed him to spare me… My Master was the Chancellor, and he was…kind…to me…” Maul wiped his face.

          “Tiq, why was he so kind to me? Was he just…was he trying…and when he said…was he just trying to fool me? To destroy me?” Maul held his hands out and Tiq took them, holding them within his own softly. “Tiq I do not understand,” he breathed. “I do not want… I want…” Maul’s expression crumbled, and he pulled his hands back, fisting them in his lap, “why would I grieve? Why would I grieve when I know…I know that he must have… Tiq…do you think that he hated me?”

          Tiq smiled, and it was rough, and it was hard. “And so, we once again are at the question at the center, and this time I do have an answer. And it is one I think you know, which is why you keep questioning it. It’s the reason you find yourself grieving even when you hate. And I know you hate him. I know you do. I know that you are not grieving the man. You are grieving the ideal. You are grieving what you wished it could have been. And this, Maul, is the most natural thing in the Galaxy.”

          “I hate it,” Maul hissed.

          “I know,” Tiq said, “and that is okay. That is okay. It is perfectly understandable.” Tiq took a breath and sighed. “Maul, if I had…if I had any other choice I do not know if I would talk to you about this so soon. But things are out of my hands…  Count Dooku…was your Master’s latest weapon, and I was forced to blackmail him.”

          “You-Tiq…wait, what?”

          Tiq smiled, “you see, Dooku was under the mistaken impression…that he was worth something to your Master. That he was worth something to Darth Sidious…but he was not. He was a weapon. Something to be used and discarded. But…in order to get this through to him I was forced to tell him about you…and about the fact that while your Master believed him to be expendable, to be…exploitable… Maul,” Tiq breathed softly, “your Master did love you, as much as I think he could love anyone.”

          Maul was silent for a moment, his eyes so wide, and so… “Oh,” he breathed.

          “But Maul,” Tiq said, and reached out, Maul taking his hands, unthinking, unhesitatingly, holding so tight… Tiq could feel the tremor, could see… “Maul listen, this is one of the most important things about love that you have to understand – Love is not enough, and in some cases, in many ways…love can actually be used to hurt, to cut. And your Master cut you deep with it. His affection was possession, and his love was in the form of control and, too, in a way, on an ideal. That you could not meet this ideal is not anything to do with you. It is entirely to do with him. You did not deserve to be under that. You did not deserve to be controlled and twisted like that. In a way, it does not matter that he loved you. His actions show precisely what he was, and what he was…was cruel, and evil, and vile, and I am happy that fucker is dead.”

          Maul’s face broke into a grin, a laugh tickling at the corners of his mouth, and Tiq leaned forward, Maul’s horns pressing to his forehead unthinkingly, gentle, gentle…

          “You never deserved to be under the care of a man who told you that all you were was a body. You never deserved to be brought up by someone who hurt you, and good fucking riddance. Good fucking riddance I hope it hurt, I hope he was awake and aware all the way down, and I hope he knew just how powerless he was. I hope that he knew just how much we all fucking hated him. Because yes, Maul, I do not think there was a Jedi in that Senate that did not hate him. And we hated him for you. And I want you to understand something, yes? We were glad to hate him.”

          “I think I was right,” Maul said softly, “you probably would be a good Sith.”

          Tiq laughed and pulled back, pressing a kiss to his forehead, a gesture that made Maul grin, “Do you really think so? Would I be a good Sith?”

          Maul paused, the grin fading as he stared at him, thinking, and then he finally sighed. “Oh, very well, so I may be indulging in some wishful thinking.”

          Tiq laughed, “There is nothing wrong with that at all,” he assured softly. “I think I’m even flattered.”

          “You should be,” Maul sniffed, “I do not think that many Jedi would make good Sith, or even spend time thinking about it.”

          “Truly?” Tiq asked, grinning. “No one at all? Not even someone like…oh, you teased him enough about it, but Obi-Wan?”

          Maul pulled a face that was so utterly disgusted, so completely unimpressed that Tiq was hard-pressed to not burst out laughing. “Obi-Wan Kenobi would be the most obnoxious Sith in all of history.”

          Tiq failed at holding his laughter in.

          “He would…he would be so aggressively annoying,” Maul said, his mouth squiggling, his eyes narrowing, “he would…by the Force, Tiq, why would you wish that upon me?”

          Tiq laughed harder. “OH,” Tiq wiped his eyes, “that was about as funny a reaction as I had hoped it would be.”

          “Rude,” Maul huffed. “I am going to have nightmares.”

          Tiq lost it. “Oh, Force, regrouping, Maul, please, how do you feel?”

          “Better,” Maul said, and the complete lack of hesitation was so good to hear. “I…” Maul paused. “I…understand that his love was control. That it was bad for me, and it would almost have been the same as if he hated me. But it is…to know that he did love me… Why?”

          “That I do not know,” Tiq said, “but I do know that whatever the reason it would have never been good enough, and so in this instance the why is beyond consideration. Why? Because he could. Because he wanted control more than he wanted your well-being. Because he was perpetually angry and wanted to take it out on someone that relied on him, none of these reasons are good and none of them are ones that you should hold in your hearts as though they are ones you deserve. His meanings and his reasonings are utterly irrelevant outside of this one simple fact, are you ready?”

          “What is it?”

          “He is dead – and your Master will never be able to hurt you again.”

          Maul took that in for a moment, silent, silent, and Tiq was prepared for the moment when he bowed forward slow, and softly, “Tiq…do you have…do we have the footage. Please, please can I…”

          “Yes,” Tiq said, and pulled the player over, fishing through datachips to finally press one into the machine. “We were able to piece together a record of the fight and how it happened. The holocam in the Senate was damaged, but it was still running. We do have the footage. You can see him die.”

          Maul swallowed, shifting to properly see it, but it was not the death that opened it up, instead, Tiq showed him the interrogation.

          Maul could not stop laughing.

          The opening salvo, the first line of a simple ‘Shut up, bitch’ had been enough to send Maul into a near fit of it, doubling over and his hands over his mouth like he was trying to hold it in for dear life, but it escaped anyway.

          As Tiq chipped away at him, insulted his being and his job and his ability to listen… Maul remained scrunched, almost hiding it, but it was audible, and it was visible, “Very good!” the Tiq of the holocam called out, giving a loud and very exaggerated clap, “that is ten points to the Chancellor of the Republic, you are very good at this, aren’t you?”

          “Yes…I am…”

          And Maul finally started howling.

          Tiq paused the footage, let Maul get over his doubled-up pose, to straighten, to rub at his face and regain his composure. “Tiq,” Maul managed his voice choked, tears in his eyes, “Tiq, you cannot do this to me, this is too much.”

          “Your Master is a bitch! It’s not my fault at all.”

          Maul giggled, a sharp and breathless sound, but so full of joy, and Tiq beamed.

          Tiq let Maul take in the fact that it was an accusation of molestation that had finally gotten him to cave and paused it briefly. “It is, Maul, because I realized he did love you, and he would have had some lines in his behavior towards you. I made a guess as to what it was, and I got lucky. But I need you to know…”

          “That his love was poison,” Maul said briefly, “his love was a chain. And I am free from both.”

          “There is no more poison in your veins, and no chains around your neck,” Tiq agreed softly, “you are free. Now I’m going to skip…”

          “Do…do you have the part where you blackmailed Dooku, please? I want…I want to see that, and to see… I need to see…”

          “I will show you his death,” Tiq promised. “You will see him die, and you will know it to be true.”

          Maul huffed quietly, “am I that obvious?”

          “It’s understandable,” Tiq said softly. “We have claimed Sidious dead before, and it took a Holocron that reverted you to a child for us to be made aware of our mistake. I deeply regret that…”

          “It is alright,” Maul said. “I did not…I never once…”

          “That isn’t entirely true,” Tiq said, “do you remember banning Anakin from speaking to him on his own?”

          Maul blinked. “Do you think…that he would…”

          “I think he would have tried,” Tiq said. “Considered among so many Jedi to be the Chosen One to bring Balance to the Force? What would be a more thrilling conquest than turning that against us?”

          Maul took that in quietly, and softly, quietly, “he would have destroyed him.”

          “He would have,” Tiq agreed, “which is why it’s so crucial, and honestly quite so funny that you simply banned him from seeing him… It is a testament to Anakin’s love of you that he listened. It is very hard work getting a teenager to listen. You did it very easily.”

          “I made him promise on his mother,” Maul said.

          “Ah,” Tiq grinned, “that would definitely do it.” Tiq paused. “Still loves you a great deal, though.”

          Maul laughed. “He is like a younger brother…at least what I imagine it would be like… Tiq…” Maul stared at him for a moment, and there was something so amazed and something so soft in his eyes, “Tiq, I am a twin, I have brothers.”

          “You do,” Tiq smiled, “and I am so glad that you were able to meet them. I am so glad that you found each other.”

          Maul said nothing for a moment, almost basking in it, before he finally sighed, “you were going to show me how you eviscerated Dooku?”

          “Eviscerated is a little strong,” Tiq said, laughing.

          “Incorrect,” Maul said, grinning. “Now let me see!”

          Tiq laughed and worked on scrubbing through the fight, delicately avoiding the moment when he got electrocuted, and then finally let it play as Tiq pressed a few buttons on the chair.

          As Maul realized that Tiq had not known that he was about to call Dooku, as he realized that Dooku had habitually called him ‘My Master,’ Maul doubled over, and nearly shrieked with laughter.

          “HIS FACE!” Maul managed, tears sliding down his face as he absolutely lost his shit, “Tiq!!! You didn’t tell me…he outed himself???”

          Tiq laughed, “I was waiting for this moment. It was worth every second.”

          Maul finally settled slowly, watching the rest of the encounter, and as he took in Bail’s expression, he wiped his eyes. “I want to call him; can I call him?”

          “What are you going to do?”

          “Mock him relentlessly,” Maul answered, purring.

          “Maybe when we get him back to the Jedi Temple. He needs to be contained in a proper cell.”

