Chapter Text
The emerald forests of Endor are vast and deep—the perfect hiding space.
A dead twig cracks beneath your boot, and you wince, checking your surroundings for any movement, anything that would be alerted to your presence. When there's nothing but the quiet sounds of your breaths, you huff and continue walking.
Exhaustion pulls at your limbs like an attention-starved child who refuses to release its hold, reminding you that the last time you got more than a few hours of sleep was a few days ago. Yet, you continue walking. Even though one shoulder is starting to go numb from the weight of your bag, while the other one is sore and bruised from the thick strap of your worn and battered rifle. It only makes matters worse when you remember you just spent your last credits on what may be your last meal for a while.
At the thought, you break your long stride and sigh, finally allowing yourself to take in your surroundings. The air is thick, and if dark green had a smell, this would be it. Dense trees surround you at all angles, wide and curved roots winding out of the soil below before tucking themselves back into the ground. Patches of moss cover half-wet dirