Chapter Text
Cal could feel the way his skin bristled in crawling discomfort, like bugs running across its surface, legs tickling and scurrying as they went. Rage poured through his gut, a tidal wave that kept gushing out, crashing down and then building up again all to crash down after.
His fingers pressed down against the ground, feeling the dirt caked across its surface. With a thump in the distance, his head snapped up, legs rattling as they spurred into motion, metal pieces carrying him along, creaking as they threatened to give out.
There were eight, each one old and rusted, weakened over time. Rage spat itself out again at the acknowledgment, the only thing clear enough in his hazy mind to feel.
Suffering. Hate. Suffer, suffer, hate.
Maul.
Abandoned by his master, broken in the dark and left to rot away like nothing. One of his legs crumpled and he snapped his teeth, leaning with an ungraceful flop, like a falling corpse, to bang his hand against it until it crunched back into place with a groan.
His hands followed the dirt, feeling around for a broken handle tucked into it. The metal was cool to the touch as he found it, yanking it out to brush away the mud smeared over its surface.
The lightsaber lit up with a humming red.
Cal had woken up and gagged on the air, tucked away on a ship he’d never seen before.
-
Maul has more problems than most troubled people Cal has met, which is saying a lot if you include every corrupted person in his visions. Without even knowing half of it, the padawan can tell that there’s so much more than meets the eye. That being said, it’s difficult to care when he’s being taunted every living moment, forced to duel at the threat of being struck down, and consistently talked to like he’d ever actually care about the dark side.
His throat still burns from Maul’s little stunt in the cockpit, bruised around its sides in purple patches, like spilled ink in the shape of fingers. There’s a matching mark on his cheek from when he’d refused to spill how he’d known about Sidious.
A small sigh. He curls up further on the bunk, a ratty blanket pulled over his torso. It’s cold in space, and the ship’s heating system’s less than decent.
How does he get out of this? He’s spent a whole week on this ship, and he still doesn’t have an answer. His tracker’s gone, his master systems away, and he doesn’t even know where he is. They haven’t landed once!
The door slides open with a harsh drag. “Get your things and pack them.” Yellow eyes stare through Cal’s. “We are landing.” He tosses a thin satchel onto the bunk.
With a flinch, the boy freezes. Landing? That’s… both news that helps his hope flicker back into existence, but also deeply worrying. Wherever this man is taking him, is somewhere he does not want to be. But it’s also an opportunity to try and find a method of contact, or a place to run away.
The sith disappears into the rest of the ship, and Cal climbs off the bunk, wearily preparing himself for the next step in Maul’s (likely) horrific plans. He grabs his meagre belongings - ones that he’s collected around the ship (tools, mostly) and ones he had on his person before he was taken (small trinkets tucked away in his belt).
On the shelf to the left, Cal reaches up to grab the metallic hilt of his own lightsaber, holding it in hand as he steps out of the cramped room (box). It’s odd, but Maul has let him keep it rather than hiding it. Something about being unable to catch the sith off guard and anger and all that stuff.
And then it’s snatched up in a clean motion, tattooed hand wrapped around the thing. Maul watches as he silently works to cloak his mild annoyance, smoothing his expression out into something more neutral. “I’ll be holding this while we are on planet.”
“Why?” He holds back a sneer. “I thought you could handle me even with the saber.”
The Zabrak huffs a low laugh. “Because I don't trust you not to light it.” He grabs the boy’s sleeve, tucking the saber on his belt next to his own, and pulling him along. “And get yourself killed.”
Cal’s questions about why it would get him killed are completely ignored, as he’s dragged toward the cockpit. “Why would I be killed?”
Maul sits him down in the corner. “Stay there.” He settles down in the front, clicking buttons on the panels and preparing to land as they dive down towards the atmosphere of the… moon?
Leaning back in the seat, Cal blows a breath out, hair flicking up from its place on his forehead. What a joke. Killed? Over what? Being a jedi? Where the hell are they that he’d be killed for that? Somewhere awful, obviously. Clearly there is more to worry about than to be hopeful for.
When they do land, Cal jolts when an arm wraps around his shoulder, more controlling than assuring. It guides him out the cockpit, towards the ramp that opens at the rear end of the small ship. Maul leans his head further down to speak lowly, “You’ll be better off if you don’t go spilling that you were Kenobi’s little padawan.” He spits the word like a curse.
There are mandalorians outside the ship.
Mandalorians. Outside the ship.
Mandalorians.