          “Are you going to rehabilitate him like you did with me?” Maul asked, and there was something almost quietly tolerant.

          Tiq was quiet for a moment. “I do not know what we are going to do with him. With you…you were different in a way. The way you were trained…how you were raised…you knew no other way. It was rehabilitation but it was also almost reeducation. Dooku…” Tiq was quiet for a moment. “Dooku should know better. He was about to…I have seen what your Master was planning, Maul. I have…” Tiq’s face tightened. “Dooku was not just complicit with slave labor, he was working on undermining…” Tiq shook his head. “There is a great deal that he has been doing that is absolutely vile, a great many people have died because of his actions, and…” Tiq paused. “It is interesting, I believe, how a person can trick themselves so thoroughly into believing that they are doing the right thing.”

          “I do understand that,” Maul said with a nod and a shrug.

          Tiq smiled at him and opened his arms, Maul allowing himself to sink into the hug. “Thank you for asking if we do plan on rehabilitating,” he said. “Unlike you, Dooku exists and is a Citizen of the Republic, and he is being tried like one. If I have the opportunity I would, but admittedly I don’t know if he would listen to me.”

          “Why is that?” Maul asked.

          “I’m non-human,” Tiq answered with a shrug.

          “Fucker.”

          Tiq laughed. “Indeed,” he agreed.

          “I hope it stung like hell when he realized that I was the one our Master cared for.”

          “I rather do as well,” Tiq agreed. “But that’s vindictive and I will let that go.”

          “I’ll hold onto it for you.”

          “Thank you,” Tiq laughed. “But it is not necessary.”

          “I will do it anyway,” Maul said. “Because I want to hold it over him.”

          “Sith.”

          “Jedi,” Maul returned, and finally laughed. “I have missed you.”

          “I have missed you as well,” Tiq said. “I am so proud of you. I am so proud of you…you have done so much… It is so good to see that you are alive, and you are well.” Maul shifted to hug him tight, and Tiq laughed quietly, “You’re not quite as easy to hold anymore.”

          “I don’t know if I like it,” Maul said, pulling back. “You cannot tell anyone…”

          “Not a soul,” Tiq agreed.

          “I liked my height,” Maul said. “The fact that most people could pick me up…”

          “It’s a good way to alleviate some of the touch starvation,” Tiq nodded.

          “It is that,” Maul agreed, waving a hand almost grandly, “but more importantly it leads to the idea that I am easier to kill, and therefore makes them easier to stab. They pick me up, I merely…” he mimed stabbing at someone under the ribs, and Tiq wheezed, doubling over, and laughing aloud.

          “Maul!”

          “What?” Maul shrugged, “it is true! If I allow you to hold me in such a manner then…” he shrugged. “I care about you a great deal. Touch starvation or…” Maul trailed off.

          Tiq was quiet for a moment. “You worked with Mandalorians and with Hondo’s pirates, yes? As well as Shmi Skywalker?”

          “Yes,” Maul said. “I was…I was not completely alone.”

          “Just mostly,” Tiq said quietly. “Well. That likely may change.”

          “What did you find out, Tiq? What was my Master planning?”

          “First…” Tiq sighed, “First I am going to show you his death, and then I am going to give you what I found.”

          Tiq opened the footage and allowed Maul to take it in, watching the way Obi-Wan provided such a good distraction from the actual threat of Savage. Maul took the holoprojector from Tiq, replaying the footage, watching as his Master was impaled again…and again…and again…

          And finally put it down and shoved it away from him.

          “Tiq…” he breathed, “my Master is dead…”

          “Yes,” Tiq agreed quietly, “he is dead.”

          Maul paused for a moment, so still… And then, quietly, Maul began to laugh.

          It was a desperate broken little sound, hitched and broken, slowly shifting to something louder, fuller, and finally outright hysterical. It was a shattered, utterly desperate sort of laugh, Tiq waiting, watching, and when that hitched and pained sounding laugh became the start of hitched and pained sobs, Tiq was ready, and opened his arms. Maul folded himself close and wept, and there was such anger in the sound, such… “I hate him, Tiq,” Maul breathed.

          “I know,” Tiq said softly. “I know, it’s alright. You can mourn. It is alright to mourn. It is not fair, and it is not right. You are allowed to mourn.” Tiq held him until he finally ran out of tears and pushed himself back, wiping at his eyes… Tiq caught hold of his hands, squeezing. “Gentle,” Tiq said softly, “there is no reason to make yourself hurt. You are allowed to be kind to yourself, even for something like this. Grief is complicated.”

          “Grief is awful, and I hate it,” Maul grumbled.

          “Understandable,” Tiq said. “But still…be kind.”

          “What did you have for me, Tiq,” Maul said softly.

          Tiq paused for a moment and finally sighed. “Reach for my mind, Maul, feel.”

          Maul narrowed his eyes, and Tiq felt the soft tickling heat of Maul’s Force-presence reaching out for him. Tiq reached out slowly and offered the memories that he had stored. Maul’s presence flickered near them, before it flared in realization and wonder, and Tiq felt the way he brushed against them, and softly, softly… “Tiq…what is that?”

          “Those are your memories,” Tiq answered softly. “Your Master did not just cut them out he kept them. These…I have not looked at them, Maul, but I can feel them, and they are sound.  Your Master kept them, and I think…eventually he was going to give them back. But now…I am.”

          Maul blinked, “can…can you do that?” he breathed, “is it possible, can you…is my mind not too…?”

          “It is not too broken,” Tiq said, “nor is it too scarred over. The brain has a natural elasticity, and in this instance it wants to be whole. I believe…that should we work together, they should be accepted.”

          Maul was quiet for a moment, and softly, quietly, “please.”

          Tiq tilted his forehead towards Maul, feeling the horns press up against him, closed his eyes, and took a breath, feeling Maul do the same…and slowly.

          Steadily…

          Breathed out…

          And plunged into a mind that he knew.

          Maul pulled back with a gasp, standing, his body reeling, staggering away from Tiq and finally falling to his knees.

          “Maul, can I touch you?” Tiq asked, his voice soft, and Maul braced his hands against the ground, breathing, breathing, feeling like he wanted to throw up. There was so much…as so much was flowed into him, as his memories…

          As that dark pillar was given a face.

          As he stared up at Palpatine.

          And thought of him as father.

          Maul vomited into a wastebasket that hadn’t been there, shaking, his body heaving as he emptied everything in his stomach.

          It had been Palpatine, it was him, all of it was him, and then the wastebasket was moving and Tiq was closer, gently hushing, still not touching, still not…

          “Please,” Maul managed softly, and Tiq pulled him close, settled his head on his lap, let him sprawl out, ran a hand up and down up and down his arm…

          “It’s alright,” Tiq breathed, “it is alright.”

          “I loved him once,” Maul breathed. “I loved him. He raised me. I knew him from…my earliest memories…if only as a presence that… Tiq… Please…I don’t want…I don’t want to think of this anymore. I don’t want…”

          “Hush,” Tiq said softly, “you know that is not true.”

          “There is so much…” Maul managed, his voice trembling, “Tiq…”

          “A lifetime, right up until seventeen,” Tiq said. “It is alright. Let yourself settle, I’m right here, grab on.”

          And Maul reached, clinging tight to Tiq’s Force-presence, allowing himself to sink into the Jedi’s peaceful aura, letting it calm him, slowly allowing his mind to trail down paths and links that it had not been able to make in so…long…

          Tiq remained stable and cool, and Maul slowly let himself bask in it, letting his mind settle, flow the anxiety, the hurt, the… There was so much hurt…so much hurt… And it framed…all of those conversations, those moments…

          “Tiq…” Maul breathed, “he wanted me back…”

          “I do think so,” Tiq said, and the hand on his arm was protective, and the presence he basked in was warm, and so welcoming, “but he did not get you. And he will not. You are not his. You are not ours. You are yours. Your chains are broken, Sith. You are free.”

          Maul took that in, closing his eyes and breathing it close.

          Maul was free.

          He was free.

          “Thank you,” he breathed.

          “Of course,” Tiq said. “How are you feeling, Maul? Do you want a spar?”

          “I could use a distraction,” Maul said, and slowly began to push himself up.

          “Excellent,” Tiq said, “because I think that someone…”

          The door to the training room burst open, Obi-Wan marching forward holding…

          Maul was on his feet and as the pike that had been his weapon and his companion for so long flew through the air he reached out…and caught it.

          And let the red blade THRUM into existence, heat and death and warmth in his hand.

          “Aw shit,” Maul cussed, placing it next to him and taking in where the blade length rested on him. “It’s too short.”

          “That is a bit of a challenge,” Obi-Wan hummed, “but I’m certain it’s nothing you can’t overcome?”

          “Fifteen words to tell me to simply spar anyway, Kenobi,” Maul sniffed, eyeing him. “And yet you call me verbose~”

          Obi-Wan gave a regal shrug before pulling his saber from his belt, twirling it into his favored Soresu, and Maul could see the initial twirl had allowed him to readjust the power on it. It would scald, but not kill.

          Maul hummed, “A moment.”

          Obi-Wan gestured for it, remaining in his ready stance.

          Maul smiled.

          And then twirled the pike, his eyes closed, feeling the weapon, feeling the way it wanted to rest on him, learning where it pressed against his limbs, feeling the brief flashes of heat as it grew too close and adjusting it with the slightest of movements. Familiarity bloomed, and when he finally knew where it would fall, when he knew that he would not hurt himself as well as his enemy, he fell into his own opening stance, pointed at Kenobi, checking the balance to make sure, and casually readjusted the power in his own.

          It was truly only sporting.

          “Very flashy,” Obi-Wan hummed. “But have you ever fought anyone with an actual saber?”

          Maul grinned, baring all of his teeth, and let the low hum of his Force presence darken and darken, and BURN. “No,” he answered, almost purring, “and so I thank you for the opportunity, Kenobi~”

          Maul was aware of the others that were coming in, could see the way Tiq had gone to join Plo at the far end of the room, could see the Nightbrothers as they sat on either side of his brothers, and could see the utter curiosity burning in Ahsoka and Anakin.

