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Chapter Text

Ferocious winds howled outside as the Tatooine sandstorm brought down its full might against the small ship they were hunkered down in just outside of Mos Pelgo. 

Somehow, Cara Dune managed to get ahold of an impounded Zeta-class Imperial shuttle, The Dream, that had been seized by the recently established stronghold of New Republic authorities on Nevarro. Apparently, the spice runners who had salvaged the ship after the fall of the Empire hadn’t quite grasped the meaning of the word ‘inconspicuous’ and failed to recognize the massive renovation of the planet’s economic morals under its new leadership. Their less than creative name for the ship certainly didn’t help matters. According to a smirking Cara, the runners learned their wares weren’t welcome on Nevarro the hard way. Now cleared of its illegal cargo and ‘borrowed’ from the New Republic impound, it faced a form of hell straight out of a spice dream. 

Sheets of unrelenting sand whipped against the outer hull and Din was almost certain he could hear each single grain striking the metal, the storm itself hounding them like some chaotic, sentient monster hell bent on reaching the occupants within. He wasn’t prone to claustrophobia- rather, he couldn’t afford to be- but the thought of their shuttle being buried under feet of sand, doors sealed shut under the sheer weight of the new dunes formed over them…it was almost enough for him to want to tear off his helmet and gasp in deep lungfulls of air like it was on the verge of running out. But he couldn’t. Not with all these people around.

The Dream was anything but. It felt like a nightmare. The shallow block shape and wide cargo bay was much like a tomb, compounded by the fact that they were being buried even further within it as every second passed. There was nothing but darkness beyond the front windows in the cockpit and it was impossible to say whether it was the night sky or a wave of sand from the storm. It helped if he just didn’t look at it. 

Fett’s Firespray was back at Peli’s hangar in Mos Eisley. The ex-bounty hunter regrettably informed their small crew that his ship would be far too recognizable by any Imperial affiliates, so they were forced to leave it behind. The plan had been to fly to Mos Espa for one of his weapons stashes, but the sandstorm grounded them before they made it halfway. 

As far as bad omens went, that could have been a sign. 

Din was certain he was overreacting. The engines on the ship were good, if it managed to get them through lightspeed from Nevarro to Tatooine then it would be able to shake off a bit of sand. Still, the stark unfamiliarity was suffocating on its own.

Din Djarin did not have much experience with constants. Homes changed so much over the years, people came and went, and he never stayed on one planet for long, always on the move, running or hunting. He didn’t have the luxury of getting used to anything, other than the constant presence of his armour on his body, the helmet on his head, and the weapons strapped close. 

But he’d gotten used to the Razor Crest. That old ship was as much of a project as it was a home, and it wasn’t until it was reduced to ash and rubble that Din realized that was what he considered it. Home. It had been with him through so much, becoming one of those scarce few constants he had in his life. No matter what shape it was in, it was always there to return to. And now it was gone.

And so was the kid.  

A lance of guilt and worry cut through him like a vibroblade to the chest and Din squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find something else to focus on even as his fingers betrayed him and sought out the small metal ball stowed safely in his pocket. He needed his head to be clear on this mission if they were going to have a womp rat’s chance of succeeding. 

What better distraction than the raging storm outside. 

“Even without the krayt dragon underneath, sometimes you just think the sand on Tatooine is alive,” Cobb Vanth had said earlier with one of his crooked smiles directed at the Mandalorian, eyes glimmering in the low light of the ship. “Kids used to make up all kinds of stories about it. Made you afraid to step outside even on a fair day.”

But Din seriously doubted such tales ever struck fear in the marshal. He was a man unafraid of anything. 

Otherwise, why would he have agreed to come? It was the same words that spurred Cara which had Cobb ready to drop everything and follow. 

They have the kid. 

Din knew it wasn’t a mistake to bring him along. He was amazed at how quickly Cobb was able to fit in on the first day, installing himself permanently on Cara’s good side. Fennec took some warming to as he’d apparently heard rumors of her deeds working for the crime families in Mos Eisley, but after a round of shooting targets in Peli’s hangar they seemed to get along just fine. 

Then, of course, there was Boba Fett. Dressed in the armour that Cobb had bought from the jawas, armour that saved his life- his town. Armour that he’d worn for years. Din hadn’t given any thought of how Cobb would react up until the moment the two met when Fett stepped out of The Dream to retrieve the repaired jetpack from Peli, helmet tucked protectively under his arm.

Din expected a fight. Angry words at least. 

But Boba and Cobb just stood there assessing each other for a few moments, both becoming familiar with the concrete form of a man they’d only known in thoughts. Cobb only knew Boba as the armour’s previous owner, and Boba simply knew Cobb as the man it had ended up with. And now here they were. 

It was Cobb, surprisingly, that moved first, stepping forward to tap a knuckle against the breastplate and chuckling as he stepped back, his expression easy and light. 

“Well I definitely know this belongs to you. Ain’t ever fit me right like that.” Cobb had grinned in his usual friendly way. “Our friend here told you I wasn’t the one who broke the jet pack, right?”

Boba had smiled and shook his hand. 

And just like that, they were fine. 

Din climbed down from the cockpit and let out a ragged sigh, pressing a gloved hand against the nearest wall to steady himself and feeling the insistent vibrations of the storm outside beneath his fingers. If only socialization was their biggest problem. 

“You good there, partner?” Cobb asked from where he was sitting atop several crates of black market munitions- courtesy of another New Republic siege, legs stretched out comfortably as he used a knife to peel away at the skin of a jogan fruit. Despite his casual appearance, there was a note of concern in his voice that spoke of his underlying tension and those keen hazel eyes of his turned gentle as they fixed on the Mandalorian.

Cobb Vanth was gloriously golden under the Tatooine suns, tanned skin and the imperceptible streaks of once sand colored hair catching the light handsomely like a dune sea mirage. The flecks of gold and rich brown in his eyes turned aflame in the binary sunset, an image Din had only seen twice now and knew he’d never forget. 

But here, in the dim white interior lights of the cargo shuttle, Cobb was brilliantly silver. The pale light illuminated the white and silver of his hair and drew out the slight ring of blue in his irises. His red shirt was bound to attract too much attention where they were headed, and Cara told him as much when they picked him up, seizing Din’s satchel that he’d left stashed on Nevarro- the only belongings he had to his name that weren’t already on his body- and shoving the other marshal toward the fresher to change. He emerged in what he was wearing now, a pair black pants that once fit Din years ago but seemed perfectly tailored to the marshal’s lanky form, and a loose, deep blue shirt with two durasteel vambraces locked over his forearms. He was the very picture of night, glowing like a moon and stars, draped in cuts of cloth from the sky itself. 

When did Din start noticing these things?

His breath caught in his throat for the briefest of moments and he forced a nod, looking away from the marshal while he still could. 

“Yeah,” Din said hoarsely, voice far too strained for his liking. “I’m fine.”

“Better not be losing your head over there, Mando,” Mayfeld called out snidely from his own seat on the other side of the shuttle, using another crate as a bench as he awkwardly fiddled with his transmission equipment with his cuffed hands. 

“Hey, how ‘bout you shut that mouth of yours before I come over there and do it for you,” Cobb warned, pausing from peeling the jogan fruit to level the knife in Mayfeld’s direction. The convict let out a low whistle, but said nothing further. The grin Cobb cast Din’s way set something warm alight in his chest and he found himself returning the smile beneath his helmet, feeling foolish that it couldn’t be seen. 

Turning away, Din focused on observing Mayfeld work as he tried to intercept any messages travelling on nearby Imperial channels. His reddish beard was flecked with grey now, his round face bearing more weathering and harder lines that it had when Din left him locked up in the New Republic prison facility all that time ago. 

The prison labor fields had changed him into something rougher. Whether that was good or bad for their cause was something yet to be determined, but Din was keeping a watch on every beady eyed look thrown his way. As was Cara. Mayfeld was high on the list of their potential liabilities. Din had no reason to suspect the retired Imperial sharpshooter had any lingering allegiance to the Empire itself, but he also knew that Migs Mayfeld wasn’t on anyone’s side but his own. That could become an issue.

At least Fennec Shand wouldn’t be a problem. She’d proven surprisingly helpful as they stocked the ship in Mos Eisley, going off to gather rations and weapons from some ‘old friends’ while also taking Mayfeld to pick up his own stash of old Imperial radio equipment. Din half expected her to make a break for it and let Mayfeld loose, but the odd ex-bounty hunter in battered Mandalorian armour didn’t seem the least bit concerned as his partner headed off to the city without him. Fennec had returned within the hour on a loaned speeder stocked with supplies, and a small tin of what looked like an expensive version of bacta balm in hand. The silver container of salve was no bigger than two Calamari flan stacked together and looked like something straight off Corellia or Coruscant, not the rugged street market of Mos Eisley. Din found himself wondering more about why she’d gotten it than how, but it was quickly answered as she moved past him toward the shade of the ship where Boba Fett was resting and gently tapped him on the shoulder, pressing the tin into his hand. Din was far enough away that he couldn’t hear their conversation without activating his helmet, so he simply observed the strange transaction, Fennec gesturing to Fett’s scarred head, then the tin, and a gentle smile worked its way across the older man’s weathered features as he nodded his thanks. 

Fett had described his ordeal with the sarlacc only briefly while making conversation on the trip to Tatooine after springing Mayfeld. Until then, Din hadn’t even considered what kind of pain he must still be in from the experience, his face and body visibly scarred from teeth and acid. The experience with the krayt dragon’s bile taught Din a harsh lesson on the brutality of Tatooine monsters’ gastrointestinal fluids, leaving what scarce bits of skin it reached under his armour raw and scratchy for weeks after. He couldn’t even imagine what being trapped inside a sarlacc for so long would be like. 

No one lived to tell. 

Except Boba Fett. 

The salve was for his wounds. And judging by Boba’s reaction, he hadn’t asked Fennec to get it. That wasn’t the action of someone bound under a debt. That was the kindness of a friend. It was proof enough that the former crime family assassin had changed for the better. Din wasn’t one for optimism, but that notion gave him at least a small fraction of hope. 

The strange pair were sitting together in a corner cleaning their weapons, engrossed in silent conversation. It didn’t seem to be anything conspiratorial, and if Din had to guess, Boba was likely telling Fennec a story. One of his many adventures, perhaps. 

He could imagine Greef Karga sitting with them and spinning a tale of his own, albeit one much taller and less honest than whatever Boba was regaling his friend with. The magistrate elected to remain behind and keep an eye on Nevarro in Cara’s absence which was probably for the best. Still, it would have been nice to have one more person he could trust. 

This was their crew. Two Mandalorian bounty hunters, a marshal who had never set foot off Tatooine, a trained assassin, a former rebel shock trooper, and an ex-Imperial sharpshooter turned escaped convict with a converted Imperial cargo ship spice freighter. Bound by varying levels of allegiance. 

Still, it was the best hope Din had of rescuing the kid from Moff Gideon. 

No, it was his only hope. 

“All right,” Mayfeld held his cuffed hands out eagerly as Cara moved to unlock them, the blue lights dimming as they were disengaged from his wrists. He moved to stand, but Cara shoved him back down roughly and he got the message, holding his hands up innocently as she placed a holo on the floor in front of him. “Kriff, lady! Wanna remind me why the hell I’m doing this again?” 

“To get your charges dropped with the New Republic authorities.” Cara snapped, the words no doubt bitter in her mouth. It was a hard discussion to have with her, but Din knew it was the only thing they had to offer him in exchange for Mayfeld’s cooperation. Credits were scarce and his physical freedom was a few blaster shots away. Freedom from going back on the wanted registry and from being hunted for the next few decades was the best and only thing they had. “You help us find Moff Gideon, and no more looking over your shoulder until the next time you screw something up.”

“Oh, and you can get me that, can you?” Mayfeld’s tone was as sneering and doubtful as it was the first time they explained the deal, but a brightness in his eyes betrayed his interest. He could wriggle all he liked, but he was a fish on the hook all the same. 

Din turned to look at Cobb, catching the mildly disgusted look he was giving Mayfeld as the convict massaged his wrists and flexed his hands, enjoying his newfound freedom. The marshal finished the last of his fruit and stowed his knife away, rising to his feet and crossing his arms as he came to stand by Din. 

“Someone want to explain to me again why we need an Imp helping us out?” Cobb frowned dubiously, looking at the faces around him. “From what you’ve told me, I trust this man about as far as I can throw him.”

Mayfeld’s eyebrows rose and he shot to his feet before Cara could push him down again. “Oh, you want to throw down, hot shot? Come on, pretty boy, let’s have it!”

Cobb’s grin was all teeth and no warmth, and Din felt a shock travel down his spine. The marshal cracked his knuckles and adjusted his stance, banging the vambraces on his arms together and sending a sharp, metallic clang throughout the small craft. There was a practiced coolness in his drawling tone, sinking lower until the words were a smooth rumble. “Right here?” 

“Right now,” Mayfeld agreed, snarling and lunging. 

Fennec and Boba had their blasters trained on him in milliseconds, but Cara and Din both surged into action first, the marshal shouting something as she seized Mayfeld around the middle and threw him bodily into the wall, letting him crumple to the floor with a groan. 

Din was not so brutal, simply placing a firm hand on Cobb’s chest and pushing him back toward the opposite side of the ship, meeting his gaze firmly through the visor. He ignored the warmth of Cobb’s body that he could feel even through the shirt and gloves, ignored the steady thrumming of the other man’s heartbeat as his own roared past his ears, ignored the crystalline shine of his eyes in the light, and stilled him with that unseen look. 

For a brief moment, Din worried that Cobb might choose to throw him aside and go after Mayfeld, and he couldn’t say he would have blamed him. But, after a few moments, Cobb just let out a soft breath, finally giving in. The tension visibly leached from his wiry body and Cobb settled against Din’s hand, meeting his eyes- or at least looking at where he assumed they were beneath the helmet- and giving him a small nod.

They were good. 

Din sighed, relieved that at least they had whatever level of trust it was that allowed him to calm the marshal from the fight. The last thing they needed was their crew falling apart before they even got off the planet. 

“Enough!” Cara shouted, sweeping her hands out to keep both men separated as Mayfeld got back to his feet, now eyeing her cautiously as he slowly moved beyond her reach in case she decided to grab him again. “The next person who acts up gets thrown out into the sandstorm to be dug up in the morning, got it?”

Mayfeld swallowed nervously, swiping his tongue over his lips as he continued to massage his wrists. “Got it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cobb nodded politely at Cara and Din noticed the small pleased smile that snuck onto her face. 

Maker above, Cobb knew exactly what he was doing. Din could have laughed, but it didn’t come that easily. Not for a while. 

“Good,” Cara sounded satisfied, and she nudged the holo with her foot, activating the projection. A blue beam of light flickered from the small puck in the center of the floor and Boba and Fennec made their way over, recognizing something was happening. “Mayfeld, show us what you’ve got.”

The holo took the form of a ship, suspended in the air as the small group gathered around. Din couldn’t help but feel a curl of disgust coil in his stomach as he recognized the flickering image before him. 

Moff Gideon’s cruiser. 

It was something he couldn’t forget, seeing it concealed in the clouds above Tython and helpless to do anything as it destroyed the Crest and took his child in a matter of moments. That ship and the man who ran it took everything from him. It was impossible not to hate even the sight of it.

“Right,” Mayfeld clapped his hands together, getting down to business like it was just any one of his old heists. “Well, what you’ve got here is your standard Arquitens-class light cruiser. Imperial officers used these as escort ships to support larger vessels, but they also work as light warships. They’re small, but they can pack a punch.” His hand passed through the holo as he pointed out the protruding engines at the back. “Three engines at the back, two forward spars, and up here’s the bridge.”

Looking at it now on the holo, it seemed bigger than it actually was, but Mayfeld was right- it was actually rather small. The ship was triangular and almost narrow in build, much like a spearhead. Three large engines rested at the back and Din could make out the small T-shaped structure of the bridge just ahead of them on the main hull of the ship, just as Mayfeld indicated.

“Now, I don’t gotta tell you this thing’s got guns,” Mayfeld said, giving a pointed look at Din as he continued gesturing to the holo. “There’s a reason they built a navy out of these. The ventral laser cannon down here’s what took out that hunk of junk you called a ship-”

“Easy,” Din cautioned in a low voice, hand tightened around his blaster, and Mayfeld checked himself. 

“Fine, beautiful ship, darling of the Outer Rim sky, whatever,” Mayfeld shrugged dismissively. “Point is it’s gone. Don’t let the Arquitens’ size fool you, that’s all I’m saying. It’s got turbolasers, missiles, and between the shields and medium range sensors there’s no way Moff isn’t going to see us coming. They’ll blast this spice freighter out of the sky before we can even dream about docking.” He tapped the wall of the shuttle for emphasis. 

“We could jet up,” Boba suggested, looking to Din. “I saw where those droid troopers went in when I followed them up to the ship. There are two entry bays on either side on the inferior of the underbelly. Easy enough to use our jetpacks and fly up just like they did.”

Din shook his head. It was a good plan, but it wouldn’t work with their crew. “This mission is going to need more than just the two of us.”

“We can carry the others,” Boba looked around as he spoke and immediately Fennec held her hands up, smiling almost nervously. 

“No, I’m not doing that again. Not after that fiasco in Mos Espa.”

“I caught you,” Boba sounded almost comically defensive, eyes widening slightly.

“After you dropped me.” Fennec persisted. 

Cobb raised his hand slightly, glancing over at Din. “Not that I don’t trust you, friend, but I would like not to be dropped before we get your kid back, if it’s all the same to you.”

Din allowed himself a soft chuckle, so quiet that even he couldn’t hear it. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mayfeld held his hands up in a time-out signal. “Go back to the part about the droid troopers. Nobody said anything about droid troopers. What did you see?”

Boba gave a brief description of the large, black metal droids that had snatched the child and Din watched as confusion, then steady realization dawned across the former sharpshooter’s face. 

“Wow,” Mayfeld raised his eyebrows and ran a hand over his bald head, looking around at the group. “You really are going on a suicide mission. You have no clue what you’re going up against.”

Cara grit her teeth impatiently. “Care to enlighten us?”

“Well,” Mayfeld blew out a breath, leaning back against the wall. “It sounds to me like Gideon made himself some dark troopers.”

There was a beat of silence as Cara Dune visibly blanched. In all their time together, that was the second time Din had seen her as rattled at this. Whatever those things were, she knew about them. 

“Those were all destroyed.” she said steadily, but it sounded like she was just trying to convince herself. “How does Gideon even have the resources to do that?”

Mayfeld spread his hands. “Hey, lady, I just call it like I see it.”

“Dank farrik,” Cara cursed under her breath, looking away. 

Din had about ten different questions on what that was supposed to mean, but judging by Cara’s expression it wasn’t the time to push it. 

“Where are we headed?” Fennec cut in almost impatiently, absently spinning a vibroblade she plucked from her belt. “I could do without any more surprises.”

Mayfeld picked up one of his tablets, skimming through the contents. “I managed to patch into an old encrypted Imperial channel somewhere nearby- this equipment is pretty good at reaching messages that aren’t more than a few sectors away- and it looks like there was a message received by a Dr…Pershing on Kamino, somewhere in the city of Tipoca. I imagine that’s where we’ll be headed.”

“Kamino?” Boba Fett’s voice was rough when he spoke, and as Din glanced toward him he could see the last flickers of emotion quickly swept away. The waver in his tone was something hard to miss.

“That’s where the Republic got their clones, isn’t it?” Cara frowned at him, arching a dark eyebrow curiously. “You know it?”

“I-” Boba swallowed, adjusting his hold on his helmet as he kept it close to his side like he was reassuring itself of its presence. “It’s my homeworld. I’ve not been back in many years.”

There was clearly a story there, but not one they could entertain at the moment. Cara simply nodded, grabbing the tablet from Mayfeld and projecting a holo of the planet where the cruiser had once been. 

Cobb whistled gently, eyes wide as he assessed the image in front of him. There was a level of wonder in his face that Din never expected to see on him, gaze adhered to the shimmering blue planet. “That’s more water than I’ve seen in my entire life. I never knew that much existed in the whole entire galaxy.”

Din almost smiled in spite of himself. It was easy to forget that someone like the marshal had never set foot off his home planet. His amazed expression was worth more than a hundred camtonos of silicax crystals and Din was almost afraid to see it dim, but it remained a bit longer. 

“There’s much more to the universe than the dune seas of Tatooine,” Boba said sagely, a gentleness to his words as Cobb’s awe spread infectiously. Fennec looked like she wanted to stifle a laugh and Cobb shook himself out of his daze, casting an impressed look in Din’s direction before turning his attention back to the holo. 

“Mando, you’ve been real quiet,” Cara looked Din over with a critical gaze as if there were some outward deformity that betrayed his frayed internal state. “I may talk big, but this is your mission. How do we do this?”

He sighed, looking over the holo. There was a distinct sensation of hopelessness that was beginning to creep up his spine, attempting to wriggle its way under his armour and helmet. The stakes had never been higher than they were now. It wasn’t like sneaking onto a base and blowing a reactor, and it wasn’t like trailing a bounty to the nearest backwater skughole. One mishap and the kid- Grogu- could be taken from him for good. 

He didn’t even want to imagine what would happen to the child then. There was only one reason they were fetching Dr. Pershing from Kamino. Din remembered the large hypodermic needle extending from the medical droid he shot down as he rescued Grogu from the Imperial safehouse on Nevarro all that time ago. It wasn’t until they crashed the lab and came across the ‘gram from Pershing that he discovered what its intention was. 

They wanted the child’s blood. For what purpose, Din didn’t care to guess.

Dr. Pershing seemed sympathetic toward Grogu, at least. His fearful words rang out in Din’s head as the memory flashed across his mind, the doctor curled in the corner of the makeshift laboratory, afraid for his life, but defending the child all the same. 

“Please don’t hurt him! It’s just a child!”

He’d thought Din came there to kill the kid. Even with a blaster in his face he begged for the Mandalorian to spare the weakened infant. What was a man like that doing working with Moff Gideon?

“I protected him!” Pershing insisted fearfully. “If it wasn’t for me he would already be dead! Please, please-”

They meant for him to kill the child and drain all of his precious lifeblood in one go. It was only due to his efforts that the child was alive for Din to rescue back then. But still, a question remained. Would Dr. Pershing do the same now? Would he continue to protect him?

But how could he protect the child against his own cruel experimentation?

Din shook his head imperceptibly. He didn’t trust any help to come from him.

They had to get this right. 

An unfamiliar knot of dread curled in his gut like a Rodian eel, but he forced it down, drawing his shoulders back as he crossed his arms, speaking to all of them, but looking at Cobb- not that anyone could tell. 

