Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Giggle 

Feeding

Tantrum 

Claim of Parenthood 

Sickness 

Chapter 3

Shopping 

Lost 

Injury 

Lesson 

Hand-holding 

Chapter 4

Saving 

Signet 

Bedtime story 

I love you 

Word 

Chapter 5

Cry 

Gift 

Driving 

Swimming

Removal of Helmet 

Chapter 6

Cuddling 

Kisses 

Shoulder rides 

Toys 

Drawing on the walls 

Chapter 7 

Drowning 

Freezing 

Burning 

Crash 

Venom 

Chapter 8

Nightmare I 

Baby-proofing

Sewing 

Jealousy I 

 Sugar rush 

Chapter 9

Thunder 

Anger 

Healing 

Awe 

Silent Treatment 

Chapter 10

Teething 

Dancing 

Jealousy II

I love you II

Helmet 

Chapter 11

Jet-pack joyride 

Cleaning 

Tickles 

Cooking 

Re-gifting

Chapter 12

Panic Attack 

Missing Child 

Mimicking 

Hand-me-downs 

Sleep Walking 

Chapter 13

Playing in the Rain 

Bath 

Blowing Raspberries

Hiccups 

Pet 

Chapter 14

Allergic Reaction 

Financial Stress 

Afraid of the Dark 

Colors 

Dizzy 

Chapter 15

Singing 

Charity 

Foundlings 

Signet II 

Rocket Game 

Chapter 16

Diaper 

Misinterpreting 

Shoes 

Ear Covers 

(Almost) Regretful Toy Purchase 

Chapter 17

Standoff 

Embarrassment

Sneaking Out 

Forts 

Telling a Story  

Chapter 18

Nightmare (II) 

Sick (II)

First Name 

Imaginary Friend

Manners 

Chapter 19

Presumed Death

Chapter 20

Imprisonment 

Chapter 21

Electrocution 

Chapter 22

Amnesia 

Chapter 23

Fight 

Chapter 24

Baby gets hurt protecting his dad 

Chapter 25

Learning Mando'a 

Hide & Seek 

Are We There Yet 

Playing Catch 

Chapter 26

Stealing 

Leaf Pile 

Dad Jokes 

Pumpkin Carving 

Chapter 27

Birthday 

Chapter 28

Sunrise 

Sunset 

Haircut 

Playing in the snow 

Lending a Hand 

Chapter 29 

Introductions

Growing 

"What's That Behind Your Ear" (Magic trick) 

Tricycle

Chapter 30 

Mettings 

Chapter 31

Attachment

New Covert

Special Recipe

Piggy Bank

Bedtime Curfew

Chapter Text

I—Giggle

The Mandalorian had no idea what to do with the kid, who currently sat playing with the little metal ball. He was sitting in front of the panel of switches spinning the ball in his tiny green hands. He looked up at The Mandalorian and popped the ball into his mouth. 

“No,” he reached for the kid and pulled the ball from his throat before the little one could swallow it. “No,” he pocketed the ball. He pointed at the kid just as his ears flattened and curved. “We don’t eat things like that. Understood?” 

The Child cooed and waddled closer to the edge of his little platform. He was looking at The Mandalorian unblinkingly. “What?” 

All he got in an answer was a soft cry and little hands on his arm. The Mandalorian adjusted the controls. The Child toyed with his sleeve and made another little sound. He had no experience with kids, he didn’t know how much the strange 50-year-old baby understood or what he wanted. 

The Child prodded at one of his fingers wrapped around the controls. The little one cooed again and The Mandalorian let him take one of his fingers in his tiny grasp and just hold it. 

He gently tapped the kid’s chest and got a giggle in return. He did it again. The Child’s face scrunched up as more laughter came from his mouth. He started to rub the fragile chest of the little womp rat. He was so little. So easily breakable. 

The Mandalorian much preferred that look of joy and contentment to the one of fear he’d seen before. 

II—Feeding

The Razor Crest was a pretty small ship all things considered, with the bare bones of comfort. The Child examines his ration bar on the cold floor and looks around. The Mandalorian wished he had more comfortable things than a chewy, stale ration bar. 

He doesn’t know why he keeps talking to the kid, he doesn’t understand much—or just chooses to ignore The Mandalorian. “I’m sorry. I wish I had more but you have to eat.” 

The kid ate that frog but other than that he has no idea what he should feed him. Ration bars will have to do. He crouched down and took a bite of his bar hoping the kid would get the idea. He didn’t. 

He even dropped the bar and looked up at The Mandalorian. He stepped up on the bar, not even heavy enough to do more than crack it down the middle. The Mandalorian gave up and picked the brat up and held him in the crook of his arm. He got a new bar and cracked off the corner. 

He held it to the baby’s lips and prayed that for once The Child would make something easy. “Come on,” he urged, gently bouncing a little, fueled by some deep instinct.“Eat.” 

The Child nestled against his arm sighed, clearly content. The Mandalorian was stubborn, perhaps too much for his own good. He nudged the kid awake and persisted with the bit of ration bar. The Child stared up at him and eventually relented and at a piece before pressing his lips together and closing his eyes. 

No matter how much The Mandalorian tried he couldn’t get him to eat anymore but one piece was good enough, right? 

III—Tantrum.  

The Mandalorian wanted to be a little bit further from the Hell-hole they just escaped so he kept driving his ship forward as the hours passed. The Child sat on his lap trying to touch everything. The kid has been awake for hours on end. He knows enough about kids to know they get tired.

His body clock was telling him it was time to sleep. It was technically always dark in space but to him now it was night. He stretched his legs and held the baby against him as he found a little nook and put a pillow in it and the warmest blanket he could find and tucked in The Child.

The Mandalorian didn’t need rest so he turned to go back to the control desk. The Child decided it was time to make a loud screechy noise. The Mandalorian, on impulse, reached for his blaster but when he turned he saw no threats. 

The kid was looking at him with his large black eyes that seemingly looked right into his heart. “Sleep,” he ordered and turned to leave again when the same noise came from the kid. This time it didn’t stop until The Mandalorian got close enough that the kid could reach out and touch him. 

Why is he screaming? The Mandalorian picked up The Child and examined him for something. Any sign of hurt. He found nothing but The Child cooed and nestled against his breastplate. “You need to sleep and I need to man the ship.”

He set down the kid and started to tuck him in again. The little one kicked the blanket off and dug his little fingers into the dips of his helmet. The Mandalorian sighed and eased the grabby hands off his helmet. “Sleep.” 

He didn’t get much father this time. He picked up The Child to see that little tears had fallen from his big eyes. He brightened up immediately when he looked up at The Mandalorian. His ears perked up and he closed his eyes. 

He sat back down and settled the kid on his lap leaning against his stomach and arm and took his cape and draped it over the kid. Safely tucked away and warm, the kid snored. 

IV—Claim of Parenthood

The Mandalorian chatted with Omera. Life here was good but The Mandalorian couldn’t help but be on edge. Danger still lurked and he knew he couldn’t avoid it. 

Omera’s daughter came running up, a small blue stone in her hand. She gave it to her mom with a smile. Omera took the tone thankfully but her daughter wasn’t done here just yet. 

“How is it that your son is a different color than you. Was his mom green, did she look like he does, I’ve seen a creature like him?” 

Omera chuckled. “Don’t bombard him, darling.”

The Mandalorian caught her gaze on his exposed fingers. “You’re observant. As for your questions, I never met his mother. I took him in as my son,” The Mandalorian looked around for the man of the hour and found nothing. Only the huts and not-green children. “Where is he?” 

Omera was on her feet, her hand over her eyes and looking for the kid. “I’m sure he is fine.” 

The Mandalorian shook his head and started to walk away when The Child waddled around the corner, frog legs hanging from his mouth. 

“Spit that out!” he said. He was loud enough for the kid to hear but he swallowed the frog. He sighed and turned away when he felt a little tug at his cape. He turned around and crouched down. The kid held out his arm and whined. “Fine.” He picked up the kid and held him in the crook of his arm. 

“Your son is very cute,” a random villager comments as she passes. “Nice and healthy too.” 

“He is.” The Mandalorian is smiling under his helmet. “And thank you.” 

“I only speak the truth.” 

V—Sickness

The village loves The Child, especially the children but the adults have kept an eye on The Child. For that, The Mandalorian will be grateful even though he tries to make sure the kid is in eyesight.

So when he sees the kid reel back and give a high-pitched sneeze he’s not far away. Omera is laughing at him and Cara looks amused to no end. 

He squatted down to look closer at his kid, heedless of the other kid. “Are you okay?” he asked even if the kid can’t respond. 

Omera put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a sneeze, he’ll be fine.” 

He adjusted the kid’s coat, so close that when he sneezed again it lands on The Mandalorian’s helmet. “He could be sick, it’s getting cold.” 

The Child giggled at nothing and peered up at him like held all the answers in the world. 

“Don’t be overprotective,” Omera said. 

The Mandalorian picked up The Child and he heard a woman laugh. “Rather be safe than sorry.” 

The kids all awwed at the kid leaving but they got over it as he took the kid back to their temporary home. 

The night was filled with more sneezing and eventually a cough. And then another. The Mandalorian sat with the little one on his lap night. The kid has always needed stimuli so he starts fussing with The Mandalorian’s shirt, his cape, the blanket, everything.

The Mandalorian doesn't have the heart to take it from him. Omera comes in in the morning with soup and advice. 

“It’s probably just a little cold. Don’t freak out.”  

But The Mandalorn can’t stop. Each time the kid coughs his tiny chest rattles and he starts to tremble as the day goes on, the kid’s eyes water and fill with something like pain and fear.  He’s never wished to be sick more, he’d do anything to keep the poor kid from going through this. He’s so small and fragile and doesn’t understand what’s happening. 

The Mandalorian just holds onto his kid, through the shakes and pains and sneezing and sniffling and coughing. He stands to rock the kid and starts to hum old songs he remembers from his childhood.

He doesn’t remember lyrics only a faint melody but he hums it, all the same, swaying to the music and hopefully calming the baby. 

Cara is leaning in the doorway and he stops. Feeling slightly embarrassed and so far out of his depth. “He has you wrapped around his little finger.” 

The Child snuggles closer like he wants to get under The Mandalorian’s very skin. “It’s okay,” he whispered as the kid trembled. “Go to sleep.” He looked up at Cara. “He might.” 

“Understatement of the millennium.” 

The day bled into nightfall and illness persisted. The Mandalorian held his kid tightly as if he could shield him from his sickness. The kid had fallen asleep, a nice peaceful sleep but The Mandalorian didn’t end his vigil.

So they went on like this for one more day before the symptoms start to relent. The kid is trying to escape his protective hold. Eventually, he lets the kid go, but he doesn’t let him go very far until all of the signs of sickness go away after a few days. He never thought he’d be relieved to see the kid messing around and trying to eat everything but he still held the kid tighter and watched over him more.                       

Omera only rolled her eyes at his antics. Cara full out laughed. He didn’t mind if it meant the kid was safe. 

Was this the life of a parent? Constant worry. He looked over at the kid and the little one gave him a little smile and cooed, he held the wiggling fish forward like it was a gift. The Mandalorian’s face is hidden but he smiled anyway, unable not too.

Chapter Text

VI—Shopping 

The ship had no luxury at all. It was sad to go back to it after living in the village for those stolen weeks. He took some bare-bones items from the village but he knew he needed to get more things for the kid. 

He’d found a planet with enough people to have a bustling market but not too much. It was still a big risk but maybe it would be worth it. 

He made sure all of his weapons were in place. The kid stared at him as he did so, watching with perhaps too much interest for a baby.  The kid tugged at his cape and opened his little arms up expectantly. 

“You’re getting spoiled,” he reached down anyway and picked up the kid.  

The market was small but busy, The Mandalorian was used to attracting attention but just hoped the kid wouldn’t get any. He picked up a few things, new boots, bulbs for his ship but most of the items he got were for the kid. 

He got little baby clothing, the kid was so tiny that a lot of it wouldn’t fit for a while but he would eventually grow, right? It’s overpriced and silly but he wants to kid to have more than scratchy blankets. He situates himself ready to get one last thing when the kid makes a little noise and reaches for the air. 

The Mandalorian adjusted the bags a little and let the little guy play with his fingers. The kid’s ears were down and whines and cries tumbled from his mouth. 

The market was packed, there was yelling and chiming and loud droids beeping. An alarm starts to ring and the kids trembled. He moved quickly and ducked into a dark, empty alley. He leaned against the cement walls and dropped the bags. He sat down and covered the kid’s ears.  

Rocking back and forth he watched the kid close his eyes and while he didn’t stop shaking it slowed down. The alarm stopped, the theft or attack over thankfully very quickly. He slowly eased his hands from the kid’s ears and pulled his cape over his shoulder.

He knew how much the little one liked to hold onto something. The kid grasped onto the cape, still nestled safely in his lap but he was still shaking. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, okay. It’s alright. Loud noises used to scare me too and I bet your big ears don’t help either.”

The kid looked up at him. The shaking stopped as he listened. The Mandalorian still had no idea how much he understood but something about his voice must be comforting to the kid. 

So he kept going. “See, you’re safe. I’ll protect you from the scary alarms I promise.” 

The way the kid is looking with something too much like awe, says he believes The Mandalorian. 

VII—Lost 

The Mandalorian has failed before. He’s lost bounties, lives, and yet nothing prepared him to fail as a (pseudo?)father. He lost the kid for real. He’d put the kid on one of the high chairs in the restaurant and went to talk with the certain side-eyeing patrons about maybe a bounty, everyone knew of The Mandalorian’s people and their business. 

The kids ran off before but never far. He’s looked all around and can’t find him. He’s getting looks but he doesn’t care. The panic is like a weight on his chest. His brain kept spinning worst-case scenarios, what if someone got him? What if he is dead? He’s so little. He could get hurt easily. 

He might be losing his mind as he checks behind the restaurant again and peeked his head down the dusty streets. 

His heart is pounding. He hasn’t been this shaken since...well since he handed the kid over. But now was different, he’d grown even more attached. 

How far could the kid get on his little legs? He checked the same places again. 

And again. 

It’s was only a few minutes but it felt like hours before he found the kid. Hidden in a patch of tall dead grass. He felt the weight leave his chest, mostly. He scooped the kid up without a second thought the gently looked for injuries. 

Finding nothing, he finally lets himself relax. “Don’t do that again. You can’t just run off, okay. You understand.”

The kid tilted his head and cooed. 

All the anger at him drained just like that. “I was worried you little womp rat. You’re going to give me gray hair.” 

The kid’s ears perked up. He looked like he didn’t understand a thing. 

VIII—Injury 

Maybe one day they won’t be hunted. Everyone will forget about The Mandalorian breaking the Guild Code and saving his bounty. But that day hasn’t come yet.

The Mandalorian took care of the threat but the Razor Crest had to spin and flip to avoid being hit. The kid had fallen out of his little box, one of the edges cracked and embedded its self in the kid’s arm. 

Blood leaked from the wound and the kid tried to move, currently face planted on the ground.  The Mandalorian’s heart was in his throat. 

It was just a scratch. But he rushed to take the splintered piece of wood from his kid’s arm. The kid was making small noises of pain that broke The Mandalorian’s heart. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Alright, I’m gonna make it better. I’m here.” 

The kid had tears in his eyes and The Mandalorian quickly bandaged the kid’s wound, a tiny strip of cloth wrapped around The Child’s arm.

The kid kept wanting to be closer. The Mandalorian removed his armor and hugged the kid close to his chest. Without the chest plate, it felt far more natural. 

 Especially when the kid rests his head on The Mandalorian’s chest and closes his eyes.   

IX—Lesson 

To be a Mandalorian you must go through the proper training, learn the religion of weapons and helmets. Each lesson is integral to the culture, anyone who completes the training is a Mandalorian, foundlings are treasured and helped by everyone.

On the run, there is no Mandalorian people, no community to raise this poor child, lost and hunted, none but one. The Mandalorian knew once he saw the kid, wrapped in a blanket and peering up at him that he would take the kid in as his own. Some denial later but he will keep true to that promise.

He’ll raise the kid, with the weird aging he may never see his son be an adult but he won’t mind. He’ll be there for as long as he possibly can, guiding and protecting. 

The kid, of course, doesn’t know this. But The Mandalorian tries to get him to understand all about his culture, as his child the kid could become a Mandalorian but he could choose not too and The Mandalorian will still be there for him. 

“These are weapons,” The Mandalorian gestured to the abundance of knives, replusers, and rifles laid out for cleaning on a table, the kid stood on the table gazing at everything. “They are important. They let us do our job and keep us safe.” 

His armor also lays next to the weapons, his helmet remains on but all over pieces are laid out. “This is beskar, it’s the metal of our people. It’s important for protection, which you need a lot of.” 

The kid’s ears curve and raise. Good, he’s listening. “And this,” he put his hands on his helmet. “Is the most important. Almost all Mandalorians look different but under the helmets, we are all the same united front.” 

The kid reached for him. The Mandalorian picked him up and the kid reached for his helmet. The little fingers rested on the indents of the helmet. “You could wear a helmet like this one day but it’s all up to you.” 

The kid cooed. Probably not understanding much but hopefully enough. 

X—Hand-holding 

The kid eats so much soup and frogs he could use the exercise. It’s just walking and the kid’s done it before without complaint. For a baby who always wanted to get out of his cradle, he doesn’t want to walk this time. 

The Child tugged at his cape for the nth time and held his arms out, this time he added a little whine to his performance. They’re heading into a small town, the walk isn’t that long but if he didn’t have to slow his pace so much for the kid’s waddle he’d be there by now. But he is stubborn. 

And for once he isn’t going to give the kid what he wants. 

He crouched down and pointed at the kid. “No,” he said and the kid took his finger in one of his hands. And started to walk. 

It’s awkward as hell, The Mandalorian is bent in half, one-shoulder dropped and his fingers held by a tiny green creature. He led the kid to the town, enjoying watching the kid look around at the new terrain. 

His back starts to ache and the kid’s little claws are uncomfortable on his hand but he pushed through. 

When the kid looked up him with those big eyes he acknowledged a fact that deep down he’s always known to be true: he’s screwed. 

Chapter Text

XI—Saving 

The thing is the kid has saved his life before. But when that happened he’d been trying very had to not feel something for the kid. He’d been saved by his enemy who believed him to be a savior. Now, he was saved by his son. 

It all started with a kidnapping. He was a bounty and so was the kid. His priceless armor was removed but thankfully the kidnapers, a masked group of hungry hunters, kept it on. Like it was a favor. Unfortunately, it was. But it didn’t make them kind. 

“They did say it was some sort of baby,” one of them mused, twirling a shooter loaded with a tranquilizer. 

The other hunter shrugged, a repluser in his hand. “And you got attached,” he eyed The Mandalorian’s protective arm around the kid with disgust. 

They were in a cell on a large ship. He was cuffed but the kid was too small for anything else and nuzzled under his arm. The Mandalorian said nothing. 

“It is cute,” a woman entered the room, wearing his armor. “But I have a team to feed.” 

“I can pay you,” The Mandalorian was trying to buy time.

“We took all your credits from your ship and your pocket,” the woman said, sliding her hands into her coat pockets. 

“I hid more.” 

“I am not naive, do not mistake for some rookie bounty hunter, Mando,” she walked to the side of the bars. The Mandalorian tried to get away but the chains attached to the cuffs held. She stuck a finger through the bars and tapped the kid on his forehead. The kid was shaking and his eyes were searching for something. 

He wanted so badly to give words of comfort but couldn’t bring himself to show how close they were. They were still guessing. But he silently held his finger up. The kid wrapped a hand around it. And to The Mandalorian’s slight horror held up his other hand. The bars around the cell stretched, the lock pulled apart. 

The hunters all froze, invisible ice holing them still. The kid looked up at him and disarmed the hunters before breaking apart the cuffs.

The Child slumped down against him The Mandalorian gently, but quickly, set his down the kid and jumped to his feet. The repluser landed near the broken bars of the cell and The Mandalorian picked it up as the hunters, disoriented, scrambled for their bearings. One found a weapon but it was crushed. All the weapons but the one in The Mandalorian’s hand was crushed.

He didn’t hesitate to turn the bounty hunters into dust. 

He picked back up the kid, holding him close. He took back his stolen armor and put it back on, slowed down because he couldn’t bear to set down the kid for even a moment. He expected the rest of the team to come and shot them down before they could fully open the doors to the cell room. 

He found the stashed credits and left the ship cradling his son. 

The kid doesn’t wake up for three days. It’s all terrible. Awful. A twist in fate that The Mandalorian hates: his son having to save him.  

He’s supposed to be the protector, the parent. The first job of a parent is to protect your kid from the harsh world. But the kid protected him. Saved them.

When the kid finally woke, making little sounds and reaching for The Mandalorian, he was still in awe of the kid’s abilities. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you. I never—you didn’t have too. You shouldn’t have too. I’ll do better, I promise.” 

The kid didn’t care about his vow just pressed closer, happy to be safe and together. 

XII—Signet

He never knew what he wanted for his signet. 

It’s said to reveal itself to you in time. Now, heading for the Armorer, he knows. He knows this is a risk, as well. A huge risk. But he’s taken precautions and he intends to be discreet and fast. 

 Some of the chaos had died down naturally with time and enough bounty hunters have died coming after him that most have given up. And he found some beskar hidden in one of his bounty’s pockets.

Regardless, it’s apart of his culture. The new hideout is one a smaller planet, it’s hard to find but he knows his people well. He knows who to contact to get the proper hints and information. 

The rebuilt hideout is dark and gloomy. The kid is wrapped in a blanket and tucked against his arm. The Armorer doesn’t look surprised to see him.  

“Do you have more beskar?” 

“Yes. My pauldron needs some repairs and I know what I want for my signet. Give the rest to the foundlings.” 

“This is the Way. What do you want as your signet?” 

He eased the kid from his arm and pulled back the blanket. She leaned forward to get a better look. She didn’t ask questions just nodded and got to work. Taking the small portion of beskar and his battered pauldron.

When he got his pauldron back with his kid’s face engraved on it he showed the kid. He was rocking slightly but he hardly noticed, the kid liked it.

“See, that’s you,” he said softly. “It’s a signet. Very important.” 

“Is it yours?” The Armourer asked. 

“Not by blood, but yes.” 

“A foundling.” 

“Not quite, he is still being hunted. Tracking fobs were given to many bounty hunters. We endanger everyone here.” 

She nodded. 

With that, he left. Wearing his new signet with pride. More so than he’s had in a long time. 

XIII—Bedtime story 

The kid wouldn’t sleep. He’s been up for hours and won’t close his eyes and even try to rest. Even in The Mandalorian’s lap, he won’t sleep. 

The Mandalorian is stubborn. Probably too stubborn for his own good. The Child, as it seems, is stubborn as well. They are are a standstill. It’s been over thirty hours since either of them got any rest.

“Go to sleep.” 

The kid wrapped his hands around a lever and his mouth opened in a little smile. He was been very thoroughly ignored.

He didn’t remember a lot from his parents but he remembers them reading to him at night. He doesn’t have any books but he can make something up. 

He picked up the kid and set him down in his little box.  He sat down on the ground and held out his wrist for the kid to grab, which the kid did. “In a galaxy far, far away…”

He told an absurd story, with twists and turns the didn’t make much sense. But it got the job down. The kid was fast asleep. 

[Wonderful art by the lovely WontYouBeBen of a froggy bedtime story]

XIV—I love you  

Admittedly, he talks to the kid a lot. So when it happens it just slips, like its been waiting the whole time to spring forward.

The ship landed on a small mostly desert covered planet. He was only leaving for a little while so he put the kid down in a small room and hoped he wouldn’t leave. 

“I’m going to be back for you,” he promised. “I will come back but you stay here.” He closed his eyes hoping for once it would be easy. “I’ll be back. I love you.” 

He closed and locked the door then left the ship and locked it from the outside. Once he was on his way he finally realized what he said. 

He hasn’t told someone he loves them for years. It’s not a lie. He does love the kid with all he has. He’s really a father now. He’s known but it hits him like a ton of bricks at that moment. It’s real, very, very real. 

It’s terrifying and amazing at the same time.

XV—Word

The kid babbled a lot. Nonsense words and jumbled sounds mostly.  So when he goes back to Sorgan, to relax a little and check-in (read: see Omera and let the kid play with other children) he lets Omera try to get him to say his first word. 

Omera took it as a challenge when he said the kid still hasn’t said anything. “Talking to him is good but you have to give him simple words,” she said and whisked his kid away. The Mandalorian followed behind. 

“Yeah, it’s okay,” she said sweetly, bouncing and swaying. “Your daddy is right over there. Yeah,” she nodded as the kid cooed. “Can you say Ommy.”

“Ommy?” The Mandalorian asked.

“It’s childhood nickname, you can’t expect a baby to say Omera,” she said like it was obvious, The Mandalorian supposed it could be. “Can you say Ommy. Ommy. Ommy. Ommy.”

The kid kept cooing but still not speaking. “I don’t think it’s working.” 

“Shut up,” she said but the words had no bite behind them. “How ‘bout dadda. Dadda. Dadda. Dadda. Yeah? You like that huh?”

The kid giggled. She pointed at The Mandalorian. “That’s dadda. Yeah? Dadda.”

The kid’s big eyes processed this. His mouth opened and his first word came out: “Da-dadda.” 

The Mandalorian would deny that he gasped but Omera will swear it happened. She handed off the kid and The Mandalorian let out a broken laugh. “You said your first word, you little womp rat.” The kid should know. 

The kid giggled and pointed at him. “Dadda.” 

“Yeah, that’s me, kid. Now and forever.” 

Chapter Text

XVI—Crying 

The Mandalorian doesn’t remember the last time he cried. He had to shut down his emotions to get his job done for both himself and his people. 

He was gone for far longer than he anticipated being and the kid was (hopefully) still in the ship. He knew there was a small chance the kid didn’t run off somewhere after he was gone all day. The Mandalorian rushed back as fast as he could. Credits weighed down his pocket from a good day’s work.

But he was worrying like crazy over the kid. He opened the door to the ship and was immediately greeted by little green hands grabbing for him. 

He was so relieved he could cry and cry he did. The kid waited for him, he could figure out how to open the door if he really wanted too. He picked up the kid and held him close. 

Under his helmet, he closed his eyes tightly as tears fell down his face. 

XVII—Gift 

The planet they bunked on was rocky and rough. He let the kid walk with his finger in one of the little clawed hands, even if it bend him in half.

The smooth path was wide enough for both of them but the kid seemed to want to explore, because he likes to make The Mandalorian’s job as a parent hard. The kid stopped trying to pull them both off the path for a few moments before really putting his back into it. 

He gave up and The Mandalorian thought for once he held his ground and denied the kid something and actually went through with it. No compromises.

Such was not the case.

The kid raised his hand and a red stone raised up from the rocks behind them and floated over in front of the kid. It must not be as tiring to use it on such little things for such little time because the kid is fine, even if The Mandalorian is a second from freaking out. 

The kid picked up the small red stone and held it up to The Mandalorian. His big eyes were full of hope. “Dadda,” the kid said. 

The Mandalorian is weak when it comes to the kid normally but now that he was speaking it was almost impossible to resist.  He sighed and crouched down to take the stone and pocket it. 

“This doesn’t mean you can just go around using that,” he gestured to the kid’s hands. “Power. Okay?” 

The kid waddled on. 

XVIII—Driving

The kid loved to mess with things. He liked to flip switches and grasp onto controls. It made the kid smile and laugh. 

The Mandalorian always took back control. Unflipped switches and pulled the kid's grabby hands from the controls.

The kid was currently in his lap, looking at all the controls with interest that seemingly never faded. 

He looked up at The Mandalorian, eyes pleading. "Dadda," he added, pointing at The Mandalorian. 

The Mandalorian sighed. "Fine. Fine. The Mandalorian took his hands off the controls and put it into neutral. He pointed at the levers. "Controls."

"Curols," the kid tried, smiling up at him. The kid got the Memo quick and immediately flipped a switch. The Mandalorian promised himself he would only interfere if it was life or death. 

He took the kid’s hand gently and put it on the controls. He moved the lever up and down. "Steering."

The kid didn't even try, he just cooed. The Mandalorian put his hands on top of the kid’s and guided him through. They made the ship spin and even flip, go forwards and backward, stop and start. Then he took his hands off.

The kid didn’t waste any time, he started to send them in a series of flips that made The Mandalorian hold onto the kid tightly. The kid was over flips quickly and made the ship go back, stop, go back more, stop, spin then another flip.

The ship probably looked stupid to anyone around. But the kid looked up at him, a smile on his face and The Mandalorian found he didn’t care about anything else. The kid continued to do random moves that pleased him. 

Forward, stop, turn, back, spin. 

Spin, flip, left, stop, left, spin, flip.

The Mandalorian let him without much comment until the kid hit a button. That’s normal but this one launched laser beams. 

“Alright,” he pulled the kid back closer to his stomach. “That’s enough playtime for you.” 

By the way, the kid looked at the controls, The Mandalorian knew this wouldn’t be the last time. 

XIX—Swimming 

The Mandalorian hated water. He knew how to swim, thank you very much, but he hated getting wet. The whole armor and many layers thing he had going on doesn’t help. 

The kid, however, doesn’t seem to have this problem. He doesn’t know what the kid did or what happened for the fifty years he missed but going into water must not have been involved.

Sorgan had many little lakes and ponds and the kid wants to swim but the kid showed no interest towards the people filled waters. Now that kid decided he wants to swim as they come across a large pond, with huge fish under the surface. 

“Fine,” The Mandalorian didn’t take off any of his armor. It would be unfordable for hours with his clothing wet but he wasn’t going to risk anything. He unbuttoned the kid’s little coat and took it off. 

The kid looked back at him, then that the water. Without any fear he jumped in. 

“No,” The Mandalorian grabbed the kid from the water. “No,” he pointed a finger at the kid. “No.”

The kid wasn’t paying attention, he preferred to follow The Mandalorian’s fingers as it bounced up and down. 

“We go slow,” The Mandalorian stepped into the water and held the kid against him. Slowly he eased the kid away from him. The kid has instincts to paddle and kick. 

After some testing with different amounts of support, the kid was ready. A natural. The Mandalorian let go, still keeping his hands close. The kid was so little he was buoyant and the kicking helped. The went left, then right and then center. Right into The Mandalorian’s arms.  

The Mandalorian will deny it until he died but he didn’t hate water in that moment. 

XX—Removal of the helmet

There are exceptions to every rule. Mandalorian’s can’t take off their helmets around people. But for trusted people, parents to kids, brother to brother, it can be excused if kept private. But Mandalorians are often solitary people, due to their jobs and lifestyle. 

A kid should see their parents face. The Mandalorian hasn’t minded keeping his helmet on around the kid but as he but the kid to bed and lingered the kid touched his helmet. 

He felt the urge like he hasn’ since he first kept it on for a whole day of work. He was suffocating under the polished helmet. He slowly took off the helmet. It was time for the kid to see his face.

He ran a hand through his hair and smiled at the kid. He pointed at himself. “Dadda.”

The kid reached out and The Mandalorian leaned forward, letting the kid put his hands on his cheeks. “Dadda.” 

“Yeah,” The Mandalorian nodded, not able to wipe the smile off his face from the kid’s big eyes that are filled with joy and wonder. 

Chapter Text

XXI—Cuddling

The Mandalorian took off his helmet. They were never safe but they were safe enough for him to sleep. The kid stood next to him, a defiant look in his eyes that tells The Mandalorian one thing: he didn’t want to go to sleep. 

The Mandalorian sighed and took off the rest of his armor. He pulled down his bed from its place in the wall. He picked up the kid and sat down on the thin mattress. “We are going to sleep.”

The kid cooed, not listening like usual, choosing to ignore him in favor of snuggling closer. The kid tucked himself against The Mandalorian’s ribs. The Mandalorian propped himself up against the ship wall, not wanting to crush the child.  

“Sleep.” 

The kid, of course, didn’t listen. His eyes were wide open as he climbed up The Mandalorian. The Mandalorian, totally not being an overprotective father (what are you talking about), kept his hand loosely on the kid’s back. 

He slid his other arm under the kid for support as he stopped. Finally satisfied with his place as he lowered his head against The Mandalorian’s chest. Right over his heart. 

He smoothed his hand over the tiny hairs on the kid’s head and down his small back, he was still to thin for The Mandaloran’s liking. Too fragile, he could feel the kid’s backbone, feel his lungs move as he breathed. Maybe that’s just how his species is.

Maybe there are others like him out there. 

A small (read: huge) part of him feared what would happen if he ever found the kid’s people. He’d be happy for the kid to have people like him but could he let the kid go. Could he take if it the kid chose to be with his kind over The Mandalorian? He wouldn’t blame the kid, never, how could he? 

The kid listened to his heartbeat. There was no way he knew how much he held The Mandalorian’s heart in his little hands. The Mandalorian would go to the ends of the universe for him. 

The kid listened to his heartbeat, ignorant of his dad’s fears.  All he knew was they were close and that’s all he cared about. 

The Mandalorian held him close, the fear didn’t go away but it eased.  

XXII—Kisses

The Mandalorian woke up with a small start, scared of hurting the kid in his sleep. The kid was still fast asleep, curled close against him, one hand fisted in The Mandalorian’s shirt. The Mandalorian blamed some deep instinct for most of his fatherly actions. 

This he would blame on it too. 

He bowed his head and planted a kiss on the kid’s forehead. He held his lips there for too long but he savored this moment of closeness. He never knew what the next day would bring and it was more frightening in this moment than in a long time. 

But even if he lived for fifty more years, or even sixty if he was lucky, he still may not see his kid grow up. Different species age differently. Maybe he would go through adolescence fast, maybe he wouldn’t have to leave his son when he needs him most.

He knew one day, for whatever reason, he would need to say goodbye. He hoped he had the chance to say goodbye. 

He finally pulled back and the kid was now awake,  his sleepy eyes drooping and slightly crusted with sleep. The Mandalorian used his thumbs to removes the gunk for his eyes. “Sleep. I’m here.” 

The kid didn’t close his eyes. Sometimes the kid had a sixth sense for when The Mandalorian needed him—and one for trouble—and he must be using it right now because he climbed up The Mandalorian and put a hand on his jaw, little feet standing on The Mandalorian’s arm and leaning against the hand he still had on the kid’s back.

“Dadda,” the kid said. 

The Mandalorian couldn’t stop smiling. “I love you,” he said, so honest in those words. The kid would never understand the scope of his love unless he became a parent.

The babbled something incoherent. “Dadda.” 

“Yeah, I’m right here,” The Mandalorian canted his head and pressed a kiss onto the kid’s head. “Try not to go where I can’t follow.” 

The kid cooed and shoved his face into The Mandalorian’s check, giving him something like a kiss. 

XXIII—Shoulder rides. 

He didn’t like risking the kid’s life by taking him out of the ship but sometimes it had to be done. The village was tiny but it had a restaurant and the kid got cranky if he went without soup for too long—spoiled. 

The kid didn’t want to walk and surprise, surprise, The Mandalorian didn’t feel like making him. He’d do it on the way back, okay. The kid also, for some reason didn’t want to take his place in the crook of The Mandalorian’s arm. The kid kept pulling on The Mandaloran’s shirt, trying to get higher. 

The Mandalorian was nothing but a good dad. “Fine,” he said, like this could go any other way. He helped the kid get higher up against his chest but the kid still isn’t happy. “What?” 

The kid took things into his own hands. Little claws dug into his shoulder and equally small feet dug into his chest and shoulder. The kid wrapped a hand under his helmet and finally stopped moving.

The Mandalorian didn’t have faith in his kid’s balance and put a hand on the kid’s leg. “Careful, baby.”

The kid cooed and squirmed. He knocked on the helmet. The Mandalorian rolled his eyes under the helmet, but under the helmet here was also a smile. The kid rode on his shoulder the whole way there and had the nerve to cry out when he tugged the kid, gently, down against his chest. 

XXIV—Toys 

The Mandalorian does know some stuff about raising a child. He knows they need more toys beyond fish and a metal ball. So when he gets the kid tiny figures and a small stuffed snake he felt proud of himself. 

He’s ahead of the curve of parenting. 

The kid took a look at the toys and titled his head. The Mandalorian sat down and took off his helmet. The kid liked to look him in the eyes when he caused trouble. The kid waddled forward and picked up the cloaked figurine. Both the figurines were human but one wore a cloak and the other a just plastic armor. 

The Mandalorian picked up the armored figure and made it walk. He used his other hand to make and snake slither. And he added narration. “When you’re being chased the best way to run is in zig-zags,” he made the figure go in zig-zags. “It’s harder for anyone to follow but especially harder for someone to shoot you. “Then you need to find cover or a weapon.” 

He looked over at kid, who picked up the other figure. “There you go,” he let go of his snake and moved the figure towards the kid. “They stick together, right?” 

The kid cooed and grabbed for the snake. The Mandalorian pushed it closer. The kid contorted the snake and shook it. He shoved it into The Mandalorian’s figure. 

“Ahh,” The Mandalorian said in a weird voice he dubbed would fit the character. “You have to get me,” he started to move the figure away but the kid got it. The Mandalorian fake fought for it, the kid shoved him back with very little force but The Mandalorian fell back like he’d been shot. 

“Ow,” he held his shoulder, barely holding back laughter. He scooped the kid up and held him close. “Aw, you got me.” 

The kid laughed as The Mandalorian tickled him. He rolled, putting the kid under him but putting no weight on him. The kid threw the tiny stuffed snake at him. “Ow,” he threw himself on his back, defeated. 

The kid picked up the snake and figure and made the snake wrap around the figure. The Mandalorian picked up the other figure and used him to attack the snake. 

They went on to play a weird game of chase and battle, half involving the figures and half themselves. The sides switched often, the snake teamed up with the cloaked guy and then the two humans teamed up.  

The Mandalorian laughed so hard his stomach hurt and his face hurt from smiling. All this joy seemed untouchable by anything. He hoped it was. 

XXV—Drawing on the walls 

He got the kid more stuff at the market. He got him a small box full of multi-colored sticks of chalk. It washed off the water so it would be fine for the kid to draw some small things on the little chalkboard he got the kid.

The kid loved it, he drew on the chalkboard for hours, marveled by how the chalk worked and the sound it made. The Mandalorian went to bed that night, happy from all the playing and the kid’s joy. For once the kid just laid down in his little nook and closed his eyes.

The Mandalorian should have known something was wrong. 

He woke up after only a few hours to the walls covered in drawings. Things were everywhere from the kid climbing everything. The scribbles had to rhyme or reason but to the kid, they seemed to make sense since he stood a door, a pink chalk stick in his hand, looking very proud.

He took the chalk back and picked the kid up. “What did you do? You went behind my back and made a mess.” 

The kid thought this was funny and laughed. “Oh, you think it’s funny. No playing today, we have to clean.”