          “You know I live to serve,” Obi-Wan said, flicking his saber, and finally, Maul flicked his saber into a guard, and launched himself forward – the pike leading.

          Obi-Wan pulled back, knocking the pike blade up into the air with his saber, only for Maul to catch it and spin it back, sending the butt of the weapon towards his chin. Obi-Wan leaned back, flicked his saber across and sent it to the side, and Maul pulled back, spinning it around with a flourish and as Obi-Wan went to block he twisted the mechanism that kept it solid and instead granted it added flexibility, the interlocking parts gaining just enough gap to grant just enough wiggle without threatening structural collapse, and best yet would allow it to still weather any need to block.

          It was one of the Armourer’s proudest achievements.

          “Oh, that’s not good…” Obi-Wan managed when Maul lowered it to eye-level, a grin on his face.

          “It might be smart to run~?”

          “Might,” Obi-Wan agreed, and then launched himself forward.

          Maul laughed aloud as he brought the butt of the weapon once again into play, forcing Obi-Wan back, and following up with a low sweep that threatened his ankles, the Jedi leaping up and still back. And then Maul twisted the weapon around so the pike was threatening and humming, allowed Obi-Wan the moment to realize it was pointing directly between his eyes, and then began a series of short sharp stabs towards him, always pressing forward, always at different angles, that added flexibility giving the pike an almost unpredictable amount of devastation.

          It was hard to tell where it was aiming, and as Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes and began working on blocking and parrying, Maul grinned wider and wider.

          Maul twisted the mechanism to solidify it, spinning around with the butt of the weapon and managing a direct hit to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, causing him to stumble back, and as Maul swung the pike back around Obi-Wan launched himself forward. Maul grinned and rolled backwards, gaining distance. Obi-Wan spun his saber around, working on attacking while Maul’s focus was on retreating, and Maul finally launched himself up in the air, the lightsaber pike deactivating as he landed to balance upon it, a grin splitting his face.

          Obi-Wan blinked up at him.

          Maul took a breath, and with an internal laugh, channeled the Force in a scream of power that took the form of a single solitary word –

          “KENNOOOOOBIIIIII!!!!!!”

          “Oh, that’s not good,” Obi-Wan managed and he turned on his heel and ran.

          Maul twisted the mechanism, launched himself forward with his weapon rattling a terrible facsimile of a death rattle, and Obi-Wan managed a single hard block, but the pike went back around, hit the Jedi’s hand, and sent the lightsaber flying, that pike swinging back once again to point directly at the Jedi’s neck, that mechanism twisted yet again to stabilize it. There was no true point in burning him.

          “Well,” Obi-Wan managed. “That was…frightening.”

          Maul tilted his head. “Yield?”

          “Now,” Obi-Wan paused. “I could…” Maul leapt up and spun over the saber that had been aiming at his back, catching hold of the hilt with a boldness he never would have used if he had not known that it was still set low and therefore would not cut off his hand should he miss. As it was, it was a perfect catch, and Maul aimed the blue sword at its owner’s throat. “Oh, well, that was rather impressive. Yield, yes, I think that sounds like a good idea.”

          “Thank you.” He deactivated the saber and tossed it towards its owner, Obi-Wan catching it and hilting it. Maul deactivated his own pike, grinning. When Obi-Wan went in for a hug Maul initially blinked, feeling it close around him with a momentary start, before allowing himself to hug back.

          “Don’t ever yell my name like that again.”

          Maul laughed aloud and tightened his grip, hitting his back hard once. “I’ll consider it.”

          Obi-Wan pulled back and rolled his eyes at him, laughing himself. But it was good. Maul had needed something like this.

          “Well done,” a voice said that Maul had not been expecting, and he turned to find the one who had made the weapon standing there, as well as a medley of Death Watch that also included Soln. The Armourer approached, and Maul hesitated before approaching as well and holding out the weapon. She took it from him, held it in her hands, and then looked to him, her helmet cocked slightly as she took him in. “You did not grow in the way that I expected.”

          “I don’t know that it was expected by anyone,” Obi-Wan said, taking a step forward. “Hello, are you the one that made that weapon?”

          “I am,” she returned, “I am the Armourer. You fight well…for a Jedi.”

          “I will of course take that as the highest compliment,” Obi-Wan smiled. The Armourer tilted her head to him in a gesture of amusement, and Maul knew that he had managed to get in her good graces.

          “I will reforge your armor and the saber,” she said to Maul. “You will have need of them soon.”

          “Thank you,” Maul said, putting his fist over his chest and offering her a low bow. She returned it with a dip of her head and walked away, Soln approaching. “What brings you here?”

          “We were told you have a problem with some Mandalorians,” he grinned. “We are here to help reclaim them.”

          “Ah,” Maul said. “Fill me in.”

_

          Maul stood on the deck of a ship, staring out over the waters of Kamino.

          Maul had listened while Soln had spoken, listened as the Jedi filled further gaps. But as they spoke, Maul had remembered.

          Darth Sidious had never told him the entirety of the plan, but there were echoes, things that Maul remembered. A plot to destroy the Jedi. A plot to use the Senate they loved so much against them. It had made Maul want to laugh.

          There was a brilliance within it that was frightening, not the least because a part of Maul could admit that he admired it. It was a brilliant plan.

          His Master had always been brilliant.

          But now Maul stood overlooking what was meant to be his Master’s crowning achievement, and the knowledge that it would never be used against the Jedi… It would never be used against his family, or the Galaxy that they loved.

          Maul wondered if they realized how much they loved it. He wondered if this would have been what made them realize it just as it was stripped from them.

          The Separatists had been weeded out, cut from Dooku they had fizzled, and ultimately there was nothing to unite them. There was to be no war…

          And so, an army that had been created needed to be dissolved.

          And millions of men needed to be helped to find purpose beyond a war that would never happen.

          The Jedi’s entire Mind Healer force had been pulled from all corners, after they had managed to find replacements, of course, and were currently being debriefed by Tiq. Maul himself had helped in some of the debriefing.

          Yoda was currently on Kamino and had been making observations, talking to the Clones that were there. The knowledge that they were dealing with men that in some ways were a bit like Maul had been.

          Men fashioned into Weapons.

          Beings that had no concept of themselves as anything but tools of destruction.

          Maul was not sure if he was ready to see them. What Maul had not expected was for the way the Brothers understood. And not just Feral and Savage, but also Venom, Spite, Grudge, and Wrath. Yet…in a way he supposed he should have.

          What were they for?

          What were they for…

          But in the end they stood with him, and their presence was a balm in a way Maul did not know how to reach for. They often included him regardless, and he had learned slowly of the ways that a Brother asked for another’s presence.

          Tiq had also been with them, a constant presence, talking, gentle, as well as a consistent reminder that they did not have to see them yet. Maul could take his time. They all could. They would do what needed to be done.

          Tiq had laughed just about as hard as Maul when the Nightbrothers had looked at him.

          “Always remember you can take a step back,” Tiq had said, and they had promised to remember.

          He knew they intended to keep that promise.

          But for now, Maul was going to see what could be done.

          They came in for a landing, and Maul continued watching.

          As the rest disembarked Maul waited.

          He was unsurprised when the Armourer finally found him, and he turned to her.

          “It is finished,” she said. “The second iteration of my greatest creation. You will wield it well.”

          “I will,” Maul agreed, and followed her to where his armor waited.

          He took the pike in hand and finally left himself, clad in the armor of the Mandalorians that had been his own. Influenced by the aesthetics of the Sith. Influenced by his own.

          Maul kept his distance, his presence small, unnoticeable as he walked amongst them, and watched. His Brothers had approached, had walked to them with an intimate knowledge that Maul could not quite match. His own childhood had been spent in loneliness, in solitude, his own training wrapped around the fact that there was only himself… And the reflection he saw in glass. And the more that he saw the more he felt as though he was staring at an imitation, at a broken and shattered mirror that showed him so much of what had been…and ultimately what he no longer was.

          Maul stood in a transparisteel tunnel and stared out at a sea of men that moved in unison, trained in unison, that awkwardly attempted to talk to the Jedi that had spread amongst them, that had no idea how to integrate with them, even as he could see the way they longed to…

          The Mandalorians had spread, the splinter of Death Watch that Maul had stumbled upon when destroying the mines of Zygerria…and those were the ones that were ultimately the most gravitated to. Outside of course, of the Brothers…the Brothers that were gaining a following that was growing.

          Soln had been called for good reason and Maul wondered quietly whether or not this would be something they latched onto. Perhaps Death Watch would grow. Maybe they would finally be enough to destroy the group led by Pre Vizsla.

          Maul would not mind. From what he recalled Jango was considered a member of the True Mandalorians, but as Maul looked out at the men that clearly had no understanding of existence outside of battle…outside of fight…outside of being a weapon… He could not believe that Jango had remained a part of that faction.

          And the more he looked…the angrier Maul grew.

          There were children.

          More in pods waiting to be decanted.

          All of them had been meant for war.

          And a single man had agreed to it. A single man had seen fit to take these children, take these beings, and enslave them to war, and act as though they did not matter.

           Weapons.

          Maul was looking out at an army of weapons.

          It was something he recognized implicitly.

          Jango had been gone, a job he had been on taking him away, and it was during that time that they had begun their work, but Maul had little doubt that he would not be gone for long.

          Maul had avoided all Kaminoans, watching from above the way they interacted with the ones that had been under their care and known that he would be unable to keep the hate down.

          It was all too raw.

          Maul did not know what he would do.

          But Maul would find out.

          For now, he would watch, and as he watched Maul found himself so thankful for Tiq and his Group. Maul was so thankful for the Mandalorians he had found and their utter insistence that he come with them.

          It was strange to think that this had been the splinter faction that Meltch Krakko had belonged to.

          It was strange to think that he may have grown up amongst them if…

          But his Master had still been alive.

          It was likely that all Maul would have done would be invite death.

