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[fic][Star Wars, Din Djarin, Boba Fett, Delta Squad, g] Red Hands
Do I plan to put Delta Squad into everything possible? Yes, why is that even a question.
Title: Red Hands
Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars: Republic Commando
Rating: G
Word Count: 1799
Characters: Din Djarin, Boba Fett, Delta Squad
Summary: In which Din, once again, does not know anything that goes on in the Star Wars universe.
They’d been on the trail of a group of Mandalorians people have been calling the Red Hands for a while. Not solely, as the group proved elusive and somewhat erratic in their traveling, but Din kept tabs on their whereabouts and would inquire after them where possible. In exchange for letting him keep the Darksaber (‘for now’ was always unspoken) and on an admittedly thin per diem, Bo-Katan hired Din to find other Mandalorians for her and recruit them to retake their planet. Din didn’t much care about their dead ancestral home but without a ship, steady job options were limited and he was still on the look out for remnants of his covert. Boba Fett came along in hopes of poaching capable Mandalorians for his own needs.
They eventually tracked down the Red Hands to a small moon on the edge of Wild Space at the only real space port for parsecs. There were three of them, one wearing beskar in earthen colors of sandstone and terracotta, another in muted blue-green and gray like a churning storm, the last in a blue so deep it looked black until it was hit with sunlight, armor trimmed with a bold red. The helmets, however, were a type Din had never seen before. Instead of the standard T-shape that extended all the way to the bottom of the helmet, theirs split right around mouth level, like a blade had been thrust upward and instead of the familiar dark tint, theirs glowed a faint blue. All three had a bloody handprint across the front.
“Fierfek,” said Boba, shifting backward. “This was a wash. Let’s go.”
“We haven’t even talked to them,” Din said.
“One- their clan isn’t fond of Death Watch and I haven’t seen any indication that Kryze stopped following their ways. Two- even if they did agree to help, the princess wouldn’t accept them anyway.”
“And you?”
“Three- there are certain clans I won’t associate with. They’re one of ‘em.”
Under his helmet, Din frowned. He couldn’t recall hearing anything about these Red Hands that made him wary. Those that had interact with them recalled the group as polite, helpful and capable though somewhat standoffish. They rarely stopped in a place for long, obviously looking for something- or someone -though they seemed to enjoy taking out slavers, doing so even if there was no payment involved.
He was about to press for details when a voice called out, “Hey, Junior! You’re alive!” The two had apparently caught the Red Hands’ attention. Probably because Din was so very shiny. The earth-toned one nudged the one in grays, flanking the dark armored one as they approached. “Told ya the rumors were true.”
The one in grays sighed and wordlessly dug into a pouch, handing over some kind of payment.
“Surprised you kept the buckets,” Boba said, his body language closed off and voice almost sullen.
He nodded to his apparent betting partner. “Fixer basically rebuilt ‘em. Stripped and replaced everything down to the wires.”
The voice sounded old, like the warriors in Din’s covert that would tell stories to their grandchildren and the young ones circled around their feet. It also sounded oddly familiar though Din couldn’t quite place it.
“Did you need something from us?” The one in the middle asked. His voice had a thicker accent than the first and it suddenly hit Din as to why it was familiar.
He turned to look at Boba, his surprise palpable. “They’re also clones,” Boba confirmed with resignation.
“How many clones are there?”
There was a pregnant pause. Then, “Where’d you find this guy?” The first asked, tilting his helmet at Din. “At the bottom of your sarlacc pit?”
“There were millions of us in the beginning,” the one in the middle said, “created to fight for the Republic before it became the Empire. Now there’s only a few of us left.”
“You sound,” Din didn’t know how to say it tactfully so he just said it with an apologetic tone, “older.”
“Accelerated aging. As Jango’s son, Boba was created without any alterations. The rest of us age twice the rate of a standard human.”
“And you’re Mandalorian?” He knew Boba was a bit of a gray area in that regard but he didn’t know if that extended to the rest of the clones.
“Not all clones are, but our training sergeant was Mandalorian. He instilled the culture and values into us. He and the other Mandalorian training sergeants considered us Mando’ade, so we consider ourselves the same.”
Din wasn’t entirely sure if that counted. But then he wasn’t entirely sure if he counted these days.