“I see this going one of two ways” he said evenly, trying to think. “The ship is small enough to where it could land above the water outside of the city, but they might also wait in the air and send a transport down to grab him. There’s no way we’ll be able to take this ship close enough to the ship to board without them noticing, so our best bet is sneaking aboard whatever transport they use to get Pershing.”

“It’ll depend on the weather,” Boba interjected, stepping forward. “Storms can get bad on Kamino. Sometimes they won’t risk transport ships for fear of lightning downing it into the water. A cruiser Gideon’s size would have no trouble hovering above the waves, so it’s possible they’d risk a small transport to run the short distance from the city across the water. With the city so close, we’d have a better chance of escape once we rescue the child.”

“There’ll be escorts for the Doc,” Mayfeld added, taking his tablet back from Cara with an irritable glance. “Imperial scientists are few and far between nowadays, and they’ll likely be expecting us. We should disable the guards and hijack the transport. Easy enough.”

 “We?” Din turned to face him.

Mayfeld shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a team player.”

Din didn’t dare let the fledgling flicker of optimism grow any further for fear of it consuming him. Their plan was somewhat simplistic, but he’d heard worse. They had much more going for them than he’d hoped. With Mayfeld’s experience as an Imperial soldier and Boba’s familiarity with the planet, there was little in the way of logistics that could get past them. Fennec seemed silently enthusiastic while Cara nodded lightly, eyes gleaming 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not a huge fan of crashing Gideon’s party with a ship named after a spice dream ,” Cara smirked, looking around the shuttle like she could still remember all the camtonos of illegal spice that filled the cargo hold. “Anyone got any suggestions?” 

“You should name it, partner.” Cobb touched Din’s shoulder lightly, resting his hand over the pauldron as he looked over at the Mandalorian. “It just seems right.”

‘After what happened to the Razor Crest’ was unspoken.

Cara shrugged. “Fine by me. Mando, you want to do the honors?” 

That took him by surprise. He looked around as if in search of guidance, but there was none forthcoming. Din almost sighed before his attention was captured once again by the weight on Cobb’s hand on his shoulder that was increasingly difficult to ignore the longer it stayed there. When was the last time someone had done something like that? When was the last time anyone but Grogu even touched the beskar without him trying to snap their wrist in two?

“Marshal,” Din said after a pause, only half aware that he’d spoken aloud. He cleared his throat and looked at Cara. “Marshal Three.” 

Mayfeld snorted. “Right, because that’s somehow less conspicuous.” 

“Does he have an off switch?” Fennec twirled one of her vibroblades menacingly and Mayfeld held his hand up in mock surrender. 

Cobb and Cara both seemed pleased by the ship’s new moniker, and Din felt his face warm beneath the helmet the longer he looked at Cobb’s brilliant smile, softened by the artificial lights of the ship, but radiant all the same.

“Well, we’d better get some rest while we can,” Fennec suggested, striding over to ladder and climbing up to the cockpit. Judging from the following sounds, it seemed like she was throwing herself down in one of the seats and stretching her legs out over the control panel. “We’re not going anywhere until the storm clears and the suns rise. Might as well get comfortable."

There were no arguments there.

“I’d rather not sleep in shackles if it’s all the same to you,” Mayfeld eyed the restraints warily.

Cara looked to Din, and after a moment he found himself inclining his head forward by the barest degree of a nod. She huffed and settled down on the opposite side of the ship, glaring at Mayfeld. “Fine.”

Surprisingly, it was Boba who stepped up in front of Mayfeld, standing just mere inches from his face as he stared him down, his words barely above a growl. 

“If you try and slit anyone’s throats or make a break for it while we sleep, I will get you, and I will torture you so slowly you’ll be begging me to throw you to a sarlacc. Is that understood?” 

Mayfeld’s throat bobbed nervously as he swallowed. “Yes.”

Cobb grinned at Din, making himself comfortable against the nearest wall. “This is gonna be great.”

Chapter Text

Din was awoken by a pain in his stomach that refused to go away. 

Outside, the winds had stopped their howling and left the inside of the shuttle in relative silence, save for the soft breathing of its sleeping occupants and the intermittent snores coming from Mayfeld’s direction. 

Sleeping arrangements were decided without being spoken, the group wordlessly breaking off into pairs and situating themselves around the small cargo craft. Fennec and Boba took the pilots seats in the cockpit above, while Cara kept close to Mayfeld, the two of them stretched out in opposite directions across the width of the cargo bay. The marshal had taken almost full responsibility over keeping an eye on the convict, and that meant even proximity in sleep. A wrong move meant they would possibly kick each other in the head, and it would have been humorous if Din didn’t think Cara would take any chance to shoot the ex-Imp where he lay. 

No one asked, but Cobb had volunteered to take first watch just to put Cara’s doubts at ease, sitting up against the wall nearest the bay doors beside Din and trading quiet conversation as the storm receded outside. Somehow, he’d talked Din into finally getting some shut eye and the Mandalorian conceded, folding his arms across his chest where he sat and trying to make himself comfortable against the wall. 

He’d managed to sleep for a bit before the discomfort woke him. Din wasn’t a stranger to sleeping rough, and by no means was having shelter like this his definition of such circumstances. He’d slept in much worse places over the years with much worse company. But somehow all of that was nullified by the sharp, stabbing ache of hunger in his abdomen, reminding them that he was still flesh and bone beneath the layers of beskar and padding. 

It was only at night that he noticed these things more acutely, the pangs in his stomach and the tension of muscles long overworked. The dull aches were easy enough to ignore, but every now and then they became piercing and painful. It was something he’d been trying to get used to for decades now. After all, it wasn’t like there was always something to eat in the coverts. Locations changed like the wind, and Din’s memories of what tattered remains of his childhood he held onto at that time were dominated by transience and secrecy. That was when he learned what it meant to survive. Being on the run meant sacrifices. It meant pain and discomfort. But that meant life. It was involuntary, but necessary asceticism. 

This was the Way.

He couldn’t subject Grogu to that, though. When supplies on the ship ran low, the child’s needs and ever growing appetite always came first, even at the expense of Din’s own comfort. Sometimes there wasn’t the privacy needed for him to remove his helmet and take a moment to sustain the man beneath the armour while the child lived free of such limitations. But he would gladly make those sacrifices ten times over if it meant the young one did not have to suffer as he did. He was used to it. A day or two- even three- without food was not unusual. Din would survive it.

Still, that didn’t stop him from drawing in a sharp breath beneath the helmet as he pressed a hand flat down on his stomach like he could somehow suppress the ache beneath the beskar- a trick that never seemed to accomplish much. Din swallowed and was unpleasantly surprised to find his throat incredibly dry, his head beginning to pound slightly with each new minute of consciousness. 

He hated these moments of weakness. Of humanity. 

They felt like failure.

He pressed his hand against his stomach even firmer. The pain lanced up. 

There was a shift to his left and Din held his breath and kept still, hoping he hadn’t somehow disturbed Cobb’s sleep. Mayfeld’s snores went undisturbed and Cara’s own murmuring was barely audible, but present. Beside him, though, there was nothing of the sort. 

Din felt a jolt of panic as for a moment he thought that perhaps Cobb had somehow vanished, only to turn and see him already looking back at the Mandalorian, sitting upright and awake right where he’d always been, a soft smile gracing his tired features. 

“Bad dreams?” Cobb’s voice was little more than a whisper and he edged closer to Din so their shoulders were pressed together, leaning toward the helmet as he spoke. “I hope it wasn’t me that woke you.”

His heart chose that strange moment to begin hammering in his chest and Cobb’s weight against his side became a fixed point of his consciousness as the intangible warmth made itself more present in his mind. The beskar pauldron was entirely in the way, just as it had been before when Cobb rested his hand there. 

Din noticed rather distractedly that at some point Cobb had relocated his red neckerchief and secured it loosely around his throat once again. Earlier, Din had noticed the star shaped scar that created over the junction of his neck and shoulder, but now it was securely hidden beneath the fabric. 

“How-” Din swallowed again, but it did nothing to soothe his parched throat. “How did you know I was awake?”

“Simple, I just used my vast intelligence,” Cobb’s eyes shone in the low light, shadows deepening what few lines his face bore from time and wear. He gave Din a briefly teasing grin before turning and patting around in the darkness at his side, pulling a small canvas bag onto his lap. 

He was careful to be quiet as he searched through his bag and Din watched in silent confusion, wondering what he was even looking for at this hour, but after another moment one of Cobb’s hands closed around his free one. It took everything he had to suppress the instinctual twitch that arose at the contact, but he managed to allow Cobb to press what looked like a sealed bag of dehydrated meat and a flask of water into his hand, guiding it back to rest in his lap.

“You look like you need this.” the marshal whispered, his features lightly painted over with concern and kindness. “Don’t go trying to tell me otherwise.”

Din wasn’t sure when the selflessness of Cobb Vanth would cease to surprise him, but now was not that time. He simply stared, unsure of what to say beyond the peculiar fact that Cobb seemed to possess the ability of seeing what he should be able to. “How-?”

“I know the look,” Cobb said knowingly, nodding down to the hand that Din forgot he still had against his stomach. “Finally got to the point where you couldn’t ignore it. Still tried to anyway ‘cos you think you got to.”

There was something deeply personal about those words and not for the first time Din longed to learn what kind of a life Cobb led before he found the armour that liberated him. All the clues he had were vague scraps that bled through in his words and the scar Cobb kept hidden on his neck. Din knew a slave brand when he saw it. But there was more to his history than that. He was sure of it.

It was a strange feeling. Din never felt this kind of curiosity with anyone before. An innocent wonder instead of the intel needed to be gathered on a bounty. 

Cobb looked like he expected him to say something, but Din was silent. It was difficult to speak past the swell of… something in his chest as he looked down at the jerky packet and flask of water. It was such a simple gesture, but one saturated with a kindness that was wholly unfamiliar to him. A kindness that he’d not known since a brief spell on the planet of Sorgan… 

Din shook himself from his thoughts and focused on the moment at hand. It was a kind gesture, but nothing could come of it. There was no privacy for him to remove his helmet. The beginnings of frustration began to pile up in his throat as he looked around the packed space and the people surrounding him. Even if Cobb promised not to look this would be dangerously close to breaching the Creed-

“I also know your code don’t let you take the helmet off in front of others,” Cobb continued in a low murmur so as not to disturb the others. “So I figure you can just close yourself up in the ‘fresher. Ain’t gonna be any help to the kid if you’re hungry and tired like this.” 

“I don’t-”

“Most folks would just say ‘thank you’.” Cobb suggested with a wry smile, and Din took the friendly jab for what it was.

Thank you. Well that was simple enough. 

Din swallowed again and drew in a shallow breath. “Thank you.”

Cobb smiled again, and suddenly they were back in the Mos Pelgo light, sand swirling past their feet, warm suns beating down on them. How did people learn to smile like that? 

There was another beat of silence as they continued to sit there. 

After a moment, Cobb turned to him. “You gonna go eat?” 

“In a minute.”

Cobb shifted so his shoulder was leaning against the wall as he faced Din. “Got room in that minute for a question?”

Din was surprised by his own answer, and even more surprised at how forthcoming it was. It was Cobb, after all. 

“Sure.” 

“I’ve been thinking,” Cobb said quietly. “I don’t think I ever asked. The kid. Does he have a name?” 

Din let out a soft breath, closing his eyes. “Grogu. His name is Grogu.”

Cobb seemed mildly surprised that he even shared it, and Din opened his eyes to see him mouthing the name silently like he was testing it out. 

“Do you call him that?”

Din shifted his shoulder slightly in a shrug. 

“Sometimes.” And it was the truth. He’d only learned the name recently but used it at every turn he could just to watch the way the kid’s eyes lit up whenever his big ears picked it up. The delighted coo that came from him was enough to put a smile on Din’s face each and every time. 

But there was a time when he didn’t know that name. When in his head, he called the child Ad’ika.

He never called him that out loud. After all, Din didn’t even know how much Basic the child understood, so how could Din expect him to recognize Mando’a, never mind the significance of the name? 

Ad’ika. 

My child. 

But he couldn’t just call him ‘child’. 

Kid was the closest to ad’ika that Basic had to offer him. 

Din swallowed down the lump of emotion that threatened to choke him. 

We’ll get him back. Everything will be fine. 

“And you?” Cobb asked in a voice so gentle it was like he knew he was treading some unspoken line that few dared touch. “You got a name?”

Din hadn’t been moving before, but it was then that he felt himself fully freeze, his breath stilling beneath his helmet. 

For the briefest of moments, he almost considered it. There was an intangible vein of temptation and it was almost enough to compel him. 

It had been so long since he shared his name. It no longer came casually as an introduction or a title. At some point he lost sense of the boy that name had been given to and the man who wore it now, and he knew that happened the moment he put the helmet on, never to show his face again.

 Faceless, nameless. That was a Mandalorian. 

At some point, his name became connected to his face, his identity, and that was something he’d always been taught to shield. Never remove your helmet in front of others. Never show your face. 

And that was perhaps why it was so hard to share. 

Things came and went. His past was lost to war. 

But his name was something he could always hold near. It was so closely tied to the helmet, the shell of beskar that both protected and hid him from the world. 

If he shared his name, if he pulled on that string- 

He didn’t know what else would happen. Likely something he’d regret. It didn’t matter how much he trusted Cobb, that he knew the marshal would never use the knowledge against him, it just- he just wasn’t ready. 

He wasn’t ready. 

So Din sighed, gathering himself up and beginning to stand as quietly as he could, avoiding the wall so the beskar didn’t strike it as he looked down at Cobb. “You shouldn’t ask.”

Cobb looked genuinely confused, and Din almost envied him for that innocence. “Why not?”

“Because… I’m afraid I might tell you.” Din sighed again, then held up the water and jerky. “Thank you. For…” 

Cobb nodded, disappointment evident in his features, but he seemed to take it in stride. “Any time, partner.” 

Din closed himself in the ‘fresher, almost collapsing against the door as it fell shut behind him. He threw the items down with little ceremony and tore his helmet off, gripping the edge of the sink so tight he half expected the thin metal to bend under the force. 

He was glad there wasn’t a mirror.

It didn’t hold anything he wanted to see.

------

There were storms on Kamino that morning. 

It was a blessing for their plan, but as Din stood pressed against the side of a shipping container with the sky emptying what felt like an entire ocean over his armour, it seemed more like a curse. 

The city was small, though he’d seen smaller. It was strangely built, standing on a myriad of stilts that supported the flat domed buildings above the steely, unforgiving waves that crashed in the near distance. Even through the helmet he could detect the faintest traces of brine from the sea. Perhaps it would have been pleasant elsewhere, but Din couldn’t shake the unease that came from not having solid land beneath his feet. The architecture was sound, he was sure, but after having spent so much time planetside the past few years it was difficult to get used to the idea that below the landing platform there was nothing but deep water. Somehow, that was worse than the empty vacuum of space. At least that was familiar. 

But here, on Kamino, with nothing but frigid grey waves in the distance broken only by the sight of Gideon’s shuttle- 

Din grit his teeth as the wind shifted and hurled a fresh wave of cold their way. The beskar spear was beginning to get slick with rain and he adjusted his grip tighter around the unfamiliar weapon, using it as a staff to steady himself. 

The landscape went against everything he hoped for, and a dozen different alarms went off in his head as his trained instincts warned him that he was too exposed, there wasn’t enough cover, someone would see- 

He had to trust Boba Fett’s plan. This was his terrain. He knew what they were doing. 

Or so Din hoped. 

They managed to use one of the stolen landing codes in the Marshal Three’s system to bring the ship down on the other side of the city and keep it there. Din didn’t think there was anything close to a lucrative spice trade on Kamino, but he wasn’t going to complain about the stroke of luck that had come their way. Being the capital city, Tipoca received much of the planet's scarce imports, meaning there was a wide array of landing platforms available surrounding the isolated standing city. The buildings themselves seemed designed to deflect much of the water, all sloped and domed for rain to slide right off into an intricate network of efficient gutters and drains returning it to the sea. There were very few places to hide in a city like this, and Din knew that was why he’d never been to the planet. With structures like this, no bounty in their right mind would choose to flee to Kamino. It was only good for one thing. Drowning. The landing platform itself was covered in a consistent inch of water that continued to build up before it could even have a chance at draining out. 

The other thing on the platform, however, was the shipping containers. Without them, everything would have failed. Din found himself increasingly thankful for the slight shelter that the large container of foodstuffs provided them against the wider expanse of the platform. From where he stood with Cobb and Mayfeld, the landing area was in decent view, but they were also concealed enough from anyone who might step out of the ship. The downside was that the crates were almost at the very edge of the platform, and there were no guard rails to prevent any one of them from taking a tumble into the ocean. If Din lay down with his feet against the shipping containers, his head would just be shy of the platform’s end. They were lucky the containers provided shelter from the wind. 

Across from their small group, on the other side of the platform, was another stack of containers, and there stood Boba, Fennec, and Cara, huddled close against the rain.

Waiting. 

Waiting for the landing craft to be sent out to fetch Dr. Pershing. 

Mayfeld insisted that this was the platform indicated on the transmission he’d picked up on earlier. They only had his word on the place and time, but seeing as Gideon’s cruiser was quite literally in sight, Din had to assume he’d been surprisingly truthful for a man in his position. They were getting lucky with his cooperation, Din knew. 

He just wondered when that luck would run out. 

Din would have been concerned about Cobb’s presence had Fennec not produced a set of durasteel armour from one of the crates for him to wear. It wasn’t beskar, that was for certain, but it was better than nothing. At least he looked less vulnerable now and more like the marshal Din saw when he first set foot on Mos Pelgo. He looked strong. Capable. 

And he was. He was that and more. 

Din wasn’t sure if he’d admit it, but he was overwhelmingly glad for the man’s presence. It was reassuring to have him there, a point of focus and trust for when his nerves began to fray the longer they waited for the transport. There was something so inherently hopeful about the way Cobb looked at everything, something… warm, like he somehow carried both suns of Tatooine with them to this isolated, gloomy place. 

All he had was determination. And that was something distinctly different from hope.

Hope. That was what the kid needed. Hope. 

“All this water,” Cobb marveled, holding his hand out and letting large drops of rain splash across his palm as he angled his face up to the sky, inhaling deeply. “And folks on Tatooine have to suck the air dry just for a sip.”

The marshal almost looked half drowned where he stood, his hair plastered to his brow by the incessant rain, but the expression on his face was priceless. Din was certain that in the small time they’d known each other he’d never seen the other man this happy or content. His own reservations about Kamino aside, he could understand how it must have all looked to a man who spent his entire life on a desert planet without a body of water bigger than a bantha’s watering trough. 

“You can’t drink the water,” Din found himself saying, immediately cursing himself for doing so. He didn’t need to ruin Cobb’s moment with his own negativity. 

But, thankfully, Cobb only seemed curious, blinking the rain from his eyes as he turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

Din pointed vaguely behind them toward the edge of the landing platform, indicating the sea beyond. He cleared his throat, feeling almost embarrassed. “It’s uh- it’s an ocean. It’s salt water. And the rain has pollutants. You can’t drink it. They have to filter it all in a facility.”

“Salt…” Cobb frowning, looking over at the ocean. “What, like spotchka?”

Din stifled a cough that might have been a laugh in another life. “Sure. Like spotchka.”

Cobb snorted, unabashed by his own lack of knowledge as he shrugged and leaned against the storage containers, shaking the water from his blasters. “Well, speaking as someone who never set foot off Tatooine until this morning, I gotta say I’m a little lost. Water’s water.”

“Most people would just complain about the weather.” Din smiled in spite of himself. 

“Well, I’m not most people, am I?” Cobb flashed him a grin.

“No,” Din agreed before he knew what he was saying. “You’re better.”

Cobb seemed struck into silence by that admission.

Just off to the side, Mayfeld coughed, deliberately reminding them of his presence. Din felt the stirrings of irritation rise in him again, but he pressed them back down, just choosing to ignore the man. Cobb seemed to have much the same idea because he simply continued talking, angling to face Din.

“I wanted to say sorry about my questions last night,” Cobb managed not to sound awkward in his apology, somehow making direct eye contact through the visor. “I know I probably crossed some kinda line, so I just-”

“It’s fine.” Din said quickly, if only to keep him from saying any further on the subject in front of Mayfeld who was becoming less and less impressed with the way their conversation was headed. 

“It’s fine?” Cobb arched an eyebrow.

“It’s fine.” Din confirmed.

“I’ve got another question for you, then.” Cobb reached up to smooth his soaked hair back, brushing more rain from where it had pooled in the edges of his vambraces. “Did you mean what you said back then? You trusted me to take care of the kid?”

What was Din supposed to say? That this wasn’t the right time? It was a one word answer. 

Din drew in a slight breath and he adjusted his grip on the beskar spear yet again. “Yes.”

“Maker above, do you two need to get a room or somethin’?” Mayfeld hissed at them, shifting his hold on the Amban rifle, blatantly irritated now. “I’m tryna concentrate over here.”

Cobb looked like he had some choice words for the man, but Din shook his head slightly, effectively discouraging him.

As much as he hated it, Mayfeld was right. He did need to focus.

Their groups weren’t random by any means. There was a reason Mayfeld and Fennec were separated from each other, split between both positions on the platform. For all Mayfeld’s undesirable qualities, he was one of their best sharpshooters behind Fennec Shand. Din prided himself on being a good shot, and he had no doubts about anyone else on the team, but a bit of specialization wouldn’t hurt. 

Two teams. On both, a sharpshooter, a marshal, and a Mandalorian. It was almost poetic. 

They were counting on Fennec and Mayfeld taking out the escorts on the landing craft once they stepped out for Dr. Pershing. Once the stormtroopers were down, they would move out in waves. Mayfeld and Fennec would cover Cobb and Cara respectively as they ran to drag the bodies back into the shuttle and strip them of their uniforms. Din and Boba would keep an eye out for any sudden disturbances in case a nearby authority noticed the scuffle, then they too would make a run for the transport. The information on board would tell them where Pershing was, and things would commence from there. Depending on how many imps were on the escort, anyone not wearing beskar would suit up and disguise themselves as the unit. 

As for Pershing… well, that was up to Din.

The winds continued to howl around the platform and Din saw Mayfeld adjust his position again to accommodate for the wind. It was a risky move to rely only on the snipers, but Din was low on whistling birds and he didn’t know what kind of heat they would face once on board Gideon’s cruiser. Every last one might need to count. 

As another strong gust of wind came their way, Din looked around, worried about the proximity of the platform’s edge until he saw what the source of the current was.

It wasn’t the storm.

It was the transport. 