          Yet now…Maul’s Master was dead.

          Now…all of their chains were broken.

          It was simply a matter of getting them to see that.

          Maul took a breath and finally decided to move amongst them.

          His distance was no longer helping. Maul allowed his iron control of his presence slip, and began walking down to meet the rest of the men.

_

          Tiq was surrounded by an ocean of numbers.

          He was thankful for much, but the fact that numbers had always been easy for him to remember was in the top tier. It would be an awful thing to forget or to butcher when their batch numbers was literally all that these men had to their person. At least…until they either decided they wanted a name or decided that their number would fit for a name.

          Either one was acceptable, at this point it was closer to discovering another race than it was being amidst Clones of one man. If their naming practices involved a great deal of numbers then it deserved to be respected. And then Tiq’s attention was pulled to the Brothers, and he found himself smiling.

          “So…” one of the men was saying, CC-3636, if Tiq wasn’t mistaken, it was in the Aura – this one’s crackled, “you…you’re Venom, and you’re Feral, you’re Spite, and Wrath, and Grudge, and…you’re Savage?”

          “Yes,” Savage answered, grinning, “and he is Maul,” Savage nodded towards…

          Oh.

          Well.

          Tiq rather thought he understood how that could be terrifying.

          Maul had always been soundless, but to manage that with a suit of armor was a particularly intense sort of task. That black armor with its crown of horns that were so much larger than Maul’s own, the face that slowly came into view as he stopped before them and tilted his head slightly to look at them… And also offered a horn-lock, one that was immediately taken up by Feral, who hooked tight and grinned.

          “It’s not quite the same, they’re a good deal less…living, but I have to say I do like them,” Feral said, taking a step back and reaching up to touch the tips. “How many have you killed like this?”

          “Enough,” Maul answered and the grin in his voice was sharp.

          The Brothers laughed, a warm thing, amused, and there was a certain delight in the sound.

          Tiq felt the desire to roll his eyes, but there was no denying the way the men around them were reacting. There was a kinship there that they seemed to not have expected.

          And how could they have…but now that it was there, Tiq could see the beginnings of interest.

          “You can name yourselves things like that?” CC-1993 asked.

          “Why would you not be able to?” Venom asked. “Though admittedly most of us were named by our older Brothers.”

          “Oh, does that…does that mean you need to be blood to name another?”

          “Oh, apologies,” Venom said. “While it is true that we four are blood, and they are blood,” he indicated Maul and Savage and Feral, “Brothers is nonetheless what we call ourselves. We are Nightbrothers, even without Blood, we are connected in battle and in soul.”

          There was a slow building interest, and Tiq found himself smiling.

          This was an unlooked for, but certainly helpful line of familiarity.

          This was something that could be used to help.

          They had already started to shift from the way they stood together, the slow relaxing of shoulders, the movement to start to copy postures. They were also all very interested in the Brother’s tattoos. As they explained, the Brothers smiling as they indicated them and what they meant… The Mandalorians had also approached, and together they were pulling a crowd.

          There were younger ones approaching then, recently decanted, and the Brothers welcomed them with an ease that seemed to win the men over more…

          The sound of a ship passing by overhead drew Tiq’s attention, and he was aware then too of Maul.

          Maul who focused on the man that was coming in through the door dressed in full Mandalorian armor of his own, and as he approached, drew his pike, and then Maul’s voice cracked out, “Demagolka! Aruetyc hut’uun! Naast be ade! Aruetii ti aliit bal manda… Gar buir duraa.”

          Tiq felt his eyes widen. Well.

          That was one way to start a fight.

          Jango launched himself forward, a roar of anger and pain, and Maul met him. It was an almost wretchedly one sided fight.

          Jango was skilled, there was no doubt, and similarly no doubt that Mandalorians were warriors born… But so, too, were Nightbrothers.

          And Maul was not playing fair.

          Jango used whatever weapon he could think of, but if they ever threatened the crowd that was still watching a Jedi was able to send it back…but more importantly, Maul was willing always to use the Force, to rip Jango from his feet and throw him across the room, to send the flames that Jango sent at him back at his own face with a single palm raised up. And when Maul had finally tackled Jango to the ground, had finally knocked his helmet away and brought a single blade to his throat, that was when Maul finally tore off his own helmet and began to speak.

          “You call yourself a True Mandalorian, Jango?” Maul purred. “You call yourself someone your father would be proud of? Knowing that you call yourself a Mandalorian while you disobey the first basic tenant, while you allow yourself to become demagolka and destroy your manda and theirs? Why?”

          “They aren’t people,” Jango hissed. “They’re nothing…”

          The sound of a harsh and rasped gasp brought Tiq’s attention to a little boy, one that had… Oh.

          Tiq had heard of…

          “Filth,” Maul hissed. “Your vengeance has blinded you to everything…even the needs of the one you called son. Tell me, Jango? How can you possibly know that you are worthy of existence, worthy of love…when every single being bearing your face, bearing your soul is also worthy of extermination? How can you elevate one to a son, when you do not even see them as human?”

          And Jango was staring at his boy. Jango was staring at the child who had frozen, who stared into his eyes, “Boba…” Jango breathed, and that was when Boba turned and ran.

          Tiq kept track of the boy with the promise that he would check on him later. He had a feeling the boy needed time…

          Jango fought against Maul then, struggled to get out of his grip, but Maul was Zabrak. Maul had twice the muscle density and wound up pinning Jango on his front, that knife at his ear. “Stop,” Maul commanded softly. “Just stop. You have lost. You are just a man, Jango. You are just a man…”

          And Tiq could see the way the other men had straightened, could see… And he found a slow smile pulling at his mouth. And he understood what Maul had decided needed to be done.

          Maul had shown them that their tormentor was mortal. Maul had shown them that he could be beaten.

          And softly, quietly, “Jango…why would you attempt to get revenge on the people that only reacted to your orders? Why would you get revenge against them when you shot first and you know that by right their actions were just?”

          Jango said nothing.

          “Would you like to help us kill Pre Vizsla?”

          Jango blinked. “What?”

          “You killed Tor Vizsla, that much is true, but you have not killed all that remains of him. There have been others that have followed in his footsteps, have taken Death Watch in his image. Would you like to destroy them?” Maul asked. “Would you like to regain your honor? Would you like to avenge your father?”

          Jango paused, and then slowly looked up at him. “But Death Watch…?”

          Soln laughed quietly and stepped forward, crouching down alongside him. “We are Death Watch. Or rather…Death Watch as it should have been. Before Tor twisted us. Pre Vizsla has further corrupted what we stood for. Destroyed the honor that it once possessed, stripped the non-humans from its ranks, and has the gall to call himself Mandalorian by the rule of a sword he did not win. His father may have won it. It may run in his family…but it was not won by him.”

          “We are going to kill him and destroy the rest,” Maul said pleasantly, “and we are offering you the opportunity to make up for what you have done. There will be no war, Jango. The Jedi will not fall. But you can still have your revenge. A more…ultimate revenge.”

          Jango paused, and then tapped the floor twice. Maul let him up.

          “Who are you?” Jango asked softly, looking to him.

          “I am Maul,” he answered. “If you continue to test me you may find out why.” Maul grinned with all of his teeth, and Tiq heard the soft ripple of laughter that spread, the shock slowly dissipating.

          And then Maul stalked away, leaving Jango with Soln, who put his arm on Jango’s shoulder and also led him away.

          Tiq left to find Boba…and eventually found him with Maul.

          Tiq listened for a moment, took in the soft words, and gave the slightest of nods.

          For now…for now Boba would be alright. Upon turning, Tiq found a blond-haired man standing, and as he saluted Tiq smiled, “he’s just ahead. Maul is with him.”

          “Thank you,” he said. “I…thank you.”

          “There is no need,” Tiq said. “We are happy to bring you to freedom. It will be a hard road, but it is one you can learn to walk.”

          The man nodded stiffly, and looked beyond him, “can I…can I talk to them?”

          “Of course,” Tiq said softly, “I dare say Maul would even welcome your presence, and whatever help you can give…”

          “He’s still…” the man paused, and then softly, “he’s still my brother.”

          “He is,” Tiq agreed, “go.”

          “Thank you.”

          He slipped away and Tiq wished briefly that he had remembered to ask for what the man’s number was. Tiq hoped that he would be able to help Boba.  

          Tiq entered the main room once again to find the men buzzing. There was an energy and a spark in the air that had not been there before. He also saw more than just the one man going to find Maul.

          Tiq could not help but grin.

          Seemed Maul had broken more chains than he was perhaps expecting, and in its placed…forged a few rings. Perhaps more than a few.

          It was a good thing.

_

          Maul sat quietly, kneeling in the dark. The Armourer sat before him, her hands on her knees, silent.

          It felt like ages since the last time he had done this. A lifetime ago, and in a way it was. His Brothers were free…

          Maul had done it.

          All of the work…all of the sacrifices, all Maul had done… They had done it. The Brothers were free. And now they had freed the Vode. The Vode who had been fed the Liquor of the Sands, had come to their own freedom with their help, the Brothers standing as ally and friend, and slowly integrating.

          They had taken names, tattoos, and shared similarly Mandalorian customs, as well as their own culture that they had assembled in the hell of Kamino.

          Maul was proud, and he knew that he was not the only one, the Jedi a constant presence that had worked so hard… And then there was Shmi. Shmi and her family of White Suns. They had worked to be someone to gravitate to when the Brothers or the Vode felt lost. The Galaxy was big, and they were many, but they were relatively young in the Galaxy. There was so much to learn.

          But the Senate had been a big help as well, Padmé and Bail leading the work to allow them citizenship, to allow the Vode and the Brothers into the Republic.

          Bail had been promoted as Chancellor.

          Maul had voted for Padmé.

          Maul had almost forgiven Bail for winning.

          It had been over a year of constant work, of shaping the Galaxy around them, of learning their place and spreading out.

          But now they had come back.

          They had one last order of business.

          Death Watch needed to be unified.

