Title: Three Rules
Fandom: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,489
Characters/Ships: Cal Kestis, Prauf
Summary: Cal imagines the advice he would give to another survivor of the Jedi Purge.
Sometimes, Cal lets himself pretend. Some nights after the scrappers have left the cantina, the smiles and laughter all faded away, he sits in his tiny, dark, drafty room and images someone coming in the door. Sometimes it's a childhood friend from the Jedi Temple, sometimes a fellow Padawan or even a Knight or Master he'd worked with, sometimes no one in particular. It's always a fellow Jedi, and they've always come to him for help.
They've survived the ongoing Jedi Purge and made it to this out of the way place, and now they need to know how to go on. How do they live without the Jedi? With being hunted? What do they do?
For that moment, Cal gets to be the master, the mentor, the one who knows what to do and how to help instead of a lost and frightened kid. In these imaginings, he always tells his visitor the same three things, the rules he's set for himself.
Don't stand out.
Keep your head down. You're no longer extraordinary. No more using the Force; the Empire has people who can track that, or so the rumors say.
Early on, this one had been so hard to stick to. The Force was as much a part of Cal as any physical part of his body. He was used to having it as a sixth sense always, and now he had to cut away that part of himself.
It had taken time to perfect. When he'd first gotten his job as a rigger, everyone had been shocked at how good he was for a beginner. It hadn't taken long to realize he was inadvertently using his abilities to aid his dexterity and agility at work. It had been harder to deliberately not do so, to let himself slip and scramble and even fall, as anyone else would. When his confused coworkers and bosses had commented on his sudden backslide, he chalked it up to beginners' luck and promised to work harder.
And it's not just the Force. He can't help people like he used to. When the stormtroopers hassle citizens in the street or goons accost an innocent, he can't leap to the defense. Sure, he can find the victims afterward and try to make sure they're okay, but it's not the same.
It fills Cal with shame some days knowing he's letting others suffer to save his own skin. The Empire will kill me if they find out, he tells himself. He knows this for certain, and he can't help anyone if he's dead. He has to keep himself safe for that day in the future when the Jedi might, when he might-
But he doesn't know if that day is really coming.
Accept the past.
This one should be the easiest, but it isn't. The past is done, it's set in stone, nothing can change it, but that doesn't stop the memories or the nightmares, or the wishing.
The Jedi Order is gone. Five simple words, a simple fact. Cal saw it himself. He still doesn't fully understand why the clones turned on the Jedi, why Captain Dust was laughing with Cal's master one moment and putting a blaster bolt through his chest the next. Cal ran after that, and his memories of how he escaped still aren't quite clear. What haunts him most is how the Force felt that day: too still and reeking of death. He had known instinctively that the same thing was happening all around the galaxy, Jedi dying everywhere.
The Jedi, the Republic, all gone, and the past has taken Cal's future with it as well. Before, he looked forward to the end of the war. To the pride on his master's face as he was knighted. Taking solo missions. A Padawan of his own someday.
But no more. With no Jedi Order, there will be none of those things. Now his future is...what? A dead-end job on dead-end Bracca working ultimately for the very people who destroyed his whole world? Keeping his head down, mouth closed, and mind shut until he dies?
Is this really living at all?
Trust no one.
Once, Cal trusted people. Nearly every Jedi he met. His master. Their clone troopers, Dust and Greer and Putz and the rest. Then those he trusted killed his master, tried to kill hi, and they and their brothers massacred the Jedi.
Now there are stormtroopers patrolling the streets and going after anyone who sets a foot out of line. Citizens are cajoled, bribed, or threatened into turning in their neighbors for sedition. Who would think twice about reporting a newcomer with no history given half a chance? Who could resist giving over one of the supposedly-traitorous Jedi?
Sure, he's made friends in the Scrapper's Guild, but none of them really know him. As he doesn't really know them. It's better this way. Easier. Safer.
Cal has even tried to keep his distance from Prauf. The older Abednedo had found him outside the spaceport after the clone attack, having begged his way onto the first transport he could find off that planet of death, creditless and desperate. Prauf had taken pity on the boy standing in the rainy street with shocked, lost eyes and bought him a meal from a nearby vendor before sitting him down to ask some gentle questions.
Cal hadn't been able to tell him much. He was still too shaken from what had happened, hadn't though to come up with a solid cover story yet. Prauf had to have known even then that he was running form something, but he had never asked. His only real question was whether Cal needed a place to stay that night.
