Chapter Text
It was a lovely day on this side of Concord Dawn. Bright blue sky above, and the recent rain had beat down any lingering spring pollen. Lazy clouds dotted above, following the meandering winds. Jango hasn’t been able to enjoy it.
Sounds of pursuit followed him and his lungs heaved with effort. He didn’t want them. They weren’t nearly trustworthy enough. He needed to hide away from them, no matter how nice they were acting with his buir gone. He shot around the corner then–
Wham! He ran into someone, haar'chak! The person, adult, grunted in pain. Jango was wearing his training armour and it must have hurt. The adult steadied him, and Jango felt the press of armour. An idea occurred to him, and Jaster was going to kill him.
Not mando’ade. Good enough, he doesn’t have time. The mando’ade. were getting close, the sound of their jetpacks loud in the alleyway.
“Quick!” He said in basic, “What is your name?” He couldn't see their face under their cloak's hood.
“What? Jon–” Screw it.
“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa ner buir, Jon!” He said, rushed and loud. Loud enough to stop the mando’ade. flying around the corner in their tracks. Behind him, outrage rang out.
“Me'ven?” Dark green paint covered their armour.
Faced with a dozen excited and angry mandalorians, the adult in front of him shoved Jango behind, taking a protective stance. Jango chose well.
“What did you say, youngling? Are you in trouble?” Mouth drier than the deserts of manda'yaim, and he peaked out behind them cautiously. Faced with his silence, the adult asked,
“Do you need help?” Jango nodded against their back. The adult tensed more than they already were, fully covering Jango’s body. Their hand inching towards their belt.
“What do you think you're doing, aruetii?” The lead mandalorian asked, venomously. This one was covered in purple paint.
“This is not something you want to get mixed up in.” Dark Green added.
Jango felt numb, swallowed, and inched out of the protection of his new buir. Peeking around them, he said,
“Buir, please keep me away from them.”
“Me'ven?” One of the mandalorians repeated, sputtering, “Buir?” White and yellow paint.
“Youngling, what does ‘buir’ mean?” New buir asked.
“It means you're my parent now.” Jango said. The hand not hovering over their belt inched toward Jango, as if to make sure he was still behind.
“How do you figure?” They ask, calm as can be.
“I said the gai bal manda.” Not helpful, Jango knows, but he can't help it.
As an afterthought, he turns to his new buir and says, "Congrats?"
“You can’t do that!” Dark Green said, roughly.
“Yes I can!” Jango said, petulant, “They’re mine now.” He doesn’t care, he will make sure they have a cin vhetin.
“No! You can’t, that is an outsider!” Dark Green says again, inching forward, blaster out but not yet pointed at his new buir.
“Yes I can, they’re mando’ade now!” He swears to the manda, he will not lose this buir, ever.
“Me’ven?” Purple.
“I have adopted them as my parent.” He begins, half-baked calculations running rapid-fire in his brain. “My other buir may not be here,” he might be dead, he thinks, trying not to break down, “but this one wears armor.” Barely, only a few pieces, but it had to be enough. “They will learn the language, they will fight for me,” he hopes, bluffs, “and my other buir is the mand’alor, so…” He runs out of steam, the last few hours of exhaustion finding home in his bones. He hopes his justification is enough.
“Ad has a point–” A yellow one from the back points out, tone amused.
“Shut up!” Dark Green again.
New buir shifts in front of him, drawing eyes. Throughout his rushed defense, they haven't said anything, hardly given anything of what they’re thinking away. Jango hopes, prays to the ka'ra-
“What else do you need, youngling?” Huh? Oh.
“Full name.”
“Jon Antilles.” What a lame name. It doesn’t matter.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Jango?” One of the Haat’ade that trailed along in the back asks.
“Shut up!” He makes a harsh chopping motion with his arm, trying to silence them. They didn’t help him!
“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa ner buir, Jon Antilles. Now you need to say it.” Desperation colors Jango’s tone, but he begins to feel more than just a semblance of hope.
“Walk me through it.” New buir says, calm and steady once more.
“Say: Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Jango Vhett.” Almost there.
“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Jango Vhett.” Accent rough but surprisingly fluid. He sighs in relief, hours of worry leeching out from his very soul.
“Fine!” Dark Green starts making his way closer, step harsh, but resigned. “You can have your new buir, but you're both coming with us back to the compound.”
“I don’t think so.” Buir draws their blaster, except it wasn’t a blaster- “Stay back, Jango will decide where we go.” He felt a true grin bloom on his face, for the first time in days. Oh, manda, he made the right choice, Jas’buir was going to love them.
“We’re not going to– Ugh! You both will be safe, and nothing will happen to you. Haat, ijaa, haa'it.”
“Jango?” Jango peered at the collection of mando'ade, thinking. They all had put their blasters away as soon as Buir drew their firearm.
“Okay, we can go with them.” He decides.
“Then we go.” They holstered their slugthrower.
Later, in the speeder, “Can I see your slugthrower?”
“Slugthrower?”