          The Mandalorians must rebuild.

          And so, the Armourer had come to him…and Maul had no idea why.

           “Why…have you asked me here?” Maul asked.

          “We are going to kill Pre Vizsla,” the Armourer responded.

          “Of course, you are,” Maul said. “That has been a goal of Death Watch since I freed you from bondage…but what does this have to do with me?”

          “Vizsla has the Darksaber,” the Armourer answered. “He has the power to unify the masses under that banner which means whoever kills him has won it. They have won Mandalore.”

          “Mandalore is ruled by a Duchess,” Maul returned. “A Duchess that does not share in the beliefs of those that follow the Saber.”

          “But for those that do, they are the only ones fit to rule,” the Armourer returned. “And it is possible that these ones may…overthrow others…”

          “You wish to oppose Duchess Satine?” Maul asked, raising an eyebrow. “An interesting proposal. What do you plan to do when she asks the Jedi for aid? Would you turn against them?”

          “We do not need to directly oppose her,” the Armourer denied. “We Watch for Death, Maul, but that does not mean we are always the cause of it. I do not know that we would have to oppose her in direct confrontation, but there are those that may seek the Saber.”

          “Then you must think well of who you wish to wield it,” Maul answered. “The battle is to keep your head as well as the Saber, I would expect.”

          “It is,” she said. “Which is why I am asking you to fight for it.”

          Maul blinked.

          “What?”

          “Maul,” she said, and her voice was more patient than he expected she wanted it to be. “You are Sith, but you are also ours. You are Death Watch. You have more right to the saber than some could even dream, and you are also one of the most powerful beings in the Galaxy. But you are also loved by many. If you took the saber there may be some that might wish to challenge you…but they would have to get through many others to do so.”

          “And who, precisely,” Maul began, contempt lacing his voice, a skeptical hiss, “would fight for me?””

          Maul whirled to face the crash behind him, startled to find not just… It was not just Death Watch that had come. It was the Vode…it was the Brothers…as well as his brothers. Feral and Savage stood there, grinning.

          “We would have you as Mand’alor…”

          And it was Soln that spoke, Soln that stepped forward, the one that had been leading Death Watch since Maul had freed it.

          Maul stood slowly, turning to face them, to look at them all…

          And blinked at the presence of Jango.

           Jango stood staring off into the distance, his arms crossed over his chest, defiance in his posture…but as Maul approached he straightened, meeting his gaze evenly.

          Jango had been talking to Tiq, Maul was aware, but the complexities eluded him. In a way, Maul had not cared. He knew that Boba was safe, was with someone who loved him for his own sake and that had been enough.

          It was one of the reasons Maul had not gone through with his proposal to Padmé to take Bail out, the knowledge that Boba had been given to Bail and Breha and was doing very well. Much better than Maul believed he had ever been with a father that had seen him more of an experiment to how he would have turned out. A child that was not loved for their own sake was rarely a happy child, and Boba had deserved better…just as the rest of the vode had.

          But now here Jango was, and the realization of what it meant…

          “You would have me for Mand’alor,” Maul said, staring at him.

          Jango said nothing for a moment. “Yes,” he said finally. “I would see you as Mand’alor. We have too long been divided…and I know that you have united more than just Death Watch to your name. The Armourer is right…you are the right choice.” Jango paused. “You also saw to it that Boba…that Boba was taken care of. I know you were one of the first to help him, and I…” he paused. “I am grateful.”

          Maul was quiet for a moment. “Have you asked for visitation rights?”

          “I do not know that Boba would want to see me,” Jango returned.

          “Try,” Maul said. “I will vouch for you.”

          “Why?”

          “Because that is the first I have heard that you actively considered Boba for his own sake. Because I can see that you miss him.”

          Jango said nothing.

          But Maul could see the slight smile on his face…and he could feel the contented excitement in his aura.

          It was a step…and it was a very good one.

          But now Maul still had the choice. Now Maul had to stand with the weight of the fact that they had asked him to rule.

          “I had planned…on rebuilding the Sith,” Maul said. “I joined your Death Watch in honor of a father I lost. I follow your tenants, but at the core of me I am Sith.”

          “The Mandalorians and the Sith have worked together before,” the Armourer said.

          “And the Sith need a people and protection while you are growing,” Soln said, stepping forward. “You need not split yourself in two. And you do not need to rule without help.”

          Maul took this in for a moment. “You want me as a figurehead.”

          The laugh was soft, and Soln put his arm around him, “This is not about use, Maul. We do not wish to use you. We wish to help you. Advise you. You would not be a puppet without power. I don’t know that we could do that to you to begin with.”

          “You could not,” Maul said. “I would not take it well.”

          “Thought not,” Soln grinned.

          Maul took in the offer, looked at the ones standing there, the Brothers he had thought to invite, to try… And thought of what it would mean. He would be giving a true unification to his people and the Vode, given the opportunity to unify Death Watch with a people that still needed a home, to create a world where they were home.

          And he would not have to do it alone.

          “Very well,” Maul said softly. “I shall be your Mand’alor.”

_

          “Jango.”

          The call of his name was enough to bring Jango’s attention back, finding Maul standing there.

          The Zabrak had changed into his armor, outside of the helmet which he was resting on his hip, the horns that covered his own, weapons in themselves, but he knew it was not all the Nightbrother had.

          “Maul,” he returned easily, as Maul stepped up next to him. “What is it?”

          “Will you be my Second?” Maul asked, turning to meet his gaze.

          Jango blinked. It was an unexpected question. Jango had initially thought that Maul would have gone with Soln, or perhaps one of his own brothers. There were many that would have jumped at the chance to watch Maul’s back…and yet he had gone to Jango.

          “Why?”

          Maul sighed. “I have no ulterior motive, Jango,” he said. “I merely asked you ages ago if you would like to be the one to claim revenge. I intend to give it to you, and while you cannot be the one to kill him…I would nonetheless trust you with my back.”

          Jango took that in for a moment, staring at a man who he realized was giving him the opportunity for everything that he had wanted…that was doing his best to give him what was promised. Jango didn’t even mind that it was late, it had needed to be. There had been so much that had needed to be done. So much that had needed to be done to fix Jango’s mistakes.

          “I will be your second,” Jango said. “I will watch your back. Though you must promise that this fight is fair. You cannot use that darjetii osik, Maul. If you fight him in a way that he cannot match then you will lose – not just honor but face. They will challenge you.”

          “You don’t have to worry about that, Jango,” Maul said. “I intend to fight him fair. I have no doubts in my ability to kill him without the Force.”

          “So, you’ll give him what you didn’t give me?” Jango asked, the slightest of smiles on his mouth.

          Maul eyed him like he had said something incredibly stupid.

          “It was not about fighting you fair,” Maul said, “it was about proving that you could be beaten. That you were not the most powerful thing that those men had ever seen…and you were more mortal and breakable than they thought. It was about showing you were a man, Jango, and not some monster that was unbeatable.” Maul paused. “That’s my job.”

          Jango laughed aloud, unable to help it, taking in the flashing fangs in the other man’s smile, the slit of his eyes and grinning, even as he felt that twist in his chest. “I don’t know that it worked. They love you, and I am grateful for it. You were right to do it,” Jango said finally. “And you were right to challenge me. I did abandon everything. I did allow my need for revenge to destroy my principles… I did…shame my father.”

          “Grief does strange things,” Maul said, staring out at the starscape, his gaze distant, and it brought his profile into sharper view.

          Jango looked at him, taking him in in a way he had not before…and found that he was young.

          “How old are you?” Jango asked.

          “Twenty-six,” Maul said without hesitation, apparently without thought, “I had thought twenty-seven, but I was informed that our gambling with my age had proven incorrect.”

          Jango stared at him. “You do not want to be the Mand’alor,” he said softly.

          “I am willing,” Maul said. “There is much that I can do with that position that I have wanted to do.” He paused. “But no. No. I do not know how well I will lead these people… You claim that there are those that would advise me, but I am…” Maul spread his hands. “No one has claimed their position. I do not know if they are waiting for me to prove victorious…”

          “I would,” Jango said, looking at him. “I have not…I do not have a good track record when it comes to my decisions. If I had not chosen to shoot first…if I had merely attempted to talk to the Jedi then it is possible…” Jango said nothing for a long moment. “Healer Tiq would be proud of me. I don’t know that I have said that without growing angry before…without trying to deny it…”

          “Healer Tiq is frequently proud of all of us, I believe,” Maul said softly.

          “I was young,” Jango said. “I recognize that now.”

          “I am young,” Maul returned.

          “You are. And a better man than I was.”

          Maul laughed, bitter, almost scoffing. “I have been given opportunities and I have played them,” he said softly.

          “We all deal the hand that we are dealt,” Jango agreed. “I am older now. And wiser…if you would seek what I have…”

          “I would take it,” Maul said. “I would also…so long as it was not a challenge for the Darksaber…be willing to indulge you in a fair spar?”

          Jango grinned and clapped the man on his shoulder. “I would be honored. And do not worry, Mand’alor. I know where my loyalties lie. Now tell me, how do you intend to counter the saber? Your pike may be considered an unfair advantage, as would your double-bladed weapon.”

          “Do not worry,” Maul said. He paused then. “Would you like to meet the man who originally offered to be my Second?”

          “You turned him down?” Jango asked.

          “I made a promise,” Maul said with a slight shrug. “I intended to keep it. I agreed to accept his weapon, though. He was willing to agree to that.”

          “Oh?” Jango asked, following Maul as he headed out into the ship. Jango walked beside him, watching the man in his peripheral vision as he greeted the people he passed with a nod, or a gesture.

          “Yes,” Maul said finally, looking to him out of the corner of his eye. “He was my Teacher. I attempted to be a Jedi for a time.”

          “Did you,” Jango said softly, a brow rising.

          “Didn’t take,” Maul said, a smile pulling at his mouth. “I am too angry.”

          Jango laughed, surprised.

          He paused for a moment and then briefly, quietly, “You were wrong, though.”