The Mandalorian cleaned and the kid played because The Mandalorian is weak and gave the kid his toys once little tears fell down his face. 

The Mandalorian didn’t take long to clean and ended up playing with the kid on the floor again. He had to find work because they needed money but for now, he savored the moment. 

Chapter Text

XXVI—Drowning

The Mandalorian made a mistake. He’d taken the kid to what he thought was a large peaceful village full of no one of consequence. He’d been welcomed at first,  they served warm soup for the kid and he knew there was unlikely to be work here but he had enough credits to manage. 

The kid liked to get out of the ship and stretch his legs, The Mandalorian sometimes did too. 

The village turned on them, it was a poor village and his armor was worth a lot, almost as much as the bounty on his head. But they didn’t know about it. 

They had a lot of weapons—most people had a lot, stolen from dead bodies and droids—and men willing to risk it all for their hungry families. He didn’t want to kill them but as they surrounded him and the kid he might not have a choice.

The men were smart, they pointed all their fire at the kid. “Move and we’ll kill it,” one said. 

The Mandalorian pushed the button on the canister and light flared out. It was blinding but it was enough to get the jump on them. He disarmed a few of them and shot fire out to the others. He knocked out two and as he looked up he saw one, burnt and stumbling, grab the kid, he was weaponless but there was a river next to them.

“No,” he yelled but the man threw the kid into the river. There were four men still standing but The Mandalorian took them down quickly, he damaged their lungs and bones but all but one would live.

He killed the man who threw the kid into the fast-moving water. He dove into the water.

The kid could swim but the force of the river was too much, it pulled him out and down. The Mandalorian could hardly fight against the current. It was dark under the water and he could hardly see anything. Let alone his son. 

He was frantic, his heat was pounding, fear was a nose around his neck. He couldn’t stop the panic that curled in his gut. He felt powerless against the water.  

He dove down further, his lungs strained and his legs pushed hard against the current. He still saw nothing. 

His arms cut through the water, he couldn’t hold his breath for much longer but he forced himself not to let go of the glimmer of hope he held onto. He wanted to yell for the kid, wanted him to flip switches he wasn’t allowed to touch. Wanted to hear him coo and say “dadda”  just one more time. 

He wasn’t ready to give up. 

He swam down more of the length of the river and finally saw a glint of green. He grabbed the kid and used all his strength to get them to the surface. 

He gasped as he breached through the water, he treaded water with one arm and held the kid above water with the other. He sawm, one-handed to the bank and climbed out, his heart in the throat, held together by a thin strand of hope.

The kid coughed up water, whining as he did it. The Mandalorian sighed and closed his eyes. He held out his finger but the kid cooed and he just picked up the kid, there was no time to linger. 

XXVII—Freezing 

They were trapped in a frozen cave. How they got there is a long story. A storm came on a seemingly normal, even warm planet and plunged everything into darkness. They’d been walking around, searching for the small town that lived on this planet with crazy weather.

The snow came fast and hard and at first, The Mandalorian decided to take cover in a small cave but the snow was paired with a quake and high winds and the rocks and boulders crashed down in front of the entrance, leaving only small gaps in the rocks that only air could make it through.

Curse this planet. 

He held the kid close 

The Mandalorian took off his cape and wrapped it around the kid. He slid off his armor and held the kid close. He had nothing to keep a fire going the blaster on his vambrace would do little. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the kid, he rocked back and forth. He was shaking, teeth ratling but the kid was trembling too and making soft whines of pain. 

He moved the kid to under his overshirt shirt and pulled his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around the lump over his heart. 

“Dadda,” the kid mumbled, his voice absorbed by The Mandalorian’s layers. 

The Mandalorian closed his eyes and took off his helmet. If this was the end he wanted his kid to see his face. He wished he was stronger, strong enough to move the boulders and rocks and snow and ice. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t even sure if the kid’s weird force could, he heard a lot of rocks fall, there were many layers between them and freedom. 

“I’m here,” The Mandalorian rubbed his frozen fingers over the kid’s back. “It’s okay, it’s just a little cold. Go to sleep.” 

The kid looked up over the top of his shirt. The cape wound tight around him. “Sheewp,” the kid tried. “Dadda.” 

“Yeah, dadda’s here, baby.” 

The kid pressed his code face back down and The Mandalorian wished he knew more about surviving in the cold but he didn’t have much experience. 

He would give anything for the kid to stop shaking and made soft, painful noises in the back of his throat. 

He started to hum, broken pieces of a lullaby his parents once sung to him. He hummed a forgotten tune and wished maybe he had a god or gods to pray to, but he had no religion he believed in other than the Mandalorian one of weapons and helmets. He couldn’t shoot his way out of this.

A wind swept in and the temperature plummeted so fast he could feel it grow colder. The kid and him shook harder. The Mandalorian wished he wore his gloves because his fingers were red and frozen. 

He kept humming, hoping it was some kind of solace. He only denial left, they couldn’t die here, forgotten in a cave.

The Mandalorian always thought he’d go out in a blaze of glory, one moment there and next gone. But now he could feel his moments tick away and to his horror the kid’s. He hoped that the kid could last longer in the cold thanks to his species because The Mandalorian didn’t think he had much time left unless it warmed up as fast as it cooled down. 

Such was not the case, and the minutes went on and his the tips of his ears were red and cold, so was his nose. His fingers were beyond numb and the kid stuck his head up through the top of the shirt again, his big eyes in search of comfort. 

The Mandalorian realized he stopped humming. He resumed, closing his eyes and wishing to live long enough to give the kid a safe and stable life. 

Please don’t let them die in a cave, frozen skeletons intertwined. 

He heard an engine, like the answer to his prayers. “Help,” he yelled, his breath frozen in the air. “Help.” 

The engine got closer. “Is someone there?” 

“Yes,” he matched her volume. “Please help me.” 

“It’s going to take some time but hold on.” 

He heard a blast and then another. “What’s your name?” 

“Everyone just calls me Mando.” 

The kid cooed loudly, happy because The Mandalorian was. 

“Alright, Mando,  are you alone?” 

“No,” The Mandaorlain looked down at the happy, frozen, kid in his arm. “I have a kid with me.” 

She muttered something too low for him to hear. “The quake happened around fifteen minutes ago, you been in there this whole time?” 

“A little bit before,” The Mandalorian heard another deafening sound and covered the kid’s ears.

 “I’m with Rescue, this plant has random bursts of extreme weather but they’re usually rare. If I were you I’d get back against the farthest wall.” 

The Mandalorian shuffled back against the back wall, he turned on his knees and pressed the kid to his chest while he lowered he head against the wall. He shielded the kid against him and hoped it was just him being overprotective and not needed. 

“I’d also cover your kid’s ears, I’m getting out the big guns,” she said. “Three. Two. One.” 

A deafening blast sounded and The Mandalorian hoped his ears weren’t damaged because he covered the kid’s ears and left his unprotected. The blast pushed him back and sent tiny pellets and rocks into his back. He remembered he didn’t have his helmet on and ducked his head down into knees. 

“Can you turn away,” he said. 

“Yeah, sure,” 

He peeked and true to her word her back was turned. He put back on his helmet and held out his hand before her. 

She was human, with platinum hair and bronze skin, bundled up in a warm coat. She took his hand and shook it. “I have a ride and coats and soup in the—awww,” she looked down at the kid from where he pooped out of the top of The Mandalorian’s shirt. “He’s so cute, and must be so cold. Follow me.” 

Her ride was sturdy and did have space coats and soup. She refused to take any payment. “I do this to help people because I can. Don’t insult me.” 

When the kid curled up against him, warm and fed, The Mandalorian was thankful beyond measure.  

XXVIII—Burning 

He needed to stop leaving the ship. He wanted to leave the kid behind but the ship needed minor repairs and he didn’t trust most people. 

The restaurant was on fire, the kitchen malfunctioned and the kid ran in the wrong direction as people shoved each other to get out. 

The Mandalorian scrambled after the kid,  he bent over the kid to pick him up, just as a ceiling beam, smoldering and crumbling landed on his back. He grunted and held the kid against his chest as more of the building came down. 

The kid was crying as the heat around them became unbearable. 

He made sure he covered the kid entirely and faced the flames even though his back burned. He navigated through the flames as embers scorched through his clothing. Burns etched themselves into his skin and he rushed through flame and failing wood alike. 

Outside smoke hung thick in the air. The Mandalorian handed off the kid to an old woman, he knew he was on fire and raced to a small pond a few paces away.

The water soothed the flame and his burns. His back took the worse and gaps between his armor on his arms was chared. 

He climbed out of the water and saw the old woman holding the kid against her chest with all the tenderness in the world, softly speaking to him.

“Thank you,” he said as he took back the kid.

“You’re welcome,” the woman booped the kid on the nose. “He’s very cute.” 

“I know,” he felt the burns ache against his charred clothing. “He’s a good kid, despite almost killing me.” 

“The fire? Or the heart attack?” 

“Both,” he chuckled and so did the woman. He excused himself and took the kid back to the ship. He applied burn cream and winced as it stung. The kid held out his hand and The Mandalorian held out his thumb for the kid to take. 

“I hope you know how much I love you,” The Mandalorian said. 

The kid squeezed his thumb, trying to comfort him and it dawned on The Mandalorian the might kid loved him too. 

XXIX—Crash

The ship, admittedly, is a piece of junk right now. Hence the reason he’s landing for another touch up to keep this thing going. 

The landing and steering have been off for days so when he goes to land the thing by the mechanic’s shop he’s extra careful.

But his caution doesn’t do much when the steering malfunctions and sent them straight into the ground. 

The kid is in the car seat when The Mandalorian realized what was about to happen. He lunged for the kid and just as his fingertips brushed the kid’s sleeve the ship hit the ground, headfirst and way to fast. 

It all happened so fast, a blur of black and metal and fire and ash. The Mandalorian’s back hit the wall of the ship and he fell back into the busted ruble of the ship. 

Electricity crackled. The Mandalorian was bruised and sore but he had to move. His kid was missing. He forced his head to the side, no sign of him. To the other side, nothing.

He hauled himself up and took another look around. The kid was trapped between pieces of debris stacked up and the ceiling. The car seat still attached to him. He lowered his arm and The Mandalorian realized he probably used his power to save them both. 

The Mandalorian struggled to get up but he managed to get himself on his feet. He took the kid down from his perch and checked him over. To The Mandaloran’s absolute horror the kid was covered in cuts and bruises. 

He had to make this right. 

He needed work now. 

He gave the mechanic all his credits to start work on the machine and watch the kid. He gave the kid all his creams and ointments, trying not to let his fear show. 

He brought the kid back soup and the mechanic more credits, his body ached for him to lay down but he sat up in the undamaged part of his ship and watched the kid sleep.  According to the mechanic, he’d sleep all day once he left. The little cut near his eye was already healing and the bruise on his back was fading but that was too close. 

Far too many close calls. 

He can’t handle if the kid gets hurt, he’d rather take the force of the kid’s wounds multiplied tenfold, than ever have to see cuts and bruises litter the kid’s skin again. He’d rip his chest open and give his heart to never see something like that again, but he’s already done it. He’s opened his heart up for the kid and this is the price. 

XXX—Venom 

He brushed off being bit by a small creature that flew into his way right before he got on his ship and flew away just as fast, leaving only two pin-pricks behind. The Mandalorian should have paid more attention to them, he bandaged his ribs and fell back against the chair, he titled his head over and saw his shoulder had grown puffy and red. 

Venom. He had a few antivenoms in the back but suddenly the weight of his exhaustion hit him, the ship titled and his head spun. The kid cooed and waddled closer. 

The Mandalorian closed his eyes as the stars danced in the sky and the heat deep in him grew to a fire. He couldn’t move. He had to wait this out. He knew this venom didn’t work well in human blood, only temporarily paralyzing them instead of killing them. He’d been through something like this before.

The kid didn’t know this and whined and cooed. He climbed up The Mandalorian and hit his tiny fists against The Mandalorian’s chest, shoved his hands against The Mandalorian’s shoulder. His body his in agony as the venom coursed through his veins but each tiny hit sends spider-web cracks along his body.

“Dadda,” the kid shoved his shoulder. The Mandalorian’s eyes were sealed shut and the agony turned to numbness. He could hardly feel anything anymore but he could hear the kid’s whines and coos loud and clear. 

Hear him as he started to whine because The Mandalorian always woke up when the kid needed him.

It would take around an hour and a half for the venom to run his course and The Mandalorian was forced to be still as it played out. The kid tucked himself against The Mandaloran’s ribs, he hardly felt it, like there was a disconnect between his body and mind. Like everything was filtered through water.

His arm lifted. The kid used his power to force The Mandaloran’s arm over him. It was like the kid was holding himself instead of The Mandalorian. He was breaking as he was forced to be slumped in his chair with the kid curled against him.

He faded in and out of consciousness, walking the line between worlds as the kid sobbed against him, somehow knowing these were the sighs of death. The thought killed him. Full feeling slowly came back, agony ebbed through him, like waves crashing against him.

Movement came back slowly, his body reconnecting fully to his brain, the circuits remaking themselves to twitch a finger. Flick a wrist. Open his eyes. He trembled as the rest of his movement came back to him faster than before. He jerked uncontrollably and rocked the kid. 

His throat was raw from not talking for so long. “I’m here, I’m sorry. I’m here,” The Mandalorian repeated those words over and over again. His body locked and unlocked as he recovered but he hardly cared. He held the kid close and kissed his little head. 

“I love you.” 

For the first time since he’s said those words he knew the kid loved him back. 

Chapter Text

XXXI—Nightmare (I)

The kid had a gun pressed to his head, his big eyes looked up at The Mandalorian, for some reason couldn’t move. “Dadda,” the kid said. The man pulled the trigger and a blast turned to kid to dust.

The Mandalorian reached forward but he was falling. Guns rung in his ears and screams echoed. 

The Mandalorian woke up with a start. He clambered out of bed, his blanks fell to the floor and he rushed to see the kid. It was a dream but it was so vivid, the look on the kid’s face was recycled from when he gave the kid to what was left of the Empire. 

The kid opened his eyes as The Mandalorian picked him up and held him close. He could feel the kid breathing, safe and sound in his arms. 

He forced himself to take deep breaths. The kid cooed tiredly.

"I'm sorry, baby," The Mandalorian said, feeling slightly stupid. The dream wasn’t real but his panic was. The kid looked up at him and raised his ears. “Yeah I said I was sorry, don’t get used to it.” 

He set the kid down and tucked him in again, ignoring the smug look from the kid. 

XXXII—Babyproofing 

The Razor Crest wasn’t exactly child friendly. The Mandalorian didn’t do much about it for a while but when the kid climbed up onto a rope hanging from the wall, looking at him like this was a game The Mandalorian knew something needed to be done, little did he know this would start a mini war. 

The Mandalroian put all the ropes and other things out in the open behind doors and sealed them shut. 

The kid faced this by figuring out how to open his doors, The Mandalorian found him hauling the rope out. 

The Mandalorian put the rope back. 

He woke up to the kid gnawing on the rope. He picked up the kid and put the rope away, yet again. He felt like he’d one but the kid had moved on to climbing. 

He scaled onto any surface available and the ones that aren’t. The Mandalorian came down from the cockpit to find him knocking wiring off a shelf to stand there. 

He leaned in the doorway, trying not to give the kid any attention. The kid looked him dead in the eyes and knocked off more. 

The Mandalorian picked up the kid and carried him back to the cockpit. “You know for something so small you sure know how to cause trouble.” 

The kid didn’t say anything. 

The Mandalorian put all his important and dangerous stuff behind doors or on high shelves the kid couldn’t get too. But the kid had that funky power of his and even managed to pry open the locked doors using it. 

He held the rope and wiring and tilted his head up of The Mandalorian, almost expecting praise, like this was a game. “This is not a game, okay,” he took his things back only to have the same thing happen again a few hours later, this time the weapons were out in the open. 

The Mandalorian sighed and put the repuler back but let the kid have the rope. This was a losing battle. 

XXXIII—Sewing  

The only reason The Mandalorian had a needle and thread was because of possibly medical emergencies, he didn’t actually know how to sew. 

The kid had torn his little coat along his arm, from guess what? Climbing, snagged it on a harsh edge. The kid looked down at his coat and up at The Mandalorian, eyes pleading and had the nerve to shiver. 

The Madalorian had long given up on denying he was wrapped around the kid’s little finger. He took off the kid’s coat and bundled him in a blanket at he got to work, how hard could this be? 

Hard. 

The Mandalorian took way too long to get the thread through the needle, The kid’s big eyes watching everything.

The Mandalorian knew he wasn’t doing this right but couldn’t figure out how, he nicked his finger twice and the stitches looked wrong once he finished. And it didn’t hold, he must not have pulled it tight enough. 

The thread was fraying and so was the coat around it. The seamstress he took it too only raised an eyebrow when he brought it in. 

He held the kid against him, safe and mostly hidden. “It’s my son’s favorite.” 

“Of course,” she said and took it into the back. She came back only several minutes later with it sewn like knew. 

The Mandalorian paid her and when he put the kid back in his little coat he got a happy coo and and, to his surprise, a hug. 

XXXIV—Jealousy

The Mandalorian ended up back in Sorgon, only for a day, he told Omera and for the kid, who was currently playing with the happy kids. The Mandalorian kept an eye on him as Omera bounced a small little girl. 

“I’m babysitting but would you mind watching her for a moment, I have to handle something?” Omera asked. 

The Mandalorian nodded and took the baby in his arms, she settled against his chest and arm, just like his kid. The girl started to cry and villagers looked over at him. He shushed her and rocked gently, he was used to random bursts of emotion. 

The baby didn’t settle, he knew there were a few eyes on him, almost unconsciously drawn to the noise and more consciously drawn to their outsider visitor.  He started to hum, the same broken lullaby he remembered. 

The baby girl calmed down, her face flushed and crunched up.  He kept humming and rocking her until he felt a tug on his cape. The kid gazed up at him, arms outstretched, wanting to be picked up. 

The Mandalorian would never hear the end of it if he dropped one of them so he shook his head. “No. Go play.” 

The kid stopped his foot, where did he learn that from?. The Madalroian shook his head again and the kid tapped The Mandalorians foot and whined. 

“No. Go and play.”

The kid turned his back to The Mandalorian and made little, pathetic noises, like he’d never received an ounce of attention in his life. “Oh come on,” The Mandalorian crouched down and adjusted the girl to pick up the little one. 

The kid’s mood changed at the drop of a hat and he snuggled close against The Mandalorian, nestled in the crook of his arm.

Omera was extremely amused when she got back. 

XXXV—Sugar rush 

Was he a bad parent? The Mandalorian wondered that as the kid ran around the village, Omera had given The Mandalorian a pie and The Mandalorian shared some with his son. The sugar must be too much because he was crazy now. 

The kid was waddling as high speeds and The Mandalorian followed him around, he picked him up a few times but the kid was hard to hold onto. The kid was hunting frogs one moment and randomly moving another. 

The Mandalorian  didn’t know what to do besides wait for it to pass. The kid was amusing himself to a while before he turned to The Mandalorian and curved his ears up, listening to something. 

The Mandalorian picked the kid up and held him high over his head, arms up as far as they go. The kid laughed and didn’t fight him. “I got you!” The Mandalorian lowered him and raised him up again. “I got you.” 

The kid was laughing his crazy little head off and The Mandalorian got an idea. He gently tossed the kid up, only a little bit, and caught him with ease. He did this over and over again until the kid was over it and back to hunting with a very short attention span. 

The Mandalroian followed him, he’d spent nights doing worse. 

And when the kid crashed, his eyes drooping and waddling back to The Mandalorian he just took them both back to their borrowed cabin and set the kid down in his crib carefully, so as not to wake him. 

Chapter Text

XXXVI—Thunder

The Mandalorian liked storms. He liked the patter of rain against buildings. He liked the crash of thunder, the sparks of lighting flashing in the dark sky. He liked storms mostly when he was nestled inside, he watched the rain pour down with the kid in his lap.

The lodging he got wasn’t very good but it was warm enough and the kid liked it well enough. The storm was picking up, a harsh wind pushing the rain against the window. The kid slipped from his lap to the windowsill.

The lamps flickered. The hinges on the door next to this room creaked, footsteps, loud and uncaring, stumbled. Thunder boomed, a loud crackle that echoed through the sky. It sent the kid back against the edge of the window still. 

The kid looked back at him and more lightning cracked in the sky, lighting up the poor village and cracking apart the sky with its roots of purple-white burning electricity. 

Thunder, as always, followed, a faithful tail to the lighting, like a siren ringing. The kid turned tail and jumped into The Mandalorian’s lap and  curled against his stomach. 

The Mandalorian stood up and moved back from the window and covered the kid’s ears. Thunder and lightning continued their dance high above. 

He smoothed his thumbs over his son’s wrinkled forehead and for a moment just thought of the kid’s species. What would happen if he ever found them? If they were like the kid, with the freaky ability, then they could keep him safe. What if his parents were there? He wants to say he’d do it, he’d give up the kid for his safety, give him back to his people. He’d almost done it before, on Sorgon. But he doesn’t know if he could do it.

He sighed and adjusted himself, this was going to be a long night. 

XXXVII—Anger 

The kid has done some bad things, caused problems, got into trouble but this...this was the last straw. 

The kid had destroyed the ship, he used his power to rip apart doors and start to crumble walls, tore buttons from their place, crushed the ladder and control panels in front of his door, dismantled his weapons.

“What. Did. You. Do,” The Mandalorian said through gritted teeth. The kid stood before him, having the decency to look ashamed. This would cost a fortune. “I can’t afford to fix this,” his voice rose and he took off his helmet, looking around again and running a hand over his face. “Don’t you get that? I can’t always fix your mistakes. It’s just you and me. And I—” he cut himself off shaking his head. He covered his mouth and took a deep breath. The kid had started to cry, his big ears turned down and curved inwards. 

The Mandalorian crouched down and bit his lip. “I’m sorry for yelling. I won’t do it again.” He held out his finger and the kid didn’t take it. “I’m sorry. I just, it’s hard to get work.”

The Mandalorian stood up and put back together his weapons, fixed the control panels, threw away and damaged food. Fixed as much as he could. He needed to find work quickly, they can’t linger here much longer.

He braced his hands on the semi-destroyed control panel. “I need to leave,” he whispered, knowing the kid was behind him, his large, sensitive ears heard every word. 

He left without much fanfare, he found work but it still wasn’t enough. He dropped the credits down and took off his armour. They couldn’t afford loding. He found the kid, idly playing with the stupid metal ball.  He must have just started to experiment using his power, maybe it’s emotion driven and he was sick of being left behind.

Kid’s did stupid things, maybe it was just that simple but The Mandalorian didn’t ask and the kid couldn’t anwser. He sat down next to the kid.

“I’m sorry,” he pushed past the lump forming in his throat. He held out his finger and the kid looked up at him. “I won’t yell again.” That’s not truly what this is all about but he offered it all the same. “It’s my job to prepare you for the world. It’s my job to keep you safe and I can’t do that if we are stranded here, being hunted. I don’t leave because I want to but because I have to, okay?” 

The kid may have understood some of it because tiny claws dug into The Mandalorian’s finger. 

XXXVIII—Healing

The Mandalorian was hurt, bady, a large cut under his breastplate.  He forced a deep breath and put more pressure on the wound. The kid inched closer, he’d collapsed against the door to his ship. “I’m okay,” he  hissed, wincing at his rough voice. “I will be.”

He needed to get up. Get bandages but it took almost all of his strength to get here. It was the closest thing he could think of but now his kid is going to watch him in agony and maybe even die.

He pushed that thought away and tried to push himself up, it didn’t work, his shaky, sweat covered legs wouldn’t cooperate. He gave himself thirty seconds  before he’d try again, his heart was pounding in his chest. The kid had gotten close enough to try and climb into his lap. 

The Mandalorian weakly pushed him back, blood covered gloves staining the kid’s coat and head. 

The kid looked down at the wound and moved closer again, The Mandalorian needed to get back up, his blood was pouring out from him and he needed to stop it before he died in a puddle of his blood, the kid watching him. 

The kid laid a hand on his wound and The Mandalorian winced, almost pushed the kid back but the kid was shaking, little eyes fluttering closed, just how he behaved when he was going to use his power.

He felt tiny pin pricks, like a needle weaving through his ripped flesh, pulling it back together. He saw his own skin, and the organs beneath it, knit themselves back together. He was shaking as he body pulled itself taught, stressed and slightly panicked at the ability but deep in his bones he trusted the kid more than anyone to put him back together. 

The kid stumbled back against his knees and the wound was replaced with smooth, unmarked skin. No scar, or any sign of injury, save for the drying blood on his skin and his clothing. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Like it was all a hallucination and he still bleeding out. He opened his eyes and saw his healed body. Awe was tight in his chest as he looked at the kid, who swayed tiredly, as if only holding back from sleep by a hair. 

He had still lost a lot of blood and didn’t feel like getting up for a while. “Thank you,” he said and pulled off his bloodstained gloves and reached for the kid just as he seemed to fall asleep where he stood on The Mandalorian’s knees.

“You never cease to amaze me,” he muttered as he, too, passed out. 

XXXIX—Awe 

The kid  liked things, just liked them, with such a complete and utter sincerity that only a child could manage. He liked to touch buttons and be outside, enamored by nature. 

He wanted to examine every flower, watch as insects moved with such awe it made The Mandalorian’s heart swell. He was currently in awe of a butterfly, perched on thin branch of a bush. The butterfly was fluttered it’s wings and The Mandalorian crouched down next to the kid, pointing to the butterfly’s friend lingering on a high branch in a tree. “Look,” he urged.

The bird was looking at him and The Mandalorian was slightly confused at the interest. Apparently he looked like a good perch and the bird landed on his finger. The kid’s wide eyes took in the bird with such interest The Mandalorian feared for a second he was going to eat it.  

But the kid forwent his instincts to eat anything and everything to just gaze to the butterfly's every twitch. 

The Mandalorian felt like some kind of gentle creature a delicate butterfly will settle on. The opposite of what he really was. His repluser was a comforting weight on his thigh.

The kid's sole focus was on the butterfly and there is stayed as the butterfly took off to land on The Madnalorian's helmet. The kid thought this was the most hilarious thing and burst into laughter. 

The kid's laughter dissolved and he tilted his head, his ears flicking and turning, tuning into sound The Mandalorian couldn't hear. 

The butterfly flew down, it's wings spread out and catching the wing. It touched down against the kid's head, the tiny white hairs tickled the butterfly's thin legs. Just as fast as it landed it flew off, out past the trees and up into the breeze.

The kid tracked every movement, cooing as it fluttered out of sight. The kid turned to him, like he was going to materialize a butterfly out of thin air. 

The Mandalorian shrugged and started to walk on, stopping periodically for the kid to throw is fascination towards another creature. 

XL—Silent Treatment 

The Mandalorian didn't know what he did. He'd woken the kid up and since then the kid ignored him. 

"Do you want breakfast?" 

Nothing.

"Do you want to sit in my lap?"

Nothing. 

For hours, no coo, no whine, not jumbled attempts at words. The kid was in his car seat, an annoyed look on his face and kept his mouth sealed shut. 

He was in a mood and The Mandalorian tried to fix it. With toys and stories and himself. The kid always liked to be close, liked to see his face and snuggle close but he ignored The Mandalorian, so thoroughly, like he was a ghost haunting the the ship and not really there. 

The Mandalorian set the ship into autopilot and spun his chair around to the kid, who stared straight through the window. 

The Mandalorian sighed. "I don't know what I did."

The kid avoided his eyes. 

The Mandalorian sighed again and spun around, there he stayed for several moments before he got an idea. "Want to sleep?" 

He didn't get a response but when he stood up and faced the kid, their eyes locked. He'll take that as a yes. He picked up the kid and and carried him to his little nook. 

He laid the kid down, wrapped a soft blanket and finally got a soft coo from the kid.

Parenthood was exhausting. It was like mindreading when. The mind you're reading is a jumbled mess. But he wouldn't trade it for the world.

Chapter Text

XLI—Teething

The kid had teeth, sometimes he didn’t use them and just swallowed frogs whole, but Din knew he had teeth. And he would know considering the tiny imprints littering his fingers.

The kid wasn’t even biting him, or anything he could get his claws on, just gnawing and gnawing. Din never pretended to know things about raising a child but he strongly suspected the kid was growing more teeth in the back of his mouth. 

Din tried very hard to give the kid everything he needs to survive and thrive but he is at a loss here. If only he remembered what his parents did for him.

The kid now hated rope and wouldn’t chew on it to save his life. And he kept grinding his teeth so much that Din feared for his jaw. 

He needed a solution quickly. The market on this planet was far to crowded and the kid was tucked safely against his side but still worried, the most dangerous people knew how to hide in crowds. He wasn’t hiding anything, though. He walked down the sandy streets in full armour, his rifle strung across his back and blasters and knives strapped in along his person. 

Some people try to avoid him, scattering out of the way of his trail. He acted like he knew where he was going, he walked with a faux purpose,  although he had no idea of what he was looking for. Under his helmet he is far less composed, but it hides it so well. 

Should he ask for help? Maybe he should have dressed down a bit. His eyes scanned the shops for something that may help.

The kid hated his face being covered, because he loved attention and smelling the air and clawed his way out of the blanket Din had hidden him with. And started to chew on the blanket. He kept walking, his intimidating image perhaps a little tarnished with the little wrinkled face exposed on his arm. 

He tried to pull the blanket from the kid’s mouth but the kid winced as he absently touched the kid’s check. 

A woman with many braids in her grey hair was keeping pace with him, she was older, her human face cracked with wrinkles and lines, but she carried a blanket wrapped human child, with a rubber ring in its mouth. 

He bit the metaphorical laser. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he stopped next to her and she stepped back from him, her grip on her child tightening. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

She didn’t look convinced but her eyes lowered, still scared but the fear lessened as he saw the kid.  She looked back up at him, expectant, regaining her wits. 

“I’m sorry I scared you I just—” he pointed at her kid and the ring in its mouth. “Where did you get that?” 

“The teething ring?” she raised an eyebrow. “There is a baby shop a few shops down that side,” she gestured to the left side of the market.

He bowed his head in thanks. “Thank you.”

“Take care of it,” she hissed, the stream of people flowed around them. “Your people aren’t known for their gentleness but a child isn’t a soldier.”

Din was used to people assuming things about The Mandalorians, about their fierceness and strictness. But The Mandalorians were a welcoming community that took him in as one of their own. And he’s not the only one, far from it. 

So he bowed his head in thanks again and set out for the baby shop, finding it easily on the left side. 

He ignored any questing and bought five rubber teething rings, not even responding to the salesman's questions and prompts. He paid and took his son back to the ship, with a teething ring to comfort him. 

The kid seemed to like it well enough, babbling a little around it and absently gnawing on it for a while, still wincing every now and then as his new teeth came in over the course of the next few days. 

The only hiccup came when the kid tried to swallow it. 

Din pulled it out of his throat, almost used to this. “No.” He gave the teething ring back to the kid. “Don’t try to swallow it. You’ll choke.” 

The kid blinked at him, slow and lazy. 

“Here,” he handed over the teething ring and the kid chewed on it’s bright yellow surface. “Don’t swallow it,” he reminded the kid. “Alright,” he patted his legs and stood up, rubbing the kids ear for a moment and flicking the teething ring the kid wanted to devour. 

XLII—Dancing 

Din liked music. He knew people were surprised to find out he liked anything, thinking on the inside he was cold hearted and tough as beskar, 

The music playing was simple, a few men with string instruments, keeping the steady rhythm going as the patrons of Sorgan ate and drank.  

Din can only stand ration bars and a cranky child for so long. Speaking of the cranky child he sat on the stool, Din’s old necklace in his mouth, but he wasn’t chewing it, his ears kept turning and curving as the music shifted. 

Food was left in the open, this wasn’t a restaurant, Sorgan didn’t have those but it was in a communal space, large enough to fit everyone. They were celebrating a holiday, a solstice that Omera told him about. He looked for Omera in the crowd but she must have stepped out, as he looked back he noticed the kid had climbed down from his stool and started heading for the crowd.

“Hey,” he said, hoping that the kid would not but he waddled faster, sneaking into the crowd. Din shoved his way through the easily-parted crowd, the kid didn’t have to shove anyone he just weaved around people and most of the patrons parted for the cute baby. 

The kid made it to the tiny stage, he put his hands on  edge and leaned forward as much as he could. The musicians noticed and started to experiment, getting faster and louder, the kid started to leave, slower and softers, the kid watched them like he was their greatest fan in the universe. 

Others are watching too. The kid drew attention like a magnet, as he tilted his head to the side and then to the other. One foot was... tapping. And now the kid was swaying, ever so slightly but Din picked up on it. 

He wasn’t worried, or he shouldn’t be. This was Sorgan, the people here were nice, Omera trusted them, so he did. But old habits die hard and he can’t turn off his instincts.

He crouched down behind the kid and tapped his shoulder. The kid turned around, ears still back. “What are you doing?” he asked. 

The kid watched the people who started to dance, couples pairing off and swaying more than any kind of dancing. The kid cooed and kept dancing. Which Din had to admit was cute, he was even bobbing his head and swaying doing a decent imitation of the people milling around the stage. 

The kid held up his arm and Din picked him up and the kid whined and squirmed. Din sighed and started to sway, feeling self-conscious as hell, he even spun around exactly one time but the kid loved dancing. 

Din liked to sit and listen to music, but for the kid he stayed on the make-shift dance floor, copying what he saw other parents doing and trying his hardest to not chicken out. He’s killed people, he can dance. 

The kid made him—by doing absolutely nothing besides looking cute but still—spin again and Din, shockingly, didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would.  

XLIII—Jealousy (II)   

Other Mandalorians lived, a few had made a small community on a neighboring planet. 

“This is the creature worth all of this?” one asked, crouching down to where the kid stood, Din trusted the other Mandalorians and let the kid walk around as he pleased. “I gotta say I get it.” 

Din chuckled as the Mandalorian smoothed a thumb over the kid’s ear. “Have you named it yet?” 

“Not yet,” Din just watched as the kid cooed a little and moved closer to the Mandalorian. “I’m looking for his people.” 

The kid held out his arms and the Mandalorian picked him up. Din grit his teeth, he didn’t get jealous. The kid knew this wasn’t him, he had to, the armour was of the same kind but different styles, this Mandalorian was taller than he was and leaner. But some irrational part of his mind didn’t listen to reason. 

The Mandalorian he watched was good with kids, that much was clear, he bounced the kid and talked to the kid, not how Din talked to him, but with baby talk. Which apparently the kid loved.

Under the helmet he was glaring as the Mandalorian put the kid down and took out a silver coin, it wasn’t money, it looked like some kind of key going by the small indents on the side. The Mandalorian adjusted the coin in his hand and made it look like he pulled the coin out of the kids ear. Then it “vanished” and reappeared on the Mandalorian’s tongue. 

The kid watched with unparallelled interest, watching every movement. Jumbled attempts at words came out of the kid’s mouth but he ended up at saying, “Dadda.”  He said it because it was the only world he really says but Din minds it very much. 

He looked over at Din. “So you can talk. Isn’t that cute?”

Din tried to keep all malice from his voice. “Yeah.” He patted his legs and started to walk down the tunnels, stopping by the kid to pick him up. “Come on kid we gotta go.” 

“The man your looking for is too the left.” 

Din nodded and walked down the tunnel, way to happy when the kid curled against him. 

XLIV—I love you (II) 

Din talked to the kid like he understood all the words he said. He couldn’t do the baby talk thing without feeling weird or awkward. His baby talk was just to repeat things and talk slower. But it was nice to just talk outloud to someone else. 

He says I love you a lot to the kid. Just so he knows, so if something happens to Din the kid knew. If there was one thing the kid ever remember of him, he didn’t want it to be broken lullabies and his blank helmet, he wanted the kid to know, deep in his bones Din loved him, that someone had loved him. 

He always said it before he left, sometimes casually, sometimes he whispered it, his voice too weak to hold the weight of the words. Sometimes he accompanied it with a kiss to the forehead or a reminder to not cause trouble. 

He always said it before he went to bed, the kid could die randomly in his sleep and so could Din. He sometimes just said it when he felt like it, after the kid did something that made him proud or left him in awe. He always said it after he yelled at the kid. 

So it shouldn’t shook him when the kid’s second word was, “Wove you.” Well second and third. 

Din froze, his hand locked around the toy in his hand. He took his helmet off, falling down to a knee in front of the kid’s car seat. The kid babbled more but Din’s mind was stuck on a loop. He wasn’t sure how much the kid understood, he had a guess but the kid was always surprising him. 

It wasn’t the time to puzzle over this. “I love you too.”

“Wove,” the kid laughed, amused at all of this for some reason. 

Din smiled, in so much awe at this kid that’s opened up his heart and carved out a space there. “I love you.” 

XLV—Helmet 

Din will support the kid in anything. If he wants to master his strange abilities and use them for whatever  he’ll do his best to support and guide the kid. But when he saw the kid in a beskar helmet his heart is caught in his throat. 

The helmet is second hand, a gift he got when he returned to the planet with the other Mandalorians. He didn’t go to them, not wanting to risk any of them on his mission that turned dangerous but he found a beskar helmet, small and a little banged up with a silver coin on top of it.

He put the helmet on the kid, a little more grown up now but the helmet is still big on him and his ears are pressed to the sides.  

What Din felt was complex, pride and fear mixing together, The Mandalorian life isn’t something to be scoffed at, it’s honorable and fulfilling but he wants the kid to have a safer life, a relaxing one, he’s spent too much of his life running and facing danger he deserves to make his own path.

The kid took off the helmet rubbing the bottoms of his ears. He didn’t say anything for a bit and Din couldn’t find the words, he stood up, his aching joints throbbing from the fight he just had. The kid was using his power to levitate the helmet. The kid was focused, it’s been many years since he’s taken in the kid but he hasn’t grown that much, but his intelligence definitely has. 

The kid wordlessly started to use his power to shape the metal, the force of his power still caught Din off guard. Part of the metal pulled back as some was pushed forward, the beskar broke off the side in a vaguely circular shape, the kid kid refined the edges and did the same thing on the other side before falling down. 

He didn’t put back on the helmet and started to play with the silver coin as they walked back to the ship. Din didn’t know what the future held but he knew the kid would carve out a place for himself. 

Chapter Text

XLVI—Jetpack Joyride 

Din had always wanted a jetpack. Well, everyone wants a jetpack but only a few, only the highest of the Mandalorians get to use them. So as he started the jetpack, even after all that happened, even the circumstances that lead to it being in his possession, he can’t help but feel good. 

The kid, feels very well; shaking with excitement in his arms and that’s when Din’s heart starts to hammer. His grip tightened around the wiggling baby in his care, which only makes the kid wiggle more, acting like he wants to climb on Din’s back, away from his protective grip holding the kid against his shoulder.