Cal agreed to spend the night on Prauf's sofa, and when they arrived, he was offered the use of some privacy and a comm before turning in. Grateful he knew enough about slicing to at least keep his origin from being traced and putting this kind stranger in danger, Cal contacted the Jedi Temple – only to get a recording of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Both our Jedi Order and Republic have fallen.
It was real. It was everywhere. It was over.
Cal didn't remember the last time he had cried, not even on the battlefield with his master there every time to gently remind him of Jedi non-attachment, but he cried then. Huge, gasping sobs that made it hard to breathe even as he recited the creed he'd known since he was old enough to talk.
There is no death; there is the Force.
Rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force.
But they didn't help, because he knew all of that was gone, and nothing would ever be the same.
When he'd finally dragged himself together enough to return to the communal area, Prauf was waiting. He had to have seen the tearstains on Cal's cheeks, but again he let it be, merely offering the boy he'd taken into his care a cup of tea before telling Cal to come get him if he needed anything.
The next day Prauf had helped him get set up with a job in the Scrapper's Guild where Prauf himself worked as well as helping him find his own cheap room that would be let to him on credit, and that's how he came to be where he is today. He honestly doesn't know what he would have done without that support, and he's never been able to repay Prauf's kindness.
Cal should be staying away from him; he knows this. If trusting is dangerous to a Jedi, being his his friend is just as bad. If someone does come for Cal, they won't hesitate to use anyone he's close to in order to get to him. He should stay way, he should isolate himself.
And yet he can't. Cal has always been a social animal. He needs people, and it hurts to hold himself apart. Especially when Prauf has never stopped being so kind to him, never stopped taking care of him, is now his best friend.
One friend, Cal thinks to himself when he's at his most selfish. Surely the galaxy, the Force, something, owes him that much. What's the worst that could happen?
Cal won't say all of this to his imaginary visitor, of course. What has he done but list his own sins, the logical rules of survival he's made but broken just as easily? Perhaps it's a miracle he's made it just far.
Just the rules, then. That's what he'll tell them. List the three rules, no embellishment, no stories. No failures. No guilt.
Don't stand out. Accept the past. Trust no one.
If that person ever really arrived and asked Cal how to live on their own with the Jedi, how to survive and move on, if he was truly being honest, he would tell them he's as lost as they are.
Fandom: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,489
Characters/Ships: Cal Kestis, Prauf
Summary: Cal imagines the advice he would give to another survivor of the Jedi Purge.
Sometimes, Cal lets himself pretend. Some nights after the scrappers have left the cantina, the smiles and laughter all faded away, he sits in his tiny, dark, drafty room and images someone coming in the door. Sometimes it's a childhood friend from the Jedi Temple, sometimes a fellow Padawan or even a Knight or Master he'd worked with, sometimes no one in particular. It's always a fellow Jedi, and they've always come to him for help.
They've survived the ongoing Jedi Purge and made it to this out of the way place, and now they need to know how to go on. How do they live without the Jedi? With being hunted? What do they do?
For that moment, Cal gets to be the master, the mentor, the one who knows what to do and how to help instead of a lost and frightened kid. In these imaginings, he always tells his visitor the same three things, the rules he's set for himself.
Don't stand out.
Keep your head down. You're no longer extraordinary. No more using the Force; the Empire has people who can track that, or so the rumors say.
Early on, this one had been so hard to stick to. The Force was as much a part of Cal as any physical part of his body. He was used to having it as a sixth sense always, and now he had to cut away that part of himself.
It had taken time to perfect. When he'd first gotten his job as a rigger, everyone had been shocked at how good he was for a beginner. It hadn't taken long to realize he was inadvertently using his abilities to aid his dexterity and agility at work. It had been harder to deliberately not do so, to let himself slip and scramble and even fall, as anyone else would. When his confused coworkers and bosses had commented on his sudden backslide, he chalked it up to beginners' luck and promised to work harder.
And it's not just the Force. He can't help people like he used to. When the stormtroopers hassle citizens in the street or goons accost an innocent, he can't leap to the defense. Sure, he can find the victims afterward and try to make sure they're okay, but it's not the same.
It fills Cal with shame some days knowing he's letting others suffer to save his own skin. The Empire will kill me if they find out, he tells himself. He knows this for certain, and he can't help anyone if he's dead. He has to keep himself safe for that day in the future when the Jedi might, when he might-
But he doesn't know if that day is really coming.
Accept the past.
This one should be the easiest, but it isn't. The past is done, it's set in stone, nothing can change it, but that doesn't stop the memories or the nightmares, or the wishing.