Boba shifted, intent on leaving. “Well, now that pleasantries are over, let’s go.”
“Aw, c’mon, Junior!” The first said. “We haven’t seen you since we left for Geonosis! It’s like a family reunion!”
“Sharing the same genetics does not make us family.”
The one in the middle turned his head slight, giving a reprimanding, “Scorch.” The one in earth tones obediently fell quiet. Turning back to Din and Boba, he asked, “You have business with us?”
Din turned to Boba who just waved a careless hand. Turning back to the trio, Din said, “I come on behalf of Bo-Katan Kryze. She’s looking for Mandalorians to help her retake Mandalore.”
“We decline.”
The response was so quick it took a moment for Din to comprehend it. “Because you’re clones?”
“Because we have a mission to accomplish.”
“What mission?”
“We’re looking for our brothers.”
Boba looked curious despite himself. “Aren’t you only missing the one?”
That surprised the three men. “Have you been keeping tabs on us, Bob’ika?” Scorch asked. The name made Boba bristle in an instant.
“Only so I don’t end up crossing paths with you and your clone colony.”
“Aw, you should really stop by sometime. You’d fit right in.”
“Scorch.”
“But it’s so fun, Boss! We never got to interact with him on Kamino.”
“Pretty sure he doesn’t want to interact with you right now, either.”
Din couldn’t help but look at the third one- Fixer, if he remembered the conversation correctly. Still silent, Fixer nonetheless gave off the air of long-suffering.
“Damn. Why are you alive?”
The new voice- rough and gravely, obviously having been damaged somehow -startled Din and it was only from his training that he didn’t visibly react. Another man, wearing beskar matched with that strange glowing-visored helmet, approached. His armor was an ashen gray, streaked with black like ghostly fingers curling around his limbs. He, too, had a bloody handprint on his helmet.
“Why are you alive?” Boba shot back, sounding genuinely surprised. “Last I heard, you were missing on Kashyyk.”
When the newcomer joined the group, he dug into a pouch and passed more payment to Scorch. “You keeping tabs on us, Junior?”
“Sorry, Sev. Boss says we can’t bully him.”
Sev turned to this… boss, clearly affronted. “What? Then why are we still talking to him?”
Din wasn’t unfamiliar with being tossed in the middle of something well beyond his ken but this honestly felt more like watching a holovid unfold around him. It was kind of overwhelming.
“They had a job offering but I already turned it down.”
“You said you were looking for a brother?” Din said, not knowing why he was trying to step back into the conversation.
“Brothers,” Boss correctly lightly. “We’re trying to find as many clones still alive as we can.”
“What for?” Boba asked suspiciously.
“We found a cure for the accelerated aging. We’re trying to distribute it to as many clones as possible before they start dying of premature old age.”
Beside him, Boba went still and even Din, for all his ignorance, understood the weight of what these Red Hands were trying to do. He thought back to how old Boba appeared to be and knew there couldn’t be much time left. “If I come across any other clones,” he asked, voice soft, “how do I point them in your direction for this cure?”
The four turned to him in surprise at his offer. Fixer brought his arm up, tapping at the controls of his vambrace and Din’s beeped in turn. "This will put you in touch with Kyrimorut. Tell them Delta sent you." He spoke for the first time, eyes fixed on Din’s through their helmets, words heavy with gratitude, “Thank you.”
“Each one you find is a debt we will owe to you. Call if you’re ever in need of our assistance,” Boss told him, pressing a communicator into Din’s palm.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You offered, even knowing that we’re clones. Very few people- other Mandalorians especially -spare any sort of kindness to the likes of us.”
With a nod to them both, Boss turned and moved away, his brothers falling into position behind him. Likewise Boba and Din headed back to the port. Boba shifted in to tell Din quietly, “I know you don’t know this, but gaining the alliance of commandos is no small thing.”
It made Din think about Bo-Katan and the Resol’nare. He felt the weight of the Darksaber acutely at his waist.
As they boarded the Slave-1, Boba said, “Give me that contact information.” Din turned to stare at him in surprise and Boba’s shoulders tensed in response. A subtle movement, but Din had become well acquainted to Boba’s body language by now. “Clones aren’t my brothers, but they deserve to get something back after all the osik the kaminii and Republic put them through.”