          “About?” Maul asked.

          “I always did love my son. But it was in that one instant that I…” Jango paused. “You made me recognize that I had been hurting him. In a way that I…” he trailed off. “I wanted to thank you for that. And for…for following up and fighting to allow me visitation. He is happy.”

          Maul was quiet for a moment.

          “I am sorry, Jango,” Maul said. “I did not want to keep you from your son forever.”

          “I know.” Jango paused. “They do not think that it has to be forever. But there is much I have done without…knowing.”

          “It is hard,” Maul said.

          “It is.”

          And then they finally turned the corner into a meditation room…and there sat a tall dark-skinned man, his eyes closed, meditating silently. It was a Jedi, which he had suspected, but one with a sterner expression and heavier countenance than Jango had anticipated.

          “Teacher,” Maul said, and the man looked up, and Jango watched as his expression softened.

          The man stood smoothly, approaching, and his attention turned to Jango.

          “This is Jango Fett,” Maul said. “Jango Fett, this is Mace Windu. He was my Teacher, as I said.” Jango inclined his head to the other man, something that was returned. “He is the one that I have promised as my Second. He has agreed.”

          Mace Windu took that in for a moment and then nodded, looking to Jango directly. Brown eyes met his and their gaze was fixed and stern. “Take care of him.”

          “You have my word,” Jango said, putting a hand to his chest. He knew a worried buir when he saw one. Jango understood. “I plan to see to it that he only has to focus on the fight before him.”

          “Good,” Mace said, and his expression pulled into a smile, “thank you.” He paused and then turned to Maul. “Would you like to take it now or later?”

          “When are you comfortable parting with it?” Maul asked.

          “I am comfortable with you growing familiar with it,” Mace returned.

          “Then I shall take it now,” Maul said, and Jango watched as Mace pulled the lightsaber from his belt and held it out to Maul.

          Maul took it carefully before igniting the blade, and purple streamed out.

          It was a beautiful weapon.

          Jango nodded.

          “That’ll do.”

          “Indeed,” Maul said softly.

_

          Feral stood alongside his twin, Savage framing his other side, and Jango at Maul’s back.

          Feral understood why he could not be Maul’s Second, and even understood why Jango was the one that they had chosen, but it nonetheless rankled. Jango had inclined his head politely towards the two Brothers when he had seen them, and Feral had returned the gesture. But ultimately, Feral wanted to be with his brother.

          Feral was so proud, and so utterly amazed that he sometimes did not know how to handle it.

          It was strange to think that this was the same brother that he had gotten to know. It was strange to think that this was the same brother that would hide with him from younglings by lying atop pillars, would tease them with limbs just out of reach to allow them to try and catch… The same brother that would similarly use those pillars to hide from Obi-Wan and have Feral inform him that he would not be talking to him.

          Feral had learned so much about his brother, Savage often joining them when he was able, which was not as much as he would like.

          Savage had agreed to help Viscous. He was the spokesperson for the Nightbrother Diaspora that were still attempting to settle and so was often busy, but they always were together when they could be.

          Maul had spoken of the possibility of making this more common, of the opportunity to unite their peoples with the Vode, and the Mandalorian splinter group that was still in existence and had been growing.

          Feral did not understand much of Mandalorian politics… He understood that there was technically a Duchess, one that Maul seemed to hold in some manner of…not perhaps contempt, Feral had seen his brother hold people in contempt before and she did not hold the same level of ire, but certainly a level of annoyance. But they were not attempting to retake the whole of Mandalore. Not yet, as Maul had put it with a very intent look at Obi-Wan which the Jedi had pretended to ignore.

          The Duchess had apparently called Maul after that, and Maul had simply hung up on her.

          Repeatedly.

          Feral had been unable to stop laughing.

          But from what Feral did understand, Maul had no intention of going after the Mandalorians that were upon the planet, and instead was perfectly willing to leave them be… But he was planning on reuniting the factions that were under another man.

          A man that Maul had to kill. A man that Maul needed to take a saber from.

          Feral could understand that.

          Symbolic weapons that held the power to unite the peoples underneath them was not an unknown concept to Nightbrothers, though theirs had all been lost to them. As it was, Feral walked next to his brothers, and knew that he would kill to keep them together.

          Feral walked next to his brothers and thought of a small boy that had stood in their midst and the man that he had turned out to be. Feral was proud.

          And more than a little amazed.

          Feral knew it was not all his brother.

          Feral knew that the Jedi had helped the Vode, and similarly he knew that the Vode had latched onto the Nightbrothers, and he also knew that the Death Watch had been what had helped free the Brothers, and similarly so had White Sun which had been so instrumental in not only showing the Brothers that not all women wished to enslave or hurt them, but also that there was more out there. There was a constantly reaching hand that had been extended towards each of them…

          But Feral could not forget Maul in that Holocron as he spoke of not knowing if he would ever come back.

          Feral could not forget the little boy that had loved.

          Maul looked to him briefly and Feral smiled.

          “You ready to be the Maul’dalor?” Feral asked, his smile given teeth.

          Jango laughed, even as Maul rolled his eyes.

          “We should start calling it that,” Jango said, laughter in his voice. “Mandalore is still under the rule of the Duchess, and supposing you don’t mean to take over…”

          “Obi-Wan is not here, is he?” Maul asked, looking around unnecessarily.

          “He is not,” Savage answered, laughter in his voice and in the slight curve of his mouth. “As you very well know. You forbade him from coming, and as you are about to be Mauld’dalor…”

          “That is even worse than calling me Mand’alor,” Maul said.

          “Very well, Mand’alor,” Jango said immediately.

          Feral and Savage both roared with laughter, Maul turning to stare at Jango, the man smiling at him without fear or worry.

          Maul rolled his eyes once more and continued walking.

          “I do not have an interest in actively opposing or hurting the Duchess Satine because she is…well. I do not know if she considers me a friend…”

          “You have probably seen to it that she does not,” Feral laughed.

          “But I do enjoy her company,” Maul said, talking over him. “And I do not wish her harm. She is an idiot. Her ideals on pacifism are not only misplaced they are extreme, but I believe they are reactionary to what the Mandalorian people had become. And I do respect her ability to stand by those ideals even if I do think that given enough pressure she would break her own people before she allowed them to break.”

          “You have thought about this a good deal,” Jango said briefly.

          “I have,” Maul answered. “I have also decided the possibility of stealing her citizens right underneath her nose by simply being a better ruler of her people would be more entertaining than any attempts I make to actually dispose of her.”

          Savage laughed. “It likely would be,” he agreed.

          Jango looked at his comm briefly, giving a soft sound. “They’re in position. We can seek an audience with Vizsla whenever you feel up for it.”

          Maul paused at that.

          “I am hesitating aren’t I?” he asked.

          “You have made us walk around the perimeter…four times now,” Savage pointed out.

          “I was waiting for them to get set up,” Maul said. He paused. “Can I do this?”

          “Take Vizsla’s head off?” Jango asked. “Undoubtedly. Rule an entire people?” Jango paused, “your Brothers are loyal. The Vode adores you. Death Watch…” he trailed off. “It is funny to me…that I have joined with someone who is seeking to rebuild what killed us.”

          “We were thrown out before you even entered the picture,” Maul said. Then paused. “Fuck.”

          Jango laughed. “You’re claiming it. You have recognized its history. You know its tenants. You are willing to follow.”

          “I have. I do. I will.”

          “You care.”

          “I do.”

          “I think that will make you a great leader,” Savage said.

          “I think they would kill for you,” Feral said. “And they will not be the only ones.”

          “More importantly…” Jango said, and his voice was low, and it was hard, “I think they would die for you.”

          Maul made a soft sound at that.

          “Are you ready?”

          Maul closed his eyes, for a moment breathing deep and allowing himself to center, Feral feeling the tension in the bond that connected him to his Brother, the uncertainty. Feral brushed up against it, and Maul grabbed hold, Feral gripping tight to his brother’s aura and feeding him slowly with feelings of certainty, of loyalty, of love.

          Feral had no doubt that Maul could do this.

          Maul’s hold tightened briefly, warming Feral with feelings of acceptance, of gratefulness…

          And then Maul slowly let go, breathing out.

          “Very well,” Maul said. “Tell them we are going to enter the compound.”

          Jango sent the message across, and Maul led them into the mines.

          Pre Vizsla was waiting.

_

          Pre Vizsla hung up the comm, his head bowed.

          Talking to Satine was exhausting. He stood before her as her chosen Governor when for years…for years all Pre had wanted to do was claim her spot. All he had wanted to do was rule Mandalore, to return it to the Glory. All his life Pre had heard of the battles of his Ancestors. The sword that he carried a legacy to a people that had been. To his family and what they had created.

          Pre had looked back upon his line of greater men and found himself small in a way that he could not stand.

          He was standing upon their shoulders…but there was nowhere he could reach.

          Pre had joined with the Count, made attempts to broaden his resources, to reclaim Mandalore…

          And yet here he stood, and the Separatists had fallen to pieces.

          The Count had been imprisoned.

          Grievous was even gaining therapy the last he had heard, which he would never have believed.

          There was nothing left. All that was there was him…and Bo-Katan, and the remains of a force that they had created.

          The problem was, Pre had no plan.

          Pre could no longer operate in the shadows. There was no way to show that Satine’s leadership had holes. There was no way for him to take over in a way that would lead to the people trusting him.

          There would be no war…there would be nothing that he could use to conceal his efforts.

          They would have to start again.

          Pre wondered idly whether or not it was even worth doing. Dooku had been captured, surely…surely at some point he would tell them of Death Watch.

          Surely Pre’s life would be forfeit as would the rest of them. He had no doubt that Dooku would attempt a plea bargain, and it would be everyone else’s neck but his. It was infuriating.

          Pre had no desire to spend his last years in a cell. Pre hated idleness and he hated the idea of wasting away more than anything.

          His ancestors had been proud warriors, ones that had even stolen from the Jedi themselves, and now here he stood…

          Here he stood.