The Jedi Order is gone. Five simple words, a simple fact. Cal saw it himself. He still doesn't fully understand why the clones turned on the Jedi, why Captain Dust was laughing with Cal's master one moment and putting a blaster bolt through his chest the next. Cal ran after that, and his memories of how he escaped still aren't quite clear. What haunts him most is how the Force felt that day: too still and reeking of death. He had known instinctively that the same thing was happening all around the galaxy, Jedi dying everywhere.
The Jedi, the Republic, all gone, and the past has taken Cal's future with it as well. Before, he looked forward to the end of the war. To the pride on his master's face as he was knighted. Taking solo missions. A Padawan of his own someday.
But no more. With no Jedi Order, there will be none of those things. Now his future is...what? A dead-end job on dead-end Bracca working ultimately for the very people who destroyed his whole world? Keeping his head down, mouth closed, and mind shut until he dies?
Is this really living at all?
Trust no one.
Once, Cal trusted people. Nearly every Jedi he met. His master. Their clone troopers, Dust and Greer and Putz and the rest. Then those he trusted killed his master, tried to kill hi, and they and their brothers massacred the Jedi.
Now there are stormtroopers patrolling the streets and going after anyone who sets a foot out of line. Citizens are cajoled, bribed, or threatened into turning in their neighbors for sedition. Who would think twice about reporting a newcomer with no history given half a chance? Who could resist giving over one of the supposedly-traitorous Jedi?
Sure, he's made friends in the Scrapper's Guild, but none of them really know him. As he doesn't really know them. It's better this way. Easier. Safer.
Cal has even tried to keep his distance from Prauf. The older Abednedo had found him outside the spaceport after the clone attack, having begged his way onto the first transport he could find off that planet of death, creditless and desperate. Prauf had taken pity on the boy standing in the rainy street with shocked, lost eyes and bought him a meal from a nearby vendor before sitting him down to ask some gentle questions.
Cal hadn't been able to tell him much. He was still too shaken from what had happened, hadn't though to come up with a solid cover story yet. Prauf had to have known even then that he was running form something, but he had never asked. His only real question was whether Cal needed a place to stay that night.
Cal agreed to spend the night on Prauf's sofa, and when they arrived, he was offered the use of some privacy and a comm before turning in. Grateful he knew enough about slicing to at least keep his origin from being traced and putting this kind stranger in danger, Cal contacted the Jedi Temple – only to get a recording of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Both our Jedi Order and Republic have fallen.
It was real. It was everywhere. It was over.
Cal didn't remember the last time he had cried, not even on the battlefield with his master there every time to gently remind him of Jedi non-attachment, but he cried then. Huge, gasping sobs that made it hard to breathe even as he recited the creed he'd known since he was old enough to talk.
There is no death; there is the Force.
Rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force.
But they didn't help, because he knew all of that was gone, and nothing would ever be the same.
When he'd finally dragged himself together enough to return to the communal area, Prauf was waiting. He had to have seen the tearstains on Cal's cheeks, but again he let it be, merely offering the boy he'd taken into his care a cup of tea before telling Cal to come get him if he needed anything.
The next day Prauf had helped him get set up with a job in the Scrapper's Guild where Prauf himself worked as well as helping him find his own cheap room that would be let to him on credit, and that's how he came to be where he is today. He honestly doesn't know what he would have done without that support, and he's never been able to repay Prauf's kindness.
Cal should be staying away from him; he knows this. If trusting is dangerous to a Jedi, being his his friend is just as bad. If someone does come for Cal, they won't hesitate to use anyone he's close to in order to get to him. He should stay way, he should isolate himself.
And yet he can't. Cal has always been a social animal. He needs people, and it hurts to hold himself apart. Especially when Prauf has never stopped being so kind to him, never stopped taking care of him, is now his best friend.
One friend, Cal thinks to himself when he's at his most selfish. Surely the galaxy, the Force, something, owes him that much. What's the worst that could happen?
Cal won't say all of this to his imaginary visitor, of course. What has he done but list his own sins, the logical rules of survival he's made but broken just as easily? Perhaps it's a miracle he's made it just far.
Just the rules, then. That's what he'll tell them. List the three rules, no embellishment, no stories. No failures. No guilt.
Don't stand out. Accept the past. Trust no one.
If that person ever really arrived and asked Cal how to live on their own with the Jedi, how to survive and move on, if he was truly being honest, he would tell them he's as lost as they are.
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