He did as Boba asked and he thought about how much he didn’t know. How much simpler things had been when he’d only known the Fighting Corps and his covert, when he thought he knew what being Mandalorian meant and it had been so easy to tell what was the Way and what wasn’t. As Boba commed for clearance, Din sat at the navigator’s station and set in coordinates for their next contact. When Boba began the lift-off procedure, Din said, “Tell me about clones.”
Boba turned his head to Din, hand hovering over the ignition. “What about them?”
“Their history. Why some are Mandalorian and some aren’t. Why they say people hate them.”
Boba hummed and the Slave-1 roared at the press of a button. “It’s complicated.”
“Yeah,” Din said softly, watching the horizon rotate into view. “It seems most things are.”
---
Originally I was going to have Delta still looking for Sev until I realized that meant they’d spent almost thirty years trying and failing to do so and that made me very sad so I changed it.
For those unfamiliar with Republic Commando in Legends, some of the cuy-val dar- the commando's trainers -pooled their resources to create a sanctuary for clones wanting to get out of the military as well as found a cure for the rapid aging. Personally I firmly believe the rest of Delta Squad wouldn’t have taken it until they found Sev.
Boss, Scorch and Fixer added the handprint to their helmets when they began looking for Sev in earnest. In general I tend to think it took them around five years to find him.
Others things I wanted to include but was unable to find a way to:
-Delta’s stint as Jedi hunters for the Empire and Boba destroying an entire ship of clones trying (and failing) to kill Mace Windu
-Din and Fixer deciding to sit out Boba and Scorch snipping at each other while Boss played mediator
-the original conversation that made me want to write this in the first place:
“Junior, don’t think you’re too old to be suffering anymore swirlies.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Din could see Boba’s helmet move to stare at Scorch like a slow death. Din couldn’t help wondering what kind of things a person would have to go through to take that look head on without a shift in that easy posture.
He could hear the grin in Scorch’s voice. It was all teeth. “If you didn’t think the Nulls would happily retell that story, you don’t know them very well.”
Boba was fairly radiating murderous intent. “This is why I don’t associate with certain clans,” he growled to Din.
“Yeah- because we know many an embarrassing childhood story.”
Title: Red Hands
Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars: Republic Commando
Rating: G
Word Count: 1799
Characters: Din Djarin, Boba Fett, Delta Squad
Summary: In which Din, once again, does not know anything that goes on in the Star Wars universe.
They’d been on the trail of a group of Mandalorians people have been calling the Red Hands for a while. Not solely, as the group proved elusive and somewhat erratic in their traveling, but Din kept tabs on their whereabouts and would inquire after them where possible. In exchange for letting him keep the Darksaber (‘for now’ was always unspoken) and on an admittedly thin per diem, Bo-Katan hired Din to find other Mandalorians for her and recruit them to retake their planet. Din didn’t much care about their dead ancestral home but without a ship, steady job options were limited and he was still on the look out for remnants of his covert. Boba Fett came along in hopes of poaching capable Mandalorians for his own needs.
They eventually tracked down the Red Hands to a small moon on the edge of Wild Space at the only real space port for parsecs. There were three of them, one wearing beskar in earthen colors of sandstone and terracotta, another in muted blue-green and gray like a churning storm, the last in a blue so deep it looked black until it was hit with sunlight, armor trimmed with a bold red. The helmets, however, were a type Din had never seen before. Instead of the standard T-shape that extended all the way to the bottom of the helmet, theirs split right around mouth level, like a blade had been thrust upward and instead of the familiar dark tint, theirs glowed a faint blue. All three had a bloody handprint across the front.
“Fierfek,” said Boba, shifting backward. “This was a wash. Let’s go.”
“We haven’t even talked to them,” Din said.
“One- their clan isn’t fond of Death Watch and I haven’t seen any indication that Kryze stopped following their ways. Two- even if they did agree to help, the princess wouldn’t accept them anyway.”
“And you?”
“Three- there are certain clans I won’t associate with. They’re one of ‘em.”
Under his helmet, Din frowned. He couldn’t recall hearing anything about these Red Hands that made him wary. Those that had interact with them recalled the group as polite, helpful and capable though somewhat standoffish. They rarely stopped in a place for long, obviously looking for something- or someone -though they seemed to enjoy taking out slavers, doing so even if there was no payment involved.