An Imperial landing craft was hovering above the platform and gradually touching down, the slowing engines still kicking up a significant disturbance in the air. Across the platform, Din saw Boba grab hold of Fennec by the back of her coat, anchoring the slighter woman with his own strength as their position left them more vulnerable to the airstream. Water began to spray out in all directions as it was displaced from the platform and Din was thankful for the helmet, otherwise the water would have blinded him.

Finally, the engines died as the shuttle set down on the platform, and the cargo door began to lower with a hiss and mechanical whir, light spilling out from the inside and reflecting across the water on the ground. 

Oddly enough, it seemed to resemble the Marshal Three, though Din was certain it wasn’t of the same classification. There was a strange dorsal fin on the ship and only had two large wings on the side, distinguishing it from its smaller counterpart. 

He felt a twist of anticipation in his gut and reached for his blaster, transferring the spear to his other hand. Cobb dug his feet into the ground, preparing to run. Mayfeld’s finger twitched against the trigger. 

In the distance, Cara gave a stiff nod, pointing two fingers sharply toward the transport.

Look alive.

The cargo bay door settled against the ground, wide open for the four stormtroopers to promptly shuffled onto the ramp in formation, bodies bent forward against the wind. 

“Go!” Din hissed at Mayfeld, and he saw Cara turn to Fennec, the same command on her lips.

The shots were almost perfectly synchronized, brief flashes of red cutting into the grey atmosphere. Din could only hear Mayfeld’s two shots ring out in short succession, but he knew Fennec’s had struck true as well when all four troopers dropped before they could even clear the ramp. 

Din reached out to push Cobb, but the man was already running across the platform at a full sprint, Mayfeld keeping close behind as he kept a look out for any potential threats. Cobb reached the ship just before Cara, but he was going too fast and crashed to the ground when he tried to stop, slipping on the wet platform and falling hard. For a moment, Din felt his throat seize in anxiety, but the other marshal was quick to haul him upright, propelling Cobb back into action as the two sharpshooters put their backs to the ship, training their scopes on the nearby buildings. 

Across the platform, Din could see Boba Fett prepared to bolt toward the ship. Somehow, even at that distance, even with their helmets on, he was certain the other bounty hunter was facing him. A Mandalorian instinct, he supposed. 

Cobb and Cara made quick work of dragging the dead stormtroopers onto the ship, and Mayfeld and Fennec both made their hand signals to the Mandalorians. 

Boba gave Din a nod which was swift returned, and the two ran. 

Din was careful not to make Cobb’s mistake and kept an even pace, slowing himself well before he reached the ramp and grabbing hold of one of the poles to keep himself steady as he made his way up into the ship. Boba wasn’t far behind and stumbled aboard moments after, breathing heavily.

They did it, Din thought almost giddily, relieved by their efficient success. They had the transport. 

It was a welcome change to be somewhere dry even with the winds whipping in from the open door, and he could see Cara squeezing out her hair as best she could while Cobb wrung out the bits of his shirt that weren’t covered by durasteel. Fennec simply cast her helmet off, shaking out her dry braid of hair and Mayfeld grumbled to himself, slinging the rifle across his back as he checked his gun harness to make sure everything was secure. 

“Alright,” Din said, looking around the shuttle for good places for him and Boba to conceal themselves when Pershing boarded. There was a ladder that went up to the cockpit which was conveniently out of sight. That would work. He turned back to the small group before him, striking the beskar staff against the ground to call attention, relishing the crisp sound of the metal ringing out in the small space. “I don’t care how wet you are, the uniform goes on. Find one that fits you best and deal with it. You can get it off as soon as we’re on Gideon’s cruiser. Hide the bodies under that canvas and put some crates in front of them.” Then, looking over at the convict, “Mayfeld, you’re going to pilot us in and use your ex-Imperial charm to get us docked safely. Fett and I will hide out of sight from Dr. Pershing in the cockpit. Whatever the rest of you do, don't spook him. Don’t give him any reason to think something is wrong. Got it?”

There were murmurs of assent from the group and Din set the beskar spear against the nearest wall, standing back as they quickly set to work stripping the dead men of their uniforms and concealed the bodies as best they could. Din almost felt pity for the people beneath the white Imperial shells, but it was quickly replaced by a curl of disgust. 

They chose the wrong side, he thought darkly, looking away from the corpses. They chose the wrong side in a war that ended long ago, but somehow still continued on. 

They had their chance to leave the Empire when it fell. But they stayed. They joined.

Din’s only sympathy for them was that they were damned fools. 

“Must be nice to get back in your old uniform,” Cara sneered at Mayfeld as she finished getting the armour on, flexing her hands to get a feel of the stiff gloves that now encased them. 

Mayfeld paused from sticking his feet into the too large boots of his uniform, face flushed with indignity and his jaw set angrily as he whirled on her. “Hey, I wasn’t a stormtrooper, you-”

“Shut up and suit up,” Fennec interjected, cutting him off before he could sling any choice insults Cara’s way. 

Cobb cast an amused look Din’s way as he finished pulling on the uniform of the tallest trooper they had of the four. He opened his mouth to say something, but it quickly snapped shut as something close to shock passed over his thin face.

Din was quick to turn and see what he was staring at, blaster drawn in a heartbeat and leveled directly at the figure that came in off the ramp. 

Rain dripped off a set of large, round glasses, and the newcomer let out a sharp gasp as he found himself staring down the wrong end of a blaster that soon began to waver. Din could barely keep back the sudden surge of anger that crested over seeing him again, and the man’s fearful expression only dampened it a fraction. 

Dr. Pershing. 

Recognition was plastered all over the smaller man’s ridiculously expressive face and he flapped his mouth open and shut like a fish out of water, frozen with shock as he looked around at the crew surrounding him and the second Mandalorian in the corner. Pershing’s movements were sharp and jerky as he turned back to Din, blinking rapidly behind his glasses.

“It’s you,” Dr. Pershing managed to choke out, paling with fear. “B-But they said- you died.”

Din suddenly felt his throat go dry and he tightened his hold on the blaster, pointing it directly at the doctor’s face. “What?”

Pershing’s hands flew up on either side of his head and he glanced around nervously, suddenly aware of all the weapons now trained on him. “Th-the ship. Y-you were s-supposed to be on it. Gideon said-”

The Razor Crest.

There was a dull thud behind him, but Din couldn’t take his attention off Pershing, trying to process that information.

Gideon had targeted the Razor Crest with the assumption that Din was inside when it blew to pieces. All the stormtroopers died on the transports Boba shot down and the droids were already up in the air with the child, so how was he to know any different? 

But if Gideon thought he was dead, did Grogu think-?

Someone shouted and a blaster shot rang out. But it was the crunch of a hand breaking against the side of his helmet brought Din hurtling back into the present. 

Instinct kicked in, and before he knew what he was doing or who he was facing, Din seized the hand by the wrist and spun, driving a beskar plated knee right into the stormtrooper’s codpiece. He could hear the material crack under the force and a pained howl escaped beneath the white helmet, but the Mandalorian didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy, his instincts and adrenaline surging forth as he landed a foot directly in the man’s chest. 

The stormtrooper flew back into the opposite wall and Dr. Pershing turned to flee, but Cara slammed a hand into the control panel, sealing the doors right in his face. 

Heartbeat hammering in his ears, Din raised his blaster to finish the trooper off, but Boba beat him to the chase, surging forward and seizing the man around the neck with two deft motions.

There was a dull crack that resonated throughout the closed space, and the stormtrooper fell to the floor, helmet twisted at an unnatural angle. Dead. 

Pershing let out a panicked yelp and pressed himself against the closed door, trying to put as much distance between himself and the others as possible, but Din grabbed him by the front of his uniform and threw him to the ground in the center of the craft. He holstered his blaster and grabbed the spear, levelling the tip directly at his bobbing throat.

“Don’t,” Din hissed venomously. “ Move.”

The doctor whimpered and remained sprawled on the floor, unmoving.

Cara swore and grabbed the body of the fallen stormtrooper, throwing it with the others. “I thought we got all of them!”

“He was hiding in the cockpit,” Cobb rasped out as he leaned against the wall, holding a hand to the back of his head and wincing. “Damn bastard got me in the head.”

“You good?” Din asked roughly, his voice several octaves lower than it had been in months. 

Cobb nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘m good.”

“What do we do with him?” Boba stepped close to Din’s side, looking down at the cowering form of the doctor beneath the point of the spear. “Kill him?”

“No!” Pershing yelped, holding his hands up defensively. “P-please, please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything-”

“You’re going to help me get the kid back.” Din growled at him, feeling a surge of rage unlike anything he’d felt before. “Alive. Otherwise, I’m going to let this elite mercenary here get very creative with encouraging your cooperation.”

Fennec gave a small wave, flashing a wicked grin when Pershing glanced her way.

“I can’t,” Pershing whimpered, shaking his head frantically. “If Gideon-”

“Or,” Din lowered the spear even further so the sharp point just barely skimmed the man’s Adam’s apple. “I can just run you through right now and we’ll take our chances without you.”

“Hey! No!” Cobb cut in, quickly striding forward and grabbing the shaft of the spear, pulling it away from Pershing’s throat. The doctor gasped sharply, drawing in a deep breath he’d been holding. The marshal’s gaze was nothing less than steel as he fixed his eyes on Din. “I didn’t sign up for this, partner. I’m not about to stand by and watch while you either kill him or she tortures this poor fella. This isn’t you.”

Din yanked the beskar out of his grip, shifting the spear so it was planted firmly on the ground. 

“I made a vow.” Din’s voice was low, but clearer than ever as he spoke not just to Cobb, but everyone. “I promised the kid I would protect him. I’m going to see that through however I can. Anyone who puts a single mark on him has no place in the galaxy to hide from me. I’m not letting some doctor get in the way of that.”

Cobb understood a lot of things, but could he understand this? This desperation and fear, this devotion and loyalty? 

Din would do whatever it took to get the kid back safely. He meant that in every sense of the word. 

He would follow his oath through, even if it killed him. 

Even if it meant killing Pershing. 

“Okay,” Pershing gasped suddenly, and all eyes were on him as he scrambled into a sitting position, twitchy with fear as he looked around at the faces above him. “I-I’ll do it. Just please-”

“The kid lives, you live,” Din stared down at him firmly. “That’s the only deal you get from me.”

Dr. Pershing reached a shaking hand up to adjust his glasses, rising unsteadily to his feet. “I understand.”

“Good.” Din looked at Cobb and felt a stab of regret at the expression on the marshal’s face. 

Relief. 

Relief and disapproval.

Din would earn Cobb’s forgiveness another time. Right now, they needed to get to work.

He gave a nod to the rest of the crew, and they went into motion, carrying out the plan.

Time to go get the kid.

Chapter Text

Across the shuttle, Cobb was bracing himself with one of the rungs of the ladder as Mayfeld and Cara piloted the craft above the choppy waters toward Gideon’s ship. He hadn’t so much as looked at Din since the threat to Pershing. 

Din knew this because he hadn’t stopped looking at Cobb. 

He couldn’t remember the last time in his life that he sought someone’s approval. But for some indecipherable reason he wanted that from Cobb. He wanted the man to be on his side, to approve of what he was doing, to support him- and anything short of that felt like a failure. 

It was becoming more difficult to tell himself that he made the right call in threatening Pershing with torture. After all, the doctor was cooperating. But that begged the question, one that Din knew was consuming Cobb in his silence.

If Pershing hadn’t agreed, would Din have let Fennec do it? Would he have let her torture him?

Would Din have killed him?

Yes, a traitorous voice in his mind spoke up. For the child, anything. 

That was the horrible truth of it. In that moment, Din would not have even hesitated to make the call. Anything and anyone that stood in the way of him reaching Grogu would be struck down without a second’s thought. 

Cobb wasn’t a bleeding heart. Din knew that. He had no issue with them killing the transport's escort. He’d told Din of his own revenge on the mining company that enslaved his town. The tuskens he’d killed. 

So what about this was so different? The fact that it was Din holding the weapon? If that was it, he could have laughed. 

“This isn’t you.” That was what Cobb said.

If only you knew, Din thought solemnly, his eyes still fixed on the marshal. If only you knew half the things I’ve done. 

This wouldn’t even be a conversation. 

Well, Din took in the vast silence between them. It’s not like it was anyway.  

“I don’t understand,” Dr. Pershing turned to Din as they neared Gideon’s cruiser. It was the first time he’d spoken since they set off across the water, but in that time he seemed to have gained some fraction of confidence that he wasn’t going to be killed outright. “The subject. What do you want with him?”

Din finally tore his eyes from Cobb to look at the man sitting nervously atop a nearby crate, wringing his hands fretfully. Every few seconds his eyes would shift between Din’s helmet and the beskar spear in his hand, never quite able to settle anywhere for a period of time. 

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Din replied evenly, staring at him through the visor. 

The expression must have translated in his stance because Pershing stiffened, suddenly looking even more nervous. 

“I only meant-” the doctor struggled for a moment, deciding how to choose his next words as carefully as possible. “He’s just a child. I don’t understand what value he has to you.”

Value.

Din almost scoffed in disgust, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Cobb visibly react to the crude phrasing, his lips curling unpleasantly. Even Fennec and Boba glanced over from where they stood by the doors, clutching the straps of the storage canopy above for balance. 

Value. Like Grogu was some commodity to be haggled over in a street market, something to be bought and sold, traded and won. Like he wasn’t just some innocent child victimized and persecuted by the remnants of a half dead regime.

Pershing seemed to slowly realize he misspoke because he proceeded to pale significantly, shoulders curling in on himself as he cast wary glances at his captors. He clearly expected someone to lash out at him, but nothing was forthcoming, and he relaxed only slightly. His eyes found Din’s again, half expectant, half nervous. Waiting for an answer. 

How was he supposed to respond to such an injustice with words alone? To Pershing, the kid was an object, a test subject, nothing more than an unwilling supplier of blood. To Din, he was everything. How Pershing dared- how he could even suggest that he and Din were on the same level-

“The fact you’re even asking that means you will never understand,” Din said in a low voice that cracked under the force of the emotion and truth contained beneath it, threatening to break out and shatter him. “You speak of value, but you have no idea what you’re talking about. He’s worth the entire galaxy to me. That’s his value.”

Cobb’s small smile felt like vindication. Pershing even seemed struck by the response, staring with surprise at the Mandalorian as he spoke. 

“I’m not like Gideon.” Din spat the words out with as much venom as he could muster. “I’m not like you. I don’t want him for anything. I only want for him to be safe.”

Pershing swallowed nervously and nodded like he got the message, focusing his gaze on the floor. “I see.”

Din wasn’t certain he did, but he could see he was attempting to as he silently handled this new information. Pershing clearly hadn’t expected an answer of that kind from him. He didn’t even know he had it in himself. It was something Din never voiced, never thought he would need to, but it was all true. Every last word. 

Cobb seemed content with this, casting a light glance over at Din and nodding slightly. If there was something wrong with the picture before, it was corrected now. Whatever Cobb was seeing, it must have been right to him. Something better than what Din had been minutes before. 

Perhaps that’s what it was. Cobb Vanth was a man who saw people at their best. And Din had gone and shown him his very worst. 

But now- well, now maybe he was redeemed. 

The thought felt like a tangible weight lifting from his chest, easing his breathing. 

That was the thing with the kid, wasn’t it? He always seemed to bring out both the best and worst in Din. But whatever it was, it was all for him. Every Imp he killed, every bounty hunter he shot down- it was all in an attempt to keep the kid safe from their violence. But, in doing so, he bared his own. 

“You wanted that once.” Din looked back down at Pershing, allowing a gentler edge to bleed into his voice as he reminded him of this. “You wanted to protect him. You wanted to keep the kid safe.” 

From me.

The sudden shift in his tone was not missed by the imperial scientist. Dr. Pershing blinked at him, confusion marring his features before he remembered. He turned back to the ground, shrugging ever so slightly, just the barest twitch of a shoulder. “I- I suppose I did.”

“But you took his blood.” Din continued, trying to temper down the anger this thought triggered in him. “Why?”

Pershing face twisted as he seemed to wrestle with indecision, fingers gripping the edge of the crate tight. For a moment, Din thought that he wouldn’t tell him, but soon the doctor sighed, leaning back and letting his head tip against the wall behind him. 

“Do you know what midichlorians are?” Dr. Pershing asked quietly as if he were afraid Gideon could possibly be listening in on this betrayal.

Din let his silence speak for itself.

“They’re what give the Jedi their powers,” Boba Fett said surprisingly, his voice a low rumble behind his helmet. “I’ve heard tales of these beings.”

“I thought the Force gave Jedi their powers.” Din frowned, looking between the hunter and the doctor. Ahsoka Tano had said as much. 

“Sounds like a cheap drink you’d get at a Mos Eisley cantina,” Cobb offered with a wry smirk. 

Dr. Pershing began to look frustrated and he sighed, waving his hands in front of him. “Not exactly. Midichlorians are microscopic organisms that live in the blood of every living thing. Not just in the Jedi.”

Cobb raised his eyebrows, looking down at his own arm as if somehow he could see into his own body and pick out these mysterious creatures. “Even-”

“Even you,” Pershing confirmed, but, strangely, his eyes were focused on Din when he spoke. “The midichlorians are highly receptive to the influence of the Force, and when they appear in high numbers they induce something called Force sensitivity. Those who have more midichlorians are more Force sensitive, more able to access the Force and its powers. Back when they were still standing, the Jedi would seek out Force sensitive children and train them in their temples.”

The shuttle jostled slightly as a wave rocked into them and everyone reached out to grab hold of something. Din thrust a hand up and grabbed hold of the canopy straps, keeping himself upright as the craft steadied itself. Dr. Pershing looked momentarily ill from the sudden motion, pressing his lips tightly shut. But all eyes were still on him. 

“Go on,” Din urged, becoming increasingly concerned they were running out of time for this conversation.

Pershing closed his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose. “The child’s M-count- his midichlorian count- it’s the highest of any living being we’ve seen. Moff Gideon tasked me with harvesting his blood in order to repurpose the midichlorians- transfer them to another host.”

Fennec blinked, staring at the doctor in something close to shock. “To what end? What, you think you can just make someone else more susceptible to the Force-”

She stopped when the doctor nodded, and Din felt his own blood go still in his veins. 

He saw the kind of power Grogu had. The Force was a powerful thing, he knew that clearly now. After all, nothing else could allow such a small child to lift a fully grown mudhorn with sheer will and determination. He cured the effects of deadly poison and healed wounds with the slightest touch. 

Din would never forget the shock of watching such a weak, innocent looking creature raise his hands and deflect a hurtling wall of fire without killing himself. 

And Gideon wanted that. He wanted it for someone else-

“Moff Gideon wants to become like the child,” Din felt a sharp chill travel down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold inside the shuttle. “He wants that power for himself.”

The doctor nodded again, much slower this time. “We’re only in the testing phases now, but…yes, that is the end goal of our experimentation.”

There was silence in the shuttle that no one dared break as everyone digested that information. Cobb ran a gloved hand down his face and looked away from the doctor, disgust and horror evident in his features. In that moment, Din couldn’t help but recall the deformed bodies floating in the tanks at the base on Nevarro, the failed products of Gideon’s experiments. He didn’t feel much pity for having destroyed them in the reactor explosion. Judging by the way they looked…there was nothing left to kill. They were as good as dead anyway.

Dead, because of Gideon and Pershing.

Din closed his eyes, tightening his grip on the handhold above him. Gideon would never knowingly inflict that condition upon himself. Their experiments were far from complete. So very far. And until he got what he wanted, they would just keep drawing blood from the child, over and over and over-

A wave of nausea crested over him as he imagined Grogu’s stolen blood flowing through Moff Gideon’s veins, that vile man equipped with a power he didn’t deserve and couldn’t possibly understand. 

He opened his eyes again to see Pershing staring back at him, something close to remorse on his face. 

“He’s worth the galaxy to Gideon, too.” Pershing said quietly, looking up at Din. “Don’t underestimate what he’s willing to do to keep the child in his possession. Not for one second.”

Din said nothing. He just inclined his head in a nod, letting him know he understood. 

Pershing removed his glasses, rubbing a hand across his eyes before replacing them with a soft, almost mournful sigh. “Detention block two.”

A jolt passed through the Mandalorian and he stared at the doctor, his mouth suddenly incredibly dry as he rasped, “What?”

“Detention block two,” Pershing repeated, refusing to meet his eyes now. “Cell one. Just- get there first.”

Din drew in a sharp breath, unsure if he had even heard it. Was it really going to be that simple? 

In his other hand, he adjusted his hold on the beskar spear. “If you’re lying-”

“-you’ll gut me like a ghest. I know.” Pershing nodded, resignation plastered across his face as his shoulders sank in heavy defeat. “But so will Gideon. I died the second I boarded this ship, and you know it.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Thankfully, Din was saved from responding as Cara dropped down from the cockpit, her expression grave. 

Din knew what she was going to say before the words left her lips. 

“We’re here.”

------

Small, Mayfeld’s voice kept ringing in Din’s head as he watched them dock against the cruiser from the cockpit. Small. 

In comparison to what?

It was the largest ship Din had ever seen in person. 

The transport shuttle shook as it made contact and there was a loud hissing sound outside of the hull as the docking procedure completed, sealing the ships together. 

This was it.

Everyone in stormtrooper uniforms slipped their helmets on as the ship finished docking, all gathered close in the ship’s cargo bay. The only way Din could distinguish any of them was by their sizes. Cobb was the tallest, easily picked out, and Fennec was the smallest. Cara’s broad shoulders distinguished her from Mayfeld’s slighter build. It was evident that none of their uniforms fit them even remotely well, but all they had to do was get them through the doors, so to speak.

Din wasn’t sure how much they could count on stealth on a ship like this. 

Unfortunately, he did even have time to consider that further as the door was suddenly lowered open from a control outside, the ramp falling down to expose the vast interior corridor of Gideon's ship beyond.

That, and the second escort of stormtroopers waiting to receive them. 

Mayfeld didn’t say anything about another escort. But, judging by the way he stiffened, Din decided he didn’t know.

None of them did. 

“Hey!” One of stormtroopers yelled upon seeing the Mandalorians, raising his blaster just in time for Cara to let out an ungodly yell beneath her helmet, charging and barrelling straight into him. 

The stormtrooper was knocked clear off his feet and his blaster flew into the wall of the corridor, a flash of red shooting out as it made contact and struck one of his comrades dead. Cara stamped her foot down on the man’s throat, hard, and he ceased to move. Din and Boba fired their blasters and made quick work of the two others, their bodies falling in an ungraceful heap on the polished floors. 

So much for stealth, Din thought drily, assessing the pile of crooked white armoured bodies before them. 

In the distance, an alarm started blaring. 

Great.