“Stop,” he said, raising his voice over the loud noise from the jetpack. The planet sprawled out under them, they were high enough that a fall would definitely be lethal and Din wasn’t taking that chance. He adjusted his arms, holding the kid’s back against his stomach, letting him get a good look at the ground.

The kid’s jaw dropped, his hands (instead up holding onto to Din) were spread out, feeling the whip of the air as they headed back for the ship. He had the hang of this jetpack, being severely out of practice, well hang enough to have some fun. 

Maybe if he did the kid would stop squirming.

He turned onto his side, the kid arched his head up to look at Din with a gleam in his eyes. Din kept his head down to watch the kid incase something odd happened, he needed to be sure, with both his eyes and his touch, that the kid was okay. 

He weaved through imaginary obstacles. The kid grabbed at the air and Din spiced things up with a roll, he ended up on his back. The jetpack under him was hot and still going strong. He kept himself on his back and kept himself stiff as a board as he let the kid out of his grip. 

He kept his hands near the kid, not wanting to take any chances but the kid got what he wanted ( shocker ) and spread his arms out, tilted his head and enjoyed the ride. Din started to curved to the side, he was getting off track but the kid was practically bouncing with joy and awe. A flock of birds flew over head, squawking and loudly flapping their wings as they flew on.

The kid walked lower on Din’s stomach, right up against his hand serving as a safeguard.They kept flying at a steady pace, the thick clouds above them fading into spoty whips. He took back hold of the kid and turned over. He held the kid with his forearm and adjusted the jetpack controls on the screen on his vambrace. The jetpack picked up speed and he got his feet under him and shot up higher, he sumersalted, feeling like a kid, and deep down like a scared parent but that feeling almost never goes away. 

 He went from the flip to facing the ground, the jet and gravity working together to send them into the ground but Din knew what he was doing, he pulled up near the ground with a shout of joy. He used to cut it close, the extrillaration it gave was a high that carried him on as he reset his course for the Razor Crest.

His childhood self would have never guessed this would be the life he'd led. 

XLVII—Cleaning

The truth was the Razor Crest was a mess. Din had been meaning to get to it but he kept getting interrupted but today was the day, he’d wipe down the ship and organize all his clutter.

He started with wiping down the controls, everything was turned off and the ship parked and safe enough for Din to give all the buttons and switches as wipe down, unsticking the grime and crums. The kid had, at first, been interested in the rags and wipes but has since moved on. Seeing Din play around with the controls must have seemed like an invitation to join because the kid was busying himself with flipping switches and tilting his head at the sounds it made. 

Din finished up quickly and started to move to the next room, okay with letting the kid mess around with the buttons and levers he so loved. But the kid has deemed himself Din’s follower and everywhere Din went the kid followed. He tested this a few times and his theory held.

Din opened up an old cabinet, the junk cabinet and unloaded everything, he gave it quick cleaning and started to go through his stuff. Old trinkets and other useless stuff should be thrown away, Din was never that sentimental but he could use this stuff one day. The kid was holding as light, flexible measuring tape, pulling out as much of the thin tape out of the cylinder as he could. 

“That’s enough,” Din took back his measuring tape and rewound it. “Don’t you want to play with your toys? Huh?” The kid wasn’t listening, he’d picked up an old key to a building long torn down. He stabbed it down into the table, it didn’t even break the surface. “If you want to hang out with your old man than be my guest, but this will be boring.” 

But it wasn’t. It was a bit aggravating and stressful but with the kid it wasn’t boring. He cleaned his blasters, prying off grabby claws from his equipment every few seconds. He went through his clothing, folding nicely, then refolding because the kid got his claw tangled in the loose fabric of an old shirt.

The kid also tried, multiple times, to eat the rags being used, near the end Din was starting to feel the beginnings of a headache pounding in his skull but the kid did something helpful, he threw away loose scraps of paper in a bag for that purpose. 

Din felt such pride that for a moment his headache was gone, then the kid took a tiny piece of paper and tried to eat it. He knew he was doing something wrong because he chewed it quickly. But not quick enough, Din opened the kid’s jaw and pulled the damp paper out. 

“Why do you do this?  You don’t have to try to eat everything.”

Yep, the headache was coming back.

XLVIII—Tickles 

You could say a lot about Din. People have their opinions about him certainly. He doesn’t like company very much, true. He’s a good shot, true. He’ll get the job done, true enough. One thing you could never say about Din was that he didn’t care for his son.

That fact alone is why he is on the floor of the control center, acting like the little fist of his son took him down and dramatically holding his shoulder. “You conquered me,” he threw his head back, feeling as the kid climbed up on his stomach. “Or did you.” He curled an arm around the kid and flipped them over, staying low  on his one hand and knees. He let the kid down but didn’t let him escape. 

The kid sat down, taking in the situation and mouthing on the necklace he almost always wore now. Din rubbed his fingers on the exposed bottom of the kid’s feet and the small shriek he got in response almost made him lose it. But he was focused. 

The kid was ticklish on his feet, he never even thought to look for spots but the kid was flat on his back, little coat sqrunshed up under him and he was giggling hysterically.

Din kept tickling the womp rat, enjoying the laughter he drew out from the kid. 

The kid, however, half-heartedly tried to get away as Din kept up the assault, kicking it into high gear before slowing down, not because he wanted to stop but he was laughing too much to stop. He rolled onto his back, holding his stomach in pain, a good pain from laughing so hard, he didn’t know why exactly he was laughing but it was contagious from the kid.

He felt so light in that moment, the kid was flat on his back laughing too. The laughter faded but they stayed there, neither wanted to move. Din didn’t want to leave this moment of joy with the kid but the floor wasn’t the most comfortable of places and it was dinner time for the kid. 

Din took one more moment to carefully store away this moment in his head as he hauled himself up to his feet. 

“Come on, you rascal,” Din said in the most loving way possible. “It’s dinner time.” 

That got the kid up quick enough and Din slowed down his steps automatically as he went to get the food, the kid falling into step with him. Clan of Two indeed.

XLIX—Cooking 

Din wasn’t a bad cook but he knew he wasn’t that bad. Then  the kid refused to eat anything Din even touched, except paper, he ate all the paper he could get his hands on.

“Eat,” Din sat down and crossed his arms, the table in the tiny ship kitchen—Din had played a decent amount to install—had a small bowl of stew in it. A decent meal. 

The kid, also on the table, leaned down and sniffed the soup and for the second time that day, slid the soup away from himself. Din pressed his lips together, not giving the kid the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him.

“Eat,” Din repeated. 

The kid didn’t do anything. Just sat there, toying with his coat. And the kid said, “No.” 

Din almost flipped the table. “No?” 

The kid cooed and said more jumbled syllables that made no sense but returned to his new word. “No.” 

Din took a deep breath. “Try again.” 

“No. No. No. No,” the kid said, testing the word on his tongue. “No.”

“Of all the words—everything I say to you on a daily basis and you pick no?” 

“No.” 

Din sighed. “Eat the damn stew.” 

“No.”  

Din got up from the table and started to work on something else. He had old meat stored away. He took it out and seasoned it lightly with the gifts Omera gave him. He lit another fire in the small pit and roasted the meat over it, drizzling it with extra sauce from also from Omera. He took out bread and heated it up a little as the meat warmed up and finished cooking a few minutes later. 

He made a sandwich and took the extra meat and a bit of bread and put it on a plate. He put the plate in front of the kid and ate his sandwich. Ignoring the kid mumbling to himself.  

He finished up and the kid still hadn’t eaten anything, all he’s done is sit down and fiddle with the necklace. 

“We’re going to sit here until you eat.” 

The kid looked up at him, not so innocent eyes wide. “Dadda.” 

“That’s not going to work this time,” Din rested his hand on the table and rested his ankle on his knee. “I can sit here all night, can you?” 

There were in a standoff and Din wasn’t going to lose. The kid passed the time on the table by trying to get off and whining when he was stopped. “Eat.”

The kid looked down at the meat and kicked it, it hardly moved. The kid’s forehead creased and his eyes closed as he held out his hand. Din grabbed the kid, interrupting the use of his power. 

“No.” 

The kid sat back down, his little fingers were in as much of a fist as he could manage. And the kid picked up another thing from him because he sighed. Din echoed his sigh. 

That night, rather the whole day the kid didn’t eat anything. The next day Din went to the market and got a few items, some rather expensive and cooked up a meal. 

Din picked up a bit of fish, silently pleading. “Eat this, just this bite and I’ll let you go to sleep.” 

The kid took the bit of fish meat and ate it, slowly, like he was doing Din a favor. Din was a man of his word and let the kid go. 

One of the items he got as spaghetti, long, thin noodles he put into warm broth with mushrooms.  It was delicious, expensive but it was Din’s favorite and the kid hasn’t turned his nose up at it yet. 

He put a small portion in a tiny bowl and took his place at the table, forcing the kid onto the table too with some push back—the usual whining, cooing, attempted power using. 

The kid leaned down the smelled the soup, he dipped his clawed hand into soup, catching it on the noodles. Maybe he should have the kid wash his hands first, even though Din has seen the kid eat frogs whole. 

Din didn’t say anything, words may ruin this moment. The kid picked up the bowl and started to slurp. Din froze, fearful that a breath will cause the kid to stop drinking up the soup. 

The kid set down the empty bowl a few moments later and Din helped him down from the table, metaling calculating prices.  

For two and a half weeks that was all the kid ate, it was expensive but what could Din do, let the kid starve?  Din ate cheap to help but he went off ration bars for a night, choosing to eat some red meat. The kid made grabbing hands at Din’s food and picked up meat straight from Din’s plate and ate it.  

And just like that the kid was back to normal, almost as if it never happened, he would eat anything but fish. 

Thankfully it was over and could never happen again. Right?

If Omera was here, she’s laugh at him. 

L—Regifting

The kid liked things, he liked to push buttons and mess with things on the ship, lately he’s starting doing something that makes Din love his son impossibly more. He’s started to bring Din items every time he comes back from a job. 

It started with a glove. A fine leather one Din only broke out when it was cold. Next, a toy. Then, spare wires, rope, a bowl, an old blaster. Everytime he comes back from work there is the kid with a gift waiting for him—most of the time. 

Today he comes back, a bagful of food and job well done he hears scrambling. Drawers open and doors lift up. The kid is looking frantically for a gift and Din finds the kid on the floor trying to pull his tucked in sheets off his bed. 

DIn crouched down and removed the claws from the sheet. “You don’t have to bring me things.” 

The kid was reached down his coat, pulling out the necklace and trying to get it off. 

“No. No. No,” Din took the little hands and pulled them away from the necklace. “You keep that, okay. It’s yours.”

The kid stared up at him and tried for the necklace again. Din repeated the action of removing the necklace. “I don’t want it.” 

“Dadda,” the kid tacked on some nonsense to the word but Din understood enough of it. “Wove.”

"I know, I love you too," Din picked up the kid. "But you don't have to bring me things."

"Dadda," the kid babbled, getting a better handle on words. 

"Come on, it's nap time."

Chapter Text

 LI—Panic Attack

Din felt on edge. He almost always was on edge, teetering before something happens that finally shatters his world, but there is this tightness in his chest he can’t breathe. 

He woke up from the nightmare shaking, his breath unable to come out, his hands curled and uncurled from fists. Panic rested heavily on his chest, his mind spinning and spinning. His heart pounded something fierce, he was going to die. The floor, the ground, anything below him had opened and he was drowning. He was going to die.

He couldn’t get the feeling from the nightmare, that helplessness, the fear, like his entire center has been shifted and he can’t—he can’t. He couldn’t do anything but die, not with a yell, or scream but a whisper, a whine. 

He hit his head against the headboard, it grounded him. 

He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself down but he couldn’t. He closed his eyes and could only manage a shaky breath, but at least it was deeper. Shaking legs slid out of bed, almost moving without his accord and he fell down as his feet made contact with the floor. 

He was frozen like that, his throat tight and chest heavy, too heavy to even move, there was molasses in his veins, leaves in his throat, a sick feeling in his stomach like he might throw up. 

Everything was filtered through water and the short intakes of breath cut at his throat, strained his lungs. There was a small bang but Din couldn’t move his head, he just—he couldn’t. 

Deep inside he was breaking apart. Well, maybe not that deep. There was a small weight on his knee. The kid climbed up on his lap. It wasn’t a flipping of a switch, it wasn’t a sudden clearing of the fog in his mind or the panic causing a storm in his gut but it was a tether to the real world.

An anchor, dragging him back down to earth. He curled around the kid, safe and sound, letting out tried noises. He forced another breath, and another one. It still hurt but the weight was easing.

It took far too long for him to feel almost normal, fragile and shaking but his breathing was evening out. The kid was making himself at home on his lap and Din should put him back into his crib but he couldn’t. He returned to his bed and sat against the headboard, keeping a silent vigil. 

He never wanted to feel like that again.  Ever. But he wondered if it was a question of if or when for the next one. 

LII—Missing Child 

Din had lost the kid before, but only for a little bit. 

But now, it’s been hours. He was almost shaking with rage, at the powers that be, at anything and everything. All noises grated his ears, the chatter around him, the clinking of dishes, the hammering of a nail. 

Part of him wanted to freeze time, freeze everyone and search everywhere, but he couldn’t manipulate time. 

He hid in an alleyway and tried to get his bearings, his breath ragged in his helmet. He was wasting time, so much time. But his vision was starting to blur and he knew he needed to take a moment. 

He didn’t even know this planets name but he wanted to burn it to the ground—would burn it down, to find his kid. He needed to get a handle on himself but the kid was usually his grounding force, something to keep him connected to everything.

Maybe it’ll take of you.  

He was a parent. A parent’s first job is to protect your kid, keep them alive, keep them well, keep them happy. 

In. Out. He breathed despite everything happening, slowly gathering himself. He needed to be methodical about this.

So he was. He hunted for a living, he tracked those who didn’t want to be found. Hell, he found the kid on a bounty. He gave himself this mental pep talk but a small (far too large) part of his mind responded with doubt. 

People always gave him weird looks but never before has it grated at his nerves as much as it does now, as he kept his head on a swivel. 

He doesn’t have the answer to a very important question, was the kid taken or did he runoff. The last thing Din knew was the kid was on his shoulder and the next he was gone. 

Teleportation? 

Ridiculous, but so was moving things with his mind. Where is the line?  Maybe there is none. 

Focus. Din took a deep breath and resumed his search. Under buckets, in ditches, in backyards, in bars. Nothing. In baskets, nothing. He retracted his own steps. In the bakery, nothing. He tried to remember the exact moment he last saw the kid, supposedly safe on his shoulder.

He’s watched the kid enough to puzzle out where he’d run off too—if he had run off and not been taken. No ransom or attempt at contact had happened yet, maybe the person just wanted to get him to sweat. 

(It was working)

He searched for more hours until the sky was dark and he was running on empty. 

The inn he walked into was small and stuffy, filled with loud drunks and tried folks. “I think it’s a pet.” Someone said, far too loudly. “Can it do tricks.” 

Din looked around and saw a few people in the small dining room, huddled around a table. Laughing and being far too loud. He fought back the urge to punch them all in the face. 

His skull was pounding, a headache around his temples was forming. He was about to pay for a night when he saw what was causing all the fuss. The kid—his kid—was sitting on a table, playing with his necklace. Being gawked over. 

The kid looked up and saw him and mumbled something against the necklace in his mouth. Din didn’t hesitate to draw his blaster and aim it at the innkeepers and their friends.

The man who looked to be in charge drew his own blaster and so did his friends. “Now, why don’t you put that blaster away and we can talk about this like civilized people. Well, as civilized as a Mandalorian can be.” 

A woman stepped into the room, brushing her hands on his pants and muttering to herself. “Oh my. That’s the man I bumped into earlier, the creature hitched I ride in my bags.” 

Din didn’t lower his blaster. These didn’t seem like bad people but you never know. “I’ll take him off your hands.” 

“You know this rascal ate some of my food, do you feed it,” she sat down at the table and cocked her head to the side. “A cute thing like this could be great for business, everyone needs a gimmick—oh gentleman put down the weapons.” 

“No,” Din said, ready for a fight. There were five men with blasters pointed at him, they were low grade and the men didn’t look trained.

“I’ve heard Mandalorian have honor and whatnot, maybe use some of it. Don’t want to traumatize the little thing. Or cause a fuss. Not when I have an offer for you.” 

“An offer?”  

“He destroyed merchandise and had logging for several hours.” 

“You want money,” he didn’t have the stomach for negotiating. He slammed down a handful of credits. 

She counted them and nodded. He took the kid back and walked straight out of there. He hated people sometimes. “We’re going to talk about your little adventure later.” 

The kid cooed, tiny claws latching into his shirt. 

“I’m going to get gray hair from you, ya know that?” 

The way the kid looked at him said he did. The kid would be the death of him but it’s not a bad way to go. 

LIII—Mimicking 

Din had almost reached his breaking point. As a parent, you develop nerves of steel, a long temper. Basically a high tolerance for bullshit. And Din’s way high but the kid was testing it. It started innocently enough, just the kid copying his movements and trying to copy his words. 

And he won’t stop. He pointed his finger at the kid and like a mirror, a little hand came forward. “Stop.”

“Stop.” the kid waved his finger a half-beat behind Din. Din sighed, the kid sighed. 

He patted his legs as he stood up and the kid patted his legs and stood. He glared. The kid glared. It didn’t stop even when he cooked. The kid mined using a knife and stirring, after failing to lift up anything. 

He flipped switched, the kid flipped imaginary ones. Nothing was safe not even his workouts. The kid tried very hard to copy him, doing half-movements but he didn’t give up. Not even as Din deliberately did hard, fast moves to mess with the kid. 

“You need to sleep,” he put his hands on his hips. 

The kid threw a mess of syllables with too many vowels back at him, tiny hands going to waist-ish. 

“Stop.” 

“Stop.” 

“Do you even know what that means?” Din unconsciously scratched at his side. 

A jumble of words followed by a claw getting caught in his coat. He managed to get it out quick enough.

Din sighed.

He heard his echo and walked away—he needed a snack. A  familiar pitter-patter of footsteps followed him. 

It went on all day and wasn’t stopping anytime soon. How does he know that? On Day 2 he woke up to the kid trying to tie a scrap of clothing around his neck to fashion himself a cape. Din tried to take it away but the kid shrieked and cried, tears welling up in his eyes.

Din didn’t have to heart to remove it. So he tied it around the kid’s neck and gave him a small kiss.  At this time he had some hope that the kid has dropped his plans from yesterday but such was not the case. The kid held his head—not really holding just small hands (paws?) on the side of his face. 

The hands urged his head to drop, and then he felt it, like a weight pulling him down with unimaginable force. But it wasn’t harsh, it was almost gentle as his spine bowed and head dropped closer to the ground. The kid pressed his thin lips up against Din’s forehead, off-center and quick but still the action was there. 

The force holding him still fell away, like a switch being flipped and Din overcorrected himself without the weight and fell back. The kid fell back. 

“We’re going to need to talk about boundaries with that power. When you’re older.” 

The kid babbled, sound like he might be making sense in some imaginary language. He put his hand on his stomach and turned his head to the side to better see the child. 

The kid mimicked him immediately. 

The day went on and on like that. The kid never stopped. It was starting to get on his nerves and by starting to he did, of course, mean, already far on his nerves. He could only take so much fumbling attempts at copying his movements. 

It also served to make him conscious of every action. He tried to ignore the kid but he still had to parent so that wouldn’t work. He also tried not to let the kid know it got on his nerves but the kid wasn’t deterred, or just did care. 

Why else would he mimick Din if not to get on his nerves? 

And so it went on. And on. 

Din left to find work and came back, he always came back, and that didn’t break the kid out of his mimicking tangent. 

Din woke up to the kid holding his little makeshift cape up, it must have come undone overnight. He retied it with a tired sigh. The kid sighed. 

He tapped the kid’s check and felt that all-powerful force dip his head down, it wasn’t harsh, but it was so strong he couldn’t even try to move against it. He wasn’t scared, he should be, but he knew the kid would never hurt him, at least not on purpose.

Two taps hit his check and the power holding him fell away and Din fell out of bed. He got up immediately but the kid still fake fell and got right back up. 

Din held back a sigh and so started the fourth day. Din went on like normal, they had enough credits to be able to relax for a bit in the ship. 

The thing that surprised him the most was that the kid wasn’t being needy for affection and attention, he seemed to be content mimicking Din.

Finally, something seemed to give as the kid wandered away. But no, it was just to get a small bowl and put it on his head. 

Din knelt down in front of the kid and took the lopsided bowl from his head. All he got in return for his efforts was whine. He took off his helmet, he still only took it off rarely, old habits die hard.

“See?” he said, running a hand down the kid’s cape. The kid was looking up at him with tired eyes and Din picked him up, carrying him to his crib. “It’s bedtime for you.” 

He put the kid down and even laid down in his own bed until the kid woke up. He still had things to do but once he did go back to bed he thought maybe it was over. 

He woke up without his sheets and to a chorus of whining. He leaned over the edge of the bed and half-asleep tied the knot of the little cape.  

As he sat down (the kid sitting as well and doing his best to sprawl his legs) he has a realization. The kid wasn’t disrespecting him or trying to make him suffer. This all came from a place of idolization, he used to do something like this, not to this extent but some slight mimicking. 

Din ran a hand over his face, the kid copied the movement as best he could. Din couldn’t help himself, he sighed. The kid parroted him. Din crouched down. “You know I love you right?”

“Wove.” 

“You don’t have to be me, I want you to be you,” Din smiled at the kid’s attempt at words. It was small but genuine, the kid’s, he strongly suspected was real too. 

It went on for two more days before suddenly stopping, he kept up with the cape for a bit and even though Din knew why he did it he was still grateful when the kid stopped. 

LIV—Hand-me-downs 

Din pulled an old, dust-covered box from storage. He forwent a lot when he joined the Mandalorians and he never regretted it. There are rumors—so many ignorant, insulting rumors—that you can’t own anything but weapons and beskar, that you must live a life without sentimental items. Those who know foundlings are how they grow their ranks think they must burn any reminders of their past lives (if they have any). 

Some think the kids are taken. This, of course, isn’t true. All foundlings are the abandoned. All are neddy and scared and taken under the wings of the Mandalorians. And you can keep whatever you want. 

Din doesn’ have much from that life. Only what was in his pockets but he’d collected things throughout the years. 

It’s all safe in the very back of the ship because he can’t bear if something would happen to it. So when he heard the kid rummaging through his stuff he ran through the ship, just as the kid opened the box and took out a small stuffed bear. 

Din had shoved it into his pocket as they fled, not being able to leave the worn down, flatted stuffed animal behind. Din wasn’t panting from the exertion but his breath caught as he saw the kid examine it. He wanted to scream at the kid for going through his priceless stuff but the kid had this sixth sense and somehow, somehow knew to be gentle.

And gentle he was as he set the stuffed bear down and took out the next item. The shirt and pants he had been wearing. They were made by his mother out of material now lost and a method gone with the people of his planet. The kid sniffed it and set those down, not even unfolding them. 

The next was from Mandalore, a ring his supervisor gave him. It was a gift to him, like the necklace but he could never wear it. It always felt too heavy, too personal, something he didn’t deserve. 

It was a deathbed gift. There was another in the box. 

His friends Mandalorian necklace. The two were twins, made at the same time. But Din’s friend got sick, so sick not even the best healers could save her. Din watched, feeling far from his body as the kid took out the necklace and reached for his own. 

It had been given with a tearful smile and laugh. 

The kid set it down like it was priceless to the kid as well. The kid took out his dad’s compass, it must have been slipped into Din’s pocket as they hugged for the last time. He never used it even though it was the finest thing his family had owned, not with the fear that it might break. As a kid, he had dreamed of getting the family heirloom but he would smash it in a second to get them back. 

Din crept closer. The kid looked up at him, just noticing his presence. The kid stopped, looked around and then back at Din. 

Din’s mouth was dry, his chest tight. “Go on.” 

The kid turned back to the box, only two items remained. Two books,  journals, diaries, whatever. A filled leather-bound book he filled with his thoughts for his first few years. He wasn’t the kind of kid to write daily but when all became too much and he couldn’t get the words out of his throat he’d write it all out. The pages were worn and frayed and he shouldn’t have kept them but packed in the pages are messages from his Mandalorian family, some in notes and some right on the pages, when he’d worked up the courage to show an adult it and confess all the emotions he’s been struggling with. 

The kid stepped into the titled box, looking around. 

“That’s all, buddy,” Din eased him from the box and put everything but the bear back in the box. He handed the kid them. 

As the years ticked on he started to hand down more. The ring joined his necklace around the kid’s neck. The clothing his mom made fit the kid for years as he slowly, slowly grew. The kid convinced him to put on the other necklace as his hair greyed and joints weakened. The compass was given on a deathbed like two of the other gifts. 

He’d smiled and laughed, his son before him, their hands intertwined. Older now but still far too young to lose his father. 

The journals were something left behind for the kid to find and read, to stain with his tears. 

LV—Sleep Walking

Din can and will go on about the kid having a sixth sense. And as a parent, a new one but still, he has grown a sixth sense of his own. One for the kid being trouble. That’s what woke him up.

 (There was also a banging sound.)

Regardless of all of that, Din was awake, and so was kid, waddling his way around. Din got up and noticed the kid’s eyes were shut, and he was bumping into things. 

The kid was sleepwalking, he could deal with that. You aren’t supposed to wake a sleepwalker. So what do you do one? 

Din also has a parental instinct and he knows a warrior how important it is to trust your gut. His gut told him to get the kid back into his bed, that he must have climbed out of. Sleep-climber? 

Whatever. Din just walked behind the kid, urging and guiding him back to his bed. “No,” he said, redirecting the kid with a soft touch on his arm. “Come on, baby.” 

The baby followed his urgings and went back to his crib, Din picked him up and laid him to rest. 

The kid slept through the rest of the night. The next night a few hours into the kid’s sleeping schedule he got up again, this time finding his way into the control room. 

Din rubbed his eyes and pulled his hands off the controls. “No,” he said to the kid who was already walking away. This time Din let him go, wanting to see where he would take them. The kitchen, a room full of many parental nightmares but the kid just walked around, knocking into doorways and cabinets. He made his way back to Din and wrapped his arms around Din’s ankle. 

As Din went to pick him up the kid moved on and out the door. Din used the same technique as before and gently guided him to bed.

Night 3 it happened again. This time he just wandered up and down the hall. Up and down, it looked tiring and Din had enough quickly. He carried the kid to bed and the kid immediately started to climb out. 

Din sighed and kept up his nightly vigil. 

Chapter Text

LVI—Playing in the Rain 

They should go inside. They should but Din couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Not when the kid’s whole face lit up and his lips stretched into a smile when it started to rain. Now it was pouring, puddles were building up along the dirt road. The mud would be something he had to deal with later. 

The baby splashed about, running wild, spinning under the shower of cold raindrops and jumping as far off the ground as he could—it wasn’t much—and into puddles. Din indulged the kid and jumped into a puddle, far heavier and splashed the kid’s entire body. He got a giggle for his efforts. 

Chuckling madly the kid skipped and walked through mud and leaves, jumping into more puddles and getting absolutely dirty. 

The kid rose both his hands and the rain arched over them, not flowing over them but all of it gathering above them, the power holding it all like bowl over their heads.

“N—” The word caught in Din’s throat as gallons of rain water dumped on them, enough to make Din lose his balance. 

The kid was sitting in the mud and laughing at him. 

“You think this is funny, huh?” Din flicked water in the kid’s direction, which is of course exactly what the kid wanted. Din could hardly even see. He listened for anything before taking off his helmet. 

He still could hardly see with how hard it was pouring and the temperature was dropping quickly, a harsh wind blowing the storm in.  “Come on, let’s go inside,” he said, firm but not unkindly. 

The kid wasn’t listening and splashed in a puddle. Din sighed and as if on cue lighting cracked open the sky with its tendrils of purple-white electricity spread out like a branch, reaching for the planet. And thunder answers lighting with a boom rumbling through the air. 

Din mentally thanked the lightning and thunder because his son, for all the world-bending power he possesses, is absolutely  terrified of thunder. The kid curved his sensitive ears in and ran, as fast as he could, into Din’s ankles. 

Din, used to the kid running right into his shins and holding onto them, didn’t even flinch. He crouched down and picked up the muddy, sopping wet child and carrying him back to their ship.

“You’re filthy,” Din said, mostly to himself. 

LVII—Bath

Din has been a parent for a bit. He’s done a lot of landmark things but not all of them and he doesn’t think he’s getting out of this one. The kid isn’t human, he doesn’t need frequent washing for all the natural grime and gunk. He gets wiped down, sure. With damp, warm cloths sporadically, especially when he gets into trouble. All of this is to say, in short, Din has never given the kid a bath. 

But now, he’s not getting out of it. The kid is caked in mud, dripping with cold water and stained with grass. Specks of dirt are caught in the tiny hairs on his head and mud is sticking his wrinkles together. Din knows the kid doesn’t like soap once from a failed try and doesn’t like to be forced to do, well anything but Din is putting his foot down. 

The bath will be held in the sink. Maybe Din should capitalize it, for some reason it feels like a big moment. The Bath, held in the sink, started simply. Taking the damn creature out of his silly coat which he is so fond of. Din, like the good dad he is, has several exact copies of the coat, same warm lining, and sets one out on the counter. 

“Okay,” Din said, he’s taken to just talking to the kid, narrating what he’s doing and voicing his thoughts aloud. “You’re going to behave.” 

The kid doesn’t speak just eyed the filled and plugged sink warily. 

“You.” He pointed at the kid, driving his point home and his foot down. “Behave.” 

Now that the expectations for The Bath were set, Din got to work. He threw away the coat, it was beyond saving. That got a whine. 

“Hush,” Din said and now there was nothing left to do but pour some soap into the bath and ready the cloth. The kid sat down on the counter, his nose scrunching at the smell. 

The Bath had reached the critical moment as Din picked up the pouting child and put him in the soapy water. 

The reaction was instant, the kid tensed up and trashed a bit before letting out a small sound. Din sighed and got to work freeing his son from the mud and grime sticking to his skin. 

It took enough time that the kid got restless, wanting to play in the water and not bathe. So he took out his frustrations by splashing Din. Several times. 

Din, a seasoned enough parent, knew better than to react much to this. So he kept going, not stopping until every last bit of dirt was gone from the squirming baby. 

Finally, warm and clean, the kid was free to go. Din used a hand towel to dry him off. The kid liked to be warm, hence the coat all the time, and cooed as the plush towel wrapped around him. 

[Incredible art by WontYouBeBen of bath time]

LVIII—Blowing Raspberries 

The kid now didn’t want to get dressed, preferring the plush wet towel and to sit there on the counter, ear twitched under the towel. 

Din poked the kid’s stomach. “Don’t look so sad.” 

The kid pouted harder. Din brushed his fingers up the kid’s side, getting a high-pitched squeak in return. 

The Dad Instinct™ made an appearance as he ducked his head and pressed a kiss on the kid’s tummy and blew raspberries, making the kid giggle and squirm. Din kept it up, holding back his laughter as the kid laughed on hysterically. 

The kid was babbling nonsense syllables between fits of laughter until Din stopped, leaning back and letting loose the laughed that’s been building in his throat. 

He wasn’t done yet and kept up his tickling and blowing raspberries against the kid’s stomach and half-laughing as he did so. 

The kid was smiling wildly and Din couldn’t hold back his own smile even as the kid started mimicking him. Well trying very hard to stick his tongue out. 

He got eventually and Din could tell from the sleepy look he was getting that it was time for bed. Din picked the kid up and put him back in his coat and took him to his crib, as he kissed the kid goodnight, he tried to repay the favor and got slobber all over Din’s check.   

“Ew,” Din said half-heartedly at best, wiping at his slobber coated check. “Sleep, you romp rat.” 

The kid giggled, getting him to sleep may be a bit of a battle. 

LIX—Hiccups

Din couldn’t stop laughing. The kid looked absolutely astounded as he kept hiccupping. The astonishment quickly faded to outright frustration. “Da—” hiccup “—Da?” 

“It’s the hiccups,” Din got a hold on himself and stopped laughing. 

Hiccup. “Mycupps—” Hiccup. the kid tried and Din didn’t have the heart to correct him. The kid pointed to his mouth as if Din couldn’t see. “Mycupps.”

Hiccup. Hiccup. 

“It’ll stop soon,” Din tried for calming as he got up to get a tiny glass of water. 

The kid pointed to mouth again, with more desperation. “Stahp mycupps.” 

Din got that glass of water and brought it over to the very angry baby, who was stomping his feet and repeating nonsense, with mycupps and stahp thrown haphazardly in the mix.

“Drink this,” Din set the glass in front of the kid, who looked very cute trying not to hiccup and very mad at himself to doing so. 

“Mycupps,” the kid repeated and fell into a rapid hiccupping fit. 

Din really couldn’t do much about it and held out his finger and let the kid hold on, it seemed to comfort him enough. He picked up the glass with his free hand and held it out. “Drink.” 

The kid took the tiny glass and downed the water quickly, but not quick enough to stop his hiccupping. 

Din took a small sip of the water and gurgled it in his mouth. The kid had a habit of mimicking him and tried this, again to have no success. Din had him try and try again, offering comforting words as he gurgled and drank a few times, enough that Din had to refill the glass. 

And when the kid went a few moments without any hiccups the kid started to wiggle with expected. He pointed to his mouth. “Mycupps.” 

“I know! They’re gone.” 

“Stahp.” 

“That they did.” 

LX—Pet

Din never has a pet, but Once Upon A Time, he’d wanted one desperately. His parents had held firm and he got over it. He understood his mom and dad so much more as the kid gave him a pleading look gazing down at the blue and yellow lizard as long as Din’s forearm with his swaying tail, it’s tongue flicked out tasting the smoke in the air. Din had caught the kid out of this ship when he came back from the exacuated town to find the kid playing with the lizard. 

Din knew the species enough to tell this was just a baby. 

The small fire had ignited in the town a bit over and the fire was quickly spreading through the dry bush. All Din could think about was it offsetting this careful balance of life he had going for him and that it would make a mess.

 But Din had this thing where he had an almost burning sympathy for the abandoned and lost and this little guy looked lost. 

“Fine,” he said and held out his hand for the lizard. The lizard crept forward, hesitation in every step it’s clawed feet took. Piercing amber and black eyes stared him down. It took a long, slow blink. 

And it stepped onto Din’s hand. 

Din didn’t pet it’s dry scales and walked the few steps back to the ship. They had nothing to take care of it but he’d just take it to another planet.

The lizard slept for hours, the kid fussed over it and once it woke up started to play with it. It didn’t last long, after a lot of running around on the kid’s part and some tug-of-war the lizard was sluggish and sleeping again and it glared at Din at every chance it got but never directed any of it at the kid. 

Din was nearing a suitable planet for a lizard like this and just needed it to not die in front of the kid. He tapped its snout and got a hiss from the small beast. “Hey,” Din said lamely. “Don’t die,” he continued. “We don’t see eye to eye but I’m gonna need you to stay alive for just a bit longer.” 

The kid walked back in, holding a bowl of water that Din had set out. The kid put right in front of the lizard. It needed light and in this dim ship that wasn’t available. The kid laid a hand on the lizard’s cold scales and closed his eyes. The life seemed to shoot back into the lizard, it jolted upright and wagged its tail, tilting his head and licking the air. 

The kid squealed, happy to have his pet back at 100% and started to play again, the lizard, thankful for the pick-up/life saving played with much more enthusiasm. Chasing the kid and letting the kid chase him as the ran about. Making a mess as they went. 

Din was going to break the kid’s heart in a few moments and let him have his fun. The lizard greedily slurped up the water and laid down again. The kid laid down next to the lizard, not looking up for using his powers.

They dropped out of hyperspace and the kid ran a hand over the cold scales, up and down the lizard’s spine. 

“I’m sorry,” Din said, to both the lizard and the kid and picked up both of them, tired in his arms. The heat was scalding, Din’s seem lizards like this one here and set the lizard down. 

The kid wanted down too and Din crouched down but didn’t let go as the kid pat the lizard’s head and the lizard tilted its head, glared at Din and crawled onto a rock and spread out.

The kid wanted to go and follow the lizard but Din tugged him back against his chest. “He can’t stay with us.” 

The kid started to cry as they went back to the ship. “He’ll die with us,” he continued knowing it really didn’t matter to the kid. So he held the kid and rocked back and forth, hoping the kid will understand. 

Chapter Text

LXI—Allergic Reaction 

The kid sneezed and Din went immediately into Extreme Dad Mode and checked his head for a fever and waited for more symptoms as they entered an extravagant garden on a lead for the kid’s kind. 

He looked around, the flowers and plants were all beautiful but he really didn’t care about them right now. The kid sneezed again, looking very distraught about it. He stumbled back and brushed up against a plant with thin leaves and a sticky texture. The kid sneezed again and Din picked him up and took him outside, ignoring the looks he got at how fast he rushed out a respectful place.

He couldn’t care less. 

He had been holding the kid close against his chest as he shoulder his was out of there and as he eased the kid out of the crook of his arm he saw small, red hives breaking out across his skin. 

It must’ve been the plant. Din fought the urge to burn the plant down and he tucked the kid back into his arm and found his way back to the ship. 

Is this normal parenting, because he feels like every other week the kid is sick, or hurt or something bad is happening? 

He suspected the answer was yes. It didn’t matter if this wasn’t what normal parenting looked like (a constantly sick or injured or having an emotional crisis baby and a bounty hunter) than he didn’t care. This was his reality and he had to deal with it. 

He was getting good at dealing with every crisis. Still, he got stressed out beyond belief anytime something threatened this fragile peace. 

So when he got back to the ship he had at least some vague idea on how to deal with this situation. He had nothing for hives and the kid was scratching like his life depended on it.

“Stop,” he scolded and just in case the kid didn’t get the idea and pulled the tiny wrists away from the inflamed skin. 

Don’t panic. He gave himself a little pep talk and did what parents do a lot of the time—improvise. 

He applied some of his anti-inflammatory burn creams to help and pressed a hot cloth to the kid’s chest. He held it against the squirming baby and thought about it for a second. He heated some water and applied the hot cloth to the kid, nodding at his decision.

The kid wasn’t having this. He fought tooth and nail to scratch. “No. You don’t scratch. Okay?” 

The kid, though he probably didn’t realize it yet was far more powerful than Din and he worried he couldn’t stop the kid if he wanted too. The kid fought the normal baby way, trying to undo the knot and scratch through the thick wrapping around his chest. 

But the hives have spread up to the kid’s neck and down his arms. 

“Don’t. Scratch.” 

The kid stared at him, one hand started to rise up. 

“Don’t.”

The hand paused. 

“Don’t.” 

It went on like that for some time, they were in a stalemate, neither of them willing to give up and the rash was with them.

“Don’t you get it,” he said as he intercepted a claw trying to scratch. “If you scratch it, it gets worse.” 