He was about to press for details when a voice called out, “Hey, Junior! You’re alive!” The two had apparently caught the Red Hands’ attention. Probably because Din was so very shiny. The earth-toned one nudged the one in grays, flanking the dark armored one as they approached. “Told ya the rumors were true.”
The one in grays sighed and wordlessly dug into a pouch, handing over some kind of payment.
“Surprised you kept the buckets,” Boba said, his body language closed off and voice almost sullen.
He nodded to his apparent betting partner. “Fixer basically rebuilt ‘em. Stripped and replaced everything down to the wires.”
The voice sounded old, like the warriors in Din’s covert that would tell stories to their grandchildren and the young ones circled around their feet. It also sounded oddly familiar though Din couldn’t quite place it.
“Did you need something from us?” The one in the middle asked. His voice had a thicker accent than the first and it suddenly hit Din as to why it was familiar.
He turned to look at Boba, his surprise palpable. “They’re also clones,” Boba confirmed with resignation.
“How many clones are there?”
There was a pregnant pause. Then, “Where’d you find this guy?” The first asked, tilting his helmet at Din. “At the bottom of your sarlacc pit?”
“There were millions of us in the beginning,” the one in the middle said, “created to fight for the Republic before it became the Empire. Now there’s only a few of us left.”
“You sound,” Din didn’t know how to say it tactfully so he just said it with an apologetic tone, “older.”
“Accelerated aging. As Jango’s son, Boba was created without any alterations. The rest of us age twice the rate of a standard human.”
“And you’re Mandalorian?” He knew Boba was a bit of a gray area in that regard but he didn’t know if that extended to the rest of the clones.
“Not all clones are, but our training sergeant was Mandalorian. He instilled the culture and values into us. He and the other Mandalorian training sergeants considered us Mando’ade, so we consider ourselves the same.”
Din wasn’t entirely sure if that counted. But then he wasn’t entirely sure if he counted these days.
Boba shifted, intent on leaving. “Well, now that pleasantries are over, let’s go.”
“Aw, c’mon, Junior!” The first said. “We haven’t seen you since we left for Geonosis! It’s like a family reunion!”
“Sharing the same genetics does not make us family.”
The one in the middle turned his head slight, giving a reprimanding, “Scorch.” The one in earth tones obediently fell quiet. Turning back to Din and Boba, he asked, “You have business with us?”
Din turned to Boba who just waved a careless hand. Turning back to the trio, Din said, “I come on behalf of Bo-Katan Kryze. She’s looking for Mandalorians to help her retake Mandalore.”
“We decline.”
The response was so quick it took a moment for Din to comprehend it. “Because you’re clones?”
“Because we have a mission to accomplish.”
“What mission?”
“We’re looking for our brothers.”
Boba looked curious despite himself. “Aren’t you only missing the one?”
That surprised the three men. “Have you been keeping tabs on us, Bob’ika?” Scorch asked. The name made Boba bristle in an instant.
“Only so I don’t end up crossing paths with you and your clone colony.”
“Aw, you should really stop by sometime. You’d fit right in.”
“Scorch.”
“But it’s so fun, Boss! We never got to interact with him on Kamino.”
“Pretty sure he doesn’t want to interact with you right now, either.”
Din couldn’t help but look at the third one- Fixer, if he remembered the conversation correctly. Still silent, Fixer nonetheless gave off the air of long-suffering.
“Damn. Why are you alive?”
The new voice- rough and gravely, obviously having been damaged somehow -startled Din and it was only from his training that he didn’t visibly react. Another man, wearing beskar matched with that strange glowing-visored helmet, approached. His armor was an ashen gray, streaked with black like ghostly fingers curling around his limbs. He, too, had a bloody handprint on his helmet.
“Why are you alive?” Boba shot back, sounding genuinely surprised. “Last I heard, you were missing on Kashyyk.”
When the newcomer joined the group, he dug into a pouch and passed more payment to Scorch. “You keeping tabs on us, Junior?”
“Sorry, Sev. Boss says we can’t bully him.”
Sev turned to this… boss, clearly affronted. “What? Then why are we still talking to him?”