Maul is crazy. He must be insane, surely. Because those Mandalorians are blue armoured, fully equipped warriors who are eyeing him like they’d slit his throat the moment he glanced the opposite way.
Maybe Cal’s remembering incorrectly, but he’s fairly certain this is a literal terrorist mandalorian group too, a splinter that he vaguely remembers having a name he’d once snorted at for being too on the nose. Who calls themselves something death related when they don’t want to be seen as terrorists?
It had been funny then. It’s not funny now.
He makes a noise of discomfort when Maul pinches his arm, watching as a single man steps forward from the group.
“I was concerned when I got your communication.” His voice echoes out from behind the helmet’s metal. “It could have been a trap, for all I knew, but I chose to make a gamble. I’d like to hope that I was right to do that.” His hand hovers over the blaster on his belt.
There’s a saber on his belt. A saber.
Maul’s voice curls, rich and powerful, “I was honest. I have my own goals, as you have yours, and working together against a common enemy, is better than working alone to fail.” His arm slides down from Cal’s shoulder.
The man seems to contemplate for a moment, silent. Then, “Who have you brought with you?”
“My apprentice.” The sith sighs, “I assure you, he is of no concern. He’s only beginning to grow into his position, but he is strong.” His eyes burn a deep gold.
Cal swallows, palms sweating at his sides, satchel hanging over his shoulder, a small wrench peeking out its top. He nods.
-
Mandalorians suck. These ones, at least. As they’d been guided inside of a tent to talk ‘privately’ with the leader of the bunch, at least two mandalorians had shoulder-barged him, four others had spat at his feet, and six others had pointed blasters at him.
Yeah, Cal now understands why Maul had confiscated his lightsaber even if he’s unhappy about it. With how jumpy he is, it would be no surprise if he’d grabbed it on instinct and accidentally revealed himself a jedi instead of a sith apprentice. Not ideal. Especially considering the fact that he thinks Master Kenobi has had some involvement in Mandalore’s whole… political life recently.
They’d probably flay him alive and send his body back to Kenobi if they knew.
The thought makes his stomach churn as he sits awkwardly beside Maul while he discusses future arrangements with the mandalorian leader, whose helmet is now resting on the desk, face thin and sharp. His brows are furrowed deeply, fair haired, with sharp blue eyes that stare through Maul like he’s analysing the fastest way to rip off his limbs.
“You do not have the manpower to take control of Mandalore.” Maul’s voice curls. “Or you’d have done it already.” His fingers tap.
Pre Vizsla folds his arms, leaning back a little. “…You never really explained what you wanted. You’re not jedi, so what are you?” His lips purse.
“Sith.” His eyes burn.
“Do you know Dooku?” Cal watches the man’s shoulders pinch up just slightly, barely noticeable. He sees Maul’s eyes fix on the movement as well. “I thought there could only be a master and apprentice.”
Maul’s lips peel back into a sneer. “I do not serve anyone. We are the true lords of the sith. Dooku will perish soon, and…” His eyes unfocus. He breathes in deeply, uncomfortably long. “Well. A concern for another time.”
There’s contemplation there. A minute curl to the lips. “Get these two set up. I believe we have much to discuss over the next few days.”
The mandalorian to his side nods, her helmet still disguising her own face as she gestures for them to stand and follow. In rigid motion, she leads them out the tent with once last glance at her leader, and a hand on her own blasted, as though it means anything to the darksider who’s dragging Cal along on this ridiculous mission.
As they’re led further into the camp, Cal tenses more and more, noticing that it gets more heavily guarded as they go. Finally, the woman gestures to the entrance to a single tent, surrounded by mandalorians loitering over chairs, leaning against posts, watching. “All yours.”
When they’re hidden away inside, the boy turns to the sith, face twisting. “Are you insane? You really brought me here? They’ll kill me.”
“Have some respect.” Maul grabs his shoulder, eyes sharpening. “I am your master now. They won’t kill you for that. Let go of your filthy jedi ways and you’ll be just fine. Allow yourself to be free.”
“You-“ His lips purse. “I’ll pass on that. But I’ll play your little game.” The boy steps forward, tossing his bag down on his makeshift bunk. “For now.”
“We shall see.”
-
“Parry.” Maul commands as his saber slashes down in a sudden burst.
Cal barely snaps his own up in time to catch the plasma from burning straight through his head. Sparring has become a routine, much to his dismay. If he doesn’t want to be sliced in two, he has to work, and to be honest, at least he’s picking up bits and pieces. Unfortunately, Maul isn’t an awful teacher, for combat at least.