The kid sighed. 

“I have all day,” Din continued and changed out the wrapping. The hives had eased a bit but the irritated skin was still red and angry. 

The hives faded after a few hours and Din felt so guilty for being so strict when he knew the kid couldn’t help it. Din sat forward in his seat, the kid on his lap and put the kid’s hands on the steering. “Go ‘head.” 

The kid started to vibrate with excitement and Din strapped himself in and held the kid tightly. The ship jerked to the side. 

Maybe this wasn’t the smartest idea. 

LXII—Financial Stress

Din didn’t know why he thought this was a good idea. He could hardly afford to take care of himself let alone a child. 

He needed to tighten his belt, cut back on his own luxuries and hope that for once luck will be on his side and the ship won’t need any repairs. 

He can’t let the kid suffer because they were tight on credits right now. 

Doing freelance work as the search for the kid’s people continued wasn’t exactly sustainable. But he’d make it work, he always did. 

He went back to protein bars and their chewy taste so the kid could keep on eating like usual. He must be growing because he was eating all three meals every day and a nightly snack.

Even with all of this, one, just one unexpected event and they were screwed. So he was still stressed out, sitting at the kitchen table, planning out their week.

It was at times like this he wished he had a partner, someone to lean on, someone to share the workload with and stress with. But he and relationships don’t usually work out. 

The kid crept into the dimly lit kitchen, all sleepy and soft as he crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around his leg and chirped. 

“You should be sleeping,” Din said and picked the kid up, ready to put him back to bed and go back his alone time but the kid wiggled his way out of Din’s grip and stood on the table.
“Does sleep ring any bells.” 

“Dadda,” the kid mumbled and jumped onto Din’s chest, holding himself up by digging his claws into Din’s collar and hugging him, more or less. 

Din hugged the kid back, just taking a moment to remind himself that this was all worth it because he loved this stupid kid with all his heart. 

The kid hung off his neck as he put him back to bed and it went on like that. The kid picking up on his stress, when he was passing back and forth, or just sitting head in his hands. How the kid did this varied on the day, sometimes it was a hug, sometimes it was toy or gift of some kind but Din always appreciated it, even if he didn’t like the kid picking up on his stress because that could stress the kid out. 

Which it did. Eventually.

The kid could pick up on what he was feeling like no one else and started to eat less and more sporadically and not sleep through the night and he switched between being clinger than normal and being distant and withdrawn. 

Din did his best to right his wrong building himself back up as the family steady rock and making sure not to show any sign of weakness, but the dam broke. The kid needed repairs to its circuitry. 

Din was looking at the broken wiring, trying to find a way to at least make it work enough to another planet with more opportunities for a bounty hunter. 

He threw his light across the empty desert, breathing heavy shaking his head. He kicked the ship and heard a whine. The kid was watching him, large intelligent eyes taking in the scene.

“I’m sorry,” he said, scolding himself. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.” 

The kid didn’t look scared of the loud noises but he looked, well he looked uneasy and like his mind was in turmoil. 

“Hey,” he whispered and crouched down, holding out his hand. The kid inched closer. “We’re going to be okay. I’m going to make it okay.” 

The kid held onto his finger and when Din picked him up tucked his head against Din’s neck like he wanted to hide there. 

“We’re going to be okay. I got you.” 

LXIII— Afraid of the Dark 

Din has spent many sleepless nights with the kid but the kid was genuinely terrified to sleep and yet couldn’t seem to fall asleep in the lights of the ship. 

Din told bedtime story after bedtime story but still, no dice. 

“There is nothing in this room,” he dramatically checked every inch of the place with his blaster drawn.  “No monsters.” 

The kid didn’t look convinced. Din sat on the ground. “I’ll stay with you,” he said. “Right here all night.”

Lights on and off a million times. Din tried everything. Staying and going, getting milk and broth, words and touch to comfort and still, the kid wouldn’t sleep. He even learned a new word. 

“Leets,” the kid cried as Din kept the lights on. 

“Leets,” the kid cried when Din turned them off. 

He needed a plan. He went to the market in the middle of the night, the kid locked safe in the ship. He found a baby stand and when he asked for nightlights to the sacred shop runner she smiled at him and directed him into the back. 

It was lit with golds, blues, greens, purples, soft whites, and pale pinks. Strings of lights hung around the roof, plug in lights of plastic and crystal were set on display, butterflies and birds, felines and plants. 

They were doing well financially and he could afford to make sure he got this right.

He left with a strand of lights and gold butterfly; color-changing stars and moons; a puffy looking white cloud; and a collection of sea creatures in every possible color (there was a sale he couldn’t pass up). 

When he got back to the ship he set up the lights and turned the stranded lights on low and plugged in the star and moon. 

“Leets,” the kid’s voice was urgent when Din turned off the lights. “Lee—”

“Yeah I know,” Din interrupted, switching on the nightlights. “Lights.” 

The kid’s eyes were wide as he looked around the room from his crib. The baby slept, well like a baby, into the afternoon.

LXIV—Colors

Din decided it’s time to get some teaching done. He gathered up a staring selection of items, clothing, boxes, food, tools and so on.

All of this was because he was going to teach the kid his colors. 

He was missing a color but he’d make do. 

“Pink,” he set the nightlight down, a pink whale—or at least he thinks it’s a whale—on the table. “Pink.” 

Pweenik.” 

“Pink,” he repeated. 

“Pweenik.” 

Good enough. Din moved on. The blue shirt hit the table with a light thud. “Blue.” 

Bwoo.”

“Bla.” 

“Bwa.”

“Bla” 

“Bla.” 

“oo.” 

“oo.” 

“Bla-oo.” 

“Bla-oo.” 

Din ran a hand over his head, this was going to be a day. “Blue.” 

The kid tilted his head. “Blue.”

“Good job,” he pointed at the whale. “Pink.” At the shirt. “Blue.” 

“Pwink. Blue.”

And they were off, the kid could not do orange but was shockingly quick to pick up purple. Now about the color he couldn’t find, Din searched the entire ship and for the life of him couldn’t anything that was a bright, clear green.

(All the green he found was grass stains) 

So he pointed at the kid. “Green.”

The kid points at himself. “Guh—guh...ween. Guhween!”

All-day the kid pointed at him and said “Guhween” as loud as he could as random intervals. Oh well, at least he was learning. 

LXV—Dizzy

Din did not like playgrounds, they were the latest phenomenon and were popping up everywhere and anywhere.

The kid loved playgrounds, he loved to be pushing on the swing, to be on his dad’s lap on the see-saw but most of all he loved the spinning rides. 

All the kids seemed too. 

Din always got second glances as he took the kid to any playground but he ignored it was the kid ran to the spinning ride, grabbing onto a handle near the base and waiting. 

“Alright. Alright,” Din grabbed onto a bar and took a step back as two other kids jumped off to run to the swings. He sent the thing flying and kept it going at very high speeds. 

The kid loved the ride so much but what he didn’t like was when he got off,  because he was dizzy, his legs were jelly and he couldn’t walk but he did try and stumbled right and left, falling over a few times. 

It also must be noted that Din loves this part, because it is hilarious. He was laughing so hard he sat down, holding his side trying to breathe through the painful laughter.

The kid stumbled his way back on the ride and Din couldn’t spin him yet. He laughed so hard he was causing something of a scene. He pushed himself to his feet and sent the kid spinning again, biting back his laughter—that only lasted until the kid tried to walk again and fell right down, an angry look on his face.

Chapter Text

LXVI—Singing 

Creatures of all kinds say The Mandalorians don’t sing. They are silent and stealthy and boring. Like many rumors born of ignorance and prejudice, this is untrue. In truth, the Mandalorians can throw an amazing party, the thing with Mandalorians is that they are private among strangers but once you are in their circle, there is a lot hiding under the layers of silence and beskar. 

Din is jolted out of his skin when he hears it. It’s a soft crooning coming from a human woman without a single scrap of beskar. The song is one he’ll never forget, it’s a Mandalorian drinking song. He’d loved to listen outside the pubs he wasn’t allowed in and hear the singing of joyful warriors celebrating victory, mourning losses, and drinking to better times all at once. 

The Mandalorian woman is wearing covering for her head, a golden cheap mask and a wrap around her head, neck, and shoulders. Gloves covered her hands. She still was completely covered, just like him, but no shining beskar. She must have lost it, or even sold it to make it by. 

As her voice rose to reach the high note he was hit with so much sorrow he almost couldn’t bear it. She brought the song back to a low, almost whisper of a song. He wanted to leave, guilt and fear twisting in his gut. 

But the kid loved it, he grabbed Din’s finger and was inching them closer to the small stage along the festival and Din couldn’t stay shadowed in the back anymore. She changed songs to a lullaby that wasn’t just sweet words. It was an assurance to the abandoned kid that they were safe and home. 

The singer’s eyes were definitely on him as he picked the kid up and moved closer to the stage, people mulled around, stopping to listen. The kid’s ears were curved and his eyes were half-closed. She missed a line of the song but picked up the next like nothing happened. After all no one but them knew the words of Mando’a. 

The lullaby was the last song and after the walked off to a light applause from the small crowd she had gathered.

Din tried to find her afterward but she was gone. Mandalorians were only seen when they wanted to be when they knew the area. 

The kid loved singing just like he loved dancing and butterflies and traveling at high speeds, with innocence and childlike awe. 

He tried his hand at singing, failing at it miserably since he only knew a few words and couldn’t figure out how to even do it. He looked so sad that when Din put him to bed he paused. 

The kid made a warbling noise that if you wear deaf you may think it sounded like the lullaby.

Din sighed and started to sing. He wasn’t very good at and he rarely did it even when he was a kid but it was easy to join along with a group singing, to hide in a crowd of decent and even amazing voices not trying to sing well but just celebrating. But he wasn’t alone anymore and he had an abandoned foundling who loves things with all his little heart. 

He is a clan of two. 

Din sang the whole short song, he had no music and no voices to hide behind but sang on anyway, as he did he reached down and toyed with the kid’s necklace. 

The kid was droopy-eyed by the time he sang the last note. Off-key, someone would say after they all sung, no matter the song. Everyone would laugh and start on a new song.

The mumbled “Dadda” the kid gave before he fell asleep sent that same warmth swelling in his chest. 

LXVII—Charity 

The kid was in the middle of a meltdown. The meltdown this time was over a toy, it was an expensive toy set with a playhouse and cute figures. You could take it apart and put it together. They needed more supplies but Din had managed to squeeze a few extra credits to go towards a toy or two. 

Din was embarrassed but he was in a toy shop, all the other parents only gave him a sympathetic look. The kid started to use his power to pull the box from the shelf but Din grabbed his hand. 

This made the kid start to bang his angry fists into the air and cry. “Fine,” Din said. “Only this once,” he added as he paid for the toy set. 

The kid couldn’t even hold the box but he happily waddled out of the store. “You’re going without a new toy for the next few weeks,” Din informed the kid. 

He expected the kid to just walk on but the kid froze and Din stopped, about to explain how this toy was a once in a while kind of toy but the kid wasn’t about to throw a tantrum, he’d stopped to look at an old man with a toddler sitting next to him, they’re clothing were dirty covered in the red dust of the are and Din assumed they were homeless. Din was caught by just how sad the toddler looked, with a scratchy blanket wrapped around his shoulders and the old man’s arm over it, offering a bit of comfort. 

The kid was running forward and already handed the toddler the box. The kid old man flinched back as the kid set the box down, his glazed-over eyes snapping to alertness. 

Din was standing behind the kid as the toddler’s eyes snapped to awareness and to the size of saucers as he saw what was in the box. 

“You want to play with my son?” the man asked, confusion in his voice. 

The kid tilted his head and looked at Din helplessly. The kid pushed the box forward.

The man set his lips in a line. “I can’t accept this,” he said gently to the kid pushing the box forward. 

“Wait,” Din said and the old man swallowed as Din moved closer. “I’m a Mandalorian.” 

“No kidding,” the man said as the kid stared at his blasters. 

“Do you know a lot about Mandalorians?” 

“No, never seen one this close.” 

“Well, Mandalorians have a holiday,” Din was hoping this all didn’t sound too crazy. “Where we try to give back, some do it to atone for their sins and some do it just be generous.” 

“And why are you doing this?” 

“Cause my son wants too and that’s a good enough reason, it’s highly insulting to refuse a Mandalorian’s gift. Hurt our honor and you know how Mandalorians are with their honor.” 

“Now that you mention it, I do know how they are, sir,” the man said, a hand on the box. “Thank you. I’ll repay you someday.” 

They shook hands.  “In some way, I’m sure. Just make sure the kid doesn’t choke.”

The man laughed. Din’s fingers moved quickly and the weight added to the man went unnoticeable in the moment of joy. 

The kid was looking at his dad in bewilderment as the box made it into his possession. 

Din smiled under his helmet at the kid as they both watched the kid take out all contents of the box, running his fingers over it like something to be cherished. 

He was so proud of the kid, the holiday may have been made up but the Mandalorians were a generous group, giving when they can and taking kids under their long wings. He wondered if it was something he did or if the kid just had a good heart. Regardless he couldn’t stop being in awe of the kid, the same all-encompassing awe and love the kid held for many things.  

“Come on, kid,” Din ignored the wetness around his eyes and started to walk away as he ventured out of sight the old man finally noticed something off. He pulled a handful of credits out of his pocket. 

LXVIII—Foundlings

Din loved tunnels. Well, he didn’t like the smell or the dangerous reasons why he was carrying the kid down in the secret Mandalorian tunnels. The Mandalorians had tunnels on many planets and all the kids were forced to learn all of them. He'd forgotten the exacts of this one but he knew they all followed a pattern and trusted his instincts to lead him to the weapons room. 

He opened the door and saw a group of several kids, varying in ages from toddler to teenager and mostly human.  There were two Mandalorians amongst them. 

Din surveyed the room, closing the heavy door behind him. The baby made a demanding noise in his bag.  Everyone's eyes left his face and went down to his bag as the kid pushed the flap open and pulled the back down with a claw and peeked over the edge. 

He let out a low noise and looked up at Din. Slowly, the kid let go of the bag and and titled his head down.

“Is that a foundling?” a little boy said, almost yelling. 

“No,” an older boy said, sounding very sure of himself but he offers no explanation. 

Din slowly took the kid out of his bag and set him down on the cold floor. The kid grabbed onto his pant leg, big eyes looking up at him. 

Din nodded at the kids. The kid didn’t move. One of the Mandalorians stepped forward, red accents to the shinning armour and a signet of fire on her pauldron. “So this is the little guy who caused all this trouble.” 

 The other Mandalorian, taller and leaner with black armour said,“Thought it’d be bigger.” 

“Unfortunately you cannot stay,” the red Mandalorian said. “None of us can. Imps are onto us, it’s only a matter of time before they find us.” 

Din took a deep breath. “Can I talk to you both away from the kids.” 

They stepped outside the weapons room and all the kids were staring at the child. 

The child looked at the closed door as the foundlings moved closer. One kid, an older girl tilted her head and shoved back another kid.

“It can’t be a foundling,” the little boy said, the same from before. “Too small.” 

“We were all small once,” the girl didn’t move closer to the sacred creature that was backing up against the wall. 

“I was never that weak,” the boy said, reaching for the kid.  

“Eli,” the girl slapped his fingers. “Stop.” 

“You’re not the boss of me.” 

The two kids turned to each other talking loudly over each other, all defensive and biting. 

“Zari,” a very little Twi’lek said. 

The child raised a hand and closed his eyes, the door moved open, inched by an invisible hand. 

“Zari,” the little one cried again, far more urgent. 

“What,” Zari snapped and finally turned and saw the kid finish opening the door. The Mandalorians were staring back at the frightened kids' faces.

Din rushed forward, picked up the kid and checked him for any signs of distress. 

Eli, now very sure of himself looked over at Zari. “See, not a foundling.” 

Din hardly heard the kid over the worry he felt. He’d left for a moment to talk about relocation places and precautions with the other Mandalorans, Sa’adiyah in red and the tall one, Varnorien. 

Sa'adiyah shook her head. “Eli, that’s enough.” 

“I’m right,” Eli crossed his arms. “And you know it. It has magic. Mandalorians don’t like magic.” 

 Varnorien crossed his arms and said nothing but Eli shut up anyway. 

“Var,” Sa’adiyah put a hand on his arm. Var stood down and turned to Din who was finally done fussing over the child .

Din turned to the kids. Very calmly, almost too calmly in fact he asked, “What happened?” 

No one answered. Din held the kid close as it cooed happily and latched a claw onto Din’s shirt. Din forced himself to take his anger down a few notches. “What happened?” Din asked again. “It might be no one's fault but I need to know what happened.” Din added on, hoping that would make one foundling come forward.

 “We were just talking to it,” Eli said, shrugging. 

Din looked down at the kid, he’d looked a bit scared when he’d opened the doors but mostly he’d looked almost upset. 

“Don’t even think it can understand us,” Eli continued, not meeting Din’s eyes. 

“He understands more than you think,” Din bit back on ‘he understands more than you’. “What were you saying?”

“Me and Zari were just joking around about if it was a foundling or not.” 

“He is,” Din said, that eerie calm back in his voice. “Foundlings can be anyone. Anyone who needs help, you hear me?” 

Eli nodded. 

*

Back on the ship the kid still looked sad, the light behind his bright eyes had died down. “You know I love you, right?” 

The kid didn’t try to say anything as Din pulled him closer on his lap. Din was used to being an outcast in most spaces, people see his armour and make assumptions. They make judgements and glance at him when they think he isn’t watching. Whisper about him, not caring if he hears. Mock him and his religion. 

But he’d always had the Mandalorians, they were his family and when he was with them he was supported and had a force behind his back but he’s usually on his own and the kid isn’t used to not being loved and accepted. 

He knows it won’t be the last time the kid is excluded and seen as different and unknown and even scary once they see what he can do. 

He doesn’t know when the kid will fully understand how hard his life will be but Din wants to keep his carefully crafted illusion of peace and comfort forever but he knows he can’t. 

“I got you,” he said, at a loss for the perfect words of comfort. “I’ll always be here.” 

Din ignored the tight feeling in his chest at the lie.

LXIX—Signet (II)

The kid ripped his coat again, Din wasn’t surprised but it was still an annoyance he could go without. He took it to a seamstress and stopped as he was a sign that said ‘Get custom patches added to anything! For an unbeatable price.’ 

Din knew that symbols were important and that everytime he saw the pauldron with the Clan of Two symbol marked on it he was reminded of what he was fighting for. 

He asked the man at the front of the shop to replicate the signet in a patch for the kid’s shoulder. The man tried to hide his surprise as he saw the real beskar. 

The man took out a piece of paper and drew the mudhorn design, as he talked. 

“I’ve only seen second hand accounts of Mandalorian designs and I must say this lives up to it,” he wasn’t just looking at the signet but Din’s whole set of armour. “So simple but elegant, all the lines are—” 

“Can you do it?” Din interrupted.

“Of course, I can do it. I can have it done by the end of the day.” 

When Din got the coat back, a patch with the mudhorn signet on it he put it on the kid, softly explaining, “Remember this?” he pointed at the mudhorn. “That’s when you saved me. We’re a clan of two and we take care of eachother.” 

The kid was just excited to have his favorite coat back and eagerly tried to help Din put it back on. 

“Clans cannot be broken by anything short of death and even then we carry those we love with us in our hearts,” Din buttoned up the kid’s coat and held out his finger. 

The kid took Din’s finger in his hand and cooed. “Wove.” 

“Love you too.”

(Much, much later when the far older son of Din Djarren stood before a golden room filled with the smell of melting beskar and stared down a Armourer, not relenting on his request, he remembered the promise his dad made him over and over again, almost scared that he would forget it.) 

LXX—Rocket Game  

The kid kept going from toy to toy, indecisive and scattered. Din set the Razor Crest to autodrive and laid down on the ground. 

The kid still was indecisive but Din put a stop to that by picking the womp rat up and settling him on his chest. 

“Are you ready?” Din said, even though the kid had no idea what was going to happen. DIn barely knew what he was doing. He started to shake the kid, starting of slowly and growing in intensity as he counted down. “Lift off in 5,4,3,2….” he gave a big shake as the kid dissolved into screaming laughter. “1.” Din lifted the kid up as high as he could before setting him back down on his chest. 

The kid was hysterically laughing at this point. He started to count down again, feeling a bit bold. “5.4.3.2...1,” Din lifted the child back up but only half way up this time. 

The kid stopped laughing and pouted on Din’s chest, looking so cute and so worked up over only going half-way up that Din couldn’t hold back a chuckle. The child stopped his little foot, getting even more frustrated. 

“Ow,” Din clutched his chest dramatically. “Okay, ready to go again,” Din started to gently, ever so gently, shake the child, “5.4.3.2.1...lift off,” Din lifted the kid up again, even sitting up a bit to get him even higher. 

Din pulled the kid back down to his chest. The kid was back to laughing and squealing. Din did it again and again before he set the kid down on the ground. 

The kid wasn’t having this. He climbed onto Din’s chest and started to shake and right as Din was raising his hands to start another round the kid held up a hand and started to levitate. It wasn’t that shocking to see but still weird to see your kid flying. The kid lowered himself back down, missing the landing but Din stabilized him. 

“You wanna you go again?” Din asked, fondly smiling under the helmet.

“Again!” the kid said, far, far too loud for how close he was to Din’s ears.

Chapter Text

LXXI—Diaper 

Din didn’t know what he was doing. Taking back the kid from the Imperials hands had been an impulsive, reckless decision.  But he didn’t regret it. He was overwhelmed as hell but he didn’t regret it. He just needed to find somewhere safe. 

The kid was looking sadly up at him from his place on the controls. 

“What?” Din asked, like the kid was going to suddenly be able to talk. 

The kid waddled around in a small circle and looked as if it was going to climb down. Din wasn’t ready to be a parent but he’d be damned if he was going to let that stop him. 

Din set the thing into an auto drive and started to get ready for bed when he found the kid staring at the toilet of all things. 

He thought about it for a second before coming to a conclusion he hadn’t even thought of. He may be ignorant about a lot of parental things but give him some credit. 

“Okay,” Din said to himself trying to think of the Mandalorians he’d seen taking care of the baby foundlings. He knew they had this powder (he’d have to get some later) but he’d make due. All species worked a bit differently and Din hoped this baby’s kind was one of the ones who processed most of their food. 

“Okay,” Din said again. The kid was watching him with an odd expression. Din has killed people before he, he’s seen guts and gore. He can handle this. 

He ripped up an old shirt and changed out weird looking cloth-but-not-quite-cloth someone had put around the kid who knows how long ago. Din tries not to think of the creature who did it, if they were okay, if they were missing their kid, if they were gone. 

Din also totally doesn’t drop the soiled cloth on the floor and curse in front of a kid, what? He got everything cleaned up and is nodding to himself proud of how he handled a basic childcare thing, It can’t all be selling and then taking back the kid and killing people for their safety even though guns and beskar is all Din knows.

LXXII—Misinterpreting

Din talks to the kid a lot. He just talks about whatever comes to his mind. It always calms the kid down. He should keep that in mind, when he woke up the kid pulling off his covers and climbing up on the bed yelling “Mur-door. Mur-door.” 

Din jolted awake (not keeping the thing in mind) freaking out because his kid is saying something a lot like murder. 

The kid climbed back down the bed very quickly and one his little feet hit the ground and started again. “Mor-door. Mor-door. Mor-door.” 

The kid is wadling towards the kitchen. “Wait!” Din called out shoving himself to his feet and following the kid who may have lost his mind. “Stop for one second.” 

The kid didn’t stop until he reached the kitchen. He then raised a hand and opened a cabinet door and a box of sugary grains. The kid tried to get a little claw to open the box but he couldn’t and pushed the box to Din. 

“This is murder?”  Din asked. 

The kid pushed it closer to Din’s feet. “Mur-door.” Din remembered eating these with the kid while talking about a job gone wrong that had some murder mixed in.  

“This isn’t murder,” Din wanted to set the recored straight but the kid got more insisant. That would be a problem for a later date. Din opened the box and shoved a few into his mouth. “Let’s eat some murder.” 

LXXIII—Shoes 

The kid hates shoes. Din had just got him a pair for a special reason. The kid has a large cut on his foot. 

The kid always walked around barefoot and he has calluses that help him but Din can’t help but think this may be a good thing to get the kid into shoes. The only downside was that the shop he went to only had shoes that small that lit up and made noise. So he got one that lit up and that made a terrible whooshing noise.

The kid now was fighting Din as he tried to put the shoes on. The invisible power pushing back against the shoe. Din broke free from the grip and slammed the shoe into the wall making it light up and whoosh .

The kid’s eyes went big as he stared at the dancing lights in the tread of the shoe. Din grabbed the kid’s wrists with on hand and held them down as he put the shoe on. He didn’t get any push back. He put the other shoe on and let of the kid’s wrists. 

The kid climbed down and started to stomp, assaulting Din’s ears with the sound and lighting up his shoes. The kid started to run through the ship, whooshing all the way. 

Din wasn’t going to chase him. The kid ran back in front of Din, breathing heavily and shoes dying down. 

Din sighed and started to run around the ship. 

(He gets a pair of light up shoes for himself as a joke gift from his son and can’t stop laughing at the image of him running from an enemy and his shoes lighting up.)

LXXIV—Ear covers 

The ship’s heat is broken and there is nowhere safe to touch down. So they drift as Din tries to fix the heat. The kid is wrapped in blankets but his ears keep twitching. The blanket won’t work because it’s so heavy it pushes down on the delicate ears. Din stops his attempts at fixing the heater to dig through his room. 

He doesn’t have a lot of stuff to look through and he doesn’t even know what he’s looking for. Just something, anything to help. Din stops his frantic search for just a second and thinks. 

After a few moments he opened his soak drawer and pulled out a black pair, that wasn’t too thick. Din came back to the kid and pulled the soaks over the kid’s ears. 

The kid moved them back and forth, tilting his head right and left. The ears went up and back down before finally settling normally. 

“Good?” he asked the kid and he got a coo in return. “Good.” Din got back to work. 

LXXV— (Almost) Regretful Toy purchase:

Din needs to stop doing this but you try saying no to the kid. The toy made noises. Not just one but several. It was a spaceship and even though you can’t hear sound in empty space that didn’t stop the toy makers. 

It made loud noises for the engines starting and loud noises for lasers shooting off it (little lights turning red) Another noise for tilting it to the side, another one for making it speed up. Din hated it. 

The kid loved it and played with it constantly, he didn’t even play with it like there was a space battle. No. The kid just kept making it make noise.  

This goes on for days because the universe likes to laugh at Din. Din is this close to pulling out hs hair when a noise stops and he hears a gasp. The ship is crushed. The kid lowered his hand and looked down at it and back at the ship. Tears start to well up in the kid’s eyes. 

“It’s okay,” Din crouched down by the stupid toy and started to click pieaces back together. “It’s okay.” 

This was some cosmic joke. Din put back together the ship that made him want to bash his head into a wall. Din handed it back to the kid and the kid jumped into his arms and started to play again. 

Din grit his teeth and sat back down, the annoyance not fading. He tried to focus on other things but the noise just wouldn't stop. He was so close to throwing the thing into deep space when the kid finally grew tired of the toy and switched to something else. 

He knew it was worth it to see the kid happy and he knew parents had to suffer at least a little in raising a kid but come on.

Chapter Text

LXXVI—Standoff

 Din had been in many standoffs. One time he’d been on a desert planet standing before another man, both their hands on their blasters and both not wanting to draw attention. He’d gotten out by being faster and smarter and ruthless. 

That wasn’t going to work this time. But first we have to go back to the beginning of this tale. Like before it started on a barren planet covered in sand. Din had walked into a rundown town in search of a bounty.

It had been easy to deliver the man and Din had enough time to grab some items from the stores around. Cactus juice caught his eye. It was clear and Din was feeling adventurous. He bought a few cans and was going to see if the kid liked it, he was going through one of his picky eating phases. 

The kid had loved it, Din had gone back and bought more before they left—work calls—but now they were out. Din had tried to explain this was a one time thing but when he woke up to a loud crash followed by a few smaller crashes he had a bad feeling. 

Din walked down the dim halls of the ship, the metal grate shook with another crash. Din’s fingers curled around his blaster as he turned the corner to the source of the sound. The kid was making a mess of the kitchen, cabinets were opened, boxes of food were on the ground and pieces of crackers and shavings of oats covered the floor with a dusting of sugar. It was mostly cheap snacks on the ground but still, Din felt anger surge through him. 

He fully stepped into the room and the kid lifted a hand as a kitchen knife flew up into the air. It stayed there for a second as the kid’s little hand shook. Then the knife turned to face him  and shot forward, only stopping right before it cut into his nose. 

With the other hand the kid pulled an empty can of juice and sent it hurling across the floor. “More,” the kid said, the knife still right in front of his face. 

  Din had no idea how much control the kid had over his powers or how much he knew about hurting someone. For kids the lines were blurred. Din didn’t think the kid would actually hurt him but still he had to be cautious. 

“Okay,” Din held out his hands, slowly raising one to the knife. He couldn’t help but be in awe at the control the kid was getting over his powers. “I can get more.” 

The knife didn’t move. Din didn’t want the kid to accidentally kill him, or seriously hurt him. He knows the kid feels guilt and  worries for him, he doesn’t want the kid to go through that because he doesn’t have a strong grasp on the darker side of his powers. 

Din looked around for something to help him distract the kid from this. But the kid was laser focused. If he grabbed the knife the kid may over correct and stab him in the face, possibly through his skull—if it can stop a mudhorn it can go through his brain. 

Or the kid may break all the bones in Din’s hand—again accidentally and unknowingly, blurred lines and little brains and unmeasurable power and all that. Din doesn’t think just let his instinct drive him, he can see the kid starting to lose control. The knife is shaking a bit. Din grabbed the hilt of the knife dropped down to one knee. “Stop!” he yelled as the kid started to raise his other hand. 

The kid didn’t like it when he yelled. Din quickly crossed the kitchen floor and took hold of the kid’s wrists. “I’ll get more, okay.” 

Din did get more a few hours later. All that stress was replaced with anger at the kid for destroying the kitchen but that’s another story. 

LXXVII—Embarrassment

The kid was normally almost starved for affection and attention but now he was in a mood. Din knew objectively it would pass, like every other phase and mood. But it’s hard to just look at the facts when the kid squirms away from his touch. 

Din has a long journey across a frozen planet ahead of him and after he layers up on clothing and weapons he goes to kiss the kid on the forehead like he always does before he puts on his helmet, the kid is so tried his squirming is half-hearted, Din placed a quick kiss on the kid’s head before pulling back and putting on his helmet.

The kid wiped away the kiss and went back to sleep. 

Din pushed all his feelings down because it would pass, it always does. But that was hard to remember as he was left with his own thoughts as the snow poured down around him and he was left alone with his thoughts. 

He tried to think of what may have started it, did the kid never really like the affection and just went with it but has finally enough confidence to shove Din away. It’s fine not everyone likes physical affection but Din thought that was one of their things. He’d thought both of them needed touch to assure them the other was there and real. 

Din’s projecting. Maybe? 

This all bounces around in his head for hours. After he gets back to the ship the kid eats with him but shys away from any unconscious touch. 

Din curled his hand into a fist as the kid moved away from his hand. “Sorry,” he said and went back to his protein bar. It’s dry and tastes like cardboard, more so than usual. 

It’ll pass. It’ll pass. 

It doesn’t for days and days. Din can hardly get the kid dressed and bathed, all his usual affection is replaced with speed and efficiency. What he feels is a complicated mess. In public it gets even worse, the kid doesn’t even look at him.

 It’ll pass. It’ll pass. 

Din wants with all his petty self to ignore the kid in turn but he shouldn’t be punished for not wanting affection. Din will be whatever the kid needs him to be and if that is a provider then so be it, no matter how hurt Din is when the kid ducks away from him. 

He stays at an arm's length but he can’t stop thinking about what may have caused this. He can’t stop thinking about how the kid had sometimes crawled into bed with him when he had a nightmare and curled up with him. How when the kid felt lost he’d grasp from Din’s finger to reach up to be held. 

Finally, finally it passed. 

The kid climbed up onto his bed as he reconfigured a translator and pressed against Din’s side like nothing had changed. 

“Oh,” Din couldn’t help but say. He ignored the kid, not putting an arm around him but he still curved his torso back to make room. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this—well when he let himself process his emotion he did but he didn’t like to do that often. But he still wanted to play hard to get. 

He didn’t last very long before he put his arm around the kid and ducked his head down to kiss the kid’s forehead. 

LXXVIII—Sneaking Out 

The child will be known by many names through his long life but for now he is nameless. He is still young by his species standards and as he wanders off a hidden compartment Din thought he’d locked shut. He climbed down the ship, he loved to climb. He just wanted to see those flowers again. 

He wondered around, waiting for his dad to find him and bring him back inside because that’s what he always does. 

It doesn’t happen. What happened instead is the engines of the ship roar as it lifts its hulking mass off the ground, blowing dirt and tiny plants and worms away as it soars away. 

The child has seen something like this before, has felt this before. It’s like an old dream coming back to him. He watites (he remembers waiting before until he’d been found) needed for his dad to find him again. 

He waited and waited but the ship didn’t return. The wind was changing, it was being weighted with what it was pulling:  a storm. Under a gathering storm the child remembered what his dad taught him. Find shelter. Find water. Find food. 

He found a large boulder and raised a hand, he felt the vibrations of the atoms in the bolder (though he didn’t know what they were) he found where the net of atoms held the bolder together and he broke it. Spiderweb cracks turned deeper until a makeshift entrance was formed.  The child walked in and the rain started to pour down moments later. The boulder was large enough he wandered into dark space and was safe from the rain. 

He started to cry as the night passed with no sign of his dad. He always came for the child no matter who took him.  

The kid fell asleep in a cold and dark boulder. 

*

Din rushed to the planet, he was out of his mind with worry and regret but he had to go right now.He had to get there right now. Right now was too late.  

He tried not to think about worst case scenarios and compartmentalize but there was nothing but silence as he sped back to the planet, pulling up his last coordinates. It had taken him too long to realize the kid had left. Way too long, the silence without the kid should have been a dead (poor choice of words) giveaway.  

As he landed on the planet, rain beat down on the ship. It was freezing rain, he realized once he stepped out of his ship. Great. 

He spun around in circles, trying to think of where to go. He hunted people for a living. He can do this. He can find one child. 

He can’t help but think the kid doesn’t like the dark and right now it’s pitch black. He didn’t find the kid till morning. He found a split open boulder and checked inside, as he saw a bundle of green he reached in and fell back on his knees. 

“I’m so sorry,” Din whispered as the kid woke up. The rain was still coming down but Din couldn’t care less. 

The kid cooed and hooked his claw into Din’s shirt as he held the kid close. 

LXXIX—Forts 

Din wasn’t sure exactly how he ended up doing this. All the kids in Mandalore had made one every week after they had their big dinner, they’d told stories and ended up sleeping in there. The last time Din had made a fort was when he was a teen and he’d done it for the little ones. 

Din now found every last blanket and every last pillow because if he knew anything it was that when it came to forts more was always better. 

As he came back into the room the kid was watching him as he moved some night lights and found some books. He took a night off a hook and wound the end of a blanket to it. He used books to hold it down to a table and laid out all the pillows on a blanket and lucky still had two to curl up in. 

And curl up they did. Din crawled into the fort and moved the blanket back to fully enclose them. The kid had been inside the fort during the building so he was fine. Night lights were on the ground because he didn’t want the kid scared of the fort. He loved forts as a kid and he hoped the kid liked them too. 

Who didn’t like forts. 

Din was almost giddy as he laid back against the pillow, one of his rules of fort making was if you had a free wall you had to use it. The kid curled up against his side and Din pulled the blanket up over his shoulder, carefully draping it so the kid could breath. 

It was tration to tell a story so Din told one until the kid was fast asleep. 

He slept like a baby that night. 

LXXX—Telling a story

Din loved telling stories so when the kid, now  bit more grown, reached for him with a clawed hand and asked for a story before bed what else was Din to do but kneel by the bed and start telling a story. But this time he wanted the kid to help him. 

The kid loves stories so he should love telling one. 

“Once upon a time, there was a?” Din prompted. “Who is this story going to be about?” 

“A warrior hero,” the kid said, sounding very confident in his answer. 

“Ok, It can be about a hero,” Din couldn’t stop the smile on his face. “And what  is the hero doing in this story?” 

“Bounty hunting,” the kid’s eyes were drooping as he spoke. 

“Who is the hero looking for?” 

“A secret, daddy,” the kid acted like this was obvious. 

“Is it warm or cold where the hero is?” 

“Warm.” 

“Okay, so the warrior hero was on a warm, dessert covered planet and he was looking for a secret. Where does he go.” 

“The building.” 

“There’s a building?” 

“Course.”

“So the hero walks into a building and what does he find?” 

“A monster,” the kid whispered, like if he said the word loud enough he’d summon one. “Big monster.” 

 “A big monster?” Din repeated and the kid nodded. “Wow, very, very scary. What else does the monster have.”

“Eyes, lot’s of eyes so it can see the hero.” 

“And does the hero lose against the monster?” 

“No. Hero's don’t lose, daddy.” 

“My bad,” Din rested his chin on the bed. “So how does the hero win.” 

“He lights it on fire.” 

“How does he get fire.” 

“He has magic fire powers.” 

“Of course, so after the hero takes down the monster what happens next? 

“He finds the secret treasure.” 

“What is it?” 

“Baby monster.” The kid mumbled this as he fell asleep. 

Din left a kiss on the kid’s forehead as he slipped out of the room, unable to stop thinking about the kid's story. 

Chapter Text

LXXXI—Nightmare (II)

Din didn’t sleep well most nights, even though he knew he needed sleep but sometimes he just couldn’t close his eyes without nightmares and fear gripping him. 

Din grabbed his rifle and sat by the kid’s bed. He didn’t know if he could cope if something happened to this kid, it was his job to protect him and he would be damned if he failed again. 

The nightlights around him were on and bright, bringing comfort to the kid and to Din. If someone came in he would be able to see them in the white and gold lights scattered around the room. 

Din started to drift off when a small whimper came from the kid. He tightened his grip on the rifle, his finger ready to pull the trigger at a moment's notice but he couldn’t fight the demons in the kid’s head.

He set the rifle down and sank to his knees by the small crib and reached through the bars and brushed a finger gently down the kid’s chest but his hand couldn’t move anymore. The invisible hand was crushing in fingers, the pressure was almost enough to shatter his bones. 

“Kid,” he tried to hide the panic from his voice but it wasn’t him he was scared for. It was the kid’s, he must be having a nightmare. 

His hand was released from the kid’s power and the kid was moving his hand sporadically, claws reaching for invisible things.

Din extended a finger by a claw, hoping muscle memory will guide the kid. The claw curled around his finger. 

