Losing Sight

Boba tried countless ways to defeat Bane. One drop of blood, that was all he needed, and Bane would free Dia.

But nothing worked. He ended up bruised and bleeding after all of their fights. And Bane spent the recovery time worming his way into Boba's brain.

"Why do you want that slave freed, anyway?" he asks one night, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on a box.

Boba glares at him from the sandy ground by the campfire. "Dia's my friend."

Bane scoffs. "Uh-huh. 'Friend'. Sure, kid." He takes a swig of alcohol from a metal flask.

"He is," Boba insists.

"He's desperate," Bane snaps. "He wants to be freed, and you're his best option. That's all."

"That's not true!"

Bane only shrugs, but Boba can't stop thinking about his words. They follow him into his dreams.

 _______

After that, Bane begins attacking Boba, too, unexpectedly. He randomly grabs his blaster and fires a shot at Boba's feet, or strikes out with a punch, even during their jobs. 

"Why are you doing this?" Boba demands after days of this, after Bane has knocked him to the ground with a blast of his flamethrower.

They're already hours and hours into travelling through the desert on a pointless job that seems like it'll never end. He kneels helplessly in the burning sand. The hot sun beats down on his arms and the back of his neck. His vision swims – everything blurs together.

"You'll need to watch your back around that slave," Bane says by way of explanation. "You can't trust him."

"You don't know anything about him!" Boba snarls, trying and failing to stand.

"I know enough to tell he's using you. But you're using him, too."

"I'm not using him," Boba protests, horrified.

"Aren't you?" Those cold red eyes send a shiver through Boba despite the scalding temperature. "As a knowledgeable local, a mechanic, a devoted servant."

Boba's eyes widen. "I – "

"He's only ever been a tool to you. You can admit it. Neither of you can be faulted for using the other – it's what you should do. What you need to do, in order to survive. You don't need anyone."

"He… he swore a life debt to me," Boba argues weakly. "He promised – "

"Another trick," Bane spits.

"He's my friend."

"You don't need friends." Bane crouches in front of Boba, and grips his shoulder. "You don't need anyone."

It's suddenly difficult to breathe. Boba's chest feels like it's caving in – no breath can fill his lungs enough. Bane's red eyes seem to swirl. His words echo in Boba's head as he slips into unconsciousness:

"He's using you."

"You don't need friends."

"You don't need anyone."

"Let him go."

________

A week passes, with no word from or sign of Boba. Dia holds tight to his flame of hope, but he does worry.

Maybe those two bounty hunters took him away, he frets, clearing a table of glasses and carrying them back to the counter. I hope he's alright.

As he turns on his heel, he nearly collides with someone.

"I'm sorry!" he cries, stepping backwards and bowing low.

He waits, muscles tensed and heart pounding, for a strike or a shout. Nothing comes but a gravelly chuckle. Dia frowns. He knows that chuckle. And he knows those boots, with ammunition belts wrapped around the ankles.

Dia's head snaps up. "Cad Bane," he snarls.

The bounty hunter tips his hat with a smug grin. "In the flesh."

"Where's Boba?" Dia demands. He struggles to keep his voice low – he can't risk drawing attention.

"Why do you care?" Bane tilts his head. "D'you think he's gonna save you?"

"Yes," Dia answers instantly. "He's my friend."

Bane scoffs. "'Friend'? Kid, he only let you stick around 'cause you were useful to him."

Dia flinches. "That's not true!"

Bane levels him with an unreadable look. "Isn't it?"

Suddenly, Dia isn't sure anymore.

"Trust me." Bane leans forward until his mouth is right beside Dia's ear, and whispers, "He's already forgotten all about you."

Dia freezes. Patting Dia's shoulder with a cold chuckle, Bane sweeps out of the throne room, his jacket swishing behind him.

For several moments, Dia can't move. Can't think. Can't even breathe. His heart pounds.