It helps Cal get into the rhythm of fighting, feeling the way it matches how he’d seen himself react in that far away vision of a different future, battling darksiders and defeating them in duels.
Except Cal can’t defeat this darksider in any duel. He can only try not to be killed.
The red saber jabs out for Cal’s gut and he hops to the side, barely avoiding the heat, flicking his own blade up to skim Maul’s forearm, of which is outstretched. But the sith simply weaves away. “You’re not trying hard enough. Use your emotion.”
Breathing in a deep sigh, Cal’s nostrils flare a little wider as he tries to ignore the useless advice. All great for a sith, but as much as he’s pretending to be one to the murderous armoured warriors they’re hitching rides with, he isn’t one. He’s a jedi at core. Nothing, and no one, will change that.
His saber clashes with red, a small grunt slipping as his legs buckle under the force of Maul’s forceful attack. Cal tries to push back, but ultimately his only option is to dart to the side quickly, which he does, before going back on the offensive. He steps forward with a swing, to be blocked, and then another.
The blades clash over and over in a continuous loop until it seems Maul gets sick of waiting and simply… flicks Cal’s lightsaber away with an ease he hadn’t expected. It’s gone, clattering away to the side like it hadn’t even been in his hand.
“I told you to try harder.” Maul grates out between his teeth.
Cal stares at the hilt rolling across the ground. His lips purse, shoulders sinking down slowly. It was that easy, too easy.
A palm sends his head cracking to the side, eyes blinking out spots of black as he stumbles. He snaps, “What was that for? I’m doing what you wanted. I’m sparring.”
“I told you to listen.” The dark sider’s lips pull back into a sneer, teeth sharp as they peak through the open gap. “You didn’t.” His lightsaber turns off with a short gush, red light dissipating into the hilt.
The room’s suddenly darker. Cal can’t quite see everything there, Maul blending in with the shadows around him. He winces, hand cupping his temple, pressing there to feel where there’ll soon be a bruise forming. It stings. “You said to use my emotion but I don’t have any.”
There is no emotion, there is only the force.
“Only fools believe that.” A hand wraps around a large tuft of his hair, yanking it up. Cal cringes at the feeling. “You are lying to yourself, boy. Every living moment you believe that you don’t feel a thing, you live in delusion. Look at yourself.” He lets go. Cal breathes out a sigh of relief. “You’re pathetic.” Maul slaps the boy again.
Cal hisses out lowly at the pain. “Can you stop it?” His fingers reach to cup his cheek.
“Then pick up your saber, and try again.”
-
Maul’s grandiose plan is one that Cal’s barely even allowed to hear. He knows it involves crime syndicates, Mandalore, and a way to lure Master Kenobi, but he has no idea how it’s meant to slot together.
After all, Maul doesn’t want him knowing everything in case he somehow manages to slip away, not that he could, oh the sith has ensured that by sending them straight into the jaws of jedi enemies. If he even tried to escape, they’d know he wasn’t actually Maul’s apprentice, and he’d be tracked and killed before he could try to make it away.
That, and they’re barely on planet anyway. Cal isn’t. He’s forced to hide away in his cramped little room, on a bunk that’s too small to be properly comfortable, and doesn’t interact with many others besides Maul.
It’s suffocating.
He dreams of death: of clones shooting his master; Bode betraying him; his teammates spewing blood; Cere’s body left to grow cold. He wakes in a reality that’s just as eerie, with nowhere to escape it.
With every single sting on his skin, and every moment left to hide in the dark, Cal knows, he knows, that he’s rotting. He’s felt rot before. He feels it in those dreams, where Bode betrays, where he reaches into that void growing in his gut.
Maul is right about one thing: Cal is a liar.
He grinds his teeth together, panting loudly as sweat drips down his forehead, hair slapped flat on his head. Pulling his blanket off, he shakes his head, scrubbing at his eyes to try to wipe away the images still behind them. His fingers press harder.
Go away. Enough of this. This is what Maul wants. He can’t doubt himself.
Besides, Cal isn’t the future. He isn’t every messed up possibility of what could be. The proof is the fact that so much is different already than he’d seen. Nothing is concrete and Cal doesn’t have to become this wretched concoction of pain that Maul is so determined to try and see.
Misery is no ambition, not to Cal.
He wipes his face with his shirt’s bottom, shaking off the lingering unease still lurking. Sliding out of the bunk, he breathes in quietly, crouching into a sit on the uncomfortable flooring. His legs cross, hands resting on his knees.
Cal thinks about the room on the Negotiator, breathing in time with Master Kenobi. It had been simple, peaceful.