          In an old mining catacomb in a moon that had almost been destroyed… Governor of a people of warriors that could not fight.

          Pre wished for many things.

          An honorable death was one of them.

          Pre looked over as Bo-Katan approached, taking in the woman as she nodded to the members of the Watch she passed, her gaze nonetheless fixed on his. Pre did not know what to tell her. She had abandoned everything, family her home, her sister in order to be with the Watch, had carved out the Nite Owls. Her dreams had been the same, to see The Mandalorians returned to the warring peoples they were. To see their honor and glory restored…

          But what did they have left?

          Pre sighed, turning to face her as she finally came to a stop before him.

          “What did she say?” Bo asked.

          Pre thought back to the conversation, wondering what was actually useful, what Bo actually wanted. Sometimes he thought that she missed her sister. Sometimes he thought that she wanted for him to tell her that she had changed her opinions, that Death Watch should be reinstated. Pre wasn’t even all that sure he blamed her.

          Satine was still her sister.

          But at the same time, there was the way that she had said it. There was the annoyance in the tone, and Pre could never tell.

          “She spoke of Dooku,” Pre said. “About how he was going to be making a plea bargain. Mentioned Death Watch.” Pre paused before smiling. “She told me to be careful.”

          “Then it’s all over then,” Bo said softly. “Unless we run now…”

          “Where would we run?” Pre asked. “Would you have us go underground? Have us refuse to take off our helmets, go into a galaxy as common bounty hunters? Leave our names and selves behind?”

          “There has to be a way,” Bo said. “Maybe we create our own army. We have…”

          “What resources do we have?” Pre asked. “Who would we go to that are not villainous scum? How can we trust them to have our backs? What happens when they realize that Death Watch does not have the numbers to truly oppose them?” Pre sighed. “I cannot see a way out, Bo. Can you?”

          “There must be something,” Bo said. “Surely…my sister would offer clemency, we could…”

          “You wish to take an offer from your sister? Even if it would put us in the position to betray her later?”

          Bo said nothing.

          “I had thought not.”

          There was silence and Pre sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

          “Are we just going to give up then?” Bo asked. “That’s it? This…this is it?”

          Pre looked to her, spreading his hands. “What would you have me do? All of our power, all of our dealings we had in secrecy, but they were nonetheless underneath Satine’s nose. They were nonetheless done with a group that is now being prosecuted.”

          Bo drew herself up, angry…

          An explosion shook the camp, and Pre stood up, for a moment wondering whether or not Satine had figured it out and had sent for them… But this was Satine. She would never have resorted to violence.

          So, what…was this?

          The sounds continued, a fight, coming towards them, and then…

          The doors were blasted open. His troops poured in, retreating, sending bolts that…

          That froze…in mid-air… Hovering before them like some sort of deadly light show.

          They stopped firing, and the shots were sent away, sent back into the walls harmlessly.

          Pre could not believe what he was seeing. Three men entered first, one of them dressed as a Mandalorian all in black, and the two behind them were… They were Nightbrothers. The one in front was a Nightbrother, his horns tall, each of them walking forward with an air of utter confidence, a swagger that spoke of warriors born…

          And behind them came another man… A man that was repeated in the faces on the ones behind him, and… More Nightbrothers.

          And then someone that Pre remembered, someone he never thought he would see again.

          Soln.

          Soln Wor.

          Death Watch had been cleansed of the non-humans that had once inhabited it by his father. Soln was amongst the number, as were… And as Pre watched he realized what this was…

          And found his attention drawn once again to the Nightbrother at the front.

          Blood-red skin…eyes that glowed in the dark, and an expression that was almost…

          Bored.

          And then those eyes locked on Pre.

          And Pre remembered hearing of this being.

          Pre remembered the whispers of the one that was tearing apart Zygerria. Pre remembered the temporary fear of what would happen if those stripped from Death Watch came back. He remembered fearing what they may do…

          Pre looked into those eyes…

          And he saw his death.

          Pre watched as the force before him spread out… His gaze fell upon Jango Fett… Jango Fett…who was staring at him with a smirk on his face…

          And then the one who walked forward froze in the wide arena that they had used to challenge each other in, the arena that would be his death.

          “I am Maul,” he said, his voice a rich growl that rumbled low, and then a singular finger pointed towards Pre Vizsla, “and I challenge you – one warrior to another…for the right to wield the Darksaber. I challenge you for the right to rule Death Watch.”

          Pre looked back to the men and the women that had followed him, the ones that he did not know how to help… And stared at the one before him.

          Maul.

          Pre tilted his head.

          “So be it,” he said, and stepped forward into the ring.

          Pre knew that he would not be fighting fair. He had seen the way the Nightbrothers had used the Force. He also knew that the one that had to lead their people was one that had to be tricky, had to be quick, had to know that life would not play fair…

          And so, he stood before him and ignited the Darksaber.

          And then Maul ignited his own weapon, and purple came forth.

          The blade of a Jedi.

          But Pre did not think that this man was a Jedi.

          It was only as he attacked with the Darksaber, it was only as Maul met him on even footing…that he realized that Maul intended to kill him without the Force.

          Good.

          Maybe he would be able to give him a scar to remember.

          Pre attacked fiercely, attempting to put the man on the defensive, to get him to stumble back, but Maul was even with him, and indeed was more skilled. Pre could see the slightest of smiles on his face, and the realization that he was amusing him was almost more than he could take.

          The feeling of a boot in his face, sending him back caused him to pull a blaster, firing immediately and with every shot Maul deflected it, none of them were back towards Pre, but it was clear that Maul could block him. Pre launched himself forward with the saber once more, the jetpack boosting him forward.

          Maul caught the blade with his own, pushing him back, and Pre changed his angle, managing to elbow the man’s head…

          It was only as Maul reared backwards in surprise at the sudden blow that Pre could feel ringing through his bones that he realized he may have made a mistake.

          That same head that Pre realized was crowned in horns and was made for it bashed into his own heavily, Pre finding his vision going temporarily black, stumbling away, and he slashed with the saber instinctively, feeling it be caught, aiming another stroke, and then sending his wrist-mounted flamethrower directly towards him.

          Maul dropped below it, diving forward, sending Pre toppling, the flamethrower dying as it became too dangerous… Pre also realized his danger in grappling with a Zabrak.

          Pre could feel it, the strength in the limbs that sought to pin him, to keep him…

          Pre sent the blades mounted in his wrist straight-up, Maul forced to back away, fall back, and for a moment he saw blood…

          There was that scar…

          Pre rolled himself to his feet, and once again launched himself in the air, throwing bomb after bomb as Maul rolled…

          And then he launched himself up towards him, one of the first times that he actively utilized the Force, and it was to equalize their playing field. Pre felt the boots on his chest, felt the crunch as he hit the ground and rolled, pressing the button to release the death-trap from his back and kicking it towards Maul, who dove underneath it and came up with the saber yet again.

          Pre brought his own saber up, attacking and parrying, feeling the jar in his arms as the blows from someone so much stronger rained upon him. And all the while blood trickled down Maul’s face, trailing through the red of his tattoos.

          Pre knew that he was grinning.

          Pre kicked, feeling the impact of a boot on his own face even as he sent Maul backwards with his own. Maul stood first, Pre forcing himself upright, unable to let it happen like this.

          It would be on his feet, or it would not be…

          Pre shot his rope trap, catching Maul around the legs… Maul cut the rope off, and Pre shot the saber from his hand, charging forward, and the hope… There was a hope…

          Pre attacked and Maul caught hold of his sword arm, and Pre knew that was it.

          Maul bent his arm back, nearly breaking it across his own shoulder, Pre forced to let go.

          And that was the moment when Maul once again began attacking.

          Fists and feet and Pre could not keep up… Maul was a superior warrior.

          Maul sent him to his knees… And Pre could not…

          Pre forced himself to tackle the other man, to send him back, to go for his throat… Maul forced his way through Pre’s hands, smashing his horns against Pre’s forehead, and the black spots were back, and they were worse… Pre fell backwards, sent to the ground…

          Maul stood…and Pre heard the sound of the Darksaber…the knowledge that Maul had claimed it.

          Pre forced himself slowly to his feet and Maul waited, watching, the blood trickling down his face…

          “It is as you said…” Pre said roughly, feeling his legs tremble beneath him, staring into the face of his death. “Only the strongest shall rule.”

          And then nothing.

[jgvfhl]

@mercurydancer

don’t you ever read a piece of fanfiction so good you just

[some-kind-of-creature]

It wasn’t supposed to be a secret.

If you died while with the league, you will no longer be acknowledged to have existed, especially if you died during a mission. A disappointment will not be remembered.

The bats and birds don’t like speaking about the people they have lost, so they don’t. If someone ask about the dead, they will tell the person they don’t talk about that.

So how was Damian supposed to know that he should have told his father about his dead brother?

[yournewmisstress]

In the Danny is Damian’s brother trope what if instead of Damian not telling the family about Danny wasn’t because of grief or shame or any of the more commonly used reasons for his silence. What if it was because he heard about how his father talked about Jason after his death, focusing and exaggerating the negative. That he was violent, angry, never listened to orders but in some iterations and popular fanon is that Jason was a cheerful and studious Robin.

What if while compiling info and researching the former robins during his tumultuous introduction he saw what kind of robin Jason was, good with kids and victims. Talking about his favorite books while on patrol and similar. Reminding Damian of his most Beloved brother.

Then he finds out about how Bruce talked about Jason after he died. Using him as an example as what not to do, erasing his good traits and just using him as a cautionary tale of what happens when you don’t follow orders. Just like what Ra’s said about Danny.

So he didn’t tell the family, not out of guilt or grief. But because his father stripped away Jason’s positive traits after death, the son he chose, adopted and loved. Who when he failed because he was a child led astray by his mother. What would he do to his brother, who loved the stars and excelled in stealth, who was quite in his kills but had no lust for killing.