“Well this was for nothing!” Cobb spat angrily, his eyes wide as he quickly shucked off his stormtrooper uniform, the others swiftly following in suit. Shouts rang out down the corridor and their small group disembarked the transport vessel, finally stepping foot into Gideon’s territory. “They know we’re here now!”

“Someone was supposed to have this planned out!” Fennec snapped at Mayfeld, slinging her rifle from her shoulder as she glanced down the hall for signs of anymore stormtroopers.

“This wasn’t on the transmission!” Mayfeld said in his defense, looking unusually panicked. “How was I supposed to know?”

To his credit, Din believed him, but that mattered very little now. The problem was that they’d been caught unawares, and their plan was on its way out the airlock before it had even begun. But there was no going back now.

Not now, not ever. 

“This way!” Dr. Pershing said quickly, turning and sprinting through the ship. He led them down the dark walled corridor, the steely walls only interrupted by geometric lines of white light inlaid in the material. 

The interior of the ship looked almost exactly like that of the Imperial base on Nevarro, and Din felt a sudden rush of deja vu as they surged down the corridor, the voices growing nearer behind them as red lights flashed along the ceiling. Oblong pillars jutted out from the walls at even intervals, and Din found himself looking behind each one to make sure no one was hidden behind them. The pulsing sound of the alarm only seemed to get louder the deeper they went into the craft’s labyrinthine halls, black floors and crimson lights melding to create a hellish tunnel before them that they had no choice but to barrell down like their lives depended on it. 

Pershing’s slight build was deceiving as he managed to keep well in front of the group, his thin arms pumping frantically at his sides as he ran, glancing over his shoulder once or twice to make sure he was still being followed. Cobb still maintained his merit as the fastest of them, remaining the closest to the doctor as Cara, Mayfeld, and Fennec carried the group behind him. As they ran, Din and Boba remained in the back, wordlessly coming to the same plan to use their beskar covered bodies as shields in case they were ambushed from behind. 

“Can we trust him?” Boba sounded slightly out of breath as he kept pace with Din, looking behind them every few seconds to see if any new stormtroopers had appeared. Surprisingly, in spite of the alarms and shouts, their journey remained unhindered as they headed down a new corridor, much the same as the last.

“I don’t know,” Din replied honestly, wishing he had something better to offer. 

Boba grunted, clearly unsatisfied by the answer.

They kept moving.

The hall was long and broke off into two sections at the end. Still, they closed the distance rather quickly and Pershing didn’t hesitate as he headed left down the new corridor, the rest of them close behind. 

Din turned the corner. 

Worst mistake yet. 

As soon as they rounded the bend, they were instantly met by a wall of stormtroopers flanking the corridor. Pershing ran straight into one and nearly tripped, but another quickly seized the doctor’s arm and yanked him behind their line with a sharp cry. The stormtrooper didn’t release his hold on the man, instead ushering him away down the hall as the cohort closed ranks, leveling their blasters at the six intruders. Din looked back the way they came and heard the clattering of footsteps before the stormtroopers even came into sight. 

They were surrounded on all sides but one by about a dozen stormtroopers. The stretch of corridor behind them was still open, all they needed was to shoot their way out-

Boba Fett raised his arm and several mechanisms in his armour clicked into place. “Just give the word.”

“Freeze!” One of the stormtroopers yelled from the front of the cohort, training a blaster directly at the head of the person nearest him.

Which of course had to be-

Cobb.

Din’s heart made a valiant attempt to escape through his chest and Cobb’s throat bobbed nervously as he remained as still as possible, staring directly at the wrong end of a blaster aimed straight at his face. 

“Freeze, or I shoot!” The stormtrooper took another step forward, almost closing the distance between him and the immobilized marshal. 

Cobb. The name continued to reverberate in Din’s panicked brain.

Like a fool, he did as they said. He froze completely still, the world narrowing down to the short distance between the end of that blaster and Cobb’s head. 

The alarms ceased and emergency lights cleared, restoring the corridor to its normal state, but Din now found himself deafened by the roaring rush of blood past his ears. His breath stilled in his throat and he saw Cobb draw in a shallow breath of his own, lips parted slightly in shock. 

His wide eyes were startlingly clear in the bright lights of the corridor, the burst of blue shining out from the hazel, their color clouded with fear and uncertainty.

The trigger mechanism clicked, and no one dared move. 

“Weapons down!” The stormtrooper commanded, turning his head to address the group around his hostage. “Drop them now!”

Fennec threw her rifle down with a disgusted grunt and Boba lowering his arm, disengaging the weapon in his armour. Mayfeld stuck his dual blasters back into their holsters and Cara lowered hers, but did not let go. 

In the distance, Din saw Pershing disappear, dragged down another corridor.

Gone.

“Hey, partner?” Cobb murmured softly to Din, hazarding a sideways glance in his direction as he slowly raised his arms in surrender, his blaster dangling loose in his hand. “Got any bright suggestions?”

It didn’t take long to think. Din tightened his grip on his weapons, curling one hand around the shaft of the spear and tightening the other in a fist. “Drop dead.”

Cara turned to give him a sharp look, eyes wide in disbelief like she wasn’t quite sure she heard him right. Mayfeld made an amused sound in the back of his throat, but said nothing.

The corner of Cobb’s mouth tugged into a smirk and he stared back at the blaster in front of him, addressing Din in a wry tone. “You know, you really need to work on your bedside manner.” 

Din huffed out a breath. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You’d better.” There was something ridiculously confident in that grin, and the stormtrooper’s grip on the blaster faltered for a moment, taken aback by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. 

The flood of relief that surged through Din’s veins was almost intoxicating. 

Cobb understood. 

Din cocked his fist down toward the floor, hearing the familiar clicking of the whistling birds slide into position. Small blue pinpricks of light shone in his periphery, and he stared at the blaster levelled at Cobb, hoping they would move fast enough. 

There was a beat of tense silence as everyone collectively held their breath. 

Cobb hit the ground.

And then, all hell broke loose. 

The stormtrooper fired his blaster just as Cobb dropped, missing his head by inches and instead shooting at the furthest wall of the corridor. The marshall threw his entire weight into the man’s legs and knocked him to the floor as the whistling birds shot out from Din’s vambrace, enough flying free to take down half the cohort in swift succession, each dart finding their home in someone’s neck. 

Fennec stomped her foot on the end of her rifle and kicked it back up into her hands, taking swift aim at the next trooper to raise their blaster and shooting them down in the span of a single breath. 

Despite the chaos, Din found himself in his element. For him, fighting was as instinctual as breathing. The ancient Mandalorians saw a divinity to it, each battle bringing them closer to the gods. 

Every punch was a prayer. 

Every stab was a shot at salvation. 

This was the Way.

Cobb’s adversary fought to rise, but the marshal scrambled to his feet first, firing a shot which missed as a strong hand wrapped around his ankle and sent him crashing back to the ground. The stormtrooper rose to his feet as Cobb reached out for his fallen blaster, but a searing rage flooded Din’s chest and he surged forward, swinging the beskar spear in a wide arc and slamming the shaft into the side of the Imp’s helmet. The material fractured significantly under the impact and he stumbled, aiming blindly with his blaster until Din kicked his legs out from under him. 

He hit the ground just as Cobb rose, but before he could even think of going for the marshal again, Din drove the tip of the spear down through his breastplate with as much force as he could muster. 

There was a sickening crack as he twisted it and pulled it free, dark blood coating the shining tip of the weapon. 

Just as he looked up to see if Cobb was injured, the marshal deftly raised his blaster and fired it at Din.

He didn’t even flinch as the pulse of red light shot past the side of his helmet and struck the stormtrooper advancing behind him, taking the Imp down with a low cry. 

“Well, I’d say we’re even, partner,” Cobb said somewhat breathlessly, face flushed and he reached up with his free hand to brush his hair from his brow. Still, he managed a blinding grin and Din huffed out a slight laugh in spite of himself. 

Two more bodies hit the ground as Mayfeld lowered his dual blasters, two dark scorch marks plastered across their white cuirasses. 

Cara had one final Imp trapped under her foot, and she cast a smirk in Boba Fett’s direction, nodding. The Mandalorian fired the kill shot, the helmet splintering under the blast. 

Their victory was short lived, however, as a door slid down from the ceiling, sealing off the way they’d come, leaving one single corridor stretching in front and behind them. Ahead of their group, a new cohort of stormtroopers barged in, setting up station at the end of the hall and planting a large tripod firmly on the ground. 

It was hard to mistake the heavy form of a heavy repeating blaster affixed on top of it. 

“Oh, Maker-” Cobb cut himself off quickly, grabbing Din by his cuirass and throwing them both behind the nearest pillar just as the first round of fire began. 

Pain flared across the back of Din’s leg and his head cracked off the wall from the force of Cobb’s shove, his skull aching beneath the helmet. He groaned, and an apologetic looked flashed over the marshal’s face as he flattened himself against the side of the corridor beside him. Fennec, Mayfeld, and Boba were trapped against the wall across from Din, Cobb, and Cara, a steady stream of red blaster fire cutting down the center of the corridor. The rectangular pillars protruding from the walls provided decent cover, but Din knew they couldn’t stay there forever. He risked looking around the side of the pillar and the stream of fire shifted to meet him, a shot almost skimming the front of his visor. 

Whistling birds wouldn’t work at this distance. He couldn’t waste them.

There was a searing pain in his leg that was steadily growing in intensity and Din let out a stuttered groan as he holstered his blaster and reached out a hand to feel at the back of his right thigh. The second his gloved fingers made contact with the wound his vision fluttered into brief darkness and he gasped sharply, falling back against the wall, his grip tightening on the beskar spear to steady himself. 

The orange tips of his gloves had come away red with blood. 

Of course he had to get shot in one of the few parts of his body without beskar. 

Din’s leg was erupting into fiery agony, and the only thing he could do was grit his teeth and try not to scream. 

Distantly, he noticed Cobb seize his hand, eyes wide with panic as he looked down at the blood that coated his fingertips. “You’re hit! Where?!”

“Ba- back of the leg,” Din hissed between gritted teeth, shifting his leg to stand straighter and immediately regretting the action as more pain lanced through the limb. He forced himself to feel the wound again, gently tracing it with the tips of his fingers. It wasn’t small, it was long, running across the back of his leg in a deep line, but he let out a short huff of relief. 

It hadn’t gone through his leg, just across it. He could manage that. He would heal. 

If they even got out of there alive. 

“Oh, great!” Mayfeld screamed at him, watching the interaction with a manic look of fear on his pale face. “That’s just great, Mando! How the hell are we supposed to do this with-”

“Shut up before I give you one to match!” Cobb hollered at him threateningly, but there was a waver of panic in his voice and his hand gripped Din’s wrist tight as he turned to face him. His features were saturated with worry, eyes bright with concern, and Din felt a stab of guilt for being the one who put it there. “Are you gonna be able to walk?”

“Walk? No.” Din’s voice was tight as he reached for his blaster, his grip unfortunately slick with his own blood. “But I can run.” Because I’ll have to. 

They still needed to find the kid. 

Din aimed his blaster blindly around the pillar and fired several shots in quick succession, hearing a shout of pain above the steady thrum of fire they were taking. He saw Boba lower his missile scope, but the second he ducked his head out to try and take aim a shot clipped him in the shoulder and he fell back against the wall with a groan. 

“We’re taking too much fire!” Cara shouted, her eyes wild as she turned to look at Din, a fearful desperation leaching into her features as she took in the state of his leg. It must have looked bad to put that kind of expression on her face. “We need to move!”

“How?!” Fennec all but screamed over the deafening sound of the repeating blaster as shot by shot sailed down the corridor. “We’ll never make it down the hall alive!”

“Do you have any charges?” Boba called out to Din, but he shook his head. He was out. 

All of a sudden, the blaster fire died down, and there was a shuffling at the end of the corridor.

The blaster ran out of charge. But, judging by the sounds, they were already locking a new one in. 

“Screw this!” Mayfeld yelled, jamming his blasters into their holsters and glancing around the corner. His eyes were wild, face flushed and panicked. “This ain’t worth dying for! You’re on your own!”

Din would have been lying if he said he didn’t see this coming from a mile away. He didn’t have the will or strength to stop the inevitable. Din drew in a handful of shallow breaths, forcing himself to ignore the pain in his leg as he prepared to move. 

Mayfeld’s cowardice might just save them all. 

“He’s insane!” Cobb shouted, flattening himself further against the wall as a single warning shot came hurtling down the corridor. “You’re insane!”

No more shots came and Mayfeld’s expression relaxed into an easy grin as he stepped out from behind the pillar and into the corridor with his hands raised in surrender, slowly making his way toward the stormtroopers.

“Don’t shoot, fellas!” Din could hear Mayfeld throwing his blasters down on the ground, a heavier thud following as he let the pulse rifle fall as well. “Just take it easy, bucketheads.” 

“He’s dead.” Fennec spat, tipping her head back against the wall. “Damn fool.” 

“We can use his distraction to our advantage,” Boba suggested, mirroring Din’s exact thoughts as he tightened his grip on his blaster. “We need to move now.” 

The other end of the corridor behind them was still clear. It was a clear escape route, if they could make it all the way down there. 

“We can’t!” Cara hissed. “They took Pershing that way. It must be where the kid is.”

Logically, it made sense, but he couldn’t help but feel that there was something wrong with that. Din felt a tug in his gut the longer he looked at that empty stretch behind them, feeling some strange pull to the corridor beyond. It was like an invisible string had hooked itself in his gut and pulled taut, waiting to reel him in its desired direction. 

All of a sudden, a heavy tidal wave of emotion slammed into Din with the force of a mudhorn, knocking all of the breath from his chest. 

Mudhorn. 

He suddenly became hyper aware of the signet on his shoulder, struggling to breathe as the brutal force of panic, worry, sad, sad, fear, cold, hungry, lonely, hurt, scared pummeled into his chest with unrelenting power. Mudhorn. 

Mudhorn. Din thought dazedly, fighting to keep a clear head against the onslaught of emotions that he was sure weren’t his. Mudhorn meant…clan. 

The kid. 

And just like that, the sensation ceased, replaced by a blissful warmth that spread like a ripple of calm across his pain addled mind. 

Taking hold of that invisible cord in his gut, Din closed his eyes and felt himself connect with that line of focus and control. 

Without even knowing what he was doing, he pushed out through it. Just one word. 

Grogu?

The response was instant.

Hope, safe, saved, hope, hope  immediately coursed through Din with the gentle warmth of a binary sunset. But he knew it wasn’t his hope. There was something distinctly other about it, like he knew it was coming from somewhere else. Some one else. 

It was Grogu.

Was this what Ahsoka meant about feeling his thoughts?

The whole ordeal had lasted only mere seconds, but it felt like a short eternity. Din’s shoulders heaved as he drew in increasingly shallow breaths and he reached across Cobb to hit Cara weakly. “The kid’s not that way. Fett is right, we need to go this way.”

“Are you sure?” She hissed, looking over where Mayfeld had gone. 

Suddenly, Cara’s eyes widened and Din followed her gaze, his throat seizing with panic once he saw what she was seeing.

Mayfeld froze in his tracks, halfway to the stormtroopers. He took a clumsy step backward, stumbling as fear slammed into him. 

He turned on his heel and ran back toward their group, but Din knew he wouldn’t make it back to cover in time. 

“GET DOWN!” Din roared, and he tore himself from Cobb’s grip, throwing himself at Mayfeld just as the first dark trooper came into view. 

------

It took Din only seconds to realize that his attempt to save Mayfeld was doomed from the beginning.

Right as he collided with the convict, the large, black plated droid fired at the two men, one shot glancing off Din’s pauldron, and the other striking Mayfeld right in the chest.

He was dead before they even hit the ground. 

Trapped under the weight of Mayfeld’s dead body, Din’s leg flared in agony and he could feel an erratic pulse of fear, danger, pain, pain, pain reach him from wherever Grogu was. Something told him it wasn’t the child’s own pain- rather, he was feeling Din’s.

Their connection was a two way channel. 

With a heavy heart, Din felt for that line and tore it away just as the dark trooper reached him and tore Mayfeld’s corpse away, throwing him to the side like he was nothing more than a limp doll. 

He couldn’t let Grogu feel this. 

Mayfeld’s bones cracked with the force his body was thrown into the wall with and he collapsed to the ground, broken and bloody. His eyes were frozen open in a final expression of fear, blood slowly pooling out across the dark floor from his horrifically broken nose.

If he wasn’t dead before, he was now.

And soon, Din would be too.

“NO!” Cobb roared, rushing toward where Din lay fallen, blatantly ignoring the massive threat that was towering above him.

“Cobb, don’t-!” Din was barely able to manage out a warning before the dark trooper swept out a hand toward the marshal, striking him in the center of his chest with such strength that the force of the hit sent Cobb flying into the wall several meters away down the corridor. 

He fell to the ground in a crumpled heap and Boba Fett dropped his blaster as he rushed to Cobb’s aid. 

Maker above, let him be alive.

Din reached for his blaster, but there was hardly any time before the droid reached down and locked its large hand around the Mandalorian’s throat, lifting him clear from the ground. He felt his boots leave the floor as he weakly scrambled for any sort of purchase, the shouts of his friends ringing in his ears and blaster fire erupting in his periphery as they took aim at the stormtroopers. Distantly, he was aware of Cobb screaming at him- for him?- and a flash of deep blue and silver moved nearby. 

There was no air to breathe as the droid’s hand squeezed his throat, cutting his breath off and drawing a choked sound of pain as Din felt the delicate structures in his neck begin to suffer from the force. He latched a weak hand over the droid’s, trying feebly to pry away that oppressive, strangling grip. 

Just when he thought it would crush his throat and kill him right then, it lifted him even higher, then slammed his body to the ground.

Pure, undiluted agony shot down Din’s spine and flared across the back of his head. For a brief, blissful moment, everything went dark and numb, but he was soon dragged painfully back into the present as a fresh wave of hell stole his breath straight from his lungs. 

He knew what a fractured skull felt like. Din would be very surprised if that wasn’t the case now. 

Something hot cut across his cheek underneath the helmet, and it took too long for Din to realize it wasn’t blood, but rather a single, solitary tear falling from his eye. 

The droid stood tall above him, staring down with its demonic, mechanical eyes like it was deciding what the best way would be to finish off this kill. It was then that Din saw another flash of blue, silver, and tan, this time behind the dark trooper. 

There was a beastial yell, and Din watched with awestruck horror as Cobb ran and jumped, leaping up and seizing the droid around the neck with one arm. Before it could even try to throw him off, the marshal slammed one of Fennec’s vibroblades deep through the chink in its armour nearest the neck, aiming straight for the neural harness. 

Din didn’t think he would ever see anything as glorious as that sight ever again in his life. 

“FETT, NOW!” Cobb yelled, falling clear and throwing his body over Din’s seconds before the missile struck the droid’s chest.

The explosion rocked the hallway and Din closed his eyes as the wave of heat billowed their way, every bone in his being aching under the weight of Cobb’s body on top of him. Another tear worked its way from his eyes and he held back his pained gasp until after the flames died out and Cobb rolled off of him, panting heavily as he lay on the floor. The trooper lay fallen mere feet from them, smoke curling up from its black cuirass. 

There wasn’t even a dent in it. 

“Come on,” Cobb’s voice was tight with pain as he knelt beside Din, and draped one of the Mandalorian’s arms over his shoulder, hauling him upright in a massive show of strength. “Come on, we gotta get you out of here, partner.”

At that moment, Din heard a mechanical whirring, and looked up to see the droid rising to its feet, seemingly undamaged by Boba’s missile. 

Cobb’s grip on Din’s arm tightened, and Din searched desperately for his blaster, but it was nowhere in sight. A glint of silver caught his eye just at his feet and Din felt a rush of relief, tearing away from Cobb to grab the spear.

With what little strength Din had remaining, he gripped the spear and thrust it at the dark trooper. 

“It’s beskar!” Din heard Boba Fett yell in the distance. The significance of that cry didn’t strike him until he slammed the spear into the droid’s smoking cuirass 

The vibration that travelled up the length of the spear from the sheer resistance it met against the sheet of beskar was almost enough to dislocate Din’s arm from its socket and it threw him backwards, the spear almost clattering from his grip. The droid stumbled back and tripped over a stormtrooper’s body, crashing to the ground. 

The shock almost overwhelmed the pain as Din hit the floor once again. 

Boba’s words were correct. 

It was beskar. 

Moff Gideon had created battle droids made of beskar. 

The spear would have gone through a metal like durasteel or phrik like bantha butter. But beskar-

Beskar couldn't fight beskar. 

“RETREAT!” Cara screamed, hefting her blaster and waving them all toward the corridor behind them. All around her lay a halo of white and red bodies of fallen stormtroopers, and Fennec was crouched over one in particular, yanking her knife free from the man’s neck. “Move, move, move!”

Cobb dragged Din to his feet and they rushed down the hall with the others down the direction Din had felt Grogu’s connection come from. Pain continued to throb from his leg, neck, spine, head- he was dead weight to Cobb, and he knew it as he limped along with him, trying to clear the corridor before the droid rose again. 

The marshal’s light hair was partially singed and darkened with blood, a jagged cut running along the side of his jaw, almost complimenting the scar that snaked across his temple. His eyes were tight with discomfort, but he persevered, breathing heavily as he half carried Din into the next corridor. 

They were the last ones to make it and he quickly propped Din against the nearest wall, reaching for the control panel and attempting to make sense of it for a brief moment before shooting the controls. 

A solid gate slid down from the ceiling and sealed the dark trooper on the other side. 

“We need to get off this ship,” Boba insisted as he steadied his friend. Fennec’s breaths were shallow as she winced, reaching to touch a wound on her arm where a shot had grazed her. “Where’s the child?”

“He’s-” Din began to croak, but his words were cut off as the corridor was suddenly plunged into darkness. 

There was a loud metallic clang, and the lights returned, but this time Din was no longer looking at Fennec, Boba, and Cara.

A sheer metal wall had descended from the ceiling just like the other door, dividing the corridor in two. 

Cutting them off from the others. 

Gideon.

Somewhere on this ship was a control room, and Gideon was there. Watching them. 

Toying with them. 

“No!” Cobb shouted hoarsely, throwing himself against the new gate, pounding his fists on the metal. “Hey, are you there?!”

The door must have been too thick for sound to pass through because Din couldn’t hear a thing from the other side. 

Din let out a small noise of pain as he tried to settle himself against the wall. The spear was more of a crutch now as he used it to keep himself upright without Cobb’s support. At the sound, however, Cobb quickly turned to him, taking Din by the shoulders and looking him over frantically for more signs of injury. 