Bright.
But when Cal lets himself melt into the force like a comfortable bed, he’s met with a charcoal dark that threatens to wrap him up to squeeze the life out of rather than warm. He flinches back, shoulders pinching up, however he breathes in, sifting through his thoughts carefully.
Just breathe. Take it slow, and work through your feelings. They aren’t all bad, you know?
Master Kenobi had been nice, in the time Cal was with him. Understanding too. For a jedi, the man seemed to care more than most, even while keeping himself clear minded.
“Your meditation does little to help with your distress.” Maul’s voice drawls from the doorway, as he leans against it, arms folded.
Eyes snapping open, Cal exhales sharply. “I thought you would let me rest tonight. You said you would.”
“I lied.” His lips curve into a smirk. “No jedi tricks will help with it, you know. You stink of fear. That’s something that won’t just… go away.” A scoff. “Even if you want it to.”
“I forgot you know everything.” Cal’s eyes close again as he focuses on his breathing. “I should ask you next time for tips on how to tame dragons and milk banthas.” He sighs, shoulders slowly sinking.
The sith stares at him blankly. “You cover up your troubles with unfunny jokes that will make your time as my apprentice much more difficult for you.” His eyes narrow. “If you’re so eager to ask for more time with your hands cuffed to the ceiling, I would be happy to oblige.”
“No need.” Cal’s lips purse. “I enjoy having my feet on the ground.” His brows furrow further.
Within this long (he’s not actually sure how long) while he’s been stuck travelling with Maul, the man has taken it upon himself to attempt to push Cal further into whatever darkness he believes he can make. He suspects it’s actually been methods taken from his own training, considering the knowledge that Vader had tortured Inquisitors to cause their suffering and hate.
It’s unfortunate though. For Cal, that is. His body aches.
“…You know,” There’s a hum of contemplation from the sith, “I understand that you can’t see through my eyes just yet, but you will. You will some day. The jedi order is flawed. Your teachings are smeared through time and twisted into something they had never meant to be.” His eyes flick down to the boy’s meditating position. “They are soldiers, generals and commanders, rather than peace keepers. Isn’t that amusing?”
“No.” The padawan responds quietly. “It isn’t.”
“Really?” Maul feigns shock, eyes widening. “It isn’t amusing? That the jedi order is so misguided that they can’t even see what is right in front of their eyes?” He laughs lowly, the sound catching in his throat and echoing out through the constricted room. “Come on, use your common sense. The jedi are losing their touch.”
His shoulders are beginning to tense up once again. He forces them to smooth out. “It’s war. You expect them to plan around Sidious, as well as the Separatists when the Senate also hates them?”
“They’re jedi. They should be able to do so, no? They’re defenders of the Galaxy.” The Zabrak manages to sound so smugly sarcastic in the worst of ways.
“Sure.” Cal’s fingers tap. “It’s totally their job to run the republic’s war. I forgot about that.”
A pause. “Every jedi who dies lets the galaxy see their weakness even further. They can’t keep themselves stable anymore. They will die and they will be replaced, as all weakness is eventually.”
Cal’s lips twitch, but he breathes in deeply, focusing on the way the oxygen travelling through his body feels, how it disperses and shifts. “They are not weak. They’re distracted and they have lower numbers with being spread thin across the entire galaxy.”
A bang of his hand on the door’s button as he steps in. It slams shut behind him with a slide. “Distracted by their own ignorance, yes. Of course they are. A jedi’s fatal flaw,” Maul steps further in, “Is their lack of ability to acknowledge the truth.”
Unspoken words. Ones he’s said thousands of times at this point, but right now, manages to say in an even more ridiculous way.
“I’m not afraid!” Cal snaps, eyes opening as he hits his hands against his knees once. “I don’t have anything to be afraid of. I know enough to fix everything, so I’m not afraid! Stop acting like I have as many issues as you, or any other weak minded darksider out there! I’m not you! I’m not Vader! I’m not-!”
Bode.
He catches himself, breathing in deep sucks of air, hand clutching at his chest. Dread seeps through his body, leaching away at the bubbling hope that still tries to burst its way back through the flesh. It absorbs every spec of ignorant haze there and swallows it whole, flooding him with startling clarity.
Cal’s failing. The rot is there, still an empty vacancy that seems to open its jaws and eat whatever steps close enough inside him.
He’s losing.
“Good.” Maul, for the first time, sounds pleased, a hand laying on Cal’s shoulder. “I want to see more of that.”
The boy’s stomach turns upside down.