“It’s okay,” he said and the kid fussed more, shifting and making soft noises from the back of his throat. Din nudged his side and snapped in his ear and the kid’s eyes opened, the pleasure was all over him, like a sudden weight crushing against his back, his head, his arms. It pulled him down, back-arching, arms dropped and just as quick as it came over him, it washed away like the tide.

The kid's eyes flickered around the room, lingering in the shadows of the nightlights before returning to Din. 

“It’s okay,” Din stood up and picked the kid up out of his crib. He wiped the tears and sleep from the kid’s eyes. He wondered what those eyes had seen before he took the kid in. But he knows enough has happened in his care to give the kid nightmares for the rest of his life.

He rocked the kid almost unconsciously for a bit before going to return the kid to his crib. He was about to set the kid down but he had other ideas and let out a high-pitched cry. 

Din sighed and walked back to his room, laying on his back and pulling the covers up to his waist. The kid laid against his stomach, burrowing deep as if he could crawl into Din’s skin.

LXXXII— Sick (II)

Din wasn’t sick. Bounty hunters, Mandalorians, and Dad’s don’t get sick. He had too much to do, bring people in, follow crumbs, myths, and whispers for the kid’s home and people. And take care of a needy 50-year-old baby(?) of a mysterious species. 

So when Din’s throat feels sore he ignores it. He has work to do. He brings in the bounty but the ship needs maintenance 

So he works on that. His stomach is in knots, it’s like the kid’s power is pulling him down, his limbs are made of lead and not flesh and blood. He sniffles and swallows down a cough. And then another one. He finally lets one out and the kid perked up from where he was playing with a toy, watching Din with far too smart eyes. 

Din coughed again, it scrapped up his sandpaper throat, he was unable to hold it in. The kid tilted his head and cooed. 

“I’m fine,” Din said, his voice rough and throat burning. He swallowed, wincing as it throbbed in pain. Din turned back to his work, and by working he means staring at the wires and screws and his tools and coming up short of anything. 

He wiped his nose on his sleeve and sniffed to try and clear it. No dice. He sighed, ignoring all this discomfort he went on. The engine was half-fixed when Din was seeing spots, his brain was vibrating in his skull. 

He needed to sit down. He lowered himself to the floor. Just for a minute. He leaned forward and covered his face with his hands.

Just a minute. 

Every muscle was tight and sore, his joints ached from the work, tendons felt thinned out, barely holding his bones together. 

Just a minute. 

He stretched his legs out, arched his back and let his head rest there. His finger-tips rubbed at his temples to try and relieve them of the pain. He closed his eyes. 

Just a minute.

***

When he woke up he was freezing and burning at the same time, his skin was flushed, a fire was in his veins but he was still shaking, drenched in ice water and shuddering. 

He hauled himself up. The kid was sitting on the floor watching him. “I’m fine,” Din said, though he was mostly talking to himself. “Just gotta push through.” 

Sweat-slick hands started on the engine. He had to finish this so they could get off the forsaken ice-covered planet.  

The kid chirped and waddled away, going so slow that even in this state Din could follow, but he didn’t. He turned back to the engine, trusting the kid to be alone for just a little bit. Just ‘till he finished this. 

The kid came back seconds later just looking at Din with big almost pleading eyes. Din ran a dirty hand across his forehead and closed his eyes, blocking out the world for just a second. When he opened his eyes he was levitating. The kid was walking backward and leading him to his room.

Din was so tried he could hardly process this. The kid dropped him on his bed, gently as ever. The blankets pulled back and flopped over him. The kid nodded and turned. 

“I’m fin—” Din was cut off as he was shoved onto his bed. The kid was gone, off to who knows where. Din pressed a hand against his head and stood up, the room swayed like a staggering drunk, blurring like a signal coming in and out of range. 

Din rubbed his eyes and carried on, following the pitter-patter of the kid’s steps. The kid was in the kitchen a can of broth hovering above his head. The can cracked, the lid popping off and the kid dropped the can on the table gently and turned to the stove-top. 

“Need some help,” Din leaned in the doorway, not to look cool or anything but so balance. The kid slammed an open cabinet shut with his powers and sent a wave in Din’s direction. If Din hadn’t been braced against the wall, he’d have fallen over. The kid overcorrected and pulled Din forward before gently stabilizing him and. 

Din white-knuckled the door frame as the kid raised his hand again. “Woah, woah, woah. Just wait a second,” Din moved forward and got out a pan and started on the soup. 

The kid watched until he decided the lesson was over and started to gently shove him in the direction of the door. 

Din reluctantly went to his bed, so tried but every time he got comfortable his nose would run, or he would cough. 

The kid came back into the room with a steaming bowl of broth, he levitated it up to Din. Din half-smiled as he took it. It was bland but he couldn’t taste much anyway, he was just glad he had something warm. 

The kid’s eyes got big as he took in the scene and he rushed off, coming back a few moments later with a spoon. Din started to use the spoon to get the broth and the kid watched him. 

“Thank you,” Din croaked and the kid was gone, turning off the lights as he left. He heard a small shriek and was stumbling onto his feet when seconds later the kid was back, again, this time with a small, star night light in his hand. It didn’t need to be plugged in and was shinning. The kid set it on the floor and took his empty bowl and spoon and left yet again. 

When he came back he had another blanket, his own favorite, a dark blue soft one he floated it over Din’s head and let it fall there. The kid loved having his head covered when he snuggled up. 

Din wanted to hug the kid but didn’t want to spread his germs. “Go to sleep. I’m good.” 

The kid, worn down from waiting on Din went to his own room and sleep the night away, Din wasn’t so lucky, periodically waking to sneeze or cough or blow his nose, sometimes all three. 

LXXXIII—First Name 

“Din, Din, Din, Din,” the kid said before running off. Din followed, far slower and feeling down on his luck. 

He never used his first name, for all the honorable Mandalorian reasons and for the not so honorable reason that it also made him seem cool and mysterious. But the kid didn’t care for either and was saying his name over and over again like a chant.

Din had told the kid his name casually when he was talking of name (as for the kid’s….he was working on it, nothing fit right) and the kid had snatched it up eagerly and has been spitting it back out over and over again. 

He would do this sometimes, get stuck on one word or object but Din really didn’t like this one. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his name but he didn’t want to be one of those parents whose kids called them by their first name. 

Din knew it was best to just not say anything and let the kid fizzle out after a few days but it was constant. 

“Din, Din, Din,” the kid pointed to a new bug. 

“Din! Din! Din!” the kid cried when he tickled him. 

“Din? Din? Din? the kid would cry when he was gone for more than a few minutes.

It was never once. Din’s heard his name enough times for it to lose all meaning and just feel like word vomit. Din knew it would pass but he didn’t have to like when the kid would call him Din in public. 

“You don’t have to call me by my name,” Din reminded the kid was he tucked him in for the night, checking under the bed and in the closet for monsters. 

“I like your name, daddy,” the kid said as if it was as simple as that.

Din kissed him goodnight and the next morning he woke up to, “Daddy! Get up.” And a hungry baby falling back on old habits. 

XXIV—Imaginary Friend 

“Hi,” Din waved to nothing. The kid was growing up, slowly but semi-steadily, and with a greater understanding of how things worked the kid was developed an imaginary friend. It made Din feel terrible that the kid had no real friends but as a kid some of the younger ones with plenty of friends who still had an imaginary friend. It was just his imagination, which even if Din was an old man he still understood. 

It was probably harmless to pretend. So Din waved and said “Hi,” to “Westy”  It wasn’t a good name, probably made up when Din was talking about directions but Din didn’t have a leg to stand on 

“Westy wants to know if you’ll play with us?” the kid turned to him, ears curved forward. 

Din held back a sigh. “Sure.” 

Din played with the kid and “Westy,” for a bit before the got bored of him and moved on. 

***

“No,” the kid cried as Din sat down. 

Din jumped to his feet. “What? 

The kid was moving past him. “You sat on Westy.” 

Din held back a sigh. “My bad. Tell Westy I’m sorry.” 

***

“It was Westy,” the kid said, acting like he’d never seen the shattered plates. He was a bad actor. 

Din shook his head. “Sure,” Din crouched down, carefully picking up the large shards. “He’s you’re friend so he’s your responsibility.” 

The kid sighed (wonder who he picked that one up from)

“Carefully help me,” Din said and shards lifted from the floor and into a bag. 

***

 “Westy” gets blamed for a lot, broken things and time wasted but this is really it. The kid is past the age where he can run off without consequence. 

Din is so mad he can hardly see straight, all his worry turned inside out. “You can’t just run off like that! All alone.” 

“I wasn’t alone. I had Westy.” 

Din scoffed. “Doesn’t matter, you can’t just run off in the middle of a crowded planet. Do you know how dangerous it is out there? What could have happened?” 

The kid stared at the floor. 

Din forced himself to take deep breaths. “Look, it’s just you and me, okay? And I can’t lose you.”

Din crouched down. “Hey, look at me.” The kid looked up, big eyes welling with tears. “I’m not mad. I’m just worried, okay.” 

“Westy wanted to explore.” 

 “Well next time he wants to, tell him your dad said no. Does Westy want you to get in trouble?”

“No.” 

“Good.” 

Din hoped the kid would outgrow Westy soon but for now, he had it handled.

LXXXV—Learning Manners 

“What do we say?” Din held the plate out of the kid’s reach. 

The kid sighed—really Din regretted doing that so often—“Please.” 

“Thank you for that,” Din set the plate down with a knife and fork. “Now use these, don’t eat it whole.”

The kid pouted. 

Din took the knife and fork in front of him and with a flourish, he cut up a piece of meat. “Do as I do.” 

The kid mimicked him correctly for a bit but lost interest, going back to using his claw out of habit Din picks the plate up. 

The kid pouts but goes back to using utensils but is chewing with his mouth open. Din points to his mouth and eats, with his mouth closed. 

The kid swallows the piece whole.

“We don’t do that, okay,” Din clicked his teeth. “We chew, mouth closed. Like this,” Din ate a piece again.

The kid was stiff and unnatural but they were making progress. When they were done and the kid burped Din added one more lesson to the night. “You have to say excuse me.” 

“Excuse me,” the kid said in the dyest voice he’s ever used.

“And what do you say about dinner.” 

“Thank you,” the kid said, just as sarcastic.

“We’re not done with this.”

This time they both sighed at the same time. 

Chapter Text

LXXXVI—Presumed Death 

Din crouched being a broken vehicle. It was poor cover but it was something. His rifle was burning hot, pulse after pulse being shot out of it. His beskar didn’t conduct heat but he could feel it around him, the energy flying through the air and landing on his pauldrons and vambraces. The group of bounty hunters he was going against had better cover, sand dusted ruins, crumbled stone, and melted metal warped into the ground. 

The suns of this planet—San Najik—beat down on them. Two of them were in the sky right now, the closest this forsaken plant gets to dusk. The sand wasn’t just below him, it was around him, spraying with the high winds. It clouded his vision through his helmet. 

But it also clouded his adversaries' vision. The kid was sealed shut in his carrier and Din locked it with a pin and readied his fire. As the group of three humans stumbled out of the ruins, burns on their bare shoulders from the sand and sun. Clearly they weren’t natives, so they didn’t know the land better than Din. 

Din kept still, feeling like prey too dumb to move, or maybe smart enough to stay perfectly still. 

Their blasters clicked. One of them struggled with hers before pulling out a slugthrower. It’s been ages since he’s seen one used. Slugthrowers were Mandalorian expertise but some knowledge cannot be kept. 

They drew closer, one blinding sun was behind him. It was setting and cut into their view. Another one was rising to his left. The slugthrower fired and he shot at it, the bullet didn’t fully vaporize, going far too fast for that but it melted and dropped its course and landed against his chest plate and not the sliver of exposed neck and collarbone between his helmet and chest plate. 

He quickly brushed off the molten slug and laid down. Playing dead was risky but as a man from the group checked behind the rusted sand bike he sprayed him with fire from his vambrace, making sure to cover his exposed shoulders already burnt and cracked with sand. 

The man threw a knife as Din shot him point-blank with his pulse rifle and he joined the sand as dust.  The two others in the group stood a few paces back. Din just wanted to deal with them, get the bounty from the town over and go back on the ship. 

The slugthrower carrier, a woman with an eyepatch and the other, another woman with a blaster in one hand and a curved knife in the other. 

Din ducked and shot at their legs, as the slugthrower shot twice in rapid succession, Din couldn’t deflect it but he melted one down and took the other to the chest plate. The melted one landed on his hand, burning his glove and embedding in his skin.

They were vaporized. 

There was sweat on his brow, on his back, his leg—everywhere there could be sweat there was. And there was also blood. As the rush of adrenaline emptied out him he felt like a puppet with its strings severed. He fell forward, blood and metal-coated hand meeting sand and the other hand pressed to his lower abdomen, the knife was curved and rooted deep in his gut, that was the risk of playing mouse and letting someone get close.

He wobbled and dropped his blood-covered hand onto the sand, he hauled himself up and used his body weight to tip himself onto his back. He brushed off his hands, sweat, sand, blood, and metal, stained them like tar, all of it mixing and creating a sticky mess 

He used his forearm to put pressure on the wound, keeping careful of his messed up hands. He was staring up at one of the suns, as the one behind him set, colors streaked a bit of the sky. 

He turned his head to the side so look at the carrier, floating and safe and sound. That was the last thing he saw before he passed out. 

*

It was too bright. 

Din kept his eyes shut, the pain was shooting through him but he felt like a puddle. Lazy and laying there his vambrace as beeping but his brain was slow to process anything beyond, heat and pain, heat and pain, heat, and pain.

It was too bright. The sky had too many suns in to.  All three burning high above. Noon on this forsaken planet.

It was too bright. 

He shut his eyes. Melted even farther, like the slug intertwined in the blood and sinew of his hand. 

*

Beep. Beep. Beep.

His vambrace was going off, some protocol alerting him. But something else was happening. There was a rev from an engine. 

Steps on the sand. The sand was everywhere, it covered his clothing, his beskar. Beep. Beep. Beep.

A hand grabbed his wrist, but his brain was disconnected from his nervous system. The person fussed with his vambrace and the beeping stopped. 

There were more engines, their hiss suffocated by the heat. Voices spoke in quickly be he didn’t understand it.

A hand pressed to his neck, but it felt like a hand through layers of clothing. More harsh words. A hand started for his helmet but stopped. Even in this state he was relieved it was left on.

The harsh words kept on, but something deep in them was fear. 

It was so bright. 

***

The Mandalorian was dead. At least that’s what Kei thought. She knew these guys had a whole system of underground tunnels and groups that had each other’s backs. Her village knew a lot about Mandalorians the Elders had a close trade relationship with them a long time ago. They still traded with the leaders but now in rare, secret, off the books deals for their protein-rich root plants. 

They were forbidden from every donning beskar steel and warned that if found, hiding it was a crime.

This looked bad. The Manj ruins were a party spot, far from town so the noise wouldn’t bother their village and it had been the go-to spot for teens for ages

This looked bad. 

Kei was the oldest of the group here. She was the default for responsibility, in Mandalorian culture, so she was told, the leader was determined by skill and smarts but here age was wisdom, no matter what. The dumbest person, if oldest, was in charge, if they were lucky to live that long.

Kei wasn’t panicking, except that she was. She didn’t even notice the tiny green thing, waddling across the sand. 

She jumped out of her skin when it brushed against her leg. She looked down and it’s impossibly big, sad eyes stared up at her. She knew vaguely of its kind. The Elders said not to talk of them but rumors can’t be controlled.  

If they are to believed she knew three things of his kind:

1. they move things with their minds. 
2. they never die 
3. they pass through planets causing mayhem and death.

The Manj temple used to be one to pray to spirits the witch-clan came from but since the Elders destroyed it generations ago and encouraged it to be used as a den for debauchery. 

Kei had no idea how much she believed the rumors but in that moment things lined up. Mandalorians were good and this thing was bad and the Mandalorian was dead. 

It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.  Years of stories and rumors caused her to shove the creature from her leg. 

“We need to go,” Nova said. “Like now.” 

Kei was frozen and scared it was going to attack her. It would kill her and...and...eat the Mandalorian? She felt her ignorance like a noose around her neck.

The creature—it’s kind had a name but the Elder’s refused to give the knowledge beyond vague titles like chaos-bringers—didn’t crush her windpipe with its mind, it didn’t lift her up and slam her into the ground until her organs crushed and sand entered into her body.

It whined.

Kei looked back at the Mandalorian, the blood cacked wound was a few hours old. The creature had looked like it had just woken a second ago but now was fully alert. 

Something caused her to crouch down, to look into those kind, hurt, eyes.

“He’s dead,” she whispered. She feared what could kill a Mandalorian. She watched the creature glance from her to the Mandalorian. 

“Kei!” Gill whisper-shouted. “What are you doing?” 

Kei wasn’t even sure herself but something deep inside her didn’t think this creature, this baby, killed the Mandalorian. Not with how his eyes were distressed and frantic. As she stared at the baby, that was what it was, she knew it, with how little it was and how it walked it couldn’t be anything but a baby, the old carvings in the walls of the temple displayed them with different eyes and far taller. She noticed something, she pulled the necklace out from under his coat. 

It was a Mandalorian necklace. A Mythosaur's skull. The puzzle pieces in her head split apart. 

Kei dumble followed the baby to the Mandalorian’s corpse, the baby took the Mandalorian’s finger, the hand was covered the scraps of a glove, blood, sand, and metal. 

“Shit,” Nova said. 

Kei nodded, the baby was looking at the Mandalorian with pleading eyes, like a child to its father waiting for everything to go back to normal. 

Kei took her snakes-skin flask and undid a scrap of fabric holding her hair back and wiped the hand down as best she could. She checked the man’s pulse against on his wrist but nothing. The baby moved nearer to the wound and laid a hand on it. 

Kei didn’t know what was happening and almost turned her head from the tender touch, feeling like she was imposing. The skin, under the sand and blood was healing. 

“Shit,” Kei said this time around, receiving nods from the small group. 

Kei checked the pulse again and it was there, she knew it hadn’t been before. The baby passed out. It might be dead now, she had no idea how to check a pulse on something non-human, or even human-adjacent. 

She channeled her mother’s voice. “Get him on the biggest bike,” she picked up the baby and got on her own bike. “My mom is a healer, take them to her.” 

*

Din woke up slowly there was a young girl by his side, holding onto a knapsack like it was the only keeping her alive. 

Inside the clay walls was cooler than the burning heat outside. 

Din had a needle in his arm wired to a drip. He must still be on San Najik, they knew their healing.

He looked around on instinct, the kid was nowhere to be found. Footsteps came closer and an older woman checked his pulse. “You died,” she said by way of greeting. 

“I’m thankful to you I didn’t.”

“Not to me,” the woman said, she nodded at the girl. “She found you and brought you here. You must have been knocked in the stomach hard to pass out then a sand storm hit and the heat sucked everything out of you.” 

That wasn’t right, the girl was tense when Din looked at her and clung to the knapsack. He remembered a curved knife.

“I’m lucky then.” It all he said. 

She smiled and turned to her daughter. “Make sure he rests, Kei.” 

Kei nodded and the woman left. 

Din turned to Kei. “I remember being stabbed.” 

The girl pulled down the bag and the kid was there, her hand over his mouth. He was going to get ready to attack but she leaned forward and whispered, “She can’t know he’s here.” 

“Why.” 

“There are...rumors. Carvings. The Elders warn of it’s kind and no one will believe them, they’ll think I’m young and stupid.” 

Din reached forward and the kid grabbed his fingers. Din nodded and she removed her hand from his mouth. Din hugged the kid, pressing him to his chest and shushing him. 

“He healed you, your heart had stopped but luckily you weren’t too far gone.” 

A few days later Kei helps him sneak the kid out as the kid says goodbye to her Din tells her, “I owe you one, if you find me again and need something I’ll gladly do it.” 

She just nodded. Hoping she would never need his help but he may need hers. “You said you were looking for his home, his people?” 

“Yes”

“The Elders say they crawled back to where they came from, so follow the rumors backward, there is a grain of truth in most of them.”

 Din nodded and thanked her again. Not realizing until later that his pockets are bit lighter and she stole a couple of credits. He's not even mad at her. 

Chapter Text

LXXXVII—Imprisonment 

Din had been captured, it was only a matter of time before it happened but he still felt like he didn’t have enough time.

The mountain people found him and the kid—a race of humanoid creatures that are short and stocky, covered in muscle and hair—and said they were trespassing and accused them of being spies sent to gather their secrets of mining and used the element of surprise to capture them as they went through one of the working tunnels.  

He had begged them to let the kid go but they refused to listen to reason and they knocked him out. 

He woke up chained. 

The kid is chained in the smaller cell next to him. The chains are thick and sturdy. The manacles locked against his wrist are attached to the wall. 

Din can reach the wall where their cells meet, just barely and he can see the outline kid curled up against the connecting wall, as far over as his chains allow. The kid also had cuffs locked tight around his tiny wrists. 

“With me kid?” 

The kid made a whining sound. 

“I know, I know,” Din whispered, using the same soothing voice he used when reading the kid bedtime stories. “I’m here.”

The kid had a limited vocabulary and muttered, “Dadda,” so softly Din could hardly hear it. 

“I’m here.”

*

The cuffs aren’t steel, they are made of an almost seamless metal that’s black as tar, it’s wound around his wrists and the kid’s as well. 

The kid turned a hand outward and closed his eyes, there was nothing. The cuffs won’t budge, the metal—or whatever it is—had no clear locking point. 

This place was known for its smiths. 

The kid made a distressed sound and Din kept talking, not wanting the kid to forget he’s here. He tells the kid’s favorite bedtime story and he hit his shackles against the floor in sets of two when his throat grew sore and rough after constant use. 

There were no night lights in his hell-hole, only darkness so absolute that Din could no longer see the kid. But Din could hear him, whimpering and cooing. 

Any scraps of warmth were sucked out of the cell in the darkness, leaving only cold cement and metal bars. 

The smooth metal digs into his hands as he pushes the chains to their limit and pulls the chain fully taunt and gets a wrist between the bars, he can’t get any more of his arm through but it’s enough to curl towards the kid’s cell, the wall between then thin and he gets his fingers between the bars and the wall of the kid’s cell.

The kid grabbed onto his finger, he tried to pull the kid closer but he yelps, the cuffs must be digging into his skin. 

Din sighed and shifted his wrist trying to get into a more comfortable position but there was none. 

He just took a moment to feel the kid’s skin and claws, reaching as far as he could up the kid’s wrist, feeling the tiny cuffs fitted against the wrists, the mysterious metal—again—had no seams Din could feel. He held back a curse and reached his fingers as far as they could stretch to brush against the kid’s chest. 

The thin edges of the cuffs dug into his skin, it was going to bruise for sure and maybe even cut but he didn’t care, he stretched his hand and would stretch out his bones and flesh to reach the kid. 

But he couldn’t. All he could do was plan, plan, and plan.

*

There is a guard outside the door, there is an empty cell to his other side. There is a widow with bars across it acting as the only light and the long day is coming to an end.  He knows the day is longer than the average, it had to have been at least forty hours. 

He was prodded with a foot and hauled to his feet. A troll-like creature opened his cell, they were all were brute like and small but covered in thick muscle. He was shoved down a hall as the kid cried, he tried not to show weakness but it got him as he turned and grabbed the open cell door to use as leverage and kicked one in the face with all his might, it hurt to deliver the kick but the creature didn’t even fall down, it merely swayed and spit as if slapped by a child and held onto Din’s chains like a leash. 

“Is that all you’ve got,” it said, the voice sounded like something ancient, like rocks cracking against rocks deep inside a cavern. 

Din headbutted the creature, using the beskar for all it’s worth. That got him a grunt and a few steps back.

The others were hardly even paying attention. Not even helping. It felt a rush of fear down his body. 

The creature pulled the chains, only giving Din enough room to kneel and kneel Din did, kneecaps throbbing as he hit the ground hard. Head hanging down Din’s wrists were drawn out as far from his body as they go, cuff-edges digging into his weakened skin and splitting it.

The kid was making distressed whines and one grunt muttered something to the other and the grunt huffed and walked over and kicked the cell door where the kid had been as close as he could be. 

“Pick on someone your own size,” Din said and he knew it was stupid before he did it but he needed to draw all the attention on himself. He shoved one foot back and hit the grunt who had unlocked the cell and braced himself with a hand on the ground. 

The key-bearer laughed and only stumbled a big, the mountain folk around him all laughed and were laughing as they haul him to his feet and lead him down a shadowy hall. 

Din pushed against his chains, ground his heels into the stone, and spat on heavy boots. They got him down the hallway and kicked him through a door, it sent Din stumbling and he landed on his knees, they locked his chains into the door and closed it. 

This room had two things, a toilet, and a tray. On the tray, there was a bowl of thick mush and a small cup of water. 

It was self-explanatory. He used the toilet and had to sit on the ground in front of the door to have enough give on the chains to actually eat. There were no utensils and it was humiliating to use his hands. He slid back on his gloves and stepped back from the door. 

He kicked the door and it was unlocked and opened. How many keys did this guy have on him? Din stood like a good prisoner as his chains were unlocked. There were small markings on all the keys in a language Din couldn’t even hope to read.

He is patted down, they even crook fingers up his helmet. “You’re lucky we let you keep that thing.” Din thinks he knows why they let him. The Mandalorians liberated this world and they respect them. 

The key-keeper flicks open a very old item Din has only seen once. A large pocket watch with an analog clock ticking the seconds away. He said something to his goons in another language and they laugh.

Din walked down the hallway and took in the ring-holder as he locked Din back into his cell. The cell was locked with the same key that locked him into the cell.

Din watched as the kid’s cell was opened and he was picked up and taken down the hall, the kid strained against the arms holding him and squealed helplessly. Din caught his eyes and he smiled sadly. 

The kid was returned in a few minutes and the same key was used to lock and unlock him from the chain holder and cell door. So all he needed was one well-guarded key. 

He stared at the empty cells before him and pushed his bloodied wrists against the metal and twisted his hand and fingers through the bars and his finger through for the kid to take it. And he planned.

*

Planning for Din was just his mind going in circles. When the kid fell asleep Din eased out of his grip and backed up towards the wall, the chains wouldn’t let him stand up fully but he knee-walked to the back wall, at the center was where the chains met the wall. They were locked on but not the seamless locking of the cuffs around his wrist and the cuffs to the chain but a simple locking mechanism that was a thick piece of steel attached to a patch in the wall that lowered over the links of the chain. 

Din tried it again and again but it didn’t give. He needs the key and the only time they unlock him is to take him to the second room to eat and relieve himself. 

They pat him down afterward so he would have to lift the key on the way back. But the key was clipped on a chain around the guard’s neck, with a key that unlocked both the cell and lock. And there were four guards in total. 

He had no weapons and was lucky to have his armor. 

He slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. 

*

It’s still dark out when they pull him from his cell, blades are pointed at him and he is walked down a hall into a cement room with a normal door and not a barred one. It has no windows and makes escape impossible.  

At least they have some respect for their prisoners, he’s been in far worse prisons. 

He’s locked back into his cell and then the kid is taken through the main door.

He’s not returned in a few minutes 

Din closed his eyes and tried to think for a moment but all he could think was: they have the kid, they have the kid. They’re hurting him, they’re hurting him, theyrehurtinghim. 

He stared at the hallway they took him down and waited, it was shadowed and seemed like a portal to another world, on Din couldn’t follow the kid into. 

He went back to the lock and stared at it. It was a normal lock and all he needed was one key, the key to the lock also unlocked the cell. He could get weapons and get out of this mountain. 

He had nothing to pick the lock, there was an old myth of a man who could not die was chained up in a cave. He lived many lifetimes and did not age or die but he wasted down to almost nothing, all of it spent in the cave. He chewed through his fingers and used the bones to pick the lock. 

Din used to laugh at the story, who would ever chew through their fingers, but now he got it. He would cut his chest open and bleed to free the kid but the kid needed him. He also knew the lock needed something thinner than bones.

When everything is perfectly still he can hear the faint ticking of the watch of the guard. With the lack of electricity and windows, it makes sense the mountain folk would resort to old human technology to keep time. 

They have no electricity and aren’t using his blasters even though they are some of the best credits can buy, they must fear the stuff and probably threw out his rifle. 

Din closed his eyes and thought of killing all of them, protecting his son and making it out alive with luck on his side.

The kid is mysterious, Din knows, it’s probably why the kid is gone for so long. They’re showing him to the top officials and asking allies. And while they may have basic respect for him, they have none for the kid and think he’d be easier to break and confess to something or spill secrets of who they are “spying for.” 

Or torturing him. Din can’t control the images his mind conjures up. Creatures can be cruel and Din knows it, he’s been cruel in the past and will be cruel again once he’s out of these chains— he ever gets out of these chains. 

Din closed his eyes because if they hurt him Din will make them wish they had killed him. 

If they sell him Din will search every inch of the universe still he finds the kid. And if they kill him...Din pulled against the chains. He sat in front of the lock and braced his feet against the wall and pulled. He pulled past the point of muscle pain, he gripped the chains so hard his fingers pulsed. He pulled until his arms shook and he had to stop, the cuts on his wrists opened back up, the blood dropped onto the floor and Din couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Outside the door that went into the cell-room, the guard paced. Footsteps mechanical like a piece of clockwork. 

Din closed his eyes and turned to watch the door. 

*

 It was hours before they returned the kid, the pacing of the guard stopped and the goons entered. The kid was slumped in his arms and they opened the cell and locked the kid in. Din kept his wrists back and got as close as he could to the kid, pressed against the connecting wall and bars. 

The kid was unconscious. He was laying on the cold ground of the middle of his cell and Din watched him. He yanked against his chains to no avail. 

He watched the rise and fall of his chest and the kid did not wake up. 

*

The kid was still asleep and Din wouldn’t sleep until the kid woke up. He waited and watched, unable to do anything else.

When the mountain creatures came back, the same one with the pocket watch and his goons with crooked teeth and noses. 

Din was still when they unlocked him, frozen in his anger and he leaned back like a feline and pounced. He clawed and ripped, kicking and punching with all his might, he couldn’t breathe, there was no room for air in his body, rage took up all the space, eating up everything Din had to offer. 

It wasn’t enough, he managed to bring one to the ground before his chains were pulled and he was forced to his stomach, arms wrenched behind his back. 

He panted in the helmet, it’s never felt restrictive before but now it did, this room was too small, the cell was too small and he couldn’t breathe in this helmet. 

The key-master laughed and stepped on Din’s pinky, adding enough weight so that it broke. Pain throbbed over his hand but Din didn’t care about himself.

“What did you do to him,” Din whispered, voice rough with unuse. Din swallowed and forced his lungs to take in air. “What,” Din spoke louder this time, each word shaved off of anger. “Did you do to him?” 

He didn’t get an answer. He got pushed to his feet and walked like an animal to the other room. He didn’t want to eat, he didn’t want to drink. He wanted to punch through the wall. He robotically used the toilet and ate, his helmet came off but it didn’t make it easier to breathe.

*

There is a guard outside the door. He walked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The boots scuff against the floor and Din can see them through the tiny gap between the door and the wall. 

He can hear the guard stop and then another replaces him. The other one stands still for a bit before pacing himself. He tries to keep track of how long each guard is on duty, they change out 5 times during the day and 5 more during the night. 

There is a guard outside the door and inside the door is a room, there are three cells and two of them are occupied. One is a sleeping child. The other, a father, wrists rubbed raw, bruised, and beaten and still struggling to breathe. 

There is a guard outside the door and outside the mountain, the sun slowly rises and slowly sets, days and nights lasting long. 

The father sits on the cold ground and hopes for a miracle. He’s seen cruelty beyond most, he’s delivered cruelty that haunts him when he closes his eyes, and he’s seen kindness that’s blown him away. 

The father watched the child’s chest rise and fall and he hopes and prays for a miracle. 

No one comes. 

*

No one comes, no savior, no help, no kind stranger or less-kind criminal who owes Din a debt. The kid still sleeps. They must have sedated him. Din listens to the guard pacing in front of the door and feels each second pass with agonizing slowness. 

The food they serve is tasteless and lacking, Din is running on fumes, his anger made him forget about it but now in the cold quiet his anger faded revealing the pain it masked. It did nothing for his worry. But he would not fall asleep for longer than a few moments. 

The kid wasn’t a fussy baby, he would usually sleep for hours straight so Din should have had good nights of sleep but the worry in him that would never fade would flare up and he would keep up a silent vigil by the kid’s bedside. 

This wasn’t that different.

*

The kid wakes. He does this slowly, groaning and cooing, shifting and stretching. Din keeps his wrists back and leans against the wall, almost reverently listening for a word. “Kid,” he said, voice small and broken, old and young at the same time. “Kid.” 

He looked down at his wrists if he went any deeper he could bleed out. He breathed against the wall, everything felt fragile, this family he’s made himself a web of spun glass that could shatter with one wrong breath. 

There were so many myths and stores around and in looking for the kid’s kind he’s heard many, one where a man is cursed for journeying into forbidden land and his punishment is to hold up the sky.  

Din’s arms shake and his body convulses but he holds up his sky. Metaphorically, he strains against its weight, it’s unrelenting pressure that could break him. Literally, he leaned against the wall, careful not to hurt his wrists anymore, and waited.

“Dadda,” the kid muttered, so low Din almost doesn’t hear it. 

“I’m here,” Din sagged against the wall, wishing that he could take himself apart and go through the small gap in the bars. “I’m here.” 

He wants to say so many things, I thought you were dead, I was so worried, I couldn’t sleep, could hardly eat. What did they do to you? What did they do to you? 

But all he said was “I’m here. It’s okay.” 

Over and over again. Outside the door, a guard paced each footstep echoed in the cell room with a comforting phrase. 

The kid reached out of his cell, Din can see the thin arm go through the bars before immediately going back in, the chains pulling him back.

“Just rest, okay,” Din said, the kid whined and tried again, seeking Din’s hand and all Din could do was hold the sound of heartbreak out of his voice. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

There is an eternal tension in Din. He would destroy himself to save the kid. But the kid needed him. He knew he would give his life for the kid but if he does so he needs to know the kid will be okay, if he bleeds out in this cell the kid will still be chained up.

The kid would be devastated when he died but he was strong, he could make it through.

“I’m here. It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna get us out of here.” 

Din hoped he wasn’t lying. 

*

Din’s pinky was broken, so he kept it still when they came for him. This time they took him into another room. 

“We don’t want to do this, not to a Mandalorian,” the key-master said. “But your friend leaves us no choice with his baby act.” 

Din was shoved up the stairs as he talked. 

“Tells us who hired you and how so we can track them down and we will not only free you but you will be named a friend. Lie to us and we will kill you.”

That was the last thing Din heard before he was shoved into darkness. There was nothing in the room, no sound, no light, came through the wall. 

His chains weren’t attached to anything, they hung loose but the room was so small he couldn’t move much, the low ceiling forced him to hunch over so he sat. 

He kicked at the door but it didn’t give at all. 

He sat and he tried to be empty of all thoughts but that didn’t work. There was so pacing, no footsteps above or below, no faint echoes of voices. No slivers of passing light. 

*

There is a guard outside the cell door and that guard has ears. All the guards who do this shift all hear it, they hear the love in the voice of the Mandalorian when he talks to the creature. The one on duty when they take away the Mandalorian hears the creature's cries. 

When the key-master walks by the guard on duty clears his throat. “Sir,” he says in their language. “What if the creature really is a baby?” 

The key-master is a general, his rank gleams on his coat in the form of a golden symbol of interlocking half-circles and is tattooed on his back. “It is most likely it ages slowly.” The general regarded the guard with a sense of pride. He is doing far greater things than standing before a door. He turns to leave.

“Sir,” the guard spends the most time at this door. He is low ranking and has a mere triangle of steel on his chest. “I er, I don’t have children of my own but clearly the Mandalorian sees the creature as a child and I know not even Mandalorians are trained to resist the torture of their children. If memory serves me right they are usually against forming bonds.” 

The general took out his pocket watch, his mouth quicking in a smile. “I’ll leave them separated for a bit longer then…” the general patted the guard on the shoulder. “We’ll see how strong he is when his son is threatened.” 

The guard paled. “Will you really hurt the child?”

The general turned away. The mountain-folk weren’t peaceful people. “I will do what needs to be done.”

The guard checked his watch and wondered how long a bit was. He wondered if he was going to have to hear the Mandalorian bend and break. 

*

There is nothing. In the nothing, there is a father, an orphan with a broken finger and raw wrists. The father sits in the cell of nothing and worries for his son. He wishes for a watch, so something to count the seconds away. For something to ground him other than the pain in his body. 

Din waits for them to let him out but they don’t. They let him fester in there for what Din is sure is hours. He counts and counts. Trying to tell something close to time with the numbers endlessly going up. He’s in the thousands before he gives up. Tired of counting and tired of trying not to think of their fate. 

It’s always their fate. Ever since he took the kid back they are together. They are The Mandalorian and The Child. Themandalorianthechild . They are a unit. They look out for each other, they only separate when needed. 

It is their fate because no matter what they are intertwined and what happens to one affects the other.

  Themandalorianthechild . One name. One unit. Din sits alone in a lightless world where no sound can come through the walls and mourns what could have been. 

Sometimes when he could keep vigil over the kid’s bed he would let his mind wander down the shadowy road of their future, one with struggle and violence as a sure factor in it. But what if it didn’t have to be, what if everything was dealt with and no one chased them. What if they could make a permanent home and live in peace. What if Din could be there to watch his son grow up. 

It’s never felt more like a fairy tale than at that moment. 

*

Din slept. He woke up disoriented and his broken sense of time is even more disturbed. And Din woke to the door opening. He closed his eyes as blinding light entered the room. Din turned his head as some of the creatures picked him up and took him back to his cell where other grunts were waiting. 

The main door was left open. He was locked back into his cell and there used to be a guard outside the cell room door but not anymore. He stood in front of Din’s cell, brass knuckles dull on his hand. The other grunts formed a perimeter around the room. 

What Din felt was complicated. 

The key-master played with the ring of small keys around his neck and in his deep voice said, “You have one last chance to tell us what we want to know.”

“I mean your people no harm,” Din said, he crept up to the edge of the bars, reopening the wounds on his wrists. hadn’t eaten and drank anything in at least a day. Probably more. “I’m not a spy.”

The guard standing in front of his cell was sweating, pearls of sweat trailed down his forehead. Din felt the same tangled mix of emotions. 

He had felt fear for days constantly but it wasn’t something one got used too.  A bead of sweat hit the floor. 

Din stared at the guard’s watch, he followed the ticking hands and swallowed his impulse. The silence was suffocating.

“What are you going to do? Din asked as three of them stood before the kid’s cell and unlocked the door. Din slammed his body against the bars, and held the guard against it with one hand, his other hand twisting and seamlessly finding it’s target. 