Whether or not Bruce would do this to Danny’s memory doesn’t matter. B’s actions are gonna affect how Damian views his father even years after the initial actions. Because Damian will protect his brothers memory from being twisted even by their father.

[misteria247]

I think one of the most tragic things is Caryn Pines and motherhood.

Like when we see her, it's quite obvious that she loves her sons. And that like many families, has a soft spot for Stanley. Because he's the possible baby of the family, her little surprise, her free spirit. Out of everyone other than Ford, Caryn was someone who loved Stanley. And who was in his corner. An example of this was when her husband and Ford were excited about the school and she immediately cut in to ask-

"What about Stanley?"

Just from that little bit we can see that she loves him. That she's always thinking of her son. So imagine you're her, and then you lose your son because your husband kicked him out. A teenager who can't face the world yet, and yet you're powerless to do anything. So you have to wait for your boy to reach out to you, and every day you wonder if he's somewhere safe. If he's someplace warm, and if he's eating a hot meal and sleeping in a warm bed. And for awhile that gives you some sort of comfort, because your baby's still out there somewhere. Not with you, but still in this world.

And then you hear about it.

The firey car crash.

And the person in that inferno was your son. Your free spirit, your baby.

Can you imagine, how devastating that'd be? To learn that your son is dead, and had died alone and in pain and fear. And the kicker?

There wasn't even a funeral held for him.

It's almost as if Stanley never existed. Like he was never important. And that probably ate at Caryn Pines in ways that cut deeply. Because Stanley was important to her, was important to Stanford and now he's gone and she didn't even get to say goodbye to her boy. She'll forever have a hole in her heart, a piece missing because her Stanley is gone. And she'll never be able to fill it because no one can replace her baby. And we don't know if Caryn's still alive or not, so there's the horrifying possibility. That she died believing that Stan was dead. That she died in her grief that only a mother can feel. That she died, unaware that the boy she grieved for was next to her the entire time. Forced to pretend to be his brother, in order to save him from his own creation and fix mistakes that he believes he made that hurt Ford.

So close to her son, yet so far away.

A tragedy.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

My Great Grandma who loved her babies very much

Reference that I used for the face!

[goingtoast]

demon twins

[nosyrobin]

TODDLERTWIN!READER IMAGINE‼️

ToddlerTwin!reader who is trying to ignore toddler!damian who is pulling on their sleeve. Damian had accidentally ate reader’s last cookie, making the toddler puff and huff. Damian then starts to cry loudly, not liking the silent treatment as Alfred picks Damian up. Damian glares at Alfred while yelling “no! Down!” As he pushes a chubby hand against the butler. Alfred sighs and puts Damian back down to not make the tantrum even worse. Damian goes over to his twin and sit down with a hard thump. Annoyed at being picked up, he plays with reader’s hand. Making the ticklish reader giggle. That soon makes the other twin, Damian laugh as he keeps tickling reader.

Alfred can only smile as he walks to the kitchen to make more cookies

[questionableholidayreally]

you think dipper and mabel have experience deescalating fights because of their parents

[whateverthought]

I know there's a lot of debate about the Stans' age, and personally I've calculated it as 62, so Shermie would have had to have His Son(Dip+Mab Dad) at 16 and then the twins were born when their parents were 18 or vice versa. To me, I like the thought that Shermie didn't escape Filbrick's bad parenting and got a girl pregnant as a teenager and his son only managed to be slightly better and married the mother of his children only for their marriage to not work out. Bill Cipher referencing Dipper hearing his parents fighting.

It's the consequences of Bad Parenting and Abuse afflicted by this man that's haunting the narrative.

[itszorrito67]

Relativity Falls es sin dudas mi au favorito de Gravity falls, hay diversas versiones de este mismo au y lo adoro.

Esos dos son tan pequeñitos ,,,

Así que algunos dibujitos de esos dos!

[mercurydancer]

They burst through the doors at the end of the darkest corridor, and the dark-skinned Jedi that had been holding up a purple lightsaber froze. Anakin took in the sight before him, took in the red-and-black man that kneeled before him, cuffed and drugged and stripped to the waist, those yellow and red eyes staring at the two that had just burst into the room with something akin to incredulity.

Anakin could also see something on that heavily patterned skin that he hadn’t before, something he couldn’t have seen until this moment, bathed as he was in a purple glow.

Scars, so many scars, rising up in the flesh, crisscrossing his back, scars that Anakin had seen before, that he knew. They were scars that crossed his.

There were other scars there, too, and those were worse.

Anakin moved without thinking, running forward to stand before the man on his knees, his arms spreading out as he turned to regard the other.

“Don’t kill him!”

- Excerpt from It Happened Quiet Chapter 1 located here and on Ao3 of the same name. Link in a reblog since Tumblr hates links.

[sharkylad]

Thinking about the fact that Mabel and Dipper didn't know they had two great uncles.

Yeah they are 12 and at 12 I had a shotty understanding of my family tree- But really? Nobody brought up their great uncle? Stanley? Especially since they'll be staying with his twin brother, Stanford?

Shermie never went to Stan's fake funeral, which to me means the twos relationship was strained on some level. If Shermie is older that means his view of Stan was poisoned in some way, that even as kids they weren't close. If the Shermie is younger then he never even got to meet Stan and all he knew about him was how he failed his family. Hell, people probably barely mentioned Stanley TO Shermie.

The fact that Stan had become a black stain upon the Pines family name makes me so vividly upset. Stanley faked his death and the family just- seemingly decided to strike him from the record. To pretend he didn't existed to spare themselves the sadness and shame.

Stanford and Shermie Pines. The only children worth mentioning of Filbrick and Caryn Pines.

It was never Stanford that was lost to the world. It was Stanley, ever since he had to leave New Jersy- it was always him that had to be struck from the record. Change his name, change his state, change his affiliations, destroy the remains of ghost that was Stanley Pines. Kill him so the family doesn't bring him up, doesn't ask questions, stops asking "Stanford" about his twin.

I just keep thinking about the fact that since the day he made one single mistake all the way up until Ford walks out of that machine- Stanley Pines was killed and did not exist. And Stan himself had no one to blame, he had to play the part in his own demise- He is the only one who ever knew Stanley was alive and has been for decades.

He lives in the multitudes of every personality he's ever taken, all in the hope that he himself can stop being Stanley Pines.

[memetic-trigger-hazard]

Trope blender strikes again!

Since the formation of the Justice League Dark to deal with supernatural threats, Diana had been acting as the team's 'Superman' for lack of a better term.

It was, however, not a position she was entirely suited to, as ironically enough when engaging supernatural threats she was better suited to the same role that Batman played in the Justice League, engaging with superior training, tactics and specialised tools while also acting as battlefield tactical command.

With the lack of any other candidates however, she made do. But not for long.

Thanks to a wandering little girl, Diana had gained a new cousin and uncle who were refreshingly free of the hubris of the Greek pantheon, as well as an unexpected (and terrifying) meeting with her Grandfather who was far different from the stories, she supposed death and a few millennia would calm someone down. She was pleased however to add some paternal family members she could enjoy calm moments with.

Her Uncle was willing to help, however his backlog from the previous King in addition to the repairs and ongoing negotiations for reparations with the United States government made her feel guilt for placing further demands on him.

Her younger cousin however was more than happy to "get out of the house", her Father's comments about the expansiveness of a TARDIS castle completely ignored.

Ellie was already training with her old friend Pandora (So many happy reunions) so Diana was more than willing to take her to Themascerya for an initiation to the Sisterhood of Amazon's. Danny was ecstatic that his daughter was making friends.

Now Ellie as Banshee is JLD's front line fighter and Diana is the tactician, a dynamic duo of their own. Diana is so proud of her little cousin.

Which is why today was very..... Strange.

~

Basically the JLD have to head to the Watchtower for some threat, Ellie is super pumped because SPACE and Diana is excited to take her smol bean cousin to the Watchtower for the first time.

Batman and Co arrive and Drama TM occurs because "Holy shit that little girl looks like a Talia with blue eyes", Damian starts accusing and mouthing off, Ellie freaks because her Dad has warned her about the League of Assassins, so she freaks and bails.

Diana is explaining who Ellie is, how they're related when Uncanny Valley Danny in human form comes out of a portal in his "Royal Casual" work attire. Loose jeans,button up with vest, fluffy slippers with a coffee mug in hand. He's facing Diana, paying 0 attention to who else is there beyond "cool space station".

"Hey niece, why is my daughter running through my castle screaming about killer birds?"

"Ah, I believe she is referring to Robin being a former member of the League of Assassins." Diana replies.

Batman and the rest of the Justice League are tense, assessing this possible ally who RADIATES power and death. Anyone affected by death can feel it like static in their teeth during a lightning storm. Those who have been into the Lazarus Pits feel safe yet the overwhelming urge to KNEEL BEFORE YOUR KING.

"Well shit, someone actually escaped from the Fruit Loop Supreme? Anyone who gets away from my asshole grandfather is alright by me." Danny replies as he turns to look at the various heros, taking a sip from his mug.

"Danyal?" A faint hopeful whisper as Damian takes his mask off to look at his Brother (HOW, HOW? HE LOST HIM HE'S HERE HOW?) His dead twin somehow here and changed so much.

*Slurp*

"Well shit, didn't expect this."

This entire time Bruce's brain is making crunching noises.

It's not the extra son that's apparently God of the Afterlives. It's not the granddaughter.

Diana is his son's niece. Bruce had sex with his grand niece. Barbara is right, he needs therapy.

[winterpower98]

These were originally meant for Valentine's day, but oh well

[regonold]

So twins au, but they both know and are in regular contact with each other like danny was to be killed but was instead placed with the fentons and he kept up semi regular correspondence with damian

He helps damian acclimatise to normal life... kinda he is still a fenton and his veiws are skewed by it but he helps a bit

And Danny's enjoying his new life no longer does he have to hide his powers his parents discovered and accepted and he even set up a schedule with his rouges they now have a scheduled time where they can come through the portal and fight

Everything was going great until somehow the bats found out about him and seem to think he needs help form his crazy parents