“Where else are you hurt?” Cobb’s voice was steady, but steeped in worry as his hazel eyes darted over the impassive darkness of the visor. “Hey, are you with me?”

“I-” Din coughed, reaching up weakly to close a hand around Cobb’s wrist, anchoring himself with that one touch. He was allowed this. Just that touch. “I’m with you.”

Cobb closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the helmet, and Din felt his throat become seized with emotion as he found himself unable to think beyond that point of contact. 

No one did this. Never. 

Not for him.

“We’re gonna get out of this,” Cobb murmured to him in a voice so gentle it almost brought Din to tears again. “We’re gonna get out, we’re gonna get to the others, and we’re gonna get the kid. We can do this.”

Din swallowed roughly, forcing a smile onto his face even though Cobb couldn’t see. Perhaps he would just know. “Are you always this optimistic?”

“It’s a failing,” Cobb admitted, his eyes sliding open once again to meet Din’s unseen gaze through the visor. 

Then, in what must have been a moment of sheer impulse, Cobb briefly pressed his lips against the part of the helmet that covered Din’s brow. 

It was the most fleeting brush of his lips against the beskar, it could hardly be called a kiss, but in that moment Din would have given anything to not have the cursed helmet in the way. 

“For luck,” Cobb said with a small smile before Din could even gather his scattered thoughts together enough to speak. 

But of course they could never be so lucky. 

Just then, the entire ship seemed to shudder and tilt. Out of instinct, Cobb reached for the wall and dug his hands into the groove of one of the light fixtures to steady himself. 

For a brief moment, nothing happened.

“What-?” Cobb began, but there was no finishing that sentence. 

Suddenly, the hallway angled into a slope as the nose of the shuttle rose and Din let out a shout of surprise as he found himself falling away from Cobb, gravity pulling him down across the floor toward the branch at the other end of the corridor. Before Cobb would release his handhold on the wall to go after him, another door slammed down between them, cutting off Cobb’s furious scream with the finality of a tomb sliding shut. 

“NO!” Din bellowed, that single word tearing his throat raw as he dug the spear into the ground, struggling to get to his feet as wave after wave of pain crashed into him. “COBB!” 

There was nothing but that unforgiving wall of steel. The T of the corridor had been cut off at the neck with Cobb on the other side, and Din left somewhere completely unfamiliar.

Alone.

After a few more seconds, the ship righted itself. 

The door remained shut.

Cobb was gone. Everyone was gone. 

Din was on the verge of letting out another hopeless scream before he felt that tug in his gut again, some invisible force hooking into him once more. 

Scared, confused, alone, alone, alone, fear, worry, alone. 

The kid. Din closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, slumping against the wall. He’d found him again.

The tug in his gut became more and more insistent, and Din realized it felt like he was being pulled in a certain direction down the new corridor he’d found himself in. 

“Alright, kid, I’m coming,” Din croaked out, slowly peeling himself from the wall and wincing as he jostled several of his many injuries. “I’m coming for you.” 

Using the spear as a crutch, Din was able to make a fairly decent pace down the hall, but he was painfully aware of his vulnerability now. His blaster was gone. As were his allies. All he had with him to defend and protect himself and the kid was the beskar on his body and the staff in his hand. 

It would have to be enough. 

That feeling in his gut had shifted to envelop his entire body like some sort of magnetic field, pulling his battered and bruised body the way it needed to go. It continued to draw Din down empty passages until he reached something that looked like a small detention block with a vacated control station. 

Hope seized his chest and Din grunted in pain as he picked up his pace, moving as quickly as he could to the cell doors in the short corridor beyond, a sudden warmth spreading throughout his body that felt less like a sensation and more like-

A presence. 

Din reached the first cell door and almost collapsed against it as a single word slammed into him through that unexplainable connection. 

Father. 

“I’m here, kid,” Din whispered, tears falling freely from his eyes as he spread his hand out across the door, certain beyond belief that his child was on the other side of that door. There was a control panel set into the wall just beside it, a myriad of buttons and symbols glowing tauntingly. “Just one more second. I gotta- I gotta figure this out-”

Father.

Din doubled over, bracing himself against the door and squeezing his eyes shut as he continued to cry, searing hot tears scorching his face. “I hear you. I hear you.”

He drew in a deep breath and grimaced as he pushed away from the door, hefting the spear in hand and trying to balance on his one good leg. 

Please, Din prayed. Please let this work. 

He slammed the tip of the spear straight into the control panel, sending up a spray of sparks that struck his armour harmlessly. 

After a moment of inaction that felt like an eternity in hell, the door finally hissed open and Din launched himself through the opening, collapsing to the cold, hard ground. The pain had finally gotten to the point where Din couldn’t tell where it began or ended, and for the briefest of moments he considered just surrendering to it. It wasn’t like he could move anyway. Everything hurt, everything was too- 

“Batu!” a mournful voice chirped out, and Din’s heart leapt in his chest

Forcing himself to his knees, Din found himself on the floor in front of a low bench protruding from the back wall of the cell.

And staring back at him were two large, watery, beautiful brown eyes. 

“Kid,” Din choked out, his voice thick with tears. “Is that you?”

He reached out with a shaking hand, pinching the material of the child’s robes between his bloodied fingers, almost surprised to feel anything there.

This was real. 

Grogu let out a wail, squeezing his eyes shut as his green ears drooped against his head and he shuffled forward on the bench reaching out with his hands to touch Din’s visor, metal clinking against metal-

Metal?

That was when Din noticed with sickening revulsion that the child’s wrists were bound together with shackles. 

“Oh, kid,” Din breathed, reaching out to stroke the child’s ear gently with a finger as wet tears splashed down his small green face. “What did they do to you?”

Grogu only sniffled, scrunching his face up miserably as he held his hands out in a silent plea. 

Din quickly set to work on removing the shackles, hurling them against the opposite wall so they were as far away from the child as possible. He let the beskar spear clatter to the ground as he rested on his knees, both hands now free to scoop Grogu into his arms and hold him as tight as he could with what little strength he had left. 

Tears fell freely down his face and Din knew he wasn’t the only one, hearing the kid continue to sniffle as he wrapped his now free hands over the side of Din’s helmet. 

“I told you,” Din whispered almost brokenly as he rocked them back and forth, smoothing his hand down Grogu’s back in as comforting a gesture as he could muster. “I told you I’d come back for you.”

Grogu cooed contentedly, nuzzling his head against Din’s helmet as he tried to get as close to the Mandalorian as possible. 

That single word hadn’t stopped reaching Din, now entering his mind much gentler than the desperation of before. It felt more like a sigh, a brief whisper of fragile happiness.

Father. 

“Ad’ika,” Din murmured back, hugging the child tighter against himself. His heart seemed to knit itself back together at the happy sound Grogu made in response. My child. 

Suddenly, he became aware of a presence behind them, and he knew who it was before Grogu let out that fearful sound.

“Well,” Moff Gideon drawled. “Isn't this a touching sight?” 

Chapter Text

“Din Djarin.” Gideon’s lips curled unpleasantly as he took in the Mandalorian before him, raking his eyes over the beskar plated man. “I thought I killed you.”

Din gingerly set the child down and seized his spear, standing tall in front of the Imperial. Every bone in his body protested the movement as Din straightened, his grip tightening on the shaft of the weapon. His name from Gideon’s mouth felt like a shallow punch in the gut and behind him he heard Grogu whimpering, the sounds piercing his armoured heart. 

Moff Gideon didn’t look much different than he did that fateful day on Nevarro. Very little about the man had changed, though his armour seemed much firmer and there was a slight sallowness to his features, like he hadn’t gotten much rest in the past days. Despite that, his eyes gleamed with a cold, malevolent light, like fire set to black oil.

He looked too intact for a dead man. 

“I could say the same about you.” Din finally addressed Gideon, watching the reflections of the harsh light move across his black cuirass as he took a step closer. “I’ll finish the job right this time.”

In a swift motion, Din leveled the tip of the spear toward him, shifting it out further in his grip to keep the distance between them. The beskar whistled serenely as it cut through the air and deftly stopped the man in his tracks. 

The threat was clear. 

One more step and I go through you. Din thought darkly, gritting his teeth as he held the spear tighter. His head was pounding with pain, but he kept that one thought clear. 

Just give me a reason. 

The only thing that stopped Din from running Gideon through was Grogu’s presence behind him. 

It wasn’t something he wanted the child to see. Not in his feeble state.

This wouldn’t be the clean kill of a blaster shot. It would be the bloodiness of a blade. The tip was still flecked with the stormtrooper’s blood, and Din saw Gideon fix his unnervingly calm gaze on that point. 

“Move aside,” Din growled, his voice coming out thick through the modulator. “Or I’ll make you regret it.”

But Moff Gideon only seemed amused, his dark gaze roving over Din’s battered form as he took a careful step back, eyes dancing with bloody humor. “You don’t look well, Djarin. A wounded Mandalorian isn’t good for much, you know. Might be time to put you down.”

Din shifted his grip on the spear, advancing on Gideon to force him back even further, but the Imperial remained just where he was. That one step forward had cost Din as he felt pain cut deep across the back of his thigh as the blaster wound was agitated. The blood wasn’t an issue, but Din never fared well with burns. There was something about that insistent, searing pain and the exposure of raw flesh that was nearly enough to bring him to his knees in this state. 

Something warm trickled down the back of Din’s neck, and he knew it had to be blood. Black intruded in on his vision, but he blinked it clear, forcing himself to draw in a series of short breaths as he kept his focus on the Imperial before him. 

He had to get the kid out of there. 

Gideon was oddly calm about the entire standoff and Din felt his nerves scream out in warning the longer he stood there, watching those calculating eyes and poisonous smile spread out across his face. The Imperial held no weapon, yet not a trace of concern was visible on his features. 

Something was incredibly wrong about this. Din just didn’t know what.

“I see you had the pleasure of meeting my dark troopers.” Gideon’s voice was sickeningly smug as he met Din’s gaze evenly. “What did you think of them?”

“Where did you get the beskar?” Din demanded roughly.

Gideon’s smile only widened. “The plunders of Mandalore. Much has changed since you left home, Djarin. Although I suppose it never really was home for you, and it certainly isn’t now. Have you noticed a pattern with that? Your homes? They keep getting destroyed.” 

Din was propelled back to that moment of insurmountable shock and despair as he watched the Razor Crest torn apart in the explosion on Tython, leaving only two salvageable items in the ashen remains. Gideon’s jab was not without substance, feeling like an invisible vibroblade wedged into a nonexistent chink in his armour just above his heart.

His first and second homes had been completely torn apart by the Empire’s war. 

The third reduced to dust before his eyes. 

And Moff Gideon had played no small part in almost all of it. 

The Imperial seemed to recognize he struck a nerve and it only served to encourage him. 

“Tell me,” Gideon said, taking his chance to twist the knife in even deeper. “Do you recognize this?” 

His smirk was insufferable as he struck his black vambraces against his chest, the metal striking off the breastplate in a familiar tone. Rather than the dull metallic clang of durasteel, a sweet, crisp sound rang out through the open space of the small cell, and Din felt his heavy heart sink that much further, his grip on the spear faltering.

Beskar.

Gideon’s armour was made of beskar. 

Rage blinded his vision and Din found himself letting out an ungodly roar as he dove forward and swung the spear at the Imperial’s head. The indignity of it was too much to bear, seeing Mandalore’s precious beskar melted to form an Imperial officer’s armour. He was certain he would have killed the man then and there, but Gideon was fast to react, reaching for something at his belt as the spear swung near.

Just before the beskar would have made contact with his head something dark and radiant erupted to life from a rectangular hilt in his hand, almost blinding Din with the sudden burst of light in front of his eyes. 

The spear slammed into the blade of the Darksaber and did not go any further.

Grogu cried out in surprise and began babbling insistently, almost frantic, but Din couldn’t understand a word of it. 

Shock slammed into him with the force of a falling boulder as he stared, amazement and horror competing for dominance in his mind as the two Mandalorian weapons were locked against each other. For a long moment there was nothing else to be heard but the screeching of metal and the deep thrumming of pure energy radiating from the saber.

Gideon took advantage of Din’s surprise and parried the spear away, stepping clear of Din’s reach as the spear lowered and he held the saber out in front of him in something close to triumph. 

“I was wondering if you knew what this was,” Gideon’s drawling voice was tinged with deep amusement as he studied the Mandalorian’s reaction. 

Of course Din knew what it was. 

How could he not?

The last time Din had seen anything close to a rendition of it was on a battered tapestry that once hung from one of the many coverts he was shuffled through as a foundling. It had been a thing of beauty once, the embroidery threaded through with strands of silver and gold accents that had been dulled with time, vibrant colors muted to create a much less imposing image than had existed before. 

The tapestry was of a figure that he always assumed was some depiction of Mandalore the Great, though he never truly learned the identity of the beskar plated figure embroidered into life. He just knew it to be a Mandalorian of some renown. In the hand, however, was something that looked strikingly similar to a Jedi’s laser sword- a lightsaber. 

A Jedi weapon in the hands of a Mandalorian. 

The armourer had swiftly torn the tapestry down and burned it in the fires of her forge, but that image was forever ingrained in Din’s mind. Some of the older Mandalorians in the covert traded stories about it to the foundlings when they thought the weaponsmith wasn’t listening, and Din slowly came to learn what the Darksaber truly was. 

But this sight before him- 

No tapestry could capture this image of power. 

The blade itself was black as the darkest night, as black the core of a dead planet and the most fertile soil on Lah’mu. But a brilliant white light radiated out from all edges, so strong that it seemed to fracture through the dark core, leaving a webbed design behind like cracked glass or veins of pure energy. The hilt the blade emanated from was rectangular with a hilt, and Din had no doubt in his mind it was beskar. The steady hum of energy pulsing from the shining weapon filled Din’s ears with the intensity of a low chant, and in his memory he could almost hear the screams of past warriors, the mournful serenity of the many elegies for the fallen. 

It looked like something from a nightmare. 

It looked like something holy. Something ancient. 

Something… divine. 

Din’s spear might have been made of beskar, but this- this was a Mandalorian weapon. 

And there it was, in the hands of Moff Gideon. 

“Where,” Din’s voice was as shallow and dry as a Tatooine stream, virtually nonexistent as he fought to speak. “Did you get that.”

The blade retreated back into the hilt and the Imperial’s smile turned as cold and sharp as a shard of ice. 

“I don’t think I’ll tell you,” Gideon bared his teeth in a grin, tightening his grip on the hilt. “I’d much rather just kill you with it.”

Din cast a quick glance behind him to see Grogu huddled in the further corner of the bench, pressing his tiny form against the wall of the cell. His fearful eyes met Din’s, lips trembling with fear. There was something exhausted in his small face, weary, worn and tired. Weak from his captivity. Even the lights seemed to drain the color from Grogu’s skin and his chest heaved as he drew in a shaky breath. 

A surge of protective desperation cut through Din’s chest and he swallowed down a thick lump of emotion, pushing back every sensation of pain that threatened to overwhelm him. 

The kid needed to get out of there. Soon.

“I’m leaving here with the kid,” Din spared no ounce of determination from his voice as he stared down the Imperial officer, tensing for a fight. “Nothing you do can stop that.”

Gideon’s smile only grew. “We’ll see about that.”

Din hefted the spear in his hand and inhaled deeply, steeling himself as he prepared to charge-

But then, a shout reached his ears, footsteps sounding in the corridor beyond the open door.

For a single, solitary second, Din dared hope that it was someone coming to his aid. That somehow someone found their way to the detention block, that Cobb escaped the prison of the corridor’s walls.

That hope shattered as soon as he heard the newcomer’s voice. 

“Moff Gideon!” Dr. Pershing cried as he burst into the cell, his eyes rapidly seeking the man out before he suddenly froze in the doorway, lips parted in blatant surprise. 

He was staring at Din, paralyzed. 

Like he thought he’d seen a ghost. 

And Din knew he looked the same, his eyes fixed in disbelief on the doctor. 

What the hell was he doing here?

“Well,” Gideon said coolly as he assessed their silence, reaching one hand up to his own shoulders and unclasping his cape, letting the black material pool on the floor behind him. “That explains it.”

Gideon moved so quickly that Din couldn’t even think of moving, leaving him staring with aborted horror as the Darksaber was speared mercilessly through Dr. Pershing’s chest. 

“NO!” Pure instinct urged Din to reach out for him but something held him back, rooting him in place as the gruesome scene unfolded before his eyes. 

Pershing should have died instantly. 

He should have at least screamed. 

Instead, he was frozen in that eternal moment as he was impaled upon the black, thrumming blade. An awful, strangled sound bubbled from his throat in something like a hoarse cry. Pershing scrabbled weakly for any sort of hold on Gideon’s armour, but his hands failed him as his body finally went slack, eyes fixed on his master one last time in a look of utter shock and betrayal.

Din felt bile scorch the back of his throat as he was unable to tear his eyes away from the nightmare in front of him. Cold dread coursed through his veins, horror pooling in his stomach, infecting him into a macabre paralysis. 

There was a loud hum as the blade retracted and Dr. Pershing crumpled to the ground.

Dead.

Din suddenly found his strength and went to surge forward, but was stopped before he could even begin his attack. 

“Ah, ah,” Gideon tutted condescendingly, and the blade hummed to life once again, leveled directly at Din. “Your turn now, Djarin.”

Grogu whimpered in the near distance, and Din shifted to stand in front of the child, forming a barricade with his own body. 

“I don’t think so.”

The beskar sang as Din swung the spear through the air and struck out toward Gideon, connecting with the dark saber once again. The Imperial pulled his weapon away with a yell, aiming at Din’s side, but it was deflected by the spear’s shaft and quickly pushed away. Din’s arms strained under the force as he gripped the beskar shaft with both hands and gave a feral shout, channeling his energy into pushing the saber’s blade up and away. 

Going into the fight, Din already knew he was at a massive disadvantage. He wasn’t skilled in fighting with a long weapon like this, used to the close quarter combat of knives or the long distance of blasters. Nothing like this staff. The spear proved to be an awkward source of protection as he found himself having to constantly adjust the length at which he held it at with each blow he deflected or stab he tried to take.

The small speartip was no bigger than a knife, almost nothing in comparison to the larger blade of the Darksaber that Gideon wielded with an unmistakable finesse, clearly well versed in this variety of combat. His eyes were full of a gleeful fire, like he took amusement from his upper hand in the fight. 

Time for Din to change things on his terms. 

He drove a knee into Gideon’s stomach, beskar against beskar, and the man stumbled back, the Darksaber falling to his side. 

Taking advantage of the seconds it took Gideon to recover, Din shouted and sliced out with the spear like a sword, catching him by the upper arm. The blade sliced through the material of his sleeve and cut deeper than Din expected it to, a light flash of bone appearing as he pulled it away. Gideon howled in agony, his features contorting with anger as he forced himself to move through the pain and gripped the hilt of the Darksaber with both hands, unleashing a hellish roar as he swung it at the Mandalorian.

Din raised his arm, catching the saber on his vambrace and gritting his teeth as sparks flew from the contact. The controls hissed and crackled, the lights of the whistling birds dying out, and he knew he’d lost the use of his grappling hook, possibly the fire as well. His head was pounding beyond belief and his face was unusually damp with perspiration beneath his helmet, but it was nothing he hadn’t gone through before. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Din used the vambrace as a shield, keeping the Darksaber locked against it as he advanced on the Imperial. 

Gideon’s eyes widened a fraction as Din closed the distance and gripped the spear in his free hand, thrusting the blade right into his thigh. He relished the bloody scream that followed and Gideon dropped the saber away from Din’s arm, his face tight with fury. It was a brief victory as there was barely any time to pull the spear free before Gideon twisted and raised his good leg, planting a firm kick in Din’s abdomen.

His foot struck beneath the cuirass, right in the padding over his gut, and Din felt all the air leave him in one go as he flew backward, crashing to the floor in a heap of beskar. His entire body cried out in pain as old injuries were agitated and the spear clattered from his hand, landing somewhere across the room. Distantly, he heard Grogu cry out for him.

“Come on, Djarin!” Gideon taunted, his brow glistening with sweat as he raised the Darksaber above him, blood soaking through the leg and sleeve of his dark clothing. His chest heaved beneath the armour, but the fight seemed to have instilled a manic energy in him that shone menacingly in his eyes. “Where’s that Mandalorian might?”

Just as he made to plunge the blade downward, Din thrust his arm out, a jet of flames spitting out from his vambrace. Gideon threw himself clear of the fire before it caught him full on, dropping to the ground with a groan. Din wasted no time in scrambling over to him, straddling his waist and delivering a swift punch to his jaw. The Imperial’s head rocked back into the floor and he made an awkward strike with the Darksaber, managing a deep cut to Din’s left arm. 

He could feel the searing heat of it radiate down to his bone as it sliced clean through his sleeve and skin, cutting through muscle and flesh like a deep blaster wound, but Din crashed his helmet into Gideon’s face, his nose snapping like a brittle twig. The Darksaber fell away and Gideon gasped wretchedly, half choking as blood streamed relentlessly down his face. 

Desperately fighting against the brutal pulses of pain travelling down his wounded arm, Din seized the man’s wrist and slammed it onto the floor with a shout, the weapon finally falling from Gideon’s slack hand. As soon as it was free from his grip the glowing blade retracted into the hilt and Din felt a brief rush of relief, raising his fist to drive a punch into the Imperial’s throat-

Pure agony stabbed through Din’s left side and his vision went black, a sharp ringing piercing his ears as the pain consumed every one of his senses. A burst of sick warmth flooded out from just above his waist, and something in him twisted-

He didn’t know much in that moment, but Din was almost sure he screamed. 

Gideon threw the Mandalorian clear, and Din crumpled at the base of the nearest wall, a low moan escaping his throat as he curled in on his side, panicked fingers searching out the wound and taking hold the knife buried to the hilt beneath his ribs. He let out a choked sound as he released the blade, the only remaining logical part of his mind insisting he would only make things worse if he pulled it out. 

Din’s breaths were becoming increasingly shallow, his vision pulsing in and out of focus as he weakly pushed against the floor with his uninjured arm, gasping sharply as he tried and failed to rise. 

The cut from the Darksaber had been bad, but it wasn’t any worse than a bad blaster wound. But the sensation of the blade twisted inside him, buried, forced deep into his side- 

It could have killed a weaker man. But not him.

Gideon drove his foot into Din’s wounded side and the Mandalorian screamed again, unable to hold it back. The child began to wail from the corner and Din felt a stab of panic in his chest, frantically trying to seek him out. 

As Gideon tried to kick him again, Din grabbed into his leg and pulled as hard as he could, throwing the man off balance. Gideon fell, but he was quicker to rise than Din and kicked out one more, catching him right under the jaw. 