The guard jerked forward when Din let go, it caused the guard to turn around and Din curled his fists. The guard had something almost like guilt written across his face.  In a thick accent, he said, “Tell tha general wha’ he wan’a know.” 

“I don’t know anything,” Din winced and stepped back. His raw wrists coating the cuff in blood. 

“Yer not gonna get unlocked if yer bleeds out.” The guard nodded at him, like they came to come to a mutual understanding.

Din turned his eyes to the kid, who was gagged and the key-master, who Din assumed was the General, took out a pair of pliers and poised them at one of the kid’s claws, the kid couldn’t move at all, held firm in the grip of three grunts. 

Din backed up as the general twisted and the kid’s choked cries echoed through the cell. Din brought his hands together. 

“I’m a bounty hunter,” Din yelled, he kicked the cell bars, making the guard flinch and slammed his hands against the unyielding beskar chest plate. “I was looking for a bounty.” 

The General spoke his language to his friends and Din backed up again, turning in rage to look at his hands. The broken glass of a clock-face gazed up at him as he took to large clock hands—thank anyone that these guys needed such big watches—and broke them off. 

No guard at a direct line of sight at him, most of them were around the child. Din kicked the wall. They were letting him fester. 

Din wobbled and fell down to his knees, right in front of the lock. He shoved the thin watch-hands up the lock. He learned lock picking from the same place he learned how to pick-pocket. Mandalorians have a full education.

Din breathed heavily and the locked clicked he opened it and pulled his chains free. 

“Still not willing to talk?” the General asked. 

Din’s chains rattled and he took the end of one and passed it through the bars, he pulled it up and brought it across the guard’s neck and back into the bars. 

He pulled the chain taut and that got the grunt’s attention. He pulled even harder, crushing the man’s windpipe. He fell to the ground and Din stole his brass knuckles and knife from his body as the other grunts, slow with size came closer. The general put the clippers on the baby’s eyes. 

“Drop the weapons and put your hands up,” the General ordered. “Or I will blind him.” 

Din threw the knife at the general’s neck. Shock and pain made him drop the clippers and fall to the ground. The other grunts were at the General’s side, all three of them trying to save him. Their loyalty is amazing.

Din picked the cell door lock as one turned to the kid. Din had his chains around his throat in seconds, he pulled back and broke his neck. 

The chains were so heavy and thick it was almost easy. Din put himself between the kid and the other two, the body at his feet. They all moved at once. 

The two grunts surged forward but they were big and slow. Din pulled the knife from the body and stabbed through the other’s throat and quickly turned to do the same to the final grunt, as he did so his throat was squeezed by a hand. 

The dead hand fell off his throat as his knife moved up and down. 

What Din felt was complicated, it was exhaustion, pain; dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, and a finger and probably something in his wrist. It was joy, they were free. 

The kid was on the ground, chains hung from his wrists. Din turned to the dead body and pulled the necklace from around his neck. None of the keys worked. 

Din picked the kid up and walked out of the room. He had no idea how to get around these tunnels but he sprinted up the stairs. 

He searched frantically, something deep inside him breaking with every empty tunnel, empty cell rooms, and empty room of nothingness.

He thanked someone when he found an emergency exit—mountains were unstable, marked with big red letters Din couldn’t read. 

Din opened the door and almost fell off the side. They were still on a mountain. There were flights of stairs down the mountainside. Din held the kid close and pressed a hand against his broken ribs. 

All he had to do was get through his pain and then they could be back home. Din started fast, running down the zig-zag of stairs but he had to slow down as he reached the final levels of pain. 

Din braced himself with one hand on the low rail. Din reached the bottom and could have cried, he still had to journey into the forest to find where he’d parked his ship. 

There was so much to do, he held the kid against his chest, he felt the weight of both their lives on his shoulders. It pushed him down. 

He was running on fumes, he’d given everything in that fight. If he was confronted now…

Din stumbled into the forest and found his way to his ship. He set the kid down and set the ship to autopilot to take off and go anywhere. 

He dropped to the ground. 

*

There is a ship flying in open space. Inside the ship is a father, an orphan with a broken finger, wrist, and ribs, with so much joy in his heart that he falls to his knees once they take off. There is a child, who buried himself against his father, squeaking with joy, his bloody finger carefully wrapped with a torn bit of clothing. 

There are problems to deal with. Shackles to melt off their wrists because they had to have been burnt on or placed wet and then left to dry. Weapons to buy again. But that didn’t matter.

They were free and home and safe and sound. A family unit back together. Themandalorianandthechild. 

For now, they held each other and that's enough. 

Chapter Text

LXXXVIII—Electrocution

It’s all Din’s fault. A sympathetic person may say that you aren’t responsible for everything your child does outside of a reasonable amount. They’d say accidents happen. They’d probably be right. 

But a fellow parent, especially a new one, would nod. Would understand the deep feeling in the pit of the stomach, in the echo of every heartbeat. The feeling of fear and worry and blame. 

It settled like a deep fog over him, familiar and still he was unprepared for it. So strong was this tangle of guilt-fear. It was impossible to get used to it. 

There was a rush like being a gunfight but this couldn’t be won with bullets and fists. It happened like this: a child wandering a bit behind his father, a planet with electrical wiring across large towers supplying signals.

 It happened like this: a sparking wire dangling on the ground. 

It happened like this: the child ran for it, curiosity written in the eyes and as kids do, explored it with his mouth, sending volts of electricity across his mysterious nerves.

Din had been holding something but he has no clue what it was, he dropped it and ran as soon as he heard the scream. By the time he got there, it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds but it felt like an eternity, time was a rubber band pulled back, stretching farther and farther, slower and slower. 

Din fell to his knees, he thanked someone that his gloves were eclectic proof—to a certain degree—and shoved the wire away and picked up the kid, who was knocked out cold but shaking. 

Din pressed his hand to the kid’s chest, relieved to feel thumping, he gave himself a moment. Electricity was dangerous to all but depending on the nervous system it affected each race of creatures differently. As Din felt the kid’s heartbeat he noticed the kid’s shoulder was out of its socket from the fall and/or the shaking.

 He needed to get this kid to the closes medical center, he asked a few locals and sprinted there, two streets down, turn right at the yellow building, then make another right at the bank and then a left at the park and there it is.

He ran into the emergency door and thankfully it wasn’t busy and a member of the staff took one look at him and visibly steadied themselves before directing him to a room.

Din sat there, everything happened at once, the bandages, shots, and more. Then the doctor came in and scanned the little body with some device and then fumbled for words. 

“I’ve never seen anything like this, not a child getting shocked, but a creature like this, his nerves seem to have an extra—something to them. What creature did you say this was?” 

Din stood up, this place was far from his usual area of planets, it was full of humans, maybe they didn't know about him. “I never said. And what is that?”

“Well—um—I—” the doctor nodded. “It’s a scanning device, it’s the protocol for any creature we don’t recognize,” the doctor cleared his throat. “We’ll need to wait for him to wake up, see if any paralysis happened. But for now, we’ll monitor the burns.” 

The burns surrounded the kid’s mouth and went down his neck and brushed his shoulders. Some of the skin was inflamed and red and bloody, other parts were just dull dead skin covered papery strips of flesh that looked like a melting wax candle, the worst spots were black, completely charred skin. 

The doctor left and Din, with nothing left to do, paced. It was three steps from the door to the wall. He walked until the doctor came back with burn cream and a tiny sling, he popped the shoulder back in and wrapped the arm up, he when applied the cream, Din knew from his fair share of burns that it was the best of the best. It did not calm him. 

The doctor gave him a solemn nod and left. With the shut of the door, it was like some internal door also closed, the one feeding him the energy to keep going, he dropped down onto the chair and held his helmet-covered head in his hands. He closed his eyes as if darkness was enough to shut everything out, to shut out the beeping and shuffling, the footsteps, and the awful smell that made it through the vents in his helmet. 

It was too clean, the smell of antiseptic is strong, masking any other smells. He hated hospitals, they were rare, pop-up medical centers were more common and family-run places with many tricks up their sleeves. 

Din didn’t like hospitals, he didn’t like all the wires they put on the kid, the monitors on the side, he hated it all.

 He was thankful for it all.

*

The kid woke up and Din was right there, he took the kid’s delicate hand, looking so breakable in the too-bright lighting. 

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “With me?” 

The kid tilted his head, winced as the skin, rough with burns, moved, and then tried to move his shoulder. 

“No, no, no,” Din put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t move.”  

The kid sighed and went back to sleep, Din examined the burns, they were healing but very slowly, like paper being slowly peeled back. 

*

Another day. Another week. It kept slowly healing, and the staff taught him how to deal with the burns, the exercises, creams, and shots.

Another day. Another week. 

The kid’s throat was burned so badly, the black charred skin a result of notal nerve loss, he couldn’t actually swallow and his food needed to be delivered via a tube. 

Another month before the burns had healed enough that infection wasn’t as big of a risk. The problem was that some of the nerve damage that had spared the kid some pain was reversing. 

*

“The nerve damage in the shoulders and neck may be permanent,”  the doctor told him in the hallway. Din wanted to punch him, grab her by the beige coat she wore and shove her against the wall. 

But he has honor, he unclenched his fists. 

“But I’ve never seen a creature like this, so I don’t know if it will heal completely on its own. He’s been a mostly comatose state and his burns are healing faster than most. We can run more tests and keep him here—” 

“No,” Din interrupted. “Is there any more you can do?” 

The doctor shook her head. “It’s not the time to treat him like a lab rat. Keep applying the burn cream and the shots, luckily we don’t need to do any skin graphs, he should be healed in a few weeks at the rate he’s healing.” She bit her lip and held out a hand to stop him from moving. “It’s a low chance he will fully recover, but still a chance, anything can happen. If anything gets worse, please do come back.” 

*

Din took the kid back to the ship, after paying for weeks worth of tests and a room, his pockets were light. The kid has been sleeping through most of the days. Din carefully applied the cream over the burns every few hours. 

When the kid woke up, he did so slowly. Din sat by his crib and his heart almost broke as the kid tried to lift his arms and realized it hurt too much to do so.

He started to shift, rocking ever so slightly side to side, clearly uncomfortable.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Din grabbed his hand. “It’s going to be okay,” Din said in the softest voice he could manage. “You need to save your strength to heal.”

The kid babbled something, then he closed his eyes and—

and 

—nothing happened. 

“It’s okay,” Din forced the kid’s head to the side. “The shock may have messed with your powers a bit, maxed them out.” Din didn’t know how to explain this in a way the kid would understand. “You may have to let this heal naturally.” 

The kid didn’t understand. 

His eyes were flickering back and forth like he couldn’t trust the walls, he closed his eyes again, touching his own chest. Again nothing happened. 

He tried to stick to words he knew the kid knew. “Stop,” he said and it broke his heart. “Wait.” 

The kid huffed and closed his eyes but he wasn’t trying to use his powers. 

*

The doctor didn’t just let him leave. They gave him strict instructions on what to do as the cream worked its magic. Stretching and massaging and moisturizing and injections. A mix of different creams all for something different—healing, minimal scarring, pain relief—and injections to prevent infections. 

The kid’s neck and shoulders and arms and fingers were covered in the burns and burns were notorious all over because even with all the medical advancements they were still hard to treat and required a long and hard process that didn’t always guarantee survival. 

There was a reason Din used a flamethrower. The kid put up minimal fussing as he sat him up on Din’s lap. His legs not swinging, how many times could Din’s heart break in a few days? He put one hand on the kid’s stomach and the other on his arm, the kid still has some pain suppressants in his system so there is no stalling this. 

He kept his grip light over the wrappings and he slowly raised the kid’s arm. He went through all the exercises on that arm, up and down and side to side and bending the elbow and straightening. 

The kid started squirming so much after the first arm the Din had to stop. “It’s ok, we’re done with that arm,” Din eased the arm down to the kid’s side. “I have to do the other.”

The kid got worse, shaking as much as he could, breath coming in quick pants, he wanted desperately to be out of pain. 

He swirled his fingers in the wisps of hair on the kid’s head and breathed deeply, in, hold for five, out for 5. He didn’t realize how hard his own heart had been beating until it slowed.

He kept this up until the kid’s breathing settled.

In. Five. Out. Five. He slowly wrapped his hand around the kid’s arm, his hard almost covered the kid’s whole arm, he lifted it up and down. In.Five. Out.

He made sure to keep his breathing steady and sure as they went through the rest of the stretching, shoulders, neck, and jaw. 

Next came the creams/sprays and the kid’s patience was shot.  He jumped off Din’s lap and ran as fast as he could, which wasn’t very. Din tailed him as he raced through the ship, he raised his battered and burned arms and ranked his claws over his minor burns on his belly.

It must have brought him momentary relief because his eyes softened for just a second, the new scape of nails was such an easy pain compared to the bone-deep ache of twisted skin.

Din sat down and pulled the kid against his chest, gently holding down his arms. The kid thrashed and thrashed, his claws marked up Din’s arms and his cries tore up his ears. 

Din held him close to his chest, he rested his chin atop the kid’s head and started to hum. It was an old bar song, about a man searching the sea for his love. Over such a vast ocean how will he ever find his peace? 

Din rocked back and forth, he felt like he grew roots that planted him in this very spot, branches and vines intertwining into the wall of the ship, into the floor, into his arms keeping them wrapped around the kid.

The man in the song never found his love but he made friends with the stormy seas. 

*

It was a waiting game, waiting for the skin to heal, to scar over. It wasn’t hopeless for the kid’s advanced healing since the deep black unfeeling burn on his neck started to fade unnaturally, but it didn’t fade into healthy skin, it faded into a lesser burn as if that was all it was capable of, no curing only slow, steady healing. 

It revealed that  Din had been quite spoiled, so used to the get of a jail free card he found himself lost without it. 

The kid was, sometimes he acted so competent and smart that Din forgot that despite his age he was, in fact, a child

The scratching did not get better. It got worse, it would keep the kid up at night, tossing and turning as Din heard and saw his resolve leak away and the tiny sounds of claws against skin, the hiss through closed teeth or full-on sobs. Din was there to offer a finger to hold for his tiny hands, to sit there with the kid on his lap as tiny fists knocked against his chest, the desperation breaking through his chest and the blow landing on his heart, as tiny claws ran over his skin like someone it could bring relief. 

Surrounded by a flickering collection of night lights, some strung up some resting on the floor or table, of many colors the room was awash with gentle blues and pinks and yellows and whites. 

Surrounded by the lullaby of the ship running on autopilot, the roar of the engines, the slight rocking of the ship that told them they were moving, the hum of electricity filtered through his helmet. The rasp of the kid breathing, unsteady with fault lines every breath sent shaking. 

He closed his eyes and pressed the hard helmet against the kid’s head, holding a cold pack to his burns. He was careful to not press too hard as he sat there until the pack got warm. He got another.  And another as the endless night around them led strong, the darkness littered with pinprick gleams of stars far away, like space’s nightlights. 

*

The regimen continues, Din had timers set and things to check off a list. It’s comforting to have something to do, ways for his hands to help and not hurt, something for his mind to turn over, a constant reminder he’s not helpless, he followed the medical orders like a good little soldier and while he’s never been one for orders he doesn’t mind following these ones. He knows objectively they help but when he kid tried to run away from him before he even started it’s hard to remember. 

When he has to stop after every rep and each small area is treated with cream, turning the process into something that takes hours, with breaks and stops so frequent that by the time they finish it’s almost time to start again. 

He doesn't pick up the pace, they go along like a sputtering ship going from point a to point b, the final destination lightyears away and warp speed will immediately break it. 

Some of the burnt dead skin is tempting to peel away, like maybe—magically—it will come off like a costume but he was told not to peel and he knew it would not be healthy green skin underneath. 

The worst  thick black burns fade into red blistered skin and then into peeling burns. It’s the ones on his arms and hands that heal first, into scar tissue that doesn’t match the severity of the burn, it’s still ugly and twisting but it gets better by the day.

His throat and chin and cheeks are slower, when he swallowed for the first time in weeks Din cried and the kid seems confused as to why this made him so sad.

“I’m happy,” he said even though his voice was wrecked. 

The kid would have tilted his head but he wasn’t there yet. He swallowed again. Din pumped his fist because it was his job to be an embarrassing dad. 

It’s not smooth sailing from there, it’s more sleepless night then he can count until he fell asleep and he peeled the skin off the blistered markings  on his throat. 

Din woke up to crying, he saw the blood in the kaleidoscope room, it was soaking his shoes. He noticed the spot on his neck and he quickly stopped the bleeding with a measured calm, not saying a word. 

He had plenty to say, a whole rant had been swallowed down once he realized the bleeding was the kid’s fault even though he knows he knows better and why after all the suffering why would you cause more pain, now I have to deal with it, now I have to— 

The kid was scared and in pain and yelling would only make it all worse so he doesn’t yell. He doesn’t say anything. 

 It’s never quiet on the ship but in his memory, there is no sound at all, not breathing not engines, like someone muted it all, maybe his ears stopped working maybe his overloaded brain couldn’t process noise, it doesn’t matter because all he can remember from that period is silence, it stretches from that night into the following hours, a silence like a storm cloud as if he was a ghost, only capable of seeing and doing but he drifted soundlessly from room to room, his steps don’t make a sound, his breathing silent and his lips cannot shape another word.

The silence is cracking with electricity, he comforted the kid with touches but he held back his words, they can hurt too easily, a request could turn into a comment and into an endless flood of blame that he’d use the kid to send it ricocheting back on himself.

When the bile he wanted to throw up onto the kid and himself was finally swallowed, he opened his mouth and said simply, quietly, “Try not to do it again.” It was sloppy and crooked and he wanted to be harsher and gentler at the same time but he stuck to the middle, balancing precariously between two different worlds, refusing to enter either and being stuck on the highwire. 

*

The skin around his mouth had taken on the waxy burnt look, like a melted candle but just as it turned from blistered to wax it healed over into a rough scar. It all happened so quickly it defied the logic of the past days? Weeks? Months? 

The kid’s powers were flickering, that was the only way to describe it—it was a pulse in the air, a pressure, objects shifting, the healing going in and out.  Healing quickly, stopping and then going and halting again. 

They were standing on eggshells for minutes as the burns all hardened to scars and then into smooth green skin.

Din was numb, this was all happening outside his body but he had half a mind to crouch down and take off his gloves to run his fingers over the skin, so he was there when the kid stumbled and fell asleep. 

The silence was back and he kept checking the skin, it was all perfectly normal each time he checked, or was it? Could he trust himself,  should he? Could he trust the kid hadn’t just unlocked a new power to cast some kind of illusion? He checked and checked. 

If he were crazy he wouldn’t know, this could all be a dream, all some hallucination. He closed his eyes and let his hands check. He scanned the kid with a health screen and it came back with negatives for burns. He did it again and again, committing the three beeps it made to memory.

*

Another hour, another day. Another drifting silence. The credits are running low, he’d been collecting savings for years for a rainy day but it's been storming for a long time.

*

The kid opened his eyes and held out a hand, Din held out a finger and the tiny claws wound around it. Sound rushed in, the small happy sound the kid made, and Din’s soft, “Hi.” 

He snatched that moment up, rolled it up, and stored it into his memory—the joy of normalcy, the rubber band let go after being stretched—like the credit storage, he would save it for a rainy emotional day. 

And he was sure it would come. 

Chapter Text

LXXXIX—Amnesia 

The dirt and tiny rocks dug into any skin not covered with armor. The ringing in his ears made it impossible to focus, the smell of smoke and blood was overwhelming. 

Something was wrong.

 Something was very wrong. 

He had no idea where he was or what happened, where memories should have been was just a heavy dense fog. He closed his eyes and counted down from 5 before sitting up. There was a man lying dead on the ground next to him, Din’s knife, which he only had for emergencies, in his chest. Din found his blaster mangled on the dirt and a small squeak drew his attention to something beside him. 

A tiny green creature, with long ears and big eyes, wrapped in a tiny coat stared up at him. Din looked around for it’s kind and found nothing. It reached for Din and he jolted back on instinct, he had no idea what happened, this could be a trap or a test or something. 

The creature’s big eyes stared up at him, Din felt shockingly that he needed to protect this kid—it had to be a kid, he didn’t doubt that, only if it was a pawn.  

Din stood up, around him was some kind of shack made of flimsy wood that was reduced to three damaged walls and half a frame. He felt like some kind of detective, he was sure he was in the fight but now he had to look at it as an outsider, gather clues, and piece together what happened.

The shack was in the middle of nowhere, grassy plains extended around the shack, and something that could generously be called a dirt path shot out across the plains to who knows where. 

He found a bike that was also damaged in front of the shack. He searched for other vehicles but found none, the guy here must have been dropped off.  That path could have a town just out of eyesight or nothing but giant swaths of plains with grass and weeds that reached Din’s chest. 

The creature was waddling towards him, tiny feet not able to keep up. Din crouched down and examined it again, he was positive he’d never seen anything like it before. 

“Do you speak?” 

It didn’t look impressed with his question but said nothing. 

“Are you from here?” his voice had a harsh edge to it, he regretted it once it left his mouth. He wasn’t sure why.  The creature either didn’t want to talk or couldn’t. Fine. Din didn’t need him. 

Din checked for food and water and found some stocked away in the half-standing shed and on the dead man, dry meals, and waterskins filled. It was enough for a meal for two. 

Din loaded up all the supplies he could find, he also had protein bars and dried meat and water with him, clearly he was expecting  something of a journey.

He turned back to the creature, who hadn’t stopped following him or looking at him with an odd expression this whole time. “Stay or don’t,” he started to walk down the path. “I don’t care.” 

Part of him was slightly relieved when the creature followed. 

And part of him wondered if the creature was the bounty. 

*

He didn’t know what to do with this... child. At every turn, he confused Din.

Din was fine to walk along the dirt path, in silence, and with a healthy distance between them but the child had other plans.  

There was a tug on his cape, he looked down and was met with big eyes peering back at him. “What?” he asked, like suddenly the kid was going to talk to him. The kid—Din wondered if he had a name—let out a small noise. The creature waddled forward and Din was about to start walking again when tiny arms wrapped around his ankle. 

He froze, he knew what it was but he didn’t want to look down, he didn’t want to look down and see those expressive eyes looking up at him. 

But Din’s never been good at leaving well enough alone. 

He looked down at the cute face all relaxed and the drooping ears. Stiffly, like an old droid, he crouched down and pat the kid on the head. 

The kid tilted his head and while there Din noticed something, the black strand peeking out by his coat looked familiar. Din reached up to his neck, even though he knew the answer, he couldn’t feel it, but he needed to check, and didn’t feel anything, he pulled the necklace out from under the kid’s coat. 

The Mythosaur necklace hung around this strange child’s neck. 

His Mythosaur necklace. He imagined the kid stealing it but it didn’t match up. He searched for an answer besides the obvious one.

It was a misunderstanding. 

There was no way, with all the problems going on, with the fall of the Empire, he would have possibly taken on a foundling.  He could hardly take care of himself let alone this child. He didn’t even recognize the species.

He forgot he was crouching there holding his necklace like some kind of idiot until the kid’s hand, tiny claws, and all curled around the edge. 

Din didn’t know what to do with this situation. Maybe he got drunk and “adopted” a kid and got into a fight and that was all that happened. Nothing serious. At All.

 Except for the fact that he doesn’t drink, who knows how long he lost with his amnesia, maybe it was years to get his life together and ready for a child. But then why was he getting into a fight and killing a man.

It was like solving a puzzle in a dark room, all the pieces scattered on the floor, and having no idea how many pieces there were or even what shape the puzzle was. 

Din wanted to press his hands to his skull but he couldn’t, so he settled for mentally rummaging through his last memories:  he was about to meet with someone for a job but then everything is just fuzzy, he knows things happened but can’t remember them, like a dream fading as you get up and start the day. You know you had a weird dream but can’t place any details.

How could he forget something like this? 

(A very, very bad head injury) 

Din let go of the necklace, letting the kid—his kid?--take hold of it and bring it to his mouth, gnawing at the silvery charm. 

There is this ringing in his heart, his chest burnt with it.  Din stood up quickly, he swallowed any edge to his voice and said, “Come on,  we have to—” he’s bad at words that aren’t harsh, that aren’t threats to his bounties. “Get a move on.” 

The kid clawed at his calf and made the smallest, most adorable sound that Din has ever heard. Din took a long breath. “I can’t,” he said and he wasn’t sure if he was talking about carrying the kid or his abilities to look after this kid. 

The kid’s face drew in tight and he kicked at the dirt but he started to walk. Din tried not to look back—it can’t be his kid,  he can’t look after it, he can’t get attached, it could very well be his bounty—but he lost the war inside him and looked back, slowing down his walking speed so the kid could decently keep up. 

Din didn’t want to acknowledge what was happening so he didn’t. He took all his thoughts about the kid and put them in a box in his mind, locked it, and shoved it into shadowy depths. 

*

The box didn’t want to be closed. Din would have kept walking but the creature started to walk slower and slower as one sun set and the other took its place, burning lower and giving the sky a dark blue color. 

Din turned around, he moved with purpose, a metaphorical ripping of a bandage,  going so quick he couldn’t change his mind if he wanted to. He picked up the kid, who was just as light as he looked, he was so delicate, so fragile, Din grabbed the edge of his cloak and wrapped it around the kid, leaving enough to cover his eyes if needed.

The kid made a weird gurgling sound that shouldn’t be cute but was. “Don’t get used to this,” he said without much conviction. “I can’t carry you everywhere.” 

The kid snuggled against his chest, his head finding the place between his armor. Din kept walking and walking but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get rid of the thought that this felt right.

*

The path went on forever,  dirt caked his shoes, his pants, his hands.  Din rubbed out the tense muscles in his legs, he was watching the kid exploring the short grass around them. He was looking for something and Din watched as it played out. 

Din leaned forward and saw what was scurrying on the ground, a spider-roach creature he didn’t know the official name of. It was as dark as the forsaken planet gets, an almost-dusk, deep blue lighting the sky. 

Din checked his vambrace, it said his ship was out of range for connection. He could be walking in the wrong direction. His head pounded but he put it in a box and tucked it away. The box was getting full but he ignored it, focusing all his attention to the child before him. 

Din knew those spiders were fast and in the dark light it was unlikely for the kid to catch it but he wanted to watch him try. The kid made his move. He pounced, missing the spider and getting dry grass instead. 

The kid’s face shifted, going from patience to anger, his eyes sharpened and the air around them shifted—it must just be his headache, this pressure in the air wasn’t normal—the kid held out a hand, palm outwards as the spider ran across the grass weaving into the higher weeds, it moved in quickly, each step purposeful and then it stopped. 

It was like springs pulled back it’s legs, it’s shelled body. He turned back to the kid and he saw the look of concentration on his face, the slight shake of his hand. 

He looked back to the spider as it was lifted from the ground, still frozen and brought it towards the kid. 

Din stepped into the higher grass, he circled the spider as it moved, checking for something. It was against the laws of nature. Din needed to test something, “Stop,” he didn’t yell but let his voice take back it’s icy edge. 

The kid huffed, like this was something like eating your vegetables, a mundane scolding and not something that goes against the very air they breathe, against gravity, inertia. The pressure in the air let up and the spider scurried away. 

His mouth was dry, he imagined himself as a puppet being controlled by this kid, a total loss of his autonomy, it was horrifying but the kid listened to him, cared about what he thought. 

There had to be a limit, to stop an object you need an equal force, to freeze and move it back, you need a force greater. 

But he stopped. For now that had to be enough. 

*

The walking, very slow walking,  gave him time to think things over, to pull at the gap in his memories, overturning his memories at the place where they begin to fuzz and blur, unravel the tangled strings. He thinks he knows the shape of the puzzle but still has no clue of the size.

There was a pull on his cloak and he looked down, the kid pointed to an area of wildflowers, the bright fluffy rainbow of colored petals sticking up from the boring grass. 

The kid held out a hand and the pressure returned, Din let him do what he wanted to this time, the fear he felt not totally gone but lessened to the point where he would let this play out. 

The child lifted a yellow flower from the grass, the stem of it twisting as an invisible force pressed on it. The flower spun in tiny circles as it soared through the air, it lifted higher, to Din’s shoulder. He touched it, just the barest of brushes.

His pauldron was being pulled, alarm bells in his head rang but he let the strange force manipulate his armor. It was a flower; what could happen? He braced in case he needed to fight, or yell stop, the word forming on his tongue. 

The flower slid into the gap, over his sleeve and under the armor. The pressure was gone as fast as it came. 

The kid looked very pleased with himself, maybe he’s done this before. He thinks of what he probably was like as a dad and decided he would keep it, for a bit. 

*

The wild flowers gave way to well groomed farmland. Din kept walking, food was running low but they had to be close. 

There was no one home, or no one answering at the large house by the land. Fine. It was fine. 

He had to be on the right track. 

The kid was in a good mood and it was painfully endearing. Every interesting thing he saw he lifted from the grass and played with it or gave it to Din. He had two flowers, now in his pockets, a blue pebble and a feather. 

He was currently playing with a strand of a thick plant, unpeeling the stem in tiny strings. “We’re going to be there soon,” Din felt the odd need to fill the silence. It’s odd. He’s never minded the silence before, he actually liked the silence. He hated unnecessary talking, people were judgemental and boring or both but he usually kept his talking for orders or threats.

The kid cooed and put the plant in his mouth and chewed on it, not fazed at all with Din’s internal mini-crisis.

He stalked forward, turning over thoughts and pulling at the threads of his mind until a headache pulsed in his temples. 

Still ignorant, the kid tottled on, a few paces behind him, chewing on the plant and playing with it at the same time. Din stopped, he waited for the kid to catch up before walking at a normal pace. 

*

His headache continued as the suns traded off duty again and food ran low, he let the kid catch and eat spiders of all kinds and forced himself to put more time between meals. 

Din was trying not to lose his mind as the kid seemed to be trying to whistle and he wasn’t doing a good job. It grated against his nerves. 

He started to help by whistling but he hesitated, it has been a long time since music has been in his life. He whistled, he’s never been good at caring a tune but he got the job done. 

The kid kept trying when he stopped but it seemed content to not try when Din was doing it. 

Fine. Being a dad means sacrifices to make your kid stop doing the annoying thing. 

(Not that he’s a dad)

The puzzle was being solved.

*

His memory was coming together,  the fog blurring back but it came back in a mess of snippets, like someone took that part of his life, chopped it up, mixed it all together and then threw some of it haphazardly back into his awareness. 

There were so many gaps but looking too closely caused everything to go up in flames. 

Din put it all in that box, which really was getting full, and shoved it away. 

The kid pulled at his pant leg, he looked down and a tiny piece of wire was being presented to him. Din took it gently and put in his pocket with the rest of his trinkets. 

The kid held out his hand, expectant and casually. His hands were so tiny. Din lowered himself to one knee and extended a finger. The kid held onto it tightly. 

Din smiled under the helmet, this time when he picked up the kid he didn’t have a handy excuse. 

*

Calling this place a town was generous. It was some ramshackle buildings in the middle of nowhere but it had a mechanical garage and the woman standing out front wasn’t happy with him.

 “I’m charging you extra,” she said by way of greeting. “Two nights extra but another ten for lying about how long you needed,” she held out a hand. “Pay up.”

He paid the woman, trying to look intimidating but failing with a tiny kid at his ankle. 

“Awww,” she cooed, noticing the kid, her gruffness dissolving just a bit. “He yours?” 

Din nodded and shouldered past her. The kid took up her attention like a sponge and waved at her as he tailed Din. 

Chapter Text

LXXXX—Argument 

Din turned off the transmitter, cutting off the client quickly with a promise to follow through with a down payment. “I’ll just get back to my work when you’re done,” he gestured to the kid, who was making a lot of noise, knocking his toys together and scratching at the sides of the ship. “It’s not like I’m doing anything important.” 

The kid stuck his tongue out. 

Din gripped the edge of his chair, maybe if he was in a better mood he’d play back, he’d knock his fist against his helmet and the kid and he would make childish and stupid gestures. He just tilted his head down a bit, leveling a glare through the helmet. 

The kid’s ears turned up and down, contemplatively. He was smart enough to know better. His eyes searched the room for something, they stopped just off to Din’s side. He waddled forward before stopping and raising a hand. 

“No,” Din said quickly, he put his hand over the silver ball the kid loved to much. “No toys right now, I have,” he checked the navigation systems, the cooling system still needed to be looked at, as well as the stabilizer. They needed fuel and food too. The list was never-ending. 

The kid forced the tiny sphere off gear and dropped it at Din’s feet. Din picked it up and screwed it back on. 

“We can’t stop to play,” Din kept his voice level. “Because everyone is looking for us, because all you do is bring bad luck.”

The kid might not have understood the words but he got the tone, he babbled something that must have made sense to him. 

Din needed to calm down. He held up a hand, the kid jolted back a bit—maybe because of using his powers, Din’s mind was so cluttered he didn’t consider the alternative— “I don’t want to hear it,” he stood up checking everything again. “I don’t want to hear anything from you,” he stalked over to the door. “I don’t have time.”

The kid’s ears dropped down and his tiny claw dropped. 

Once he got down to the ship’s underbelly it hit him what he just said. He was so used to being curt and cruel. He threw the casing of the new power unit down, he hung his head, beskar hit steel and iron. He seriously messed up. 

He messed up so badly. 

He raced to the upper level, the kid wasn’t where he left him, Din cursed and grabbed the metal ball searched for the kid.

Din tried the door but it was locked, Din had taught him how to lock the door with his powers in case he needed to hide from trouble. The door was reinforced and had fail-safes in place but it had tiny speakers for listening and eavesdropping. 

Din had control over this lock on his vambrace but he respected the door. He dropped down to sit on the floor that needed to be cleaned, he propped up a knee, resting his elbow on it.  

“I’m sorry,” Din made sure he spoke up. He considered dumbing himself down but he’s never done it before and he’s not going to start talking in baby talk. “I lashed out at you. It was undeserved.” 

How the kid had flinched at his words would haunt him. 

“I won’t yell again,” he promised even though he’s sure that’s not what this is really about. He’d always thought the kid’s parents were dead or kidnapped but he never considered they could have given him up, mistreated, or abused him. Or maybe it was all the violence they’ve seen. Or it was just him, he’d spent so very long being intimidating and mean and knowing how to hurt people and tear them apart, physically and mentally.

“I’m sorry,” he doesn’t remember if he’s ever said the words to the kid, not after turning him in for a bounty, maybe he doesn’t know what they mean. He hasn’t said the words in so long, he preferred to use his actions but with the door between them he forced worlds out. 

“You don’t bring bad luck,” Din rested his head back against the doorframe. “Back luck has been following me for a long time and you’re not it. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Danger and bad luck be damned.” 

It occurred to him that, perhaps, he shouldn’t swear in front of a toddler but he pushed past it. “You’re a foundling,” he touched his neck. “I found you. I take care of you. That’s how this works. That’s the Way.” 

People mock him for his honor but he can’t function without it, it’s his guiding star, to go against it is so go against everything he is.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. He sat there against the door, he wasn’t going to move, he’d give the kid time but the second the kid wanted him again he’d be there. 

It’s been an exhausting few days and he hardly realized how tired he was until he fell asleep.

*

He jolted awake as the door opened, the kid had one of the tiny blankets wrapped around his shoulders. 

He was so cute in that moment Din wanted nothing more than to hug and smoother him but he held back. “Hi,” he said, feeling dumb and out of his depth. 

The kid pulled his blanket tighter around him. Din reached in his pocket and pulled out the tiny ball. “We can play.” 

The kid took the ball and dropped it, chirping at the sound. He did it a few more times before reaching for Din’s helmet. 

“I’m sorry,” Din leaned down and slowly pressed his forehead against the kid’s. “I won’t do it again.” 

The kid pulled back to make grabby hands at him. Din opened his arms, letting the kid curl against his chest. “This is a one-time thing,” Din said as the kid made himself comfortable. “I’m not a bed.”

The kid snored against his chest not hearing a word. 

Chapter Text

XCI—Injured in Protection

Din was almost of being chased by wanna-be bounty hunters and stormtroopers and even farmers looking for a quick fix. It was a monotonous stream of half-cocked plans and unskilled enemies—mostly. 

Din snuck and glance to the carrier, the kid was locked away inside and he very much hadn’t wanted to enter it in the first place. He’d been ecstatic to play with vines and flowers around them, on the borders of the dense jungle a magic temple was supposed to be. 

Legend said it was made entirely of obsidian and crystal, it was designed to reflect the sunlight and the multiple moons light. Din has yet to see this supposed marvel. The informant was not a singular person, instead of a never-ending series of jigsaw pieces connected by many souls who offered him a story here and a warning there. A trail of bread crumbs he was desperate enough follow. 

But it would be nice to go the throttle a shoddy informant. Din turned on his flamethrower, ducking down as the old and loose wried blaster shot at him, it made a loud whirring sound two seconds before it fired. Din didn’t care of laziness but was almost perswaded to show mercy when he got a look as his assailant, a Zeltron who had such a look of terror on his face he taken back for a moment. 

“Run!” he yelled and his desperate eyes weren’t looking at Din. He turned to look and saw a little girl it was also a Zelton. The Zeltron kid didn’t run. 

Din forced a gasp down his throat, his finger hesitated on the trigger, maybe this kid would hate Mandalorians, grow up to be a bounty hunter, and refuse to work with Mandalorians, maybe she’d refuse to kill kids. 

“Get down,” Din hissed, he turned his back on the kid-Zeltron. “On your stomach,” he stepped back, the wet grass stuck to his boots and the overcast above suggested another storm. “Hands up.” The Zeltron lowered himself, his fingers twitched. 

A scream shot through the jungle, Din turned around, keeping his blaster trained on the downed Zeltron. The girl was screaming bloody murder and Din searched for the threat as something pulled her back. 

Din punched the Zeltron in the face, knocking him out for now. He kept his blaster ready to fire, checking on his kid, safely nestled in his carrier, it hovered over damp grass, the insects and scurrying creatures ran over the broken stems. 

Din didn’t like this, the forest was quiet besides the rustle of the leaves in the wind and chirps and wails of birds. 

The jungle was a bad place to fight, the trees provide so much shelter and form a maze with the bushes and leafy plants and the fogs was thick and low as he moved into the jungle. Low visibility made it even harder to case his surroundings. 

He considered turning back. It wasn’t his kid, wasn’t his clan, his people. It wasn’t a planet he even cared about that much. 

But the little Zeltron girl had screamed. And that wasn’t even the worst part, it was when she went silent. 

 Din looked over at the hovering cradle, the kid didn’t like being in there for very long. Din couldn’t afford to let him out.  

He didn’t like this one bit. 

He took a deep breath, unnecessary but stabilizing,  

*

The kid wanted out, the carrier he was in locked from Din’s vanbrace when a setting was turned on but it can be controled by the kid. The internal sensor kept beeping. 

Din opened it, cursing at himself for not having a spine. 

The kid’s head tilted, his ears turning but that wasn’t odd, what weirded Din out was that he closed his eyes and everything went silent. 