Din wasn’t unfamiliar with being tossed in the middle of something well beyond his ken but this honestly felt more like watching a holovid unfold around him. It was kind of overwhelming.
“They had a job offering but I already turned it down.”
“You said you were looking for a brother?” Din said, not knowing why he was trying to step back into the conversation.
“Brothers,” Boss correctly lightly. “We’re trying to find as many clones still alive as we can.”
“What for?” Boba asked suspiciously.
“We found a cure for the accelerated aging. We’re trying to distribute it to as many clones as possible before they start dying of premature old age.”
Beside him, Boba went still and even Din, for all his ignorance, understood the weight of what these Red Hands were trying to do. He thought back to how old Boba appeared to be and knew there couldn’t be much time left. “If I come across any other clones,” he asked, voice soft, “how do I point them in your direction for this cure?”
The four turned to him in surprise at his offer. Fixer brought his arm up, tapping at the controls of his vambrace and Din’s beeped in turn. "This will put you in touch with Kyrimorut. Tell them Delta sent you." He spoke for the first time, eyes fixed on Din’s through their helmets, words heavy with gratitude, “Thank you.”
“Each one you find is a debt we will owe to you. Call if you’re ever in need of our assistance,” Boss told him, pressing a communicator into Din’s palm.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You offered, even knowing that we’re clones. Very few people- other Mandalorians especially -spare any sort of kindness to the likes of us.”
With a nod to them both, Boss turned and moved away, his brothers falling into position behind him. Likewise Boba and Din headed back to the port. Boba shifted in to tell Din quietly, “I know you don’t know this, but gaining the alliance of commandos is no small thing.”
It made Din think about Bo-Katan and the Resol’nare. He felt the weight of the Darksaber acutely at his waist.
As they boarded the Slave-1, Boba said, “Give me that contact information.” Din turned to stare at him in surprise and Boba’s shoulders tensed in response. A subtle movement, but Din had become well acquainted to Boba’s body language by now. “Clones aren’t my brothers, but they deserve to get something back after all the osik the kaminii and Republic put them through.”
He did as Boba asked and he thought about how much he didn’t know. How much simpler things had been when he’d only known the Fighting Corps and his covert, when he thought he knew what being Mandalorian meant and it had been so easy to tell what was the Way and what wasn’t. As Boba commed for clearance, Din sat at the navigator’s station and set in coordinates for their next contact. When Boba began the lift-off procedure, Din said, “Tell me about clones.”
Boba turned his head to Din, hand hovering over the ignition. “What about them?”
“Their history. Why some are Mandalorian and some aren’t. Why they say people hate them.”
Boba hummed and the Slave-1 roared at the press of a button. “It’s complicated.”
“Yeah,” Din said softly, watching the horizon rotate into view. “It seems most things are.”
---
Originally I was going to have Delta still looking for Sev until I realized that meant they’d spent almost thirty years trying and failing to do so and that made me very sad so I changed it.
For those unfamiliar with Republic Commando in Legends, some of the cuy-val dar- the commando's trainers -pooled their resources to create a sanctuary for clones wanting to get out of the military as well as found a cure for the rapid aging. Personally I firmly believe the rest of Delta Squad wouldn’t have taken it until they found Sev.
Boss, Scorch and Fixer added the handprint to their helmets when they began looking for Sev in earnest. In general I tend to think it took them around five years to find him.
Others things I wanted to include but was unable to find a way to:
-Delta’s stint as Jedi hunters for the Empire and Boba destroying an entire ship of clones trying (and failing) to kill Mace Windu
-Din and Fixer deciding to sit out Boba and Scorch snipping at each other while Boss played mediator
-the original conversation that made me want to write this in the first place:
“Junior, don’t think you’re too old to be suffering anymore swirlies.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Din could see Boba’s helmet move to stare at Scorch like a slow death. Din couldn’t help wondering what kind of things a person would have to go through to take that look head on without a shift in that easy posture.
He could hear the grin in Scorch’s voice. It was all teeth. “If you didn’t think the Nulls would happily retell that story, you don’t know them very well.”
Boba was fairly radiating murderous intent. “This is why I don’t associate with certain clans,” he growled to Din.
“Yeah- because we know many an embarrassing childhood story.”