Din’s head snapped backward and slammed into the wall, a white hot pulse of pain enveloping his skull as he heard a sickeningly audible crack. 

There was nothing but black for several seconds before the world returned, and the torture with it. 

Across the room, Grogu was crying. 

It made sense that death refused to take Din just then. 

His kid still needed him. 

The pain was so intense that Din was struggling to breathe, mouth opening and closing uselessly as he failed to draw in any significant amount of air, eyes thrown wide as the agony paralyzed him. He could feel it everywhere, in his head, his side, his arm, leg, his teeth- 

There wasn’t even the energy to breathe. 

Consciousness held him prisoner as Gideon smiled smugly down at his unmoving form, satisfied that Din was either dead or as good as. He turned and limped toward the center of the room, stooping to retrieve the Darksaber. 

“That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?” Gideon’s tone was cruel and mocking as he faced Grogu, the child’s bright eyes wide with terror.

His weak form trembled and he extended a clawed hand in Gideon’s direction, his small face contorting as he tried to use his powers, but he slumped after mere seconds, too tired to manage anything. 

“Enough of this nonsense,” Gideon snapped harshly, reaching out for him with a gloved hand, beckoning sharply. His bloody features made for a horrific sight, only accentuated by his expression of undiluted fury. “Your protector is dead.”

I’m not, Din wanted to protest, but the words became lodged in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut as another stab of pain lanced through his side from where the knife was buried. I’m not dead, Ad’ika. 

Grogu whimpered and refused to move. 

“Child.” Gideon ordered in his crisp tone. “Come here.”

He has a name, Din almost snapped, arms buckling beneath himself as he held his breath, by some miracle managing to get up to his knees. He must have made some noise because Gideon turned just as Din grabbed hold of a fixture in the wall, dragging himself roughly to his feet.

“Don’t…” Din gasped, a stuttered groan falling from his lips as the blade shifted in his side, head pounding furiously. “Don’t you dare touch him.”

The child let out a started coo, hope flickering across his wrinkled green features. 

“Oh,” Gideon didn’t sound impressed as his dark eyes slid over Din’s beaten form. “You don’t stay dead for long, do you?” 

“You-” Din grit his teeth, slumping back against the wall, the only thing keeping him on his feet at this point. “You sound…surprised.”

Gideon shrugged impassively, shifting his grip on the hilt of the Darksaber, the blade not yet in sight. “No matter, you will be soon enough.”

It sounded like a logical assessment. In all honesty, Din didn’t feel very alive. There was something severely wrong with his skull and the wound his side was still bleeding freely, sapping the meager iota of strength the Mandalorian had remaining. 

It didn’t matter how much blood he lost, how many wounds he sustained. Until the child was safe, Din could not die. He would not allow himself that weakness, that unimaginable failure. Unarmed, broken and bloody, Din had nothing left to his advantage except his life. And he would use that until the very last flicker. 

No matter how hopeless it was, no matter how failing his body, he would fight. 

He would fight for his kid. 

“You hoped to be his saving grace, didn’t you? His salvation.” Gideon’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “You would waste your final moments dying in futile agony, failing to protect him from me.”

“Yes,” Din gasped hoarsely, his head falling back against the wall as he struggled to keep himself upright. “I would.”

“You would die for this thing.” The smile slipped from Gideon’s face, replaced by a frigid curiosity. 

Of course he didn’t understand. Someone like him never could. 

“No,” Din shook his head, then regretted the motion as it sent his vision spinning. “I would sacrifice myself for him.”

Gideon barked out a short laugh. “Why?”

Grogu cooed fearfully, cowering in the corner of the cell as he peered through his fingers, unable to take his eyes away from his father.

Din fixed his tired gaze on the child

Run, Din sent out urgently through his thoughts, hoping Grogu somehow got the message. Please.

He saw the child give him a look of absolute despair and pain, but for once he obeyed Din and wriggled over the edge of the bench, dropping lightly to the floor with a muffled whimper. 

Viinir, Ad’ika. Din thought helplessly. 

Run, my child. 

“Why?” Gideon repeated, this time more insistent. 

When Din didn’t answer, he surged forward and thrust his hand around the Mandalorian’s throat, seizing his neck beneath his strong grip.

A gasp tore from Din’s throat and he reached a weak hand up to grab Gideon’s wrist, trying to pull it away, trying to breathe- 

Movement fluttered over Gideon’s shoulder and Din saw the last trace of Grogu’s robe disappear through the door. 

Din sagged in Gideon’s grip, overcome with relief. 

The kid was free. 

The Imperial finally released Din, standing back and watching as the Mandalorian gathered himself up, Gideon staring intently at him, still waiting for his answer. Din sucked in greedy gulps of air, as much as he could muster beneath the helmet. His bruised throat protested the decision, but his lungs needed it. They needed it for what was to come.

Gideon wanted an answer.

He would get it.

“Because-” Din choked out, grunting in pain as he forced himself off the wall, balancing on unsteady feet as he raised his arms in front of him defensively, preparing for whatever hit was to come. Whatever came his way, Din would take it. He would fight until there was nothing left in him. Until he’d done everything in his human power to ensure Grogu had his best chance of escape. “-because his life is worth ten of mine. And I will gladly die if it means he lives.”

Suddenly, on the other side of the room, the beskar spear seemed to call out to him. In that moment the metal felt alive in his presence, responsive. Waiting. 

Something deep within himself told him that if he wanted it, it would listen. The now familiar tug in his gut seemed to spread through his veins now, his very blood, his soul- and whatever it was, this strange feeling, this force- 

Oh. 

The beskar called again. 

So Din reached for it. 

Gideon laughed again. “You’re a fool, then.”

“No,” Din said, feeling a sudden surge of calm warmth spread through him, dulling the edges of his pain and infusing him with a clarity like he’d never felt before. “I’m his father.” 

The beskar staff flew into his hand and Din couldn’t even find it within himself to react. Gideon’s eyes went wide and the Darksaber flashed to life-

-and with the last ounce of his strength, Din drove the spear up beneath Gideon’s cuirass, plunging it deep into his chest. 

Something vicious, agonizing, and searing hot slammed through Din’s side, but the pain was nothing but white noise as he was gripped with his last burst of determination, driving the blade in those last few inches. 

And he let go. 

Moff Gideon fell to the floor, a beskar spear buried a quarter of the way through his chest, a thin trail of blood working its way from his parted lips. 

Somehow, Din felt the exact moment he died. 

It was the same moment that Din looked down and saw the hilt of the Darksaber protruding from his own abdomen, buried near his side just inches below the knife. 

Oh.

He took a heavy step forward, his knees buckling under the staggering weight of the mountain of agony piling onto his body. With his last clear thought, Din seized the hilt of the saber and the blade vanished, the weapon falling to the ground, inert. 

Gideon was dead. The child was safe.

It’s over now. 

The Mandalorian finally collapsed. 

Then, darkness.

------

Din Djarin often wondered what it would feel like to die. 

Not that he even fully grasped what living was meant to be. 

His life was one of survival, not living. Always skirting on the edge of the shadow of death, but never fully in the sun. Such was the lot of one who was both hunter and prey.

Survival meant hiding.

It also meant war. 

A constant war against a universe that was only out to destroy him. 

War held a sort of divinity to it. His upbringing with the Mandalorians was filled with the tales of eons past, songs of the ancient religion, and through them he learned of the beauty of battle, but soon even that began to rust with time. 

They were taught not to fear kyr’am. Death. Fear made a warrior weak, soft. The beskar only did so much. A Mandalorian had to be steel both within and without. The divine act of war required a fortitude beyond their mortal bounds.  

They fought like gods. 

They fell like men. 

This was the Way. 

A warrior’s death was meant to be welcomed with open arms. 

But as Din lay on the floor of that wretched cell, the bloodied body of Moff Gideon lying twisted and prone only feet away from that of Dr. Pershing, he knew he didn’t want to die then. 

Not like this. 

Not alone. 

Consciousness returned to him at some indistinct point in time, but it hardly made a difference to him as he lay on the cold, hard ground, slowly being consumed by his injuries like the near eternal torture of a sarlacc. There was no part of him that didn’t ache or burn, and even his legs seemed unresponsive as they lay tangled out in front of him. With a guttural groan, he rolled from his right side onto his back, and the effort was enough to black out his vision for several more seconds. Din made a low sound in the back of his throat and didn’t even try to convince himself it wasn’t a whimper. He was beyond that. He was beyond almost everything now, hanging on by a single thread that was fraying with every passing second.

It wasn’t like he could get out of there. Standing was unthinkable. The most he could do was lie there, enshrouded in a suffocating veil of pain, and wait for time to take its course. 

There were three dead men in that cell. 

Din was just taking a bit longer to get there. 

The sound of footsteps came from the corridor beyond the cell and Din winced, closing his eyes. Stormtroopers no doubt. Gideon’s reinforcements arriving too late. 

It was almost a relief. At least they would finish him off. Deliver him from this world of agony. 

He hoped that Grogu managed to get away safely, that perhaps he found the others before someone else got to him-

“Oh, no,” a familiar voice moaned wretchedly. “No, no, no!”

Din’s eyes flew open as something crashed beside him, hands grabbing at his chest, his arm, tugging his glove off and pressing two warm fingers to his bare wrist, feeling for a pulse. 

He was sure he was dead. Dead or dreaming. 

Because Cobb Vanth was kneeling on the floor beside him, looking at Din like his entire world was falling apart. 

Blood was smeared across the marshal’s jaw, his lip split and bloody from a small cut. The durasteel cuirass was scorched black from blaster fire and somehow he’d lost his red neckerchief, the only color now found in his blue shirt. In spite of his injuries, his eyes still shone like twin stars, a halo of light around the core of darkness. He didn’t think he’d get to see the stars one last time before he died, but there they were. And for a moment, those became the only fixed points in Din’s rapidly shrinking world. Those worried stars shining out at him from the kind face of Cobb Vanth.

Beautiful, Din thought dazedly, staring blankly up at him. It was the only word that seemed to exist in his mind. The only one that mattered then. 

Relief flooded Cobb’s features as he finally found that elusive pulse and he let out a sharp, wounded sigh, dropping his head down onto Din’s chest. It would have been a tender moment, perhaps, had Din not gasped in pain from the motion, reaching out and seizing Cobb’s wrist in a bruising grip.

“H-hurts,” Din managed to get out, and Cobb’s eyes went wide as he fell backward like the touch burned him.

“Sorry! Sorry, I’m so-” Cobb quickly cut himself off, kneeling over Din and looking him over, his face paling as he took in the two wounds to his side. “Maker above-”

The fear in his voice was strong enough to fracture it, the marshal’s usual confidence torn to shreds as he saw how bad a shape Din was in. Whatever flicker of hope there had been in his eyes after Din spoke was rapidly extinguished, replaced by a steely determination as he grabbed onto his shoulders, digging his fingers into the straps of his armour. 

“Come on, partner! We’ve gotta get you up-”

“Stop,” Din shook his head weakly, wishing Cobb didn’t have to do this, didn’t have to try to make it seem like he even had a fighting chance of making it out of this room alive. It wasn’t enough that he was dying, he didn’t want Cobb to have to suffer through his despair as well. “I- I can’t.”

I can’t move. I can’t get out of here. 

I can’t hold on much longer.

Cobb seemed to only partially understand, releasing Din’s shoulders, his hands flying to his pocket and pulling out a small medpac, attempting to work it open with shaking fingers. 

His perseverance was admirable. Din just wished it wasn’t wasted on a lost cause.  Cobb Vanth was capable of a great many things, but conjuring miracles out of thin air was not one of them. Fortunately, there was nothing Din could do to stop him from trying.

“I hope you know I’m not gonna forgive you if you die on me now,” Cobb warned with a trembling voice, tearing away the ruined material of Din’s shirt and padding around the wounds to his side. He uncapped a small syringe with his teeth and spat the cap out on the floor, depressing the syringe into an unbroken expanse of skin and injecting the bacta directly into Din’s body. “Not a chance in hell I’m letting you get away with that.”

“I’m already dead.”

“Don’t say that,” Cobb’s voice shook as he froze, staring down at Din with an intensity that almost stole his breath away. “You luck hasn’t run out yet.”

In spite of everything, Din laughed, a dry, rasping sound drawn from his lips. The effort of it drew forward another onslaught of pain, but it hardly felt significant against everything else. 

“S- so much for luck,” he tried for a feeble smile, watching as Cobb continued to try to do the impossible and save his fleeting life. There was the sound of a canister popping open and he soon felt the blissful coolness of the bacta spray against his raw, angry skin where the Darksaber had gone through him.

It was such a relief from the brutal agony that a low moan escaped his throat and he closed his eyes, basking in that momentary bliss. 

Cobb huffed out a laugh, but it was fraught with tension. “Last I checked, dead men don’t make jokes, partner.”

Partner. It was always that. 

Partner. Friend.

“You n- never call me Mando,” Din rasped, his voice unnaturally rough as it filtered through the vocoder. “Why?”

It was true. Not once had that name ever passed between them. Everyone else used it so casually, but not Cobb. That name had never been spoken by him. Not that Din had been forthcoming with much else.

He knew it was an odd question, but talking seemed to be helping distract him from the pain, especially as Cobb removed the knife from his side, quickly patching it over with another bacta injection and bandage. 

Cobb fixed him with a look of pure confusion as he thought over the question. Was this the time for that? He shrugged one bony shoulder and quickly began rifling through the small medpac for more supplies. “Figure you got a name like the rest of us, not my place you give you one that ain’t yours. Seen enough of that back in my day.”  

Din thought of the star brand carved into Cobb’s skin and decided it was the most honest answer of them all. 

“Din.” he choked out before he could regret the decision. “It’s Din.” 

Cobb’s smile would have been blinding had it not been dimmed by the dark visor. “Well, hey there, Din. It’s good to meet you.” 

For a brief moment he was struck into silence. No one with good intentions had called him by his true name in quite some time. Years and years. Gideon only used it as a taunt, a weapon. Hearing it from Cobb… it was unfamiliar. But not unpleasant. 

It sounded right. 

Besides, something told him he wasn’t going to be making it out of the hangar alive. Perhaps he would be allowed this, whatever it was, before he died. 

“Din? You still alive under there?” Cobb’s voice was light, but there was an audible vein of tension and worry beneath it. He felt a slight vibration through the side of his helmet, like Cobb was tapping it. 

A sensation of warmth closed around Din’s heart as it leapt, still unused to hearing his name from Cobb like that.

Din choked out a small laugh and immediately regretted the impulse, hissing sharply through his teeth. “How bad is it?”

“It took a good chunk outta you, I’ll say that much,” Cobb said honestly, his voice wavering ever so slightly, and Din couldn’t tell whether he appreciated the candor or not. 

“Th-the child-” Ad’ika. 

“I’ve got him!” Cara’s voice suddenly came from nearby, followed by a familiar, high pitched trill from the infant cradled in her arms. 

She knelt on the ground beside Cobb, her attention soon fixated on the dead body of Moff Gideon. Several emotions passed over her face in quick procession before she wrestled a look of calm into place, nodding resolutely like she was confirming something.

Confirming that it was over. 

The precious cargo in her arms made a sound of protest and wriggled free, dropping to the floor and grabbing hold of Din’s arm, hugging it to his chest. 

Grogu had Cobb’s neckerchief wrapped around him like a blanket and Din felt a swell of warmth in his chest as he realized Cobb must have been one of the first to find the kid after he escaped the cell. The child had been in good hands all this time. 

Din reached out with his ungloved hand, smoothing his fingers gently over the back of his head in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Grogu cooed worriedly, nuzzling closer to his father as Cobb continued trying to patch him up. 

“The imps are abandoning ship,” Cara said breathlessly, her face flushed with exertion like she’d been running hard. “Fennec and Boba are bringing the shuttle back down to the water.”

He turned his head slightly to face her, blinking in confusion. “Wh-”

“Greef Karga brought some old friends with him as reinforcements.” Cara grabbed his other hand, squeezing as she smiled. “Apparently stormtroopers don’t like the look of ten X-wings surrounding them.” 

Din let his head fall back against the ground with a sigh, wincing as a throb of pain enveloped it once again. Grogu wrapped a small hand around Din’s finger, blinking widely at him as he attempted to return the comforting gesture. 

“It’s okay, Ad’ika,” Din whispered softly, feeling tears well up in his eyes again. “It’s okay.”

Grogu didn’t seem to believe him. Din wasn’t sure he even did himself. 

“How’s he doing, Cobb?” Cara asked worriedly, leaning over to look at Din’s bloody side. 

Whatever she saw was bad, because for a moment Din almost thought she might become violently ill and she looked away sharply, breathing heavily through her nose. 

“It’s bad,” the other marshal confirmed, his sad eyes meeting Din’s through the visor. 

Cobb was trying his best to clean the wound left by the Darksaber, but judging by the sputtering hissing coming from the miniscule bacta canister he was almost out, and Din was rapidly losing feeling in his left side below his ribs. There was no pain or warmth from blood, just a vague tingling and the sensation of… cold. 

He couldn’t feel the pain… but he couldn’t feel anything. 

Bacta didn’t do that. 

Cobb placed a gentle hand on the side of his helmet, not to remove it, simply to touch, and Din found himself turning toward it, chasing a touch that would never come, separated by the beskar between them.

Din hadn’t wanted to focus on it, but his vision was becoming steadily tinged with a dark haze over the past few minutes, but he’d fought against it as best he could just so he could settle his eyes on Cobb and Grogu. He wanted to see them, he wanted-

He hadn’t known what it meant to live until now. All his years had been spent half alive, relishing simply being not dead, never basking in the warm rays of life. But now he was graced with the merest sliver of that warmth, and it was enough to bring him to tears. 

Thank Manda no one could see them falling through the dark visor. 

Except… Din wanted them to. Whatever emotion he shared was what escaped through his voice or showed in his actions, never his face. Just an inclination of the helmet or a shift in his stance. Less emotion, less human. More man than machine. But he wanted to be human, he wanted to be alive-

Every Mandalorian knew K’oyacyi! “Stay alive!” It was always a command, an instruction to survive. 

There wasn’t a word for just living. 

He didn’t even know what that meant. 

Except now, he had some idea. 

His helmet never felt like a prison. Not until Bo-Katan Kryze showed him the walls surrounding him. And suddenly they felt like they were closing in, like he couldn’t breathe-

“Whoa! Din? Din! Just calm down-” Cobb’s eyes were panicked and he moved his hand to press flat against Din’s chest, pushing him back down to the ground. “Breathe! Just breathe for me, partner, just breathe.”

He made it sound so easy. When did the air get so thin?  

Din’s chest heaved with the gasping breaths that rasped through the modulator, and suddenly that was it. 

He couldn’t do it anymore.

It had been building up to this over the past few minutes, but now it was like a switch had been flipped hurtling toward the finality of his decision. 

Din’s fingers hooked under the edge of his helmet and pulled. The mechanism disengaged and hissed as it began to slide open, but Cara’s eyes widened, stopping him. 

“Mando-!”

Hands curled over his own, stilling them, and somehow, even without looking, he knew them to be Cobb’s. 

More footsteps sounded in the corridor and Boba and Fennec soon appeared, both looking worse for wear, but relatively unharmed. The Mandalorian’s helmet was tucked protectively under his arm and his eyes seemed to track immediately to Din, recognizing the significance of what was happening before him. 

“Please.” Din couldn’t help the weakness in his voice at that moment as he turned back to Cobb, watching a strange myriad of emotions flicker across his face. 

He didn’t want a warrior’s death. The fight was over anyway. Din didn’t want to die like the gods of times past or as a nameless, faceless machine. 

He wanted to die as himself. Whatever was left of him. 

He always had such little control over his life. He didn’t want his death to be the same. 

In his periphery, he could see Boba Fett give a slight nod. 

“Take it off,” Din squeezed his hands around Cobb’s, more insistent this time as he hooked them around the edge of his helmet, guiding them. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Or I will.” 

Cobb huffed out a light laugh and Din closed his eyes, taking as deep a breath as he could to steady himself, feeling the tips of fingers begin to brush against his jaw. 

No going back now. 

Cool air rushed against his face as Cobb lifted the helmet off, and his strong hands slid under his neck to gently elevate his head as Din finished removing it, letting it fall to the ground with a sound that oddly wasn’t as final as he thought it would be. 

Warm hands tangled in the bloodied curls at the nape of his neck and he sighed into the touch, not quite ready to open his eyes just then, trying to hold that moment close to him. At his side, he heard Grogu make a sound of pleasant surprise at seeing his guardian’s face, and the tips of his clawed hands brushed against his exposed face. Cara drew in a breath.

Din almost didn’t want to see their expressions. Their reactions. Did he look like how they thought he would? Was it bad? Perhaps he was more injured than he thought.

“Din?” Cobb’s voice was tight with worry and gentle fingers pressed against Din’s neck, working beneath the cowl to search out a pulse. “Din, you gotta say something-”

He finally opened his eyes and had to blink several times, adjusting to the harsh lighting of the cell. After a few moments, however, he found himself able to focus on Cobb’s face again- only this time there was something different. Like he was seeing it for the first time with new eyes. 

A chill crept through his body, winding around his bones, and Din drew in a sharp gasp, the air that much more accessible now. 

But not for much longer.

“Keep- keep talking,” Din pled, squeezing his hand tighter. “I- I can’t-”

“Come on, partner, you can’t die, that’s just bad parenting,” Cobb tried for a joke and Din let out a broken laugh, wheezing painfully. “Your son needs you, Din. Just hang in there. I’ve heard stories about the docs on Kamino, they’ll fix you up nice and good. Maybe you’ll get a metal stomach like our friend over here. Personally I’m alright without one, but she makes it work, don’t you think?”

Boba made a sound of amusement and Fennec huffed. All Din could do was smile, turning his head to look at the bright eyes of his child, gripped with shame as he saw the sadness that saturated those small features. Grogu sniffled, tears trailing down his little face and falling onto Din’s as he huddled closer, a mournful noise torn from his throat.

His kid was so strong. Stronger than Din could ever be. He knew that beyond a doubt, even as he was granted the slightest brush into that force the child seemed to wield with such ease. All that power, yet he was so small. And in so many ways, still vulnerable. As vulnerable as any child. Still, Din was aware of Moff Gideon’s body not far beyond him, his chest pierced with beskar. Dr. Pershing, dead by the Imperial’s hands. Those threats were gone forever, but they would not be the only ones. Grogu was safe from them, but what about others? Other’s Din couldn’t protect him from now?

No force in the whole universe could prepare a child for a world alone. Din knew that more than anything.

“Cobb, you-” Din gasped, gripping the man’s hand as tight as he could, meeting his eyes with an urgency, a desperation, that threatened to suffocate him at any second. “-you’ll- you’ll-”

Keep him safe? 