Din checked his helmet to make sure the sound was coming through and not even the wind blew. Din cleared his throat, the sound died before it truly left his mouth. 

The leaves bowed and withered and then everything went back to normal. Din swallowed. Yeah, he didn’t like that either. 

The kid chirped happily, pointing his tiny claw to the left. Din loaded her rifle and brandished it, he stepped in front of the kid, he scanned the surroundings as best he could. 

The kid made a small squeaking sound, Din turned around and the kid reached for him, he dropped down to one knee and pressed their foreheads together. He gave the kid’s hand a tiny squeeze before turning back. 

The child babbled something, it sounded slightly fearful. 

“Yeah, kid, I know,” Din said, he checked his vambrace one last time. “Let’s do this. 

*

To be honest, Din hadn’t expected to really find anything but he’d been willing to listen to the bizarre stories and tall tales and journey to the forsaken jungle. 

But there it was. 

First of all, it was stone, not obsidian. It did have crystal patterns along the edges that gleamed in the fog. Second, was a one-story building, it expanded in a jagged manner, from above it must look like something but Din didn’t care. And third, it was half-collapsed, the walls of one side caved in, loose bricks lay scattered.  This didn’t look like the almost gentle decay nature could enforce but a violent outlast, many a deliberate striking to the side.

Din stepped in through the blasted wall, the inside was ransacked, there was nothing left. Din hoped maybe someone was camping out here but as he passed through the maze of hallways and rooms he found nothing but the scare remains of what must have been some temple. 

Din was about to close the carrier when the kid extended a hand and closed his eyes. Din froze—well was frozen—and bone-crushing force holding him still. He tried against the force and it bit back at him, his jaw was forced shut as he tried to scream. 

But someone was screaming. 

The kid stopped, Din stumbled forward, the force holding him back broke in a second and he’d been fighting so hard against it he sprawled out on the dirty floor. 

Din panted, he’d been able to breathe physically but had simply been too scared to do so. They really needed to find the kid’s kind.

“Don’t do that,” Din stood up, already walking towards the sound of the scream. He goes into danger not away from it. He turned back to the kid. “No,” he said for clarity’s sake. The child has the decency to look slightly ashamed. 

Another scream came from down the hall, Din followed it, into a large open room in what he suspected in the center of this building, the walls were tilted to the side and riddled with giant holes. 

A woman held onto the little girl, her arm across the girl’s neck and vibroblade at her throat. “You have a soft spot for kids,” she said. “Don’t come closer or I’ll kill her.” 

Din froze, his fingers twitched. His rifle could probably make the hit without hurting the girl but that was messy.

“Okay,” Din said. “Let the girl go,” Din watched as she noticed the child. 

“Trade me for her,” the woman drug her blade across the girl’s throat without enough pressure to actually slit her throat. 

“No,” Din went to close the carrier, as the kid stuck out his hand, something about this temple seemed to work like a mirror, reverberating the kid’s powers and amplifying them. 

But the holes in the walls and teetering ceiling didn’t mesh well with the onslaught of power. 

Din had the thought to reach for the kid as the ceiling and walls came down, the Zeltron girl screamed again and the ceiling crushed the woman first.

The ceiling curved into lumps as it spared Din a girl. The girl ran out the crumpled wall and into the unknown. 

Din wasn’t as close as she was to a wall, neither was the kid, he had his eyes closed, the ceeling still warped like water, it titled upwards, the solid stone quivering. 

The kid was shaking, he rose his other hand and Din got a wall slammed into him. Not actually but it felt like it as the kid sent him hurling. 

Din landed on thousands of tiny rocks, it gratted against his armour. The ceeling ripped apart into smaller pieaces and shards and then fell. 

Din braced himself as the larger slabs hit the ground the stone was old but thick. Din stood up on shaking legs as he pulled himself to the rubble where the kid must be. 

Din’s legs wouldn’t work, he half-crawled, half-dragged himself past the fallen wall, slabs littered the expolision site and Din pushed a few out of the way as he uncovered the carrier. It was destryod, metal was crimpled like paper, it had been desighed to do that though and the kid wasn’t crushed by the metal but out cold on the ground, little shards imbedded into his skin and a large cut from suport bean through his shoulder. 

Din checked for a pulse, greatful when he found one. He lifted the slabs all the wall off the carrier and extracted the kid from the flipped carrier, breaking the thin over heated rod into two with his foot.

He was careful not to hurt the kid anymore as he wrapped him in his cloak, he didn’t take out the rod just yet. 

He hoped the Zeltron girl was okay and spirtinted back to the ship. 

*

After everything had been removed from the kid, each jaged pieace of metal and warped alloy gently taken from his green skin and all the wounds were cleaned and wrapped he started to shake. 

Din felt something in the pocket of the kid’s coat and pulled out a silver flower, it was crumpled but beautiful, the kid liked collecting silvery things and if that didn’t just rip out Din’s heart nothing would. 

Din was proud of him for saving the girl but a kid shouldn’t be responsible for saving another kid. He shouldn’t have wasted his powers on Din. Kids always come first. 

Din knew that if that didn’t find his people soon he was going to have to train the kid somewhat, teach him self preservation. Teach him to protect himself first. 

He got how his parents saved him without care for themselves. He had for a while.

 Din wrapped the kid in his coat again and added a blanket and a hat just for good mesure. 

*

It was hours later when the kid healed himself. Even longer before he woke up. Din hadn’t slept as wink and jotled as those big eyes opened. 

“You gave me a good scare,” Din’s voice was rough even to his own ears. “Don’t do that again.” 

The kid reached for him and Din let him place his little claw in the center of his hand. He babbled happily, not overly conserned for his own wounds. 

“If it comes down to it you have to save yourself,” Din said even though the kid wasn’t listening, he was too busy babbling nonsense. 

Din lowered his head to pressed his forehead against the child’s little one. He closed his eyes under the helmet. The kid would settle down and notice his own wounds that remained, the scratches and scabs and would fuss over them but for now the kid leaned against the unyeilding beskar and cooed happily, his tiny hat drooping down past his eyes. 

Chapter Text

XCII—Learning Mando’a

There was no one chasing them. Well, there were people chasing them but it was more abstract when no one was around. 

The ship was stocked-full of fuel and currently, everything was running smoothly, well as smooth as his beloved, old ship could run.

The child clawed at Din’s shins, he didn’t have his armor on for now and it gave the kid free range to scratch on his pants, fascinated by the drag of his claw, for now at least. 

The child was babbling, some words sprinkled in there. Din hummed like this was an interesting conversation when the kid stopped and looked up for his input. 

The kid made grabby hands for him and Din sighed. “You’re killing me, ad’ika.” Din acted like the kid weighed a ton because the little laughed at it but the kid wasn’t playing along as Din pulled him up. He tilted his head and muttered something. 

“Ad’ika?” Din tested and the kid’s ears turned forward and he tried repeating it, with little success. “That’s you,” Din point at the kid for emphasis. 

“Adda,” The kid pointed at Din. 

Dim was smiling under his helmet. He turned the kid’s hand gently back to point at himself. “Ad’ika.”

“Adda,” the child sat back, pleased with himself. Din didn’t have the heart to correct him for now. The child pointed at Din again and waited, very on board with this language lesson. 

“Buir,” Din said. In Mando’a it’s gender-neutral for a parent. 

“Boo,” the kid frowned and tried again. “Boo,” the kid started to giggle. “Boo,” he reached for Din’s chest. Din leaned forward, letting the little hand press against his chest. 

Din couldn’t stop smiling, the kid kept repeating himself, adding different endings to boo that he stumbled over.

“Booey,” the kid nodded and leaned against Din’s arm. The child started to mess with the necklace he wore, it seemed to be a bit of a habit. 

“Ready for another one,” Din leaned back, keeping his hand on the kid’s back so he doesn’t fall off. “Copikla. Co-peek-la.”

“Lo-ee-a,” the kid tried. Ok maybe picking a word with some hard sounds wasn’t a good idea but the kid had to learn. The kid tried again and again and Din wondered what sounds his kind could actually make, did they have their language that was filled with unique sounds. Mando’a was a simple enough language but that was to his human tongue. 

He tried one more time, “Co-peek-la.” 

“O-pee-a,” the kid seemed to deem this as an okay pronunciation. Din thought of some simple words for a second before deciding. 

“Meh,” he said, just knowing the kid would love this one. When he was learning Mando’a, it was one of his favorites. It was a false cognate, meh meant if. 

“Meh, meh, meh, meh,” the kid kept repeating it, clearly liking the sound.

“Okay,” Din held up a finger to silence the kid. “One more. Bes'laar,” Din watched the kid’s ears turn as he processed this. 

“Be’larh,” the kid exaggerated the break in the word but was clearly learning. It dawned on Din that he had no idea how to teach a child a language, Basic or Mando’a, even Mando’a which is a spoken language still had rules. He forgot how he was taught language but this was something he’d need to figure out soon. 

“It means music,” Din explained before humming a bit to show. The kid was in a mimicking mood and hummed along. 

Din stood up and set the kid down on the ground, while he was in an obedient mood Din was going to take advantage of it. Din started picking up a few toys scattered around and the kid complied, muttering under his breath.  

It was his attempt at buir. 

XCIII-Hide And Seek

It didn’t start as a game. 

Din sometimes had to be strict with the womp rat, he also worried about him constantly. So it was lesson time. The first official one. The plan was to teach the kid how to hide. He had good instincts but instinct can’t get you out of every situation. 

He knelt down in front of the kid, armor on. This was business. “I’m going to count to ten and find you, it’s your job to hide. Got it.” 

He didn’t have it but that’s okay. That’s what the lesson is for. Din walked him through different hiding places, fake panels, cabinets, and shadowed alcoves. 

Din turned his back and covered his eyes and started counting down. He heard the footsteps of the kid on his tiny legs and gave him another ten seconds.” 

Din stalked through the ship and found the kid in the secret panel. Din picked him up and held him for a bit. “Good job,” he said and the kid squealed. 

“Let’s go again,” Din set the kid down and turned his back, starting to count down from 15. He searched the ship and found the kid again in the secret compartment. “Good job,” Din kept his voice business-like. “Try a new place next time, yeah?” 

The kid kept shifting his weight, eager to continue. In retrospect that was the first warning. 

Din gave the kid ten seconds, idly wondering if his powers could possibly make him invisible, some of the stories mention the sorcerers manipulation of bioelectricity but that could be nothing.

Din checked the fake wall and didn’t see the kid. Good. He actually listened. Din checked the other hiding places and came up with nothing. 

Two could play at this game—not that it’s a game. 

Din checked the kid’s room, under tables and control panels, and still came up with nothing. “Kid,” he yelled, keeping his voice very calm. “Come out. You did good.” 

Nothing. 

Din checked a few more places, forcing himself to remain calm, the kid couldn’t get off the ship. He thought back to his won childhood and remember one impressive play he used once on his own dad, he hid in an easy place, like behind a door as his dad checked his usual one before going to the usual one.

Din checked the fake wall and found the kid in there, holding back giggles. The kid then waddled past him to stand in the exact place Din stood the three times before and closed his eyes and turned his back. 

The kid started to hum. Din would go easy on the child. He hid behind a door. 

The kid checked the fake wall first, like somehow Din could fit in the tiny compartment. The kid checked a few more placed before seeing him. The door slammed closed and the kid ran over and tagged him. 

Din bent down to talk to him before he was shoved by the kid’s powers helmet-first into the “counting corner”

“Okay,” Din couldn’t keep the slight laugh from his voice. He started counting down, very slowly as he heard the patter of feet fade. 

Din checked the usual spots. But the kid wasn’t in any of them. The ship had many places to hide, it came in handy for practical use but it made hide and seek hard. Not that Din cared about winning. Maybe a little bit. 

He noticed his bedroom door was open. He heard a tiny laugh coming from the inside and crouched down to see the child under his bed. 

Din acted like he didn’t see the kid, checked everywhere in his room but under the bed. The kid was letting out muffled giggles. 

Din even left the room and stayed outside the door as the kid let out his giggles. He walked very heavily back into the room, dramatically proclaiming, “Where is the kid. He must have disappeared.” 

The kid lost it, dissolving in the wheezing laughs, Din laid down on the ground and tapped the kid’s head. “Found you.” 

The kid laughed even harder for some reason.

XCIV—Are We There Yet 

Din was old. Not actually that old but he felt very old. 

“Are we there yet.” 

He regretted teaching his son words. Specifically, the words are, we, there, and yet. In that order. 

The sand bike had been fitted with a side-cart-thing on request. The kid could technically fit on the seat behind him but practically he would fuss so much it wasn’t worth it. 

“Are we there yet?” 

Din held back a sigh. “You already asked that.” 

The kid slumped in his seat. “You didn’t answer.” 

Din turned his head back to the sand dune they were navigating. “When we get there.” Din didn’t know how long it would take them and had said that before they set off. 

The kid stuck out his hand and started to mess with the sand using the force, he made a fake wind that kept the sand swirling in the air, making shapes that arched over their heads and brushed against his claws. 

“Can you stop that?” Din hissed over the roar of the engine. “If someone sees.”

“No one to see,” the kid make a sand tornado and spun it on his palm. “Are we there yet?” 

“Yes, we’re here,” Din said sarcastically.  “You just can’t see it.”

The kid let his sand fall gracelessly down to the ground. “We will we be there?” the kid asked, turned his ears forward in what Din knows is a kind-of-pout because the kid relized a long time ago just how cute he is. “Please.” 

At least Din was teaching him manners. “A few more minutes.” 

Two minutes later the kid started to lament, “How much longer.”

XCIV—Playing Catch

The kid started to throw his favorite metal sphere are Din. It clicked against his armor and ricocheted off it. 

The kid picked it up again and wondered to a few steps away before hurling it through the air for it to clink against the armor covering his shins. 

Din watched as the kid froze the ball midair and dropped it back down in the direction of his hands—he missed.

Din scooped up the ball before the kid could, he stood up but didn’t go and put it back on the controls, he sat down on the ground, his knees ached (when did he get so old) in protest but Din ignored the tiny ache. The kid eyes widened comically as Din tossed the ball back. 

He didn’t catch it but made up for it quickly enough, with a flick of his hand he sent the ball hurling across the room, going wide and long and knocking against the wall. 

Din reached over the picked up the ball, “Steady,” he said and tossed it. 

The kid picked up the ball and tossed it. Din had to lean forward to catch it but it was beter. Din threw the ball back. 

The kid froze it midair and lowered it carefully into his palm before hurling it against the wall again. The child giggled but tried to keep a straight face between giggles. 

Din picked up the ball and threw it. Again it stopped in the air and dropped slowly into the kid’s hand. This time the kid threw the ball at him. 

Din reached for it and just as his fingers brushed it shot upwards, spinning, an invisible string pulling it away. 

The kid dissolved into a fit of giggles, having to bend over and try and cover his mouth, the ball clattered the the floor. 

Din crossed his arms and leaned back. “I’m not going to throw it back until you throw it to me.” 

The kid eventually stopped giggling and looked up at him and then at the ball on the ground. He waited for Din to throw it back. 

“Your ball.” 

The kid tentatively picked up the ball, using his actual hand this time, and weakly threw it at Din. Leaning to the side, Din caught the ball. 

He tossed it back. They repeated this a few more times before Din stood up, picking up the child, and stepped out of the ship. They were on a pretty hot planet and had been hunkering down in the ship until night and it was dusk. They would go to the repair guy in the morning. 

Din looked through the things he took from Sorgon and found a worn-out red ball, bigger than the metal sphere but smaller than his hand. 

He took the kid outside and stepped back several paces before bouncing the ball in the kid’s direction. 

The kid stopped the ball with his powers and started to spin it, brow creased even more in concentration, he lifted it up, eyes alight with mischief

 “No.” 

The kid sent the ball flying as far as Din could see and started to laugh, falling down on the scorched ground.

Din knew he had to be losing his energy and took another ball out of his pocket. He made it bounce once before landing in front of the kid. 

The kid seemed fascinated by the bounce and mimicked him. Din caught it easily enough and returned it. 

They kept this up before the kid decided and start flinging the ball into the sky and enjoying the sound of it landing.

The child sent it as high as it could go over Din’s head. The ball cracked open against his head.

The kid lost it again and fell over onto his back, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. Din was never playing catch again.

Chapter Text

XCVI—Stealing

Gemstones aren’t necessarily rare in the galaxy but after so much upheaval jewelry has fallen out of fashion since no one could afford such things. 

With no one to buy the gemstones, most people kept onto them. Din is slightly shocked as he sees a woman walking past with an Alexandrite ring on a chain around her neck. The ring looked red with a hue of purple. 

Din knew to look for these things since most of the targets are wealthy and carry around jewels and expensive clothing. They are usually arrogant enough to flaunt their wealth sometimes. 

The woman noticed his attention and smiled, inclining her head in greeting and ranking her eyes down his body. 

Din turned away, an awkward hand on the kid’s head here he rested in a makeshift carrier slug around Din’s shoulder. Din want’s to veer off her track but the target he’s following is several paces away and public flirting is a good cover. He flexed his fingers and a small wave. 

She slowed down her walking just a bit. His mark turned back and noticed them talking and turned the corner. Din tried to casually speed up but the woman called out. “Hey,” she reached for him but stopped as her fingers brushed his arm. “The man you’re following killed my mother,” now she did wrap her hand around his arm and tug him towards her. “He’s smarter than he seems.” 

Din pulled out of her loose grip, the kid jostled against his side. “I can handle him.” 

She leaned back. “He has a secret bunker under the storage shade in his house nearby. Don’t miss it.” 

With that, she turned away and walked off. 

The kid cooed, Din looked down to see him chewing on his necklace. Din didn’t need some random woman’s help but he waited for the crooked businessman to fearfully come down to the bunker and shot him dead.

 Din liked the jobs done quickly and quietly. The kid needed food too. Din opened the bag and took the necklace from his mouth, only as he got a better look did he realize what the kid was chewing on. The ring the lady had on her necklace. Din snatched it back, wiping off the saliva. 

“You can’t,” Din curled his hand around the ring. “You can’t just take what you want. How would you like if—if someone took your toys.” Din sighed. “She helped us but that doesn’t mean what she has is yours.” 

The kid had the decency to look guilty. He had to find another person. “We’re going to find her and you’re going to give this back to her.” 

Din searched around the village for the woman, talking to many old ladies about the poor fatherless woman. Some thought he was some kind of suitor others were far more suspicious. Most people told him they mind their own business and he should stop sniffing around. 

“I’m not trying to kill her,” he said as the seamstress refused to even look at him. “I have sometimes of hers.” 

“Sure you do,” the old woman said. Why did this village have no many old people? The door behind him opened.

“You would not believe what happened, this tin can stole my ri—” the woman from before stopped as she saw Din. Before she could say another word the kid was eager to please. He lifted the ring and chain from Din’s hand and lifted it over to her, he guided it around her neck but the clasp was broken and it clattered to the ground one the kid let go. 

She picked it up quickly, holding the ring close to her chest. The child looked up at Din, his big eyes pleading. “He’s sorry for stealing it.” 

She looked past him to the seamstress. “Apology accepted?” she looked at the kid again, her gaze questioning before she seemed to take on the village motto of none of my business. “He’s cute,” she said. 

“That doesn’t mean he can get away with anything.”

 “Hmm,” she shouldered past him and patted the kid lightly on the head. The kid looked delighted at the attention. “Your kid owes me a clasp.” She disappeared into the back of the store. 

The seamstress smiled at him. “She likes you.” 

Din almost replied before she was shooing him out of her store unless he was willing to buy something.

The kid was happy again, chewing on his own necklace. Din felt like he can pat himself on the back for good parenting. The kid then proceeded to throw a tantrum over a missing toy, believing that Din stole it. 

You have to take the wins. 

XCVII—Leaf Pile

It’s been a while since Din had been on a planet with seasons. Most tend to be either in the permanent summer or winter. This one was in autumn. 

The breeze was cool and the temperate comfortable, the fading grass stretched out to lines and lines of the trees. All the trees had dying leaves on them, the golden yellows the sunlight streamed through and shades of red that bleed into orange. The trees ascended up a hill and as the breeze blew a few leaves caught onto the wind and floated down. 

It was beautiful. 

The child was ecstatic. He chased after the falling leaves as the chilly wind blew. He didn’t even cheat and use his powers. The kid picked each one of the fallen leaves up and tried to arrange them in a pile. 

The wind was against this endeavor as it blew away his pile as it was getting started. The kid placed two leaves down on the grass and ran after more as another wind scattered his leaves. The kid turned as the wind blew and threw himself over his tiny pile.

 Din gave up on the illusion that he was still calibrating his location fob. Din helped the kid up and put a foot on the leaves. The kid was free to collect his leaves. 

There were some small piles in holes into the damp ground and the kid picked up as many as he could hold and waddled back over to Din. 

Din diligently kept the pile from blowing away as the kid grew it to a size where a leaf blowing away would take out half the pile and the wind calmed down. Din gathered some more leaves.

They had a good pile going as the sunset. Din picked up the squealing kid and dramatically fell down into the pile. 

The kid decided to use his powers to push Din down as they rolled in the leaves. The kid started to cover him with leaves. Once Din was covered, the kid climbed onto his chest and laid down, exhausted from all the leaf gathering. 

Din laid on the ground for a bit. 

When the kid woke up most of the leaves had blown away. The kid started to pack the leaves into Din’s bag, stuffing the crisp leaves in like they needed them. He filled the bag to the brim with colorful leaves before deeming the job well down and leaned against Din’s shin.

Din bent down and pat his head. “Good job,” DIn hoped he’d get bored of the leaves before the deteriorated into husks and bits. 

XCVIII—Dad Jokes 

Din started the screen displaying a planetary map, he spun the virtual model around the see the ports. 

Vantal was technically a moon but it had civilization via domes due to a barely-there atmosphere. 

The child reached for the screen. He clumsily turned the model around. 

“You the restaurants there aren’t too good. Bad food and no atmosphere.” 

The child had enough of a grasp on words to grumble and turned away. Din didn’t care for corny jokes but the kid didn’t care for his sense of humor. Din couldn’t tell if it was the nature of the jokes or just normal embarrassment. 

“Technically a very thin atmosphere,” Din corrected, trying to salvage the joke into something resembling an education. “It has domes,” Din added, digging himself into another hole because the kid disliked learning about places.  He preferred experiencing things in real-life.

“I’m hungry,” the kid leaned back and due to a bizarre habit the kid had, he rearranged the order of words and said. “Hungry, I’m.” 

This was a classic in almost every language and culture, his buir told this one to him and Din laughed for the first time in weeks. He’d been so serious for so long that the stupid joke made him laugh so hard his belly ached from it. 

“Hi hungry, I’m dad.”

The kid sighed (really Din needed to stop sighing so much, it was rubbing off on the kid) and waddled to the kitchen/dining/laundry room.

Din served the kid his favorite broth and sat in front of him. Din waited for him to finish before he told another bad joke. “What did the baby corn say to the mama corn. Where’s popcorn.” 

“Daddy!” the kid slammed his hands on the table, not doing much of anything to shake the table. “Stop.” 

Din remembered the popcorn they’d had a while back, it had fascinated the kid, he watched batches upon batches being made because he liked to watch it pop. And the kid didn’t even realize he could eat it until later. 

“What do you call a dad when he falls  through the ice?” Din waited for the kid to answer. “Popsicle.” 

Din liked dad themed jokes, so what. He also remembered a while back when they had popsicles, the kid devoured three in a row. 

“Stop,” the kid turned away and when Din leaned down for a keldabe kiss, the child squirmed half-heartedly. 

XCIX—Pumpkin Carving 

Din has heard of these “pumpkin” things. He’s never actually seen one before. 

“It’s so orange,” Din said, the seller laughed and gestured to his collection of pumpkins, some very large and some smaller. 

The kid rusted in his bag. 

“I’ll take the biggest one.” 

The seller took the credits and pointed at the biggest pumpkin. “You’ll need a sharp knife.” 

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” Din picked up the pumpkin and carried it the few steps back into his lodging. 

Din put the large pumpkin on the ground, his back protested as he lowered it to the ground. It really was heavy. Din had seen the locals carving up pumpkins, they also keep the seeds inside. 

The kid couldn’t contain his excitement, he was circling the pumpkin, scratching up the sides. He turned back to Din, his mouth open in excitement. 

“Okay,” Din pulled out a very sharp knife, he got a bucket for the guts and an old blanket for any spillage. Din stabbed the top of the pumpkin, it was thicker than he expected. 

The child shrieked in joy, perhaps too happy for Din to stabbing something. Din cut open the top. He intended for this to be as clean as possible and scoops all the guts in the bucket. He turns his back to finish cleaning the inside and when he turns around the kid has knocked over the bucket and is covered in goo and seeds. 

Din calms himself, the kid is just having fun. Harmless, messy fun. The kid flicks pumpkin on Din’s boots. 

Din will clean him up later. Din flicked the remaining guts at the kid. The kid is vibrating with joy as he looked at the hollowed-out pumpkin. 

“What do you want to carve in it?”

The kid taps the pumpkin and traces a smiley face on the pumpkin. He reached for the knife and Din held it out of his reach. “I think I’ve been lenient enough,” Din considers tracing it out, like he’d seen some locals do, but he figures he’ll just eyeball it. 

The eyes are uneven and the smile crooked but the kid is happy with it. 

Later when the town is having a pumpkin smashing festival Din lets the kid crush the pumpkins with his powers and get covered in pumpkin guts. Again

Seeing the smile on his face though is worth it. 

Chapter Text

C—Birthday  

Din set a course for Sorgon. Going there always brought a pang of jealousy and longing, how he wished he could stay there forever, in that little village so far from his world of violence. It was tempting to stay there or to leave the child there but he must leave each and every time. 

It’s like a vacation. It can only be a vacation 

Din watched the kid nap as they sped to Sorgon and he knew the kid loved it there.  

Din had a plan for what he was going to do in Sorgon, it would only take a few days. Omera would be happy to see the child again and the village children loved him. 

When they arrived it was just as picturesque as he remembered, a bubble of home. Din knew it wasn’t his home but he could still watch it from the outside. 

Din and the child walked into town, it was warmer than it had been the last time they were here. Din didn’t mind the heat so much as the humidity. “Mando,” Omera yelled out, Winta trailing a couple of steps back, they were both carrying baskets filled with fish. “You returned.” 

Din nodded. “I have something I want to do here,” Din caught the kid’s eyes and nodded. The child wandered towards Winta. 

“Awww,” Winta crouched down. “He hasn’t grown much, do you think he’ll stay this size?” 

“I don’t think so,” Din crossed his arms. “He is just slow.” 

Omera patted Winta on the arm, she scratched  the kid on the head, and said very seriously. “Watch over my daughter, okay?” 

The child nodded, taking this very seriously. She winked at the child and led Din into her house. “What do you want to do here? It's not leaving the child, is it?” Din started to respond but she steamrolled him. “He needs you, he’ll go wherever you go, that’s what family is.” 

“I’m not leaving him here,” Din awkwardly moved his arms around before resting them on his belt. “I just wanted to do something nice for him.” 

“Give him a name?” 

“I’m working on it,” Din knew the naming customs differed between communities.  He didn’t want to give the child a name when his people have another for him—or will give him one. Mandalorians don’t hold names up to the high standard other’s do. Din has kept his name close to his chest for years. But on his home planet names were also carried along family lines, it would be too much of a claim to ever shake. 

“Okay,” Omera put her hands on her hips and scanned him up and down. “What’s your plan.” 

“I um,” Din didn’t want to sound stupid, but she was a parent too. She’d get it. “I want to throw him a birthday party.” 

“That’s wonderful. How old is he turning, one? Two?”

“Fifty-one.” 

“ Months ,” Omera seemed to be doing the math in her head, looking a little annoyed. 

“Years.” 

“Oh,” Omera moved down the wall of her house and peered out at their kids together. “He’s older than I expected.” 

“Yeah,” Din unclasped his hands, feeling like he was suddenly having another conversation as Omera’s face turned serious. “I said he was slow at growing.” 

“How long do you think his lifespan will be?” Omera turned back to him, her face was still tight with something. 

“I don’t know, some people I’ve talked to say his kind can live for many hundreds of years,” Din swallowed, he didn’t like to think about it but someone had to. “That’s why I’m looking for his kind.” 

Omera nodded, she still looked stricken. “Okay,” she patted her legs, smoothing out her skirt. “Birthday party,” she was mostly talking to herself. “I have some ideas.” 

*

“Step one picking a theme,” Omera started, she was smiling and watching Winta through the window. “It doesn’t have to be a super-strong theme, just something to tie everything together,” she paused. “Lighten up, you’re not defusing a bomb, you’re throwing a first birthday party.”

“Fifty-first.” 

“Whatever, he’s a baby. He’ll probably not remember this.” 

“What’s step two?” 

She sighed. “Do you remember your birthdays when you were a toddler?” 

“No.”

“I’m not saying it doesn’t matter,” she turned back to Din. “Just that you need to loosen up a bit.” 

“Okay,” Din said, trying his best to not talk through his teeth. “He likes it here. What’s next.” 

Omera didn’t look like he believed him but continued. “Food. What does he like to eat?” 

“Frogs, fish,” Din considered it for a second. “Whatever he wants.”

Omera chuckled. “He’s not picky?” 

Din knew the kid was adaptive and would usually eat anything, unless Din really wanted him to eat it. “Should he be?”

“No,” Omera put her hand down on the table, her hands looked rougher than Din had expected, she had a faint scar across her palm. “You’re just lucky.” 

Din nodded carefully. “What else.”

 “Activities. What does he like to do?” 

Din blanked, he wanted to do something special but not too spectacular that the spectacle will take away from what matters. 

At that moment the kid wandered in, looking very upset. He reached for Din and he picked the kid up. Winta stumbled in. “Sorry. He just ran away.”

Omera nodded and gave him a sympathetic look. “We’ll think of something.” 

*

The kid was fast asleep, snoring against his chest and clinging to Din. He took off his helmet, the door of the lodging fastened shut.  He bent down to place a kiss on the kid’s fuzzy forehead. 

The kid hadn’t liked Din leaving, he’d gone to nail down some of the details for the party.

The kid woke up against his chest, peering up at him with startlingly strong eyes that tore right through Din. He stood up and started to walk around, pacing back and forth to calm the kid. 

Recently that’s all that’s been working. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Din counted his steps back and forth, walking in circles and arcs across the floor. “I’ve got you.”

The walls are thin, he can hear and patter of rain and chirps and singing from birds still out. Din sat back down and drifted off to those sounds. 

*

They thought of something. Everything was locked down. He just had one more thing he had to deal with.  A gift. 

He usually caved and got the kid whatever he wanted. He wanted this to be special but had no idea what to do. He went out shopping in Sorgon, it was daybreak but a chill was left in the air. Din found a small stand.

He surveyed the items. He picked one up, it was advertised as a “snow globe.” It had tiny people in it, with tiny buildings. “Can you do a custom one?” Din asked the seller. 

The old man smiled. “Of course. But the materials are not cheap. And my time is worth something too.” 

Din settled the deal with minimal fuss, paying far more than he expected to get it rushed. 

*

Din knew that planning wasn’t the only thing. There was doing it. The execution of the planning was important. 

He was so far out of his depth. If bounty hunting and parenthood were very different beasts then throwing a party is a new realm. 

The kid helped too. 

Din and him sat on the floor and taped together interlocking circles. The kid kept twisting the paper into crumples that resembled an animal of some kind, vaguely balancing on four legs.

Din watched, utterly endeared by the kid’s paper creations.

Din took another piece of paper, he knows it’s inefficient for keeping records but it still is fun to mess with. Din folded it a few times until he made a glider. 

“Watch this, ad’ika,” Din threw the paper glider and it stayed in the air for a few seconds before falling down. 

The kid babbled something and laughed.

Din kept making paper gliders and a few animals he remembered how to make. The kid kept making crumples of paper but he tried. 

*

The party was starting soon. It was custom for everyone to at least stop by to all birthday parties. 

The paper rings were strung from polls and chimes and lights were scattered in the little park by Omera’s house. There were tiny chimes hung on posts and toys galore. 

The musicians were setting up when Din took the child outside. The kid kept playing with the chimes and the paper near the ground. Din followed him and the kid’s innocent joy at everything warmed his heart. 

The kid kept pulling him over to look at something even though Din had set most of it up as the kid slept in. 

Winta came into view with a gaggle of kids all squealing about how cute the child was. The kid looked up at Din, seeking permission for what felt like the first time in his life. Din nodded and nudged him forward.

He gave the small group of kids a stare he knew they could feel outside his helmet. He wasn’t jealous, he just wanted the children to take care of his kid.

*

Sorgons loved to party. 

The musicians played lively music as the kid’s danced and the kid tried to imitate them. 

Din was still inside finishing up the food with Omera. Frog and fish and just how the kid likes it. “He’s having fun,” Din said, mostly talking to himself, an odd habit he’s picked up on. 

“Yeah,” Omera bumped against his shoulder. “See I told you—” she never finished as a small bird flew through the window and knocked the bowl of frog legs over as it avoided bumping into them. 

Omera swore. Din drew his blaster and took aim.  It was fast and scampering, it flew like it was blind, knocking against the walls and doors. 

“Don’t you dare hurt it,”  Omera yelled as she left the room “They are rare.” 

The bird was bright red and it flew back into the kitchen perching on Din’s shoulder. Din resisted the urge to kill it. It was unable to stay in one place for more than a blink, it knocked over seasonings and fish and started to peck at the ruined food.

Omera reemerged with dangling old-fashioned keys that clinked together. The bird looked up and jumped into the air, it fluttered and circled Omera. She drew him out of her small home and fake threw the keys.

Din really wanted to wring the bird’s neck. 

As Din looked at the food on the floor he noticed the bird had released himself on it. “Great,” Din muttered. He looked out the window and saw the kid still trying to dance, the music had sped up since the last time Din looked. 

Din cleaned up the destroyed food and it pained him to throw it away, even if it was on the ground and covered in bird waste and too much seasoning. 

Din had not planned for this and was ready to throw in the towel. 

“I’m going to go give these,” she jingled the keys, “to the kid. I’ll distract him and you get food.” 

Din nodded, he had a plan forming in his head. 

The plan was of course to go to the local tavern and get as much food as he could on short notice and pay an absurd price for it. 

*

The child watched the keys jingle, he liked the sound they made. He hooked a claw around the ring connecting them and jolted it. He searched for his dad but didn’t see him. The child was confused, there was music and they both liked music. 

He titled his ears, trying to hear his dad’s voice or his steps. He kept looking as the music went on.

*

Din rushed back, careful not to drop the boxes of food he carried, his pockets were so light that it made it easier. 

He made it back to the little park by Omera’s house and saw the kid’s back. Din set the boxes down on the low table and snuck up behind the kid. He fished his gift out of his pocket and crouched down behind the kid, The two musicians plucked away on their string instruments. Parents were calling their children away to eat. This was the moment he wanted. 

Din tapped the kid on his shoulder. The kid turned around and his face lit up. Din was smiling under the helmet. Din held out  the loosely opened box and set it down. 

“For you.” 

The kid opened it and his face lit up. It was a snow globe—reinforced for a child—with a little scene in it. A Mandalorian and a child in a white carrier and a Mudhorn. The snow was sand and the Mudhord was frozen in its tracks lifted up in the air, tiny  feet held up by magnetic levitation. 

The kid picked it up and shook it, the sand covered the view for a while until it settled. The kid loved it. He kept shaking it.

Din was very relieved his heavy price was worth it. The kid chirped to get his attention and shook it, as if Din didn’t know it did that.

“I see,” Din was smiling under the helmet and he knew everyone around him could tell. He didn’t care.

*

As the sun set it was time for Omera’s secret. He asked a few other locals milling around and they all dodged. He asked a kid who was playing with the paper chains the kids pulled down a while ago. She smiled and told him, “it’s good luck, silly.” 

He didn’t appreciate being called silly but he let it stand when the kid giggled. Din crouched down and straightened the kid’s coat as the girl laughed. “You’re silly too,” he told the kid which made him laugh even harder. 

Din gave up after that and chose to supervise the playing children. The kid caught a frog but spit it out. Inspired, all the kids tried to catch frogs. 

They chased all about and the kid came up to Din and kicked his shin. He was bouncing on his feet as people started to move towards the nearby river. 

“Okay,” he followed the crowd. The kid loved being around people and some carried boxes. Din was too focused on making sure the kid didn’t wander off to see what was in them. 

The river was gorgeous in the dark light, the rocky shore was uneven and winding. The kids all stayed nearby. 

The boxes contained lanterns to be floated downstream. Din and the kid were shoved to the front of the shore. He took a lantern and gave it to the kid. The child seemed to understand this was something to treat with care and gently set it down before the river.

“You make a wish and light it on fire,” Omera told him and handed him a sparker. He clicked it and the small wick lit up. 

Din held onto the lantern and looked at the kid, who was staring at the fire. “What do you wish for?” 

The kid leaned against Din’s leg and hip. The gathered people awed. Din pulled the kid into his arms and stood up, letting the lantern float. The lantern was already catching fire as it floated. 

Others set out lanterns, wishing for themselves and supporting the kid’s wellbeing for another year. 

The community made him desperately miss his childhood and his inability to give the kid this. A tight-knit community who adored him. He hoped that the kid’s people would give him this, a group of people who will wish him well on his birthday. 

“To another year of good luck!” someone yelled and everyone cheered, the kid included. He watched the lanterns float downstream. 

Din found Omera in the tiny crowd. “Thank you,” he said. “This was...nice.” 

“Your welcome,” she patted the kid’s head. “Everyone loves this little bean.” 

“I’m still thankful.” 

“You have to go don’t you?” Omera asked, she clearly knew the answer. She smiled at the kid. “Take care of your dad.” 

The kid nodded. As usual, he took Omera’s orders very seriously and he did so looking very tired.

Din bid her goodbye—hopefully temporary—and found his ship.

*

 The kid kept playing with his snow, or rather sand-globe, and Din sat down on the ground by the door and gave it a few shakes. 

The kid watched as the sand cleared and the tiny but intricately carved figures came into view. The kid laid down on his lap, still keeping his eyes on the globe. 

Din ran his hands over the kid’s head and played with the tiny hairs. He smoothed a hand down the kid’s back and kept repeating the motion.

Din found himself unwilling to get back up, he had been running around for the last two days and stressing out. It came crashing down. He was as tired as the sleeping baby on his lap.

He took off the helmet and set it down gently. He bargained with himself for a few more minutes without having to move. 

Then a few more because he didn’t want to wake the kid.

As he fell asleep he couldn’t shake the one thought he’d been having all day. 

He knew it would be best if he found the kid’s kind in the next year but a selfish part of him wanted to have so many more birthdays. 

Chapter Text

 CI—Sunrise 

Din doesn’t linger. He gets annoyed at people who linger awkwardly past their welcome. But there he was lingering at the sunrise. It was beautiful, streaks of red and pink and orange across the sky. 