It's not true. It can't be.

A hand hits the back of his head painfully.

"Back to work!" the slave master hisses.

"Yes, sir," Dia mumbles automatically. He drifts back to the counter as if in a trance, and takes the new plate.

"He's already forgotten all about you."

He delivers the plate of drinks. As he sets it on the table, a bit spills over the edge of one glass.

"He only let you stick around 'cause you were useful to him."

The patron strikes Dia's face with a clawed hand. His head snaps to the side, but he feels nothing.

He was only ever using me?

His feet carry him back to the counter. Warm blood drips from his cheek, seeping into his collar.

He's forgotten all about me?

Garsa pulls him aside and presses a torn-off bit of cloth to his cheek. Her eyes are full of worry. Dia can't bring himself to reassure her. How can he? No one's coming to save them now.

He's forgotten all about me.

________

Boba wakes with a terrified gasp, reaching out desperately for something, someone – the dream slips away like water through his fingers.

The suns have set, but the sand is still warm under his legs. Blinking his dry eyes, he scans his surroundings. He's still in the desert, but under the shadow of a rocky plateau. A thin blanket lies over his lap, along with a canteen.

He seizes the canteen and drains half the water with desperate thirst. Reluctantly, he forces himself to stop drinking.

Where's Bane? He wonders blearily. Did he leave?

There's no sign of the bounty hunter. In the distance, a settlement glows with orange light.

He must've. Good riddance. … But now Dia won't be freed, he realizes.

"You don't need friends." Bane's voice seems to speak in his ear, startling him. He peers over his shoulder to make sure Bane isn't actually there. He's alone.

… Is he right? Boba wonders.

His head feels strange. He's probably got heatstroke. But Bane's words make sense: Dia was using him, all along. And Boba was using Dia. They're not friends – of course they're not. Boba doesn't owe Dia anything.

But the life debt…

"Another trick."

Right. Life debts probably mean nothing to Dia. It was just a trick.

Besides, Boba has more important things to deal with: he has to find his father's armour and get his revenge, as soon as he can.

With great effort, he stands, and sets off towards the settlement on wobbling legs.

________

Dia doesn't have the energy to speak with Garsa that night, but she doesn't mind, and sits silently beside him.

After a while, both of them drift off to sleep, and are only woken when the cell door clatters open.

Normally, Dia would be alert immediately, but he can't bring himself to even turn his head around. The others shuffle around, and murmur in the slave language. Garsa's warm presence beside him disappears.

He frowns, but he's exhausted. He starts to slip back into sleep, when a voice speaks beside him: "Are you alright?"

With great effort, Dia lifts his head. Oh, it's a new arrival.

A young adult Twi'lek kneels in the sand beside him, her yellow forehead creased in concern. The other half-dozen slaves, including Garsa, are huddled behind her.

"Are you alright? My name's Yomu," the Twi'lek says gently, reaching out with a tentative hand.

Involuntarily, Dia presses his back into the wall, ducking away. Yomu lowers her hand, unfazed.

"Don't worry, okay?" Yomu slips into the Tatooine slave language: "I'm going to help you get out of here."

Dia stares at her incredulously. "Really?" he whispers, his voice breaking.

Yomu reaches out again, and Dia lets her take his hand. She smiles kindly. "I promise."

The other slaves slowly come to sit around them. All have a spark of hope in their eyes, even the most scarred and exhausted ones.

"You're from the White Suns, right?" a Nikto asks, shuffling closer to Yomu.

"The White Suns?" another repeats. "I've heard they work to free slaves all over Tatooine."

"Yes, and we'll free you as well," Yomu promises. "But for now we have to be quiet and wait for my colleagues' signal."

The slaves speak quietly among themselves until one of the Gamorrean guards slams his staff against the cell bars with a clang. A warning to stay silent.

Dia wipes the tears from his eyes, daring to hope that maybe – just maybe – he actually will be freed.