Was that all he needed?

No, it was more than that.

“You’ll take c-care of him?”

Cobb made a choked sound and raised a hand to cup Din’s cheek, thumb brushing across his bruised skin with a gentleness that brought tears into his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time someone touched him like that. Perhaps it was too long ago, lost under a mountain of time and rubble that Din no longer had to go searching through. Because this was now. Cobb’s hand against his face, warm and kind, calloused and soft, steady and trembling. 

“Cara?” Din rasped, and she quickly wiped at her reddened eyes, looking down at him with a forced smile.

“Yeah, Mando- Din?” Cara blinked away tears as she rested a hand on his shoulder as reassuring as she could.

“Y-you-” Din struggled to find the words, his thoughts steadily fleeing from him. “You’ve done s-some good since we first met. Don’t st-stop. Keep- keep doing good.”

Cara nodded firmly, a rebellious tear escaping her eyes. “I will.”

“Th-thank you.” he sought out Boba and Fennec, their expressions solemn as they nodded. 

A sharp pain exploded in Din’s chest and his back arched across the floor, a guttural cry torn from his throat as he felt himself begin to seize, the shock from his wounds finally settling in. Grogu cried out as he saw him begin to shake, hands curling into the fabric of his cowl like somehow that motion would anchor him, keep him from being drawn off into a place he couldn’t follow. Cobb’s hand was still warm against his face, his thumb still continuing its soothing ministrations over his cheek, now damp with tears.

In that moment of dying, Din never felt so alive. 

He didn’t need the creed.

He didn’t need the Mandalorians.

He had this. Them.

“Say something,” Din’s voice was barely above a whisper as he looked back at Cobb, searching for an answer. “Please.”

Just tell me you’ll watch over him. 

“I- I’ll take care of him. You have my word.” Cobb promised him, nodding slightly. Then, something crossed over his face and he huffed out a light laugh, nothing more than a soft exhalation of air.

Din was struggling to keep his eyes open, trembling from the cold, the pain, trying to grasp one more ray of warmth before it all went away. “Wh-what is it?”

“It’s just-” Cobb swallowed roughly, tears trailing down his face even as he fought to smile. “I didn’t expect this.” 

The marshal looked over at Grogu’s wide eyed gaze, then back at Din, squeezing the other man’s hand.

“He’s got brown eyes,” Cobb said softly. “Just like his dad.”

Din felt something warm stir in his chest as he smiled then, turning to face the child and reaching out a shaking hand to brush against the back of his head. Grogu let out a coo, nestling into his touch and blinking at him with worry. Brown eyes. Cobb had that right.

Just like his dad.

“I love you, kid.” he said quietly, hoping he heard. 

Din cursed himself for not saying it enough. For never saying it until now. 

Grogu sniffled and babbled something back. He heard. 

Din’s eyes fell shut and he exhaled lightly, feeling the tension finally bleed from his body as the cold numbness swallowed him whole. He may not have known life at its fullest, but he knew death when it called. And who was he to refuse it now. 

Two small hands brushed against his face, a surge of warmth flowing into his body before everything went dark. 

Chapter Text

Life returned in fragments. Din would understand that later. 

The darkness that took him had been kinder than he expected, tinged with a comforting warmth like a long sleep that held no end. He was without pain, without cold, without fading, strangely anchored but not quite connected. Not yet. 

When it came down to it, Din hadn’t found it all that hard to finally let go. There was a salient fear on the peripheries of his mind, fear of the unknown, fear of unbeing, but alongside that was peace. Reassurance. 

The child was in good hands. He was safe. He would be cared for. When Din stopped fighting, he knew it would be fine. He would die with a clear conscience and faith in his heart that he did everything he could to ensure his son would have a good life. 

That was all he needed. 

Din had fought all his life. It was nice to rest now. 

There were times where Din thought he certainly must have been asleep, else why would he dream? Dead men didn’t dream, yet they came for him, brief moments of light seeking him out in the cocoon of dark and ensnaring him with fleeting bursts of sensation. Sounds and touch. Hushed murmurs and babbling cries. Something soft on his chest, a warm hand clasped around his. They drifted in from time to time, infiltrating the comforting shroud of whatever state he found himself in. They were never clear and never lasted long, but each time one came and left he found himself longing for the next one, aching for the next feeling of a small clawed hand wrapped around his finger, soft fabric against his neck, or chapped lips against his brow. 

Surreal comfort.

Strange dreams. 

He wished they lasted longer.

Din knew they couldn’t be memories, because once he was sure he heard Cobb Vanth singing. 

The words failed to reach him, but the melody found its way through, bringing that low, rich voice with it, and suddenly that darkness felt less alone. It held the gentle cadence of a lullaby, ebbing and flowing with a sweetness he didn’t think he would know again. Din could feel himself drifting toward the voice, inextricably drawn to that point of radiant brightness which made all other warmth simply tepid in comparison. It was as if the sun somehow found him in death, carried in on a dream. 

There had never been one more beautiful.

He wished this one wouldn’t end. 

The voice drew nearer, so close that Din thought he would almost be able to reach that invisible, tangible sun beyond the darkness. Everything in him strained to reach it, snapping the coils of darkness that kept him tethered, but all he could feel was his fingers twitching…twitching against something soft… 

Suddenly, the gentle singing ceased, and if Din could cry he was sure he would have. He just wanted it back, anything to bring that back before he returned to the dark… 

He felt his hand lift, clasped between two others, the soft press of lips against the backs of his knuckles. A murmur against his skin that reached down to his bones, his soul. “Din? Are you with me?”

‘I’m with you,’ Din wanted to say, and he meant it with all his heart. Those three words were the truest things he knew in that shroud of uncertainty. 

But there was nothing he could do to respond. 

“Is he awake?” A new voice broke in, laced with delicate hope. A woman. He could almost place it… 

“No,” He felt his hand lowered back to wherever it was. A pause. “Not yet.”

And then he wasn’t. 

------

When Din finally woke, he wasn’t entirely sure he did.

He hadn’t moved, still suspended somewhere in that darkness, but all of a sudden he felt himself assaulted by sensations that had previously been muted or nonexistent, the world around him reaching through and reconnecting when he himself could not. The nothingness that supported him felt firmer and more concrete now, the soft give of a mattress and the light warmth of a blanket settled across his chest, drawn up to his neck. Smooth sheets ran beneath his fingers and Din felt them twitch, curling into the fabric as if he could secure himself in this new place by touch alone. 

There was something faintly herbal in the air, crisp and clean yet also earthy and vaguely familiar. A tinge of something sweet in the distance. It was almost too much to process, but his addled mind dulled everything for him. 

Breaching consciousness felt like surfacing through deep waters, surrounded by a gradually fading darkness as he reached up to the light, a steady ascent before-

Din found himself able to draw in a breath then, inhaling deeply as air surged into his lungs like they’d been starving for it, demanding more. Something about it felt off, like he was long out of practice, so he took it slow, drawing in lighter breaths through parted lips until he was able to fall back into an easy rhythm like he had before waking, no longer needing to focus on it. 

The confusion snared him first as he struggled to understand this sudden onslaught of feeling that seemed so much like life, but surely that couldn’t be right-

And then the pain hit. 

His head began to throb like it was being trampled by a herd of rogue banthas and Din drew in a sharp hiss of breath, hands flying to his brow as if he could contain the pain with that simple action. Unfortunately for him, it failed, and Din twisted onto his side, legs tangled up in something that refused to let him go- 

Din’s first instinct was to fight against whatever was trapping him, kicking out to free his legs, hands reaching down to tear it away, eyes opening-

Only to see nothing but darkness. 

A moment of panic seized Din and he felt himself now falling from some low height, crashing awkwardly to a rough, but even ground, cool to the touch but all too abrasive for his agitated state. There was a noise somewhere beyond the darkness, something like voices, and Din quickly scrambled into a sitting position, moving until something hard hit his back. 

Breathing heavily through his nose, Din stared blankly at his dense black surroundings, unable to see anything- not even his hands. Nothing. 

He had many dreams, but this was his first nightmare. 

A sound of distress built in his throat and broke free, and Din thought he heard himself moan, reaching toward his face with his hands, trying to see-

Suddenly, several feet away, a rectangle of blinding light cut into the dark, interrupted only by the outline of what he assumed was a person. Din grimaced and shut his eyes against it, only to find the light gone when they opened again. It had hurt for that moment, but he wanted it back, he craved the light, anything he could see… his head hurt… and there was the sound of something moving through the darkness, moving closer- 

“Din,” a familiar voice said gently, his low voice tainted with relief and worry, and in that moment almost every anxiety seemed to subside as once as Din found himself drawn to that voice, a voice belonging to someone he couldn’t even see… 

A voice that sang the song with the warmth of the Tatooine suns. 

“I can’t see,” Din rasped, his own voice unfamiliar to his ears. He was surprised to be able to form the words at all. His throat felt dry, voiced grated, like he’d decided to swallow the dune sea. “I can’t-”

A firm hand on his chest grounded him, pressed lightly over his sternum, and Din focused on that point as he calmed his breaths, squeezing his eyes shut and praying for light. Calloused hands wrapped around his own, drawing them down from his face. “Okay, it’s okay, Din, just hold tight. I’m going to let some light in so just be careful, alright, partner? Your eyes are gonna need to adjust.”

Din hoped he was nodding, making a low noise of assent. Anything to get rid of the dark. Anything.

The hands left him and there was the sound of someone moving, moving across what Din now supposed was a room of some kind. After a few moments, Din could hear metal grating and faint squealing as slits of light slowly entered the dark space from a high point near the ceiling of a nearby wall. Metal slats ran horizontally across a small, oblong window like shutters, steady opening and admitting warm rays of sunlight into the room along with whispers of dry heat that spoke of sand and dust. 

With the light came sounds, sounds of children giggling somewhere outside in the distance, sounds of people talking and sand shifting against stone. Suddenly things weren’t so quiet and hollow, they were full and vibrant, a world steadily taking form around him with every passing second. 

It was almost too bright for Din to bear, but after a handful of seconds and much blinking he was able to get his eyes adjusted to the daylight that surrounded him, enough to finally get a good bearing on his surroundings. 

He was half sprawled on the floor of a modest sized bedroom, the walls and floor made of a light colored stone that seemed to capture and hold the light that fell on it. It was sparsely furnished with few personal effects, save for a few articles of familiar red and brown clothing thrown into a basket in the corner by what looked like a closet. All along the window ledge were various small items, a few colored stones like silicax crystals from a mine, something that looked like a small womp rat skull, and a few roughly hewn wooden figurines whose shapes Din couldn’t quite discern. 

Right across from him, near the closed door, was an ancient looking trunk, his armour and helmet stacked neatly atop it like they’d been placed there with immense care, the beskar spear resting against the wall beside it. Alongside the armour was the all too familiar hilt of the Darksaber, Gideon’s stolen weapon. 

Strangely, Din recognized this place. It was Cobb Vanth’s home in Mos Pelgo. 

A pool of grey sheets trailing down from a bed showed him where he’d fallen from, his eyes finding a small nightstand on the other side decked with a few cups and a simple looking clock. It was accompanied by a shabby looking chair with a red neckerchief draped over the back of it. The placement was so deliberate that Din wondered if it was there on purpose. To tell him where he was, to calm him, to remind him he wasn’t alone. 

If only it hadn’t been so dark, Din thought ruefully.

“Well, that can’t be comfortable,” Cobb’s form was now visible as he strode over to Din, crouching in front of him and gently working his hands under Din’s arms to lift him up from the ground. “Let’s get you off the floor now, partner.”

His hazel eyes were still bright even in the low light, silver hair thrown into contrast with his usual red shirt and dark pants. The stark familiarity of his presence- the mere sight of him- nearly stole Din’s newfound breath away as he did his best to cooperate, finding balance with his unsteady legs and settling back into the soft bed. He watched in almost a bit of a daze as Cobb reached around him to adjust the pillows behind his back to keep him upright, arranging his legs comfortably and replacing the sheets over him. Din was surprised to see himself clothed in familiar attire, the deep blue shirt and black pants that had been lent to Cobb aboard the Marshal Three now on his own body . 

Marshal Three. Kamino. Gideon. The Darksaber-

Seized by sudden clarity and panic as every memory crashed back into him at once, Din pulled up the bottom of his shirt to expose his abdomen, searching for whatever remnants of his injuries lingered behind, only to find nothing there. There was no mechanical stomach replacing his ruined flesh, no hideous scarring from surgery or patchy healing. Just smooth, unbroken skin. Even the scar from a sparring incident with another foundling at one of the coverts which once curled over the highest point of his hip had vanished without a trace. Din gingerly felt at the back of his head, unable to locate any stitches or ridges scars there either, nor on his arm where the Darksaber cut him.

It shouldn’t have been possible, but there was nothing. Not a single mark. Nothing to say he’d been injured in the first place, nothing to say he’d fallen over the brink of death.

Nothing.

“You probably have a lot of questions,” Cobb pulled the chair closer to the edge of the bed, taking a seat and reaching out for Din’s hand with such quiet instinct that it spoke of a habit, and he began to wonder if those dreams were really dreams at all. “And I promise I’ll do my best to answer, but first, I gotta ask- does anything hurt?”

Din swallowed with difficulty, trying to process the sudden words, but eventually he was able to croak out, “Headache.”

“If that’s the worst of it then you’re a truly lucky man,” Cobb’s lips quirked into a wan smile and he reached with his free hand for a tin cup on the nightstand filled with a fragrant herbal tea, carefully wrapping Din’s fingers around it. “This should help. Can you drink it on your own?”

Without knowing the answer, Din nodded, closing his hand around the cup and lifting it to his lips, taking a long drink. It was warm, but not too hot, and had a vaguely sweet taste of some kind of honey that made it easier to take down. He hadn’t realized how parched he was until he’d drained the contents of the cup, his thirst sated as he sighed and let his head tilt back against the wall behind the bed. Cobb’s fingers brushed his own as he took the cup back, setting it down on the nightstand once again.

Din was becoming increasingly aware of the helmet’s absence, unused to it being removed, not to mention so far from him on the other side of the room. There was a painful vulnerability that came with removing the helmet, even in private, but here, somehow, Din felt overwhelmingly safe. It had been his choice and he was staying true to it, and with that came some personal adjustments. He would have to get used to this feeling of exposure, used to the air on his face, the increased clarity of his vision, the brightness of light. 

The proximity of Cobb’s own face not more than a foot away as they sat together in that moment of comfortable silence. 

The stars. Din could see the stars again. Those bright eyes full of kindness and light fixed on him like he was the only unmovable point in the entire universe. 

“I’m sorry about the dark,” Cobb said softly, his face truly apologetic as he looked at Din. “We thought it would be better for you to sleep. I would’ve been here when you woke up but Cara needed help with something over at Tosh’s old place a few houses down so I was gone for a few minutes, but I didn’t expect-”

Cobb broke off, looking solemn for a moment before the light returned to his face and he smiled again, squeezing Din’s hand comfortingly. “Well, let’s just say we weren’t really sure when you were going to come back to us.”

Din was surprised he came back at all. There’d been something uncertain with what he thought was death, but he couldn’t conjure up any alternate explanation for it at the time. Sleep. Cobb said sleep. 

“How-” Din’s voice still sounded awful, rough from disuse, and he paused for a moment to clear his throat. “What happened?”

It was a loaded question, but Din would accept whatever response came his way, if only to keep Cobb talking, keeping him centered with that voice of his.

“Ah,” Cobb scratched absently at a healing scab that wound around his lower jaw. Din noticed then that his facial hair seemed significantly more scarce, like he’d had a recent shave. It was a new look for him, but not unpleasant. Cobb looked younger like this. He looked…nice. “Well, that one’s a bit trickier to answer. I don’t exactly know, but we have some idea.”

“Tell me,” Din weakly squeezed Cobb’s hand back, still too tired to muster much else. 

“The kid healed you.” Cobb’s voice held a tinge of awe to it as he delivered those words, watching as they slowly settled in. “I- we thought we were going to lose you for good, but he just reached out and touched your face and suddenly your wounds started closing up. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

Din felt a wry smile tug at his lips and he huffed out a slight breath. “Guess I forgot to mention that bit.”

“Guess you did.” Cobb laughed once, continuing to smile warmly.

That answer wasn’t as surprising as Din thought it would be. It explained the sudden surge of warmth he felt as the darkness took him in the cell, the feeling of that strange well of power enveloping him and forming a shield against the pain. All that in the moment the kid touched his face. No, it wasn’t surprising at all. After all, it wasn’t the first time the kid had tried to heal his injuries. He remembered all too clearly the way Grogu had healed Greef Karga’s poisoned wound after the creatures attacked them on Nevarro. 

Suddenly, Din bolted sharply upright, tearing his hand from Cobb’s grasp as he quickly searched for any sign of the kid, now more aware of his continued absence as the minutes passed. He knew Grogu was always drained after using his powers, oftentimes even passing out if the effort was too much for him. And he’d been weak then, weak from his captivity and fear…

Din felt something sharp seize in his heart and something like a cry began to build in his throat. He would never forgive himself if the child had gotten himself hurt trying to heal his father. Hurt, or worse-

“The kid,” Din said urgently, fighting to stay up even as Cobb tried to ease him back against the pillows. His eyes were desperate as he sought out the marshal, pulling his hands away and gripping them tight. “Is he-”

There was no good way he could finish that sentence.

“Your kid’s fine, Din,” Cobb reassured him, relief flooding his features as he watched the other man slowly relax, settling back in the bed. “He’s just out playing with the other children by the school right now. Your friend Greef’s been keeping an eye on him when I can’t.”

Of course. He heard the children outside when Cobb opened the shutters. Din sighed, slumping into the pillows as he closed his eyes. He’d been so worried for those few painful moments, but now there was nothing but calm once again. “Good. That’s- good.”

“It took a lot out of him, he slept for two whole days afterward,” Cobb admitted, a hint of past concern creeping into his voice as he told the story. “We brought the two of you to a hospital in Tipoca City back on Kamino, but they said you would both be just fine. They kept you a few days for observation, but after that we were clear to bring you home- well, here at least.”

Home. Such an unfamiliar word. It was strange to hear, even after everything. It felt like a word that had long since lost meaning and existed as a mere combination of insignificant sounds and characters. But the way Cobb said it, even if it was just a slip- 

Well, it sounded like something.

“How long?” Din found himself asking, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“How long were you out?” Cobb frowned, and Din nodded. “It would have been a week tomorrow.”

Din sighed again, closing his eyes. A week. It certainly felt longer, though he supposed there was no way to gage the short eternity spent in darkness when there was nothing to distinguish it but intermittent interruptions of brief sensation and shallow consciousness. So much could change in a week. But strangely, things felt the same. If anything, Din felt more whole than he had before. The helmet was off, but he was still the same person he was underneath. Just more…visible. 

“Grogu’s a sweet kid, but he got himself in trouble the other day stealing some other child’s snacks in class,” Cobb’s voice was full of mirth as he continued speaking, eyes gleaming as he grinned. “I swear to you I’ve been keeping my word and looking after him, I feed him at every chance, but I told them I can’t help he’s got a stomach like a sarlacc pit.”

At that, Din felt a swell of emotion in his chest and swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing with the action. As a dying man Din had made Cobb promise to take care of Grogu after he died, to keep him safe. He didn’t know what that entailed at the time, only hoping that his final wish would go through. And Cobb had kept his word, even though Din hadn’t been entirely gone. He fed the kid, he watched him, gave him a place to stay, let him go out to play with the other children in the town. 

Cobb gave Grogu a life while his father’s hung in the balance. 

It was a debt that Din couldn’t even imagine being able to pay back. No amount of credits in the galaxy could equal how much that meant to him. No amount of beskar or silicax crystals. Nothing could compare.

But that was too difficult for him to voice. Some other time, perhaps.

“Marshal Vanth policing classroom snack theft,” Din chuckled hoarsely instead, smiling as broadly as he felt he could. “I didn’t think things had changed that much while I was out.” 

Cobb laughed, a bright, clear sound ringing out through the room, igniting something warm in Din’s chest. 

“You should see all the new grey hairs you gave me,” Cobb grinned, running a hand through his hair as if to accentuate his point. “You had me worried sick for a while, partner.”

Din caught himself about to apologize, but recognized the sincerity in the jest and simply smiled, looking down at his hands folded in his lap, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Cobb had enough words for the both of them, continuing on even when Din couldn’t. 

“Listen,” Cobb said, his voice taking on a more serious tone as he took one of Din’s hands again and Din let him, trying not to smile too contently as Cobb absently ran his thumb over the back of it. He cleared his throat, eyes darting between Din’s face and their clasped hands before going on. “Cara spoke to everyone and we all agreed that if you want to put the helmet back on we’ll swear we never saw your face. You thought you were dying, so you took it off, and I- we understand. We just wanted to make sure you had a choice-”

“I made my choice.” Din said abruptly, cutting him off as gently as he could before it went on any further. 

He appreciated the gesture, but as he stared at the helmet on top of the trunk on the other side of the room, Din didn’t feel a pull to put it back on. There was no fighting desperation to conceal his face, to adhere to the creed of the Mandalorians- the people Bo-Katan called the Children of the Watch. His decision to remove it had been made with a clear conscience, even though the looming spectre of death had been prominent in his mind. 

Din knew it clearly now. Removing his helmet didn’t make him any less of a Mandalorian than Kryze or Fett. The Armourer would never understand, but he didn’t need her to. He was at peace with his decision. When the time came, he would put it back on again. And if he wanted to, he would remove it again. 

Those Mandalorians of the Watch had been his family for many years, but Din had been making his own way for quite some time now. He had his family. He had Grogu.

Their clan of two.

The threat of death had not damned him, it had liberated him. 

“You’re sure?” Cobb asked with a wary hope in his voice, one that Din couldn’t possibly dream of denying.

He smiled wanly, nodding slightly. “I’m sure.”

“Can I ask you another question?”

Din nodded again.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were so handsome under there?” Cobb arched an eyebrow almost like an accusation before his brilliant smile overshadowed everything. “Now I know what I was missing out on.”

Din felt his face flush, Cobb’s attempts at flirting not going over his head. He wished he knew what to say to that beyond another repressed apology, but all he could do was continue to smile, the muscles in his face beginning to ache from the unfamiliar duration of the expression. 

“Alright, alright, I know when I’ve gone far enough,” Cobb chuckled, rising to his feet. He glanced over toward the doorway, then back at Din, another question in his eyes. “Are you hungry? Grogu ate not too long ago, I’m sure I can fix you something up, get you something else to drink. Might be good to get you up on your feet.”