His home planet had the most beautiful sunrises. 

The child leaned against his chest, his ear folding up. He has to take the child back for the bounty. Beskar was more important than some random child on some random planet with amazing sunsets. 

He had just meant to put the child back in his carrier but the kid had leaned against him and now he awkwardly cradled the child against the beskar. (Was it worth more than the kid? He was using Din’s unyielding armor as a pillow, content and trusting)

By sunset, the kid would not be his problem.

CII—Sunset

He tried not to look at the kid. His eyes were wide and open, Din could see the wonder and joy in them. It would have been easier if the kid had been cold and knowing of Din’s betrayal but if the kid was aware of Din’s intention to leave him forever he didn’t show it. To the kid, he was a savior.

The sunset on this planet wasn’t nearly as beautiful, the kid had woken up and they’d needed more fuel and Din was so low on credits they’d be camping out. 

The kid tugged as his cape, having left his carrier. Din picked him up carefully but the kid clung to him and tried to pull himself onto Din’s shoulder. Din gently helped him to his armored shoulder. 

The kid wasn’t satisfied, he put his claws on Din’s helmet and held his hand there, he then pressed his forehead to the metal in an investigative and thankful way. 

“Hi,” Din said, he’d wasn’t used to talking very much, he’d gone days without saying more than a few words but the child seemed to like his voice. 

The kid didn’t respond, Din had no idea if it could even talk. The child grew bored with his shoulder and started to climb up the helmet. 

Din decided the kid could look at his mediocre sunset and placed the kid on the top of his helmet, keeping his hands around the kid and lowering him to sit. 

The kid liked the height and squealed. 

And the kid leaned forward against his hold, trying to get a better view. Din’s hands did not give, the kid had placed his trust in Din and Din would not break it. 

CIV—Haircut 

The kid did have hair but Din never thought he’d have to worry about it. Mandalorians didn’t care much about their hair, no one will ever see it. 

But Din did need a basic haircut. 

The kid only had a tiny dusting of fuss on his head and was fascinated by Din’s hair, each time Din took off the helmet, which even with it being okay to remove it for your children he did so sparingly. 

Currently, the kid was petting his hair like he was some kind of dog. Din straightened up, “Let go,” he said. “Come on,” Din could easily break the hold but the kid let his hands drop. 

The kid babbled something and pointed at Din. To Din’s further confusion the kid started to giggle. 

“I don’t look that bad,” Din muttered and picked up the electric razor and gent to shave at the excess hair at the back of his neck. Before the humming razor could touch his hair the razor flew across the room. 

Din bit back a curse and stared down at the kid who was looking very innocent with his big eyes.

Din crouched down to he was at eye level with the kid on his little seat. “No,” he reached for the razor, and blindly found it. “I need to do this.” 

The kid grumbled but let him and Din finished his hair cut without interruption. Din didn’t feel like shaving his face and the kid liked the feeling of the scruff and kept feeling it with tiny hands. 

He let the kid have this one. For now. 

CIII—Playing In The Snow 

Din didn’t have many opinions on the weather. Whatever it was he dealt with it. The kid loved all weather, in the heat, he liked to swim, in the cold (reasonable cold not freeze to death cold) he loved to play in it.

The kid was light enough to barely push down on the snow as he shuffled through it. Din trailed behind, as an ever fearful parent. 

The child did not seem to have any fear as he wandered through the snow. The child lowered himself to the ground and started to touch the snow carefully. 

The kid giggled and turned to Din, very happy with himself.

Din was smiling under the helmet. “I know.” The moment was ruined as the kid held up a hand and snow was hurled against him. 

Oh, it’s on. Din crouched down and flicked snow at the kid, who was giggling so much that he could use his powers. 

The kid giggled some more lowering himself to the ground and sitting. Din dropped down on the snow too and picked the kid up, rolling onto his back holding the kid against his chest. 

The kid got out of his grip and held up a hand, the snow moved in a large wave, rearing up before crashing down over him, burying him in a layer of snow. 

The kid slumped on the ground, pleased with himself. Din sat up, dusting the snow off himself and sending some the kid’s way.

The kid was making a ball of snow, using his powers and his hands in tandem to form a ball, too big to throw but more like how one might make a snowman. 

Din helped him make small snowballs and stacked them. The kid was exhausted and leaned against Din’s leg, starting to shiver. 

Din took him back inside, resting him on a crate and getting him warm broth and a blanket. The child cooed happily as Din came back and sat down, wrapping the blanket around the child and handing him broth. The kid drank it all slowly and then leaned against Din’s thigh. 

CV—Lending A Hand 

“Come over here,” Din said as the kid peeked over the corner to the control panel on the side of the steering mechanisms. “Come on.” 

The kid wandered towards him. Din was bent over the open dashboard, holding a portable light in one hand and trying to find the problem. Din picked up the kid and settled him on his lap. He handed him the spherical light and the kid tried to eat it. 

“No,” he gently took the light from the kid’s mouth and put it back into his hands, long desensitized to some spit. “Hold it,” he kept his hand over the kid’s for a few seconds before letting go.

The kid didn’t try to eat it but started to move it up and down, watched the shadows fall differantly. 

He touched the kid’s wrist, easing it down to angle the light in the wires and shifts. “Steady. Nice and easy.” 

The kid held still and Din shifted back, he was sitting on the floor sandwiched between the wall and his seat and he leaned into the open panel and started switching out wires and checking the locking. 

“Over a bit,” he told the kid who moved it right instead of left. “Other way.” The kid moved the light perfectly. “Good job.” 

The kid cooed and leaned against Din more. 

Din kept working, it would probably be cheaper to just buy a new ship than to keep buying supplies for repairs and repairman but what was he supposed to do, get a new New Republic registered ship? 

“You’re doing good,” Din switched out a tube and screwed tight one that came loose. “Just a little longer. Okay?” 

The kid nodded and moved the light a bit.

“Almost there,” Din leaned in and twisted his torso to get the upper corner and check everything. “Come here,” Din picked the kid up a bit and settled him on the ground. He adjusted the kid’s hand. “This is what makes the ship go, well part of it. So when you press buttons it does something.” 

The kid nodded, eyes wide as he looked around. 

Din scooted out and took the kid with him. He turned off the light and set the kid down on his chair. “I’ll get you some food,” Din announced as he walked out. He stopped in the doorway, hitting his knuckles against the door frame. “You earned it.”

Chapter Text

CVI—Introductions 

Nevarro was mostly the same as always, hot and sandy. The new part was the tentatively optimistic atmosphere, 

Greef Karga was waiting as he landed. Din went to pick up Grogu but the kid was not having it. 

Din opened the ramp and together they went down it. 

“Ah,” Greef put his hands on his hips, a smile bright on his face. “The little one is still with you.” 

Din nodded. “The Jedi wouldn’t take him.”  And they had made it to the seeing stone but no one had answered and they couldn’t stick around there any longer. 

“Too much of a trouble maker,” Greef suggested watching Grogu catch up to where Din was standing.

“Something like that.” Din turned back to his ship, watching the horizon, he couldn’t see the scout ships tailing them, they hadn’t been seen since they had been at the seeing stone thing. 

Greef laughed, probably at something the kid did. “What brings you here, Mando?” 

Before he could answer, Care swooped in, muttering something in Greef’s ear. She turned to Din after her and Greef exchanged words. 

“What do you need here?” Cara asked, giving him and the kid a once over. “In trouble?” 

“Not yet,” Din shifted his focus to the little one. “Grogu needed to stretch his legs. And I do need help with something.”

“Grogu?” Greef asked and the kid chirped and looked up at him, his head tilting. “You finally named him.”

“I didn’t name him,” Din said and the kid in question sat down, his coat bunching up. “He had the name long before I found him.” 

“He tell you this?” Cara crossed his arms, not looking very convinced. 

“He told the Jedi lady we met, apparently they can feel each other’s thoughts.”

“Well,” Greef proclaimed loudly as he bent down, offering his hand to the kid who leaned against Din’s boot. 

Grogu tilted his head, peering at the hand. 

Green gently took the hand and gave it a little shake making Grogu giggle. “Hi Grogu, I’m Greef Karga, I’m kind of in charge around here.” Greef stood up giving Cara a look. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself? 

“He already—” she sighed and crouched down, giving Grogu’s hand a firm shake. “I’m Cara Dune. Nice to meet you.” 

Din picked up the kid, ignoring his half-hearted protests as Greef went on. 

“I think it suits him. I mean it’d be weird if he had a name like Steven or James.”

Care huffed. “Have you ever met Steven of James?”

“Well, it sounds Jedi.” 

“You’ve definitely never met a Jedi.” 

Greef gestured to the kid and Din interrupted before he could fire back. “I’m being followed, there must be a tracking device on the Crest and there may be a mole in your crew.”

Greef nodded, growing very solemn very quickly. “Cara find this mole. I will personally supervise the locating and destruction of the tracker.” 

“As will I,” Din said. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Greef but  Din would rather be safe than sorry. 

“Fine. I’ll get a crew together and you can take Grogu to the shop down the road. They have cookies that he apparently stole from another kid last time he was here.”

“Stole?” Din looked at Grogu who had the decency to look a little ashamed. Din sighed. “I’ll meet you back here soon,” he said to Greef and then to the kid, “You have to remember your manners.” 

CVII—Growing 

The kid had been all happy and, for once, listening to Din. He had found a dent in the door frame to the cockpit and turned his back to the frame. 

His body had covered the dent but he was on another kick now. He had looked at Din, his eyes curious and with their usual pleading. 

Din hadn’t thought of it much. It was a pretty common thing. He took out a blade and cut a mark right above the kid’s head. 

He didn’t think about the mark much. 

When Grogu left his seat after they left Ahsoka behind, Din idly watched him, only half paying attention to the sea of stars before them. He moved with urgency to grab at Din’s pant leg. 

Din went to pick him up but the kid did not want that, Grogu pulled at his pant leg again. Din checked the ship would be okay with out him and stood up. 

“What is it?” Din asked as the kid pulled him in the direction of the ladder. “Are you hungry? Is that it?” 

The kid pulled him to the open doorway and pointed at the door with the hand that wasn’t pulling Din along. Din reached the doorway and the kid let go of his pant leg and pressed his forehead against the frame. 

Din crouched down and saw the kid’s eyes were in line with the mark on the frame.  

His eyes, not the top of his head. 

Dim smiled under the helmet, unseen. 

“Good job kid,” Din said. “You got taller,” Din dropped down to his knees, hunched down to get a better look. “You’ll be taller than your old man soon.”

Grogu giggled and turned so his back was fully against the wall. 

Din took out his knife and slashed a mark around a finger taller than the other line. 

Din wouldn’t mind if the kid stays little, he understood the kid aged slowly but he still felt proud of the kid for growing. 

He got to see the kid grow if even just a tiny bit. 

Okay, he was happy, shoot him

CVIII—What’s that behind your ear? 

A lot of souls think that Mandalorians are boring but that is not the case. There had even been a sleight of hand “magician.” 

Some of the older Mandalorians encouraged watching him, they said it required fluidity and agility, and problem-solving skills to engage with magic but they all knew the real answer. It was fun to watch and then fail later when trying to recreate the trick. 

Din was a bit out of practice but he’d give it a go out of sheer desperation. 

Grogu was in a mood where he wanted all of Din’s attention and it fell on Din to entertain him. He tried to get the kid to “train” and play Force-catch but Grogu was not having it. 

The kid sat on his spot of the control desk and watched Din as he made some adjustments, going to click a button when Din brushed his hand away.

Grogu held out his hand, Din expected him to use his powers but he just held it there. Did he want a high-five?  Or rather a high-three. 

Din pressed his palm against Grogus’ hand. 

Grogu laughed and tapped his against Din’s hand a few times. Hitting was a strong word for the taps but the other hand joined in and there was no doubt that was the intent. 

Din let the kid have his fun as he hit Din’s gloved hand over and over again before becoming bored and looking up expectantly at Din. 

Din had an idea and he reached into his pocket to find a silver coin from a barter town, he acted like he was just taking off his gloves and putting them in his pockets as he palmed the coin and pressed it into the crease of his thumb. 

“Watch closely,” Din instructed and reached out his hand and “pulled” a coin from the kid’s ear as he transferred the coin to between his fingers. 

Grogu’s eyes were comically big as they watched Din’s hand with equal parts awe and surprise. 

“That’s right. You’re not the only one with magic.” 

Grogu mumbled something and clasped his hands together and watched Din carefully. 

Din faked putting the coin away and pulled the same trick on the other ear. 

He earned a laugh for his efforts. If he had playing cards he could do some other tricks but all he had was the coin. 

He then put the coin in the kid’s ear and took it out the other end, almost dropping the coin in the transfer.  The kid was completely invested in this show and Din leaned forward. 

“Wow, you really need to clean out your ears.” 

The kid laughed more and sat down and Din realized that was all the magic he knew. He fished into his pocket and pulled out a piece of candy that he had no idea when he’d put there and unwrapped it before giving it to the kid as a prize for being such a good audience. 

When the kid only sucked on it for a moment as it clacked against his teeth before swallowing it whole Din wasn’t even surprised. He’d even been expecting it. 

CVIX—Tricycle

Din did not know what this was. Well, that was a lie, he knew it was some old-fashioned bike that ran on wheels and didn’t hover or anything, it also lacked an engine and was powered by...pedaling. 

Peli Motto put her hands on her hips and nodded down at the thing. “Let the kid try it.” 

Din did no such thing. “What is it?” 

Peli sighed and used her foot to move it back and forth. “It’s a tricycle. An old thing I found in scrap and fixed up. And shortened.” 

“Why?” Din couldn’t hold onto the kid anymore as he reached for the tricycle, he carefully set Grogu down. 

She shrugged. “It was a relaxing project. Fun to tinker with. Old stuff is important, you know?” 

Din watched as the kid carefully put himself in the seat. 

“Why make it the kid’s size?” Din asked. 

She shook her head as she watched the kid tilt the handlebars. “Alright I like the little guy and I want him to have something nice because you sure as Hell won’t get him anything nice.” 

Din glared at her through his helmet. “I’ll pay your full rate if you can get all the New Republic beacons and security protocols out of this ship.” 

“I’m not looking for New Republic trouble,” Peli turned her gaze to Din’s new ship. 

“Neither am I.” 

“Fine,” Peli called out to her droids with a whistle and swears and insults. “It should take a few hours.” 

Din listened as the droids clattered and they got to work. The kid was looking up at him, his feet were hanging off the pedals. 

Din crouched down and fixed them. The kid then started to pedal, only making on rotation before looking back up at Din. 

Din put his hand on the back of the seat and pushed the kid along. “We need to talk about your work ethic.” 

The kid rang a little bell Motto had put on the handlebar for some reason. The kid started to tilt to the side and Din used his other hand to stabilize him. 

“Go on,” Din instructed. “Steer.” 

The kid took a sharp left turn and went right into Din’s foot. Din jolted back, still keeping his hands on Grogu. 

“Easy,” Din adjusted his hands and his feet as they went in circles, he took his second hand away and the kid kept his balance. The kid managed to get the hang of pedaling and Din took away his second hand. 

Grogu rode around in the stupid tricycle for a while. Din stood by and when the kid ran over a bump she was there to catch him.

Grogu shook off his hands, set on getting back on the bike himself. 

Din was more than a little proud.

He was watching the kid carefully when Peli called out. “Did I mention that you’ll have to buy that from me,” she stepped away from the ship, hitting his pauldron lightly with a wrench. “I don’t run a charity.” 

The kid stopped his bike and cooed. 

Din forked over the credits and Grogu rung his little bell again. 

Chapter Text

CX—Meetings 

It wasn’t until Din stepped into the eerie forest that he actually considered this lead may be right.  This backwater planet had said they not only knew of some Jedi but of green creatures who lurked in the shadows. 

Din was on high alert, there was static against his skin and a slight pressure in the air. He tugged down his sleeves to hide his wrists from the weird static but it seeped through his clothing. 

The child stared straight ahead, intensely focused, and his ears constantly shifting. Din kept going deeper into the forest, trying to keep in a straight line and not go in circles. 

The child held out a hand and Din stopped, he couldn’t describe why he felt like he was being watched but he knew it. 

Din drew his blaster, holding the child tightly and angling his body to protect him. 

His legs were pulled out from under him by an invisible force, it forced him to his knees. He sat a rustle in the woods and shot out his wire, it caught around the figure and he pulled, the force keeping him down faltered and he scrambled to his feet, shooting at the robbed figure he pulled from his trees but none of his shots landed. 

Din felt a pressure on his throat. He pulled the wire closer to him as the Jedi broke free. 

“Wait,” a voice called out from behind Din. He didn’t turn, keeping his blaster down and his body close to the child. 

“Wait?” the Jedi that had been attacking him pulled back the hood to reveal a human face. An angry one. “You can’t seriously want to spare this one.” 

The source of the voice stepped into Din’s view and it was definitely of the kid’s kind. It only came up to around Din’s hip and it was wearing the same robes as his attacker. “I am Vanc.” 

Din did not lower his blaster. “I need to speak with you.” 

“I know,” Vanc then moved forward to brush a hand against the child’s head, the child’s eyes had gone huge and he let out a low sound. 

Vanc turned around and started for the direction Din had just come from. “Come.” 

Din picked up the child and followed. 

The place was easy to miss, natural camouflage covered the pathway and the three of them ducked and pushed away leaves. The structure itself looked extremely old, it was made of slate and wood, the beams of wood decorative and carved, the old structure was simple but large, it was only two stories tall, with sloping sides and it fitted as a vestibule into an even larger cave. 

Vanc had not said a word and still kept silent. The human teenager grumbled to himself the whole time but Din tuned it out. 

 They walked up the stairs and once the heavy doors were opened Din saw the intricacies were not just for the outside. 

Vanc turned around at another set of intricate doors. “Be respectful.” 

Din glared at Vanc as the doors opened. 

There were more of the child’s kind, they seemed to be of various ages, all within the same vague height range and his kid was clearly the smallest. In total there were seven green wrinkled creatures in the room, counting his kid and Vanc.

All the eyes in the room turned to Din and the child. The teenager was ordered to go get someone.

The creatures spoke to one another in a strange tongue that Din had never heard before. Din awkwardly stood there before the teenager returned with what must be the elder of the group. 

Even as a baby this kind had wrinkles but this one had more lines across the dull green skin. The white hair on others had some fullness to it and even some length but the hair atop the Elder’s head was thin and brittle but the eyes were the giveaway, they seemed to stare through his helmet and they looked ancient. 

“This is—what would you say?” Vanc muttered. “Queen, leader? Our guider, Mersa.” 

Mera surveyed Din with a cold gaze

“Are you Jedi?” Din asked. 

Mersa shook her head. “We do not deal with those known as Jedi.” 

“The New Republic?” Din didn’t really think so but he asked just in case. 

“This is the edge of the galaxy, those things do not touch us here,” Mersa held out a hand. “Give me the little one.” 

Din tightened his grip on the kid’s hand and then set him down. 

The child turned to Din and then back to Mersa, they sat in silence for a few moments. “I see,” Mersa said.

“Are you two talking?” Din had thought this couldn’t get more unexplainable. 

“In a way,” Mersa’s hands disappeared within her robe. “He is not one of ours.” 

“I figured,” Din holstered his blaster, not that he felt safe but it would do best to not antagonize these souls. “I found him on the other side of the galaxy.” 

“Yes he seems to be of those who journey far into danger,” Mersa had an odd way of speaking,  it was rhythmic but slow and careful. 

“Do you know what happened to his parents?” Din had no idea if the child’s parents had abandoned him by choice or by death. 

“His memory has dark spots,” Mersa’s robes shifted but she didn’t attack him, just watched him. “Many dark spots before he met you. He was trained with the Jedi you spoke of, they named him Grogu and trained him.” 

“Grogu?” Din echoed and the kid’s head turned. “Grogu,” Din repeated and the kid chirped. 

“Someone destroyed the training place but he survived, there is almost nothing after that until you come in.” 

Din watched Grogu as he sat down on the unfamiliar floor and toyed with his sleeve. “Can you protect him?” 

“We do not fight, it is how we have survived for so long. We stick to the ancient teachings of not chasing power. Of not getting attached to fickle things, like what human wants power.” 

Din understood. “I have been quested to reunite him with his kind. Will you take him?” Din didn’t know what he wanted Mersa to say. 

“We will see,”  Mersa beckoned the teenager back and he picked up the kid. “Wait here.” 

With a swish of robes and the thud of steps they left. 

Din had no idea there was some kind of test, he went to follow but an invisible wall stopped him. He turned to the room of strangers. “Where did she take him.” 

“We do not open to outsiders easily,” Vanc opened the heavy doors. “Grogu must prove himself worthy of acceptance.” 

“He’s a kid.”

“He must be worthy of joining us, he is not one of us. We’ve been together for longer than you or your forefathers have been alive, longer entire empires.” 

Din held back his sarcastic words, this wasn’t the time. “What about that human?”

“That human is a servant with little gift but he is earning his place with service.”

“The kid needs you, isn’t that enough?” 

“We will see.” 

They keep Din in that room for hours, they don’t get him any food or water, some of them don’t even move from their decadent cushions. 

Din on the other hand paced and paced, his boots scuffing against the hard floor as he paced in front of the doors.

The doors were locked and anytime he tried to venture deeper into the room the force pulled him back.

He almost lost all dignity and was about to beg for someone to open the door, to act like the animal they treated him as, and claw through the doors when they opened. 

“You must leave,” the teenager said, only having opened the door a crack. “You are a distraction for the child.” 

“I’ve stayed in here the whole time,” Din now does not want to leave this place. He can’t leave until he knows they will be good for the kid.

 “He can feel your presence,” the teenager opened the doors the whole way. “I’ll walk you out.” 

“I know the way,” Din pushed past him and walked slowly into the hallway. The teenager kept in step with him. “Is it good here?” 

“They are protective of each other,” the teenager stopped and gestured for Din to do so as well. “And doubtful of outsiders but once you are one of them they will not let anything happen.” 

Din nodded. 

“They are all pretty old,” the teenager continues, this time walking as he talked. “They’ve seen a lot of their kind be killed so they’ve closed off. It makes sense.” 

Din stayed silent, he did not want to think of the Mandalorians hidden under cites, shadows of their glory. 

They reached the door and the second Din stepped outside the doors shut behind him. 

***

Din camped out by the temple, he’d shot his dinner and simply waited for someone to tell him something. 

He watched the doors and he tried to let go. 

He thought of his parents often, the hole they left in his life never went away. He knew they could have saved themselves but they chose to save him. He had to do the same thing. He had to give the kid up to these strange creatures who would protect him.

They had incredible power, the remains of the Empire would struggle to find this place and they would never breach it. If the child would stop a Mudhorn in its tracks he didn’t want to know what a team of older ones could do. 

If leaving was what he needed to do then leave he shall, but he at least wanted to say goodbye. 

As night fell on this planet Din leaned against a sturdy tree and rested his rifle against his knee and held his finger ready. 

He dozed off a few times, the night was never-ending, this planet has a night of 20 hours and a day of only around 6. The night dragged on and Din was well-rested enough to stay alert and watch for danger. 

At sunrise, he stalked up the steps and banged on the door. He’s never felt so insignificant, so worthless. No one came and he knew this wasn’t going to work. 

He waited at the door as the short day passed. He considered breaking in a hundred different times but each time he decided against it, maybe if they tolerated him he could visit the kid? Not all the time, just a couple of times a year.

Just so the kid wouldn’t forget him.

He slammed his hand against the door and pressed his helmet to the door. What if they weren’t going to open the door, they clearly didn’t leave often, probably only to get some food. 

This can’t be it. 

He just wanted to say goodbye. 

***

On the second night, Din sat on the stone and waited. 

It was agony to just wait, at the mercy of these odd creatures who he had no leverage against and desperately wanted them to take the kid and didn’t. 

It was so selfish, he should leave and work to take down Moff Gideon, set up a trap, and make him chase his tail until eventually, he stops getting money from warlords. 

He didn’t want to test this temple's defenses, even if he thought they would hold, the Empire knew how to take on the Jedi—or the Not-Jedi. 

***

On the third night, the door opened. 

It was the teenager, he raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.” 

Din lazily aimed his rifle at the teenager. “Where else would I be?”

“They’re voting,” the teenager said. “I’m not allowed to be there.” 

“Voting?” 

“On if to take the kid in.”

 Din shouldered past the teen and ran down the halls into the large room again. 

They weren’t surprised to see him. The kid was sitting on the ground but once he saw Din he stood up and ran to Din, holding out his hands. Din picked the kid up without a second thought. 

“Are you taking him in?” Din asked, the kid reached up and put a palm to the cheek of his helmet.

Mersa said nothing as she watched this happen. 

“Hey, kid,” Din leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the kid’s. “How do you like it here?” 

“I vote no,” Mersa said and turned to the room. “It is settled, the kid will go with you.” 

As much as Din wanted to keep the kid he still turned to Mersa. “You think he isn’t good enough for you.” 

“He is good with you,” Mersa folded her hands. “We will not separate a father and son. It will cause more harm than good.” 

“He needs your protection, your training,” Din didn’t know why he was protesting so much. “I just wanted to say goodbye.” 

“We are not the Jedi,” Mersa continued as if he never spoke. “We don’t need to train a new order. You will die soon and the child can call for us through the force when he is ready.” 

Din was slightly shocked by the fact way she said he will die soon. “I don’t plan on dying soon.” 

“Even if you live another fifty years the child will still be a child.” 

Din hugged the child back. “What if I stay with him.” 

“No, we will not do this halfway, the child is not ready, it would be more damaging to take him from you,” Mersa held out a hand and Din felt a tickle against all of his skin, even under the armor. “You have protected him well enough.”

Din swallowed down any more protests. “Are you sure?” 

“I will not break this child’s heart.” 

***

Back on the Razor Crest the kid wouldn’t perk up, he kept his ears down and he stayed in his seat, not even trying to mess with the controls. 

Din turned back again and noticed him messing with the necklace. “Hey,” Din spun his chair around and touched the necklace. “It’s still yours.” 

Grogu peered up at him. 

He held out his finger and the kid took hold of it. 

Chapter Text

CXI—Attachment  

The Mandalorian let his child go. He could not get that moment from his head. 

Din Djarin’s parents had let him go, had let him reach safety while they knew there was no hope for him. He could not get that moment from his head. 

Those were the two points he saw his life through, living backward and forwards from one of them at all times. There is no other framing to his life. 

Growing up in the Mandalorian corps had not been as lonely as it had started. He had come in as a scared and angry child and left as a man with honor but he never let himself get attached to any of the kids.

 Out in the universe, it was the same, he’d been mocked and flirted with in the same breath and kept his distance. 

Until of course Grogu and now he is gone. It proved him wrong and right all in the exact same moment. A win for getting attached and a win for never getting attached to anything. 

CXII—New Covert 

This new covert was interesting, to say the least. It was far dingier than even the last one on Navarro, the halls a concrete that seemed permanently stained in a layer of grime and sand. It was larger though, with more escape routes for the very few survivors. 

Din had never before been nervous to meet his own people but now his heart hammered in his chest and if not for the kid in his arms he would have turned back in an instant. 

“You have returned,” the Armorer was in the doorway to the forge, she waited for him to face her before she turned back to her work. “Has your quest failed?” 

“You were right,” Din said as he walked into the forge, careful of the fire. “The kid needs training but the Jedi we meet will not take him in.” 

“But the child is Jedi, is he not?” 

Grogu reached for the flames and Din took an extra step back. “He is.”

 The Armorer tilted her head to look at Din. “You want to shelter him here?” 

Din noded, thankful he didn’t have to voice his request. “Temporarily.” 

“How long.” 

“Until another Jedi answers the call.” 

“You are inviting a Jedi into these halls,” another Mandalorian asked, Din spared them a glance, identifying it as Paz Vizsla from the sheer size of him and blue armor. 

If Din were a child, the angry, scared child he had been, he would have yelled at Paz for eavesdropping and for the Armorer not punishing him but now he said nothing.

Din explained the situation with the rock and the attack, how he’d barely made it out alive, choosing to ignore Paz’s mutterings.

“He’ll be able to sense if a Jedi is here and then we will keep it outside this Covert,” Din promised, only bluffing a slight bit. Grogu would not take his eyes off the fire. 

“Fine.” The Armorer said and went back to her work, everything radiating that neither of them was to speak. 

“Come on,” Paz didn’t wait for a response as he started down the halls. “That little one of yours needs food. It’s weak.”

Din held back a remark, he just needed to hide out for a day or two and then they could go. He just needed to know what to do next. 

He passed another Mandalorian in the hall and was ignored. He wasn’t sure if it was purposeful or not. Mandalorians are not known for their friendliness. 

Din set the kid on the counter, there was no public eating space but there was plenty of counter space. Grogu immediately ventured along the countertop, he prodded at the cheap spoons and ladles, ears shifting as he listened to them rattle. He looked at Din, as if he needed Din to hear a very important sound. 

Din nodded at him and the kid did it again, giggling this time. Paz shoved behind him, snapping him out of his reverie. 

“It’s cute, get over it,” Paz said and he brought out the broth and heated it up. Din swore he saw Paz sneak glimpses of the kid as he sat and waited, watching with far too much interest.

“There is going to be a fight tomorrow, will you stick around that long.”

“Who’s fighting?” Din asked as he handed the kid the smallest bowl of broth. As the kid raised it up to drink from it Din halted the movement with a finger. “Careful it’s hot.” 

“Foundlings. The ones left.”

Din nodded. “Then it’s open, right?” 

“Thinking of fighting?” 

“No.”

“You’re loss,” Pas said and he crossed his large arms over his chest. “Your foundling couldn’t keep up with them.”

Din doesn’t say that if motivated his foundling could choke his opponent to death. Din didn’t respond to him and eventually, Paz grew bored and left. 

Din took the kid back to a room and watched him curl up on the pillow and drift off to sleep.

***

Din did not like parties, even Mandalorian parties but the Armorer had looked at him and asked, “You’re going to celebrate, right?” and he had nodded. 

The celebration was for a few foundlings who were moving up to the highest level of training. They were scrawny and tough. Din sat down in the makeshift meeting area as the fight started.

He leaned down to whisper in the kid’s ear, “No powers.” 

The kid didn’t look like he wanted to use his powers, he looked delighted as the fighting started, DIn was reminded of him drinking while he and Cara rolled around on the ground, blaster aimed at each other. 

He even clapped and cheered as the fight finished up, the one in red winning and the one in green shaking her hand in concession. 

The kid clapped long past when it was socially acceptable to clap and a few helmets turned to watch the kid. 

The kid stopped as the Armorer sat down in the empty seat next to him. “There is potential in both of them.”

“There is.” 

“There aren’t many Mandalorians left,” she pointed at unnecessarily. “But there is no shortage of children needing rescuing.” 

“There never seems to be a shortage of that,” Din said. Grogu was having enough of sitting in Din’s lap and started to walk over him and Din would have no problem with that if not for the direction he was going in was the Armorer. 

She noticed and picked him up gingerly, she held him away from her chest and examined him. 

The kid focused completely on her, Din wondered if it had anything to do with his powers. She set him down on Din’s lap, satisfied with whatever she found in the kid’s eyes. 

Grogu turned to the new fight happening. 

Din waited for her to start a new conversation and after that fight she did. 

“If no Jedi will take him and none will come for him,” she started and the kid perked up at the word Jedi. “You must stay with him.” 

“I will.”

“But you cannot stay here,” she stood up and Din stood up as well to show respect. “Your road will take you far from here.”

It wasn’t a question but Din nodded. 

“You will stay another day.”

She disappeared into the halls of the Covert and Din did the same and put the kid to bed again but this time the kid was hyped up on violence. and Din kneeled down in front of the cot and watched him fight an imaginary enemy. 

Din held up his hands, palms facing the kid. “Go ‘head.” 

The kid started punching his hands, without his powers he really was very weak. The kid moved closer and pushed at Din’s breastplate and he laid back dramatically going down on his back and Grogu jumped down on his stomach, cooing at Din’s actions. 

Eventually, they wrapped up their fight and the kid went to sleep. 

***

On the final day there the kid wanted to explore the dark halls for some reason and Din was benevolent to his wishes. 

They were wandering down the third identical hallway when the red-wearing Foundling from the fight last night ran up to him. She was breathing heavily under her helmet. “Um, sir, there is someone here for you.” 

Din followed her back to the forge and the Armorer didn’t even look at him, too busy. “A Jedi is in town. Luke Skywalker.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” 

“He is a well-known Jedi.” 

Din held the kid a closer, savoring it.  “Ok.”

“Will you go to him?” 

“I will.”

CXIII—Special Recipe 

Din knows that the kid can eat just about anything. But he cannot. 

It starts simple, a frog trapped by the kid’s powers floating up to Din’s face, alive but petrified. Din looked down at the kid’s outstretched hand, and one eye cracked open watching his reaction. 

“I’m not hungry,” Din said, hoping that it would be that simple. 

The kid moved the frog closer to Din’s helmet, right where his mouth was hidden under a layer of Beskar.  He lifted his helmet off his chin and over his mouth and faked taking a bite. 

The kid was not impressed. Din grabbed the fog and once it was contained in his hand Grogu let go of his magical hold on it. Din immediately dropped the fog and let it run away. 

The kid looked up at him, his arms still out in front of him. 

Din fixed his helmet properly. “I like my meat cooked.” 

The kid squinted at him and then wandered off. 

The next time it happened it was far worse. The kid was playing in the grass as Din stood watch over the field. Grogu chirped at him and then Din felt an invisible hand urging him to turn. 

“Hey,” Din held up a hand and the kid sat down, defeated and pouting. Din turned around and crossed his arms.  He heard the kid rustling a few steps behind him 

The kid cackled and Din almost turned around but he reminded himself that Grogu was just messing around, being a bit mysterious and mischievous.

That was normal, right?

Din crossed his arms and waited for the ok to turn around. 

“Be careful,” Din advised, he didn’t hear anything concerning but one can never be too careful. There was no response. “Talk to me, buddy.” 

The kid started to babble and make little noises as if narrating whatever he was doing.

A pull on his shoulders and clothing told him it was time to turn around. The kid’s hands were caked in dirt and mud, grass sticking to the mixture. 

Grogu stood in front of a carefully molded pile of mud and grass, the mid acting as a bowl of sorts, the dirt acting as a base, and handfuls of grass as the topping.

Grogu cooed and stared up at him. 

“I don’t eat grass,” Din kneeled down, his boot right in front of the masterpiece. The kid just tilted his head. Din picked up a blade of grass and lifted his helmet up a little bit to pretend to eat it and tuck the blade against his check and helmet. 

The kid clapped and sat down. He clasped his little hands. 

“You don’t want some?” Din asked, very very hopeful. 

Grogu didn’t respond. 

Din kept up the charade until his helmet was full of dirt crusted grass. After every last piece was eaten Din patted his armor covered stomach. “That really filled me up,” he held out his hands to the kid and Grogu climbed into his arms as Din stood up. “But maybe have a backup plan in life that’s not cooking. 

CXIV—Piggy Bank 

“It’s a piggy bank,” Din explained as he set down the little ceramic pig that looked nothing like a real pig—it was all cutesy when real pigs were definitely not. “For credits.” 

Din slid a credit in the hole on the pig’s back, it made a clinking sound. “For saving.” 

Grogu leaned forward and put a claw on the pig and rocked it a bit. The credit clinked at it hit against the inner walls of the pig. 

Din put another credit in the bank and Grogu shook it again, predictably not interested in learning finances. 

Anytime the kid helps him on a job or when he helps out with anything Din gives him some credits. When Din gets coins on a planet that are irregular and he can’t spend them anywhere else he gives them to Grogu. 

He doesn’t think Grogu fully understands but he certainly likes the sound of the bank makes when he shakes it. He will understand when Din takes him out and lets him buy whatever he wants, which is only slightly different from how things normally work. 

CXV—Bedtime Curfew 

When they do land and stay for longer periods of time than a couple of days the kid is a night owl. He adores going on night walks and just being up at a late hour. DIn doesn’t think much of it until he realizes that as a child in the Mandalorian corps they had stressed routine and staying up to wildly different times is very different. Even before that, his parents had given him a strict bedtime that he had complained about endlessly. 

And he was tired of staying up late and waking up early too. He was getting old. 

The kid had eaten his dinner and wanted to go out and see the city they were in all lit up but Din took him back into their room and sat him down in his little crib. 

“Time to sleep,” Din said and sat down on his bed. 

The kid was not having it, he climbed out of his crib and walked over to the door. Din picked him up and set him back down in his crib. 

Grogu looked up at him, his eyes seemed to get impossibly bigger. 

“No,” Din said and sat back down on the bed. “It’s bedtime.” 

Grogu started to climb out of his crib, the little master escapist. 

“No,” Din held out a finger over the edge of the crib. “I know you understand me.”

Grogu stared at his finger, his ears curved down and he put on his innocent face, as if he wasn’t just trying to get out of the crib a moment ago. 

“You Stay. Here,” Din said very carefully. “And sleep.” 

The kid didn’t throw and tantrum, instead he laid down, curled up in a little ball and he closed his eyes tightly. 

That was easy. Maybe a little too easy. 

Din flicked off the lights and laid down, he did not get comfortable but he did fake snore. He watched as the kid slowly got up and climbed out of his crib and quietly walked on the old floor of their rooms. As the floor creaked the kid scrambled back into his crib and performatively laid back down. 

Din stopped his fake snoring but he didn’t bust the kid right now. If the kid wanted to play games he would play. 

Grogu perked up, his ears twisting as he scanned for noise, his head also turned as he took in his surroundings. Din was almost impressed by how thorough he was. Almost. 

The little Womp Rat lingered on the window from their room that looked out over the busy city. Din didn’t like cities, he was only here because they mostly weren’t being chased anymore and he’d established a pattern of going to planets the opposite of this one. 

And the kid liked cities because he liked people and doing things. He liked eating all the interesting food, seeing all the ways souls could stuff food into other foods. 

Grogu climbed out of his crib and this time as he made his trek he didn’t step on the squeaky floorboard. He held out a hand to open the door and Din deliberately tossed and turned and ended up closer to the edge of the bed. 

The kid froze and crouch down low, his hands raised and ready. He didn’t run back to his crib this time, he turned his attention back to the door. The door started to open but Din’s arm shot out and closed it again. “Go back to sleep, kid.” 

Grogu grumbled all the way to his bed, dragging his feet and sitting in front of his crib like he hasn’t gone in and out of it a couple of times already. 

Din sighed and got out of his bed to put the kid back in his crib. “You do know what I do for a living, right?” Din laid back down and kept his eyes on the crib. 

The kid reluctantly laid down and eventually fell asleep for real this time but Din stayed up for longer than he would have if they’d just gone out to make sure the kid didn’t sneak out.