The Jedi Temple’s towering halls felt intimidating as you stood before the Council, hands clenched into fists at your sides. You could feel their doubts.

“Too impulsive.” “Too dangerous.” “Too much fear.”

You heard it all, even when they didn’t say it aloud. You fought to keep your chin high, but you were shaking; not from fear, but frustration. You knew the Force better than most Padawans twice your age. You could feel it singing in your veins, bright and alive. But no matter how hard you trained, how fiercely you tried, no one trusted you.

Until him. Master Dean Winchester.

He stepped forward out of the shadows at the back of the Council chamber, his brown cloak swirling around heavy boots. He was tall, broad-shouldered, rough around the edges, not the kind of Jedi the Masters liked to parade in front of the Senate. A warrior. A protector. A man who had seen too much, survived too much.

Dean’s green eyes landed on you, sharp and assessing, but there was no judgment there. Just something steady. He crossed his arms over his chest and addressed the Council without hesitation.

“I’ll take them,” he said. His voice was low, firm, and final. “I’ll train them.”

Murmurs rose like a tide. “Master Winchester, the child is… unstable,” Master Koon said carefully.

“Clouded, their future is,” Master Yoda added, tapping his gnarled cane.

Master Windu’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure about this, Dean? This path won’t be easy.”

Dean shrugged, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Since when has anything ever been easy?” he shot back. Then he turned slightly, addressing you directly. “You wanna learn, kid?” he asked. No condescension, no pity. Just a simple question. You stared up at him, stunned. No one had ever asked you that before. They told you what you were, what you weren’t, but never what you wanted.

Slowly, you nodded. “Yes, Master.”

Dean grinned, rough and proud. “Good. Pack your things,” he said, tossing his cloak over one shoulder. “Training starts now.” Later that night, under the twin moons of Coruscant, you sat cross-legged in the empty training field. Dean stood in front of you, his lightsaber hilt swinging casually from his belt, arms folded. “You’ve got more power in you than you know,” he said, voice quieter now, the sharpness gone. “But power without control? That’s like handing a loaded blaster to a Womp Rat.”

You frowned, cheeks burning. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are.” His tone softened even more; a rare thing from a Jedi Master. “That’s why you’re my Padawan. ’Cause you fight. Not just out there,” he tapped your chest with two fingers, right over your heart, “but in here too.” The Force thrummed between you like a living thing. Dean knelt down so you were eye to eye. “They don’t see you yet, just like they didn’t see me,” he said. “But I see enough. And I’m gonna teach you how to show ‘em exactly what you’re made of.” You swallowed hard, the sting of emotion rising in your throat. No one had ever believed in you like this. No one… but Dean. You nodded fiercely, feeling the Force surge inside you: steady, strong, finally yours.