It wasn’t something he’d thought about until now. Din was used to going long periods without eating, but a whole week without anything was something new. Acutely, he recognized the beginnings of hunger quietly making themselves known as he felt a slight pinch in his stomach, and Din tilted his head in a nod. 

“That- that would be nice.”

Cobb nodded and stooped, lowering his neck and shoulders for Din to loop his arm around as the marshal assisted him in standing, his arm wrapped securely around the smaller man’s waist. This time, the ground felt less rough under Din’s feet, his legs much more steady, and walking came easier than he thought it would. He found himself relying less and less on Cobb’s support as they crossed the room, Cobb opening the door and allowing him to pass through first, a hand firm between his shoulder blades to steady him. 

Din let Cobb lead him down the hall through the decent sized home, down a small set of stairs to a larger space that made up the kitchen, dining room, and living room. This was more familiar to Din from his last stay in Mos Pelgo, and he was pleasantly surprised to see that not much had changed. The low couch in the corner looked like it was recently slept on, pillows all arranged toward one end and a faded red blanket dangling off onto the floor. This was likely where Cobb slept since Din had put him out of his room for the better half of a week. The edges of his guilt were smoothed as he decided that it at least looked comfortable. There were worse places to sleep than a couch like that. 

Just beside it, however, was something new. 

It was a wooden cradle, likely made for a human infant, with a myriad of designs carved into the side that seemed to contain the essence of Tatooine, cresting dunes and the curling horns of banthas among the many intricate depictions. The inside of the cradle was padded with small pillows and piled with a light blue blanket and scraps of red cloth that looked suspiciously like more of Cobb’s neckerchiefs. Something that resembled a small, plush loth-cat sat at the foot of it, it’s ear looking a bit gnawed on, and Din had an inkling as to who the culprit was. There really were very few things that Grogu wasn’t willing to get his teeth into, and the thought almost made him laugh. 

The cradle looked like it was meant to be able to rock back and forth relatively smoothly, and Din soon realized that it was less than an arm’s reach away from the edge of the couch, likely for that exact reason. 

The marshal really had been making good on his promise to take care of the kid. 

“Linha- that’s Jo’s new wife- she gave it to me,” Cobb explained as Din reached out to hold the plush loth-cat, running his fingers over the soft material of the toy. “Her boy outgrew it years ago and they were more than happy to let me take it when I asked. They were willing to part with some old toys too.”

Din couldn’t identify the exact nature of the emotion that rose up in his chest as he looked down at the plush loth-cat and the child’s cradle. Even second hand it was more than Din had ever been able to provide Grogu on the Razor Crest. All Grogu had to sleep in was a hammock he’d rigged up in his own sleeping quarters. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the galaxy, but it was the best he could do. He kept Grogu’s only pair of robes clean, fed him when he could, made sure he was comfortable no matter what the circumstances were. 

It was all he knew how to do. His own childhood hadn’t exactly been inundated with material things. All he had to his name as a foundling was what little armour was allotted to him and a change of clothes. At least he’d been comfortable. At least he’d been cared for.

Sometimes that was all that was needed. 

He knew Peli was right. He had a lot to learn about raising a young one. But Din had always done the best he was able. He could only hope it was enough. 

Wordlessly, Cobb reached into his pocket and withdrew a small metal ball, Grogu’s favorite- and only- toy from the Razor Crest. The glint of silver in the low light caught Din’s eye instantly and he stared at it for a long moment, something warm burning behind his eyes. 

“I thought I lost this,” Din admitted quietly, setting the loth-cat down and taking the ball from Cobb, rolling it between his fingers. It was different holding it without the gloves, both smoother and rougher than he thought as he traced a finger over the small ridges that wound around the sphere. 

“The kid wouldn’t let go of it for the first day after he woke,” Cobb smiled lightly, directing Din over to a chair at the table in the kitchen space and helping him sit. “I figured it was pretty important. I’ve been keeping it with me while he’s outside so it doesn’t get lost in the sand.”

Important. That was one word for it, Din decided. But there wasn’t an accurate way to describe the weight of its significance. So many memories trapped in such a little object. To lose it would feel like a small tragedy. And Cobb had kept it safe.

“Why do you do this?” Din asked suddenly, looking over at Cobb. 

It was such a heavy, vague question, but Cobb seemed to take his meaning just perfectly.

“Everything you do is for your kid,” Cobb said, offering another of his bright smiles as he set to work in the kitchen space. “But someone’s gotta take care of you too. I’m more than happy to.”

------

Cobb whistled quietly as he folded the blankets on the sofa and in the cradle, busying himself while Din slowly made his way through a bowl of bone broth. The sight of solid food made his stomach turn, but considering he had a Mandalorian lightsaber buried in his gut not one week before he was sure that was at least somewhat normal for his condition. Luckily, Cobb had at least anticipated this to some degree. The tea earlier had certainly helped with his head and the soup was strangely comforting, but none of that matched the wonder of the tune Cobb was carrying.

It was so familiar, yet so distant that it took Din a moment to place how exactly he heard it before finally saying, “I heard you singing.”

Immediately, Din cursed himself for making Cobb stop, but the words were already spoken.

“Did you, now?” Cobb didn’t seem apprehensive or self conscious, merely curious. “I thought I noticed you wake up a little that last time.”

Not a dream, then.

“How many times did you do that?” Din asked, finishing off the last of the broth and reaching for a glass of water.

Cobb smiled,  setting the blankets down and pulling out the seat across from Din at the table, settling down across from him. “Every night after I put Grogu to bed I would go in to check on you one last time before turning in. He likes the song too, puts him to sleep every time.”

The strangeness of the situation did not escape Din. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat across from someone at a meal without his helmet on. There were many things he was going to have to get used to on this new path he’d chosen, but so far none of them were unpleasant in the slightest. Still, that didn’t mean there wasn’t an element of awkwardness. Din had never been any good at conversation, but at least he was decent at asking questions. That was a step forward.

“Where did you learn it?” Din was curious enough to the point that it didn’t seem like he was asking just for the sake of it, worried he wasn’t going to be as good at this as he hoped. 

“My mother,” Cobb answered with a small shrug, looking down at the table. “Well, not exactly my mother, but she was close enough to one.” 

There was a story there, but Din didn’t press further. Thankfully, he didn’t have to, since at that moment the front door slid open and Greef Karga entered the home, closely followed by Cara. 

The look of surprise that overtook the magistrate’s face was nothing short of priceless, but Din didn’t have much to focus on it before something much more important stole his attention.

“Batu!” a small voice squealed, and Din looked down just in time to see an awkward blur of green and brown wriggle out of Greef’s arms and rush toward him, little hands latching firmly around Din’s leg in moments. 

“Miss me, kid?” Din couldn’t resist a small chuckle, a smile brightening his face as he reached down to scoop the child up in his arms, gently running a finger along one of his ears. Grogu chirped happily and made a grabbing motion for Din’s face, climbing up his arm to his shoulder and showing his elation by seizing Din’s nose in one small hand. “Hey, easy there!”

Grogu let out a series of babbles that sounded a lot like peals of laughter and Din gingerly separated the kid’s claws from his nose, holding his hand lightly between his fingers. Two beautiful brown eyes stared up at him, his tiny features saturated with such joy that Din couldn’t resist smiling even broader in response, holding the kid tight against his chest in an embrace. Grogu nuzzled against Din’s neck and cooed happily, his small hands curling into the material of his father’s shirt like he had no intention of letting go any time soon. Not that Din did either. 

“Cobb says everyone’s been taking real good care of you while I was out,” Din said softly, rubbing gentle circles over the back of Grogu’s robes in a comforting motion. Cobb smiled across the table, watching the reunion before him with silent happiness. “I’m here now, though. I promise I won’t leave again.”

He didn’t need any Jedi connection to understand what Grogu was feeling then, because Din felt the exact same. There was a warmth, a joy in his heart that he never thought he would experience in his life, but as he sat there holding his child, knowing that they were happy and safe, together- nobody needed to translate that. 

“Maker above,” Greef said softly, staring at Din with curious amazement as he finally spoke, drawing closer to the odd pair. “So this is what you look like under there. I hadn’t really seen until now-” 

He must have realized his staring was beginning to become uncomfortable for Din because he cleared his throat, turning his gaze to the floor. “I always had some guesses, but I just never pictured you this-”

Young. Old. Weak. Vulnerable. Odd. Tired. 

“Kind.” Greef settled on, smiling warmly. “You’re a survivor, Din Djarin, and I’ve seen many like you go different ways than this. I never expected you to look so kind.”

Kind. He’d never been accused of that before. But something told him that it was the highest compliment Greef was capable of giving. 

Din set Grogu down on his lap and the kid reached for a pack of womp rat jerky on the table, clearly recognizing the packaging. Cobb let out a small chuckle and slid the packet over to Din while Greef and Cara took seats around the table. Breaking a piece of dried meat into manageable sizes, Din passed a few down to Grogu, unable to resist an amused smile at watching him eat, brushing bits of sand off the kid’s robes as he did so.

“So, you finally decided to wake up.” Cara grinned at Din, leaning back comfortably in her seat. “You look like you came straight out of carbon freeze.” 

“I feel like it,” Din smiled wryly, handing Grogu some more jerky and trying not to laugh at how quickly he seized it with his clawed hands. “Shouldn’t you be back at Nevarro? It’s a long time for the marshal and magistrate to be away.”

“I’ve got Carson watching over things,” Cara shrugged easily, reaching over to brush Grogu’s ear affectionately. “Everyone wanted to stick around while you got better and there’s a bit too much action in Nevarro for you to have a quiet recovery.”

“Mos Pelgo’s a small town,” Din frowned, looking around at the two. “Where are you staying?”

“I put everyone up in Tosh’s old place,” Cobb explained, looking fondly at Grogu as he spoke. “He was an older fella, passed away a year ago. Just took ill and never got right again. The kid’s been staying here with me, though.”

“Boba and Fennec are with us too,” Cara added with a smile. “They wanted to make sure you were alright before moving on. Once they see you up and about they’ll probably move out by morning.”

Din was glad the two had stuck around. He needed a chance to thank them for all they did to save the child. Without them, none of this would even have been possible. He owed their lives to the bravery of the mercenary and the Mandalorian, yet another debt he knew he would never be able to repay. They swore to help get Grogu back and hold up their end of the deal, but it felt like so much more than that. 

Grogu made a small noise and Din smiled at him, producing the silver ball and handing it to his kid. The child babbled with glee and took hold of the ball, reaching within his robes and pulling out the mythosaur pendant around his neck, clanking the metal together with laughter. 

Unable to help himself, Din laughed, and Cara and Greef turned into him with something very much like surprise on their faces. 

Just another thing to get used to.

------

Din sat on the lowest edge of the cantina’s porch, legs stretched out into the soft sand as he watched Grogu run around chasing womp rats with a few other children. Some of the poor creatures looked like they were absolutely terrified of the larger life forms while others seemed to recognize the sport of it, hopping in circles around the children and causing them to laugh gleefully. 

Grogu kicked up small amounts of sand as he ran, hands thrown out to the side to balance himself as he happily attempted to catch up with the other kids. The sand was growing increasingly dark with the setting suns, once golden grains taking on a rusted tinge, and lights began to come on outside the other stilted houses on the small sandy strip. Now with the krayt dragon gone, Din wondered if people would feel safe building their homes into the ground again like many others on Tatooine. Perhaps the settlement would grow with time, flourish and prosper in ways it never had a chance to before. 

Some days it felt like the entire galaxy was holding its breath. But today was not one of those days. The universe seemed to be able to exhale in relief and calm itself. Elsewhere, on another world, there would be chaos and trouble as there always was, but here- 

Well, here there was peace. 

It was a novel concept for Din, but he knew he would adjust to it in time. 

Everyone else was eating and drinking inside the cantina, loud laughter from Cobb and Greef traveling through the open door to reach him every so often. Din had been inside there for hours, listening as they traded stories of the fight on Gideon’s cruiser, how Cobb found the control room and shut the battle droids down, and the way the others had made quick work of some flame troopers before reinforcements arrived to finish things off. Apparently Cara had been offered quite the promotion by Carson, the New Republic officer, but judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t going to accept it. She wanted to stay in Nevarro. Greef Karga looked all too relieved at that. 

Fennec was doing her utmost to drink Boba under the table, even daring to challenge Cara in an arm wrestling match. Cobb and Greef traded conversation easily while Boba spoke to Din a bit, but he was not a man of many words and eventually they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Din eventually had a chance to thank Linha and Jo for the cradle and toy for Grogu, and their son invited the kid out to play. 

He needed some air anyway, so Din volunteered to supervise the children outside while Linha and Jo joined the others, Cobb already pouring them a couple snorts of spotchka. 

Din took another drink from his cup of water, setting it down on the porch beside him as he looked up at the sky, relishing the warmth the suns cast over his skin and the slight coolness of the late afternoon air. The binary sunset was beginning to infuse the sky with all sorts of colors, the sparse few clouds taking on a lavender hue as oranges and reds bled out into the pale blue from the distant horizon. It was a breathtaking sight, but nothing could seize his heart the same way as the smile on Grogu’s face as he looked back at his father, beaming from a short distance. 

There were so many things Din didn’t want to think about in that moment. He didn’t want to think about how fragile their happiness could potentially prove to be. He didn’t want to think about Grogu’s peculiar ageing process, how Din could possibly never live to see him grow beyond childhood at this rate. 

Grogu would live for centuries. Optimistically, Din had a handful of decades left in him. The math did not leave him with a happy sum. 

One day, Grogu would be living in a world without Din. He just hoped his child wouldn’t be alone when that time came. 

He hoped Grogu would remember his father. Their struggles. Their joy. 

Din felt tears burn behind his eyes and he rubbed them away before they could emerge. They still had years and years before they would reach that point. That was then. This was now. 

And for now, they had each other. That was enough for Din. 

Pressing a hand against his side, Din was still surprised not to feel any pain from his nonexistent wounds. He wouldn’t be alive without Grogu, wouldn’t be sitting here watching the child play with the others, wouldn’t be able to see the happy smile on his face that was brighter than both setting suns combined. 

They had saved each other in their own ways. Din suspected that would always be the case. But wasn’t that what family did? They looked out for each other. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about what happened on Moff Gideon’s cruiser. In the heat and intensity of the moment, Din hadn’t been able to give it much attention, but now, outside in the quiet of late afternoon, with Grogu playing safely a few strides away, he had nothing but his thoughts. 

There was so much that Din didn’t know how to explain, so many things that he’d ignored until now and couldn’t get out of his head. Somehow, Grogu had reached out to him back on the ship and connected them through some invisible force. Din remembered the feeling even now, recalling the sudden invasion of thoughts and feelings that weren’t his own yet carried a distinct familiarity to him, like the emotions carried the presence of the true owner with them. He’d known without a doubt that it was his child. And, somehow, Din had reached back, communicating with him and urging him to run. 

Din remembered the surprise at seeing Ahsoka Tano ‘communicate’ with Grogu on Corvus, only further confused as she explained that they could sense each other’s thoughts. Speaking without speaking. With his helmet always on around others, Din had been forced to adapt to more subtler means of communication using his body language and even silence to speak without facial expressions. But reading another’s thoughts was something beyond him. He knew the Jedi had extraordinary powers, but that had been unexpected. 

Though not as unexpected as reaching out for a beskar spear and having it fly into his hand. 

If asked, Din wasn’t sure he would be able to explain what overtook him in that moment. It was as if he and the spear had somehow connected on the same frequency that Grogu reached out to him on. Somehow, in his weakened, desperate state, Din knew it would come to him if he called for it. He felt connected to the beskar in that moment, connected to everything in that cell. 

Everything had been dormant and still. Then, suddenly, everything was alive.

It was like Din had been a closed vessel until then, and reaching out to Grogu had opened him up somehow, opened something inside of him that had been previously locked. Something in his blood, his soul. 

As a Mandalorian it should have terrified him. Din was no Jedi. But that power was undeniably there now, and as he thought back to the Darksaber and the tapestry of the Mandalorian weidling it, he knew he wasn’t the only one. 

Dr. Pershing had said that those organisms- the midichlorians- were in everyone. His eyes had lingered on Din, like somehow he either knew or suspected something that he had no way of actually knowing. The doctor did good in the end. Din wished he hadn’t met that awful fate. 

There was no turning back the clock. What was done was done. And Din knew that there was no going back from whatever had changed in him, that sudden receptiveness to the Force. Even now, Din thought he could feel slight whispers of it in the breeze, like every grain of sand that brushed against his face or stone that lay on the ground was alive in their own way, vibrant and connected. Grogu’s happiness felt like a bright spark in Din’s mind, wrapped safely in a childish glee and feeling of calm that Din knew belonged to his kid. In the cantina, Din could sense Cobb’s radiant demeanor, tinged with concern and apprehension as he continuously noted the absent figure at the table, and somehow Din knew Cobb was looking at him through the door. He could feel the man’s eyes on him, then the loss as they turned away. 

It could have been unnerving to be able to feel so many things at once, but Din was doing his best to manage. There would be quite some time before Din could speak to anyone who had answers for his questions, but at least Grogu was no longer alone in his gift.

Din wondered how he would react. 

He wondered when he would even tell him.

Looking off to his side at the now empty cup of water he brought with him, Din felt seized by something slightly foolish and he pushed the cup out of reach, taking a steadying breath and extending his hand out toward it.

For a moment, nothing happened, but as Din felt himself relax and focus, he could sense a connection between his reaching fingers and the distant cup. Something that felt right. 

Suddenly, the cup rattled in place, teetering precariously like it was torn between flying to him or simply tipping over, and Din knew in his heart that it wasn’t because of the breeze.

Then, it went still. Footsteps sounded on the porch behind him and Din let his hand fall, looking up at the figure approaching him.

“Need some help there?” Cobb’s grin was teasing as he dropped down beside Din, peering over into the empty cup. “I can get you a refill if you like.”

There was no way he could think of in that moment to explain what he was doing without sounding like an utter fool, so Din simply shook his head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Cobb nodded and sat next to him, stretching his long legs out as he leaned back on his hands, his shoulder resting against Din’s as he did so. The contact sent a surge of pleasant warmth through him and he found himself leaning against the other man as they sat, watching the suns set and the children run around in front of them. 

Din noticed that Cobb was very physical in his affection- and Din had decided that it must be some kind of affection because he didn’t do this with anyone else. He was wholly uncertain how to reciprocate, every attempt feeling much too unnatural for him. He wished it wasn’t, though. He wished he could reach for Cobb’s hand with the same ease that Cobb took his with, wished he could press his lips against that sun kissed skin, wished his instinct told him to lean in close rather than keep a polite distance, but those actions remained as thoughts. Now, leaning against him, both supporting each other, it felt right. It was easy enough. Perhaps one day it would feel just as easy to do more. Receiving affection felt just as unfamiliar as giving it. 

This was more uncharted territory for Din than the Unknown Regions. 

But, somehow, Cobb recognized his boundaries. He was content to give and care and hold. Din had never known anything like this in his life. He didn’t even know what to call it. The kid had gone without a name for a while, though, so perhaps this could too. 

“How long has it been since you felt a sun on your face?” Cobb looked over at him, eyes shining brilliantly in the light of the sunset.

“Too long.” Din admitted, smiling a little as he turned his gaze up to the sky again, searching out the two descending suns. They were almost near the horizon now, and dusk would be coming soon.

But for now, there was still light. 

“You look the way I felt in the rain on Kamino,” Cobb’s voice was gentle as he smiled in turn, nudging Din’s arm lightly. “You look… happy.”

Din simply hummed a little in response, nodding as he turned back to the children. Most of them had begun kicking a cloth ball around a few houses down, but Grogu and a little girl, Mari, were just sitting in the sand, rolling the silver ball back and forth. They both chortled with glee whenever it reached the other, Grogu babbling happily whenever the child remarked how “cute” he was. It was an adorable sight. 

There was a tense silence between Din and Cobb as he sensed the marshal was meaning to say something, but couldn’t quite find the words for it. Cobb took a drink of water and drummed his fingers against the porch in a familiar rhythm, clearly working himself up. All Din could do was watch the children and wait.

“You could stay here, you know,” Cobb finally said, reaching for Din’s hand, and Din met the man halfway, linking their fingers together comfortably. “Tosh’s old house isn’t going anywhere, or you could stay with me and we’d figure it out.”

Din didn’t know what to say to that, completely caught off guard by his words. He stared at Cobb, hoping he didn’t look too surprised but knowing he already failed. But the marshal wasn’t done.

“You can even pack the armour away until there’s trouble. You-” Cobb smiled at him with such hope in his eyes that Din almost found them hard to look at. “You could have a life here. You and the kid.”

He’d heard those words before. A lifetime ago on Sorgan. It had been such a tempting proposal, so sincere and full of hope that it nearly broke him. For a moment, he was tempted for Omera to take his helmet off, he was tempted to accept whatever came with that. Hope. Calm. A life. But he didn’t.

Because at that time he didn’t believe it to be possible. 

But then he thought about his own recovery. He thought about the cradle in Cobb’s living room. The armour stacked on the chest. The way Cobb so easily carved out a space for them in his home, his life. Din thought about the warm touches and gentle song that reached him in the darkness and made him feel less alone. 

He looked at the child, happier than he’d been in ages. He thought about himself, happier than he’d been in his life.

And suddenly it did seem possible. 

“Din?” Cobb looked at him, concerned by his silence. “Are you with me?”

“Always.” Din responded without fully knowing what that meant, only that he did mean it.

Cobb smiled ruefully. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, partner.”

“I-” Din swallowed, squeezing his hand lightly as he smiled. “I’d like to keep this one.”

The brilliant smile that followed was enough to put the fiery sunset to shame, and even without the Force, Din was sure he could feel Cobb’s happiness radiate between them. Before anything further could be said, however, there was a cooing sound at Din’s feet and Grogu was reaching up for him, the metal ball in one hand, the other outstretched for his father.

Din took the ball and placed it safely in his pocket, carefully lifting Grogu up to sit in his lap as more footsteps sounded and Cara dropped down on Din’s other side, downing a final glass of spotchka. Cobb held an arm out, waiting for Din’s nod before draping it around his shoulders and holding him close. 

Cara gave Din a look, but said nothing. It was all in her eyes and the small smile that curled her lips as she turned away, looking out at the binary sunset. Grogu cooed and reached up for his father again, soon picked up further so he was curled in the crook of Din’s arm, nestled comfortably against his chest. Cobb let out a chuckle from beside him and reached out a slender finger to brush along the child’s ear, eliciting a happy sound of content. In that moment, Din understood a word that had long since been stolen from him. 

Family.

He leaned into Cobb's embrace and held Grogu closer, watching as the glorious suns descended under the blanket of the horizon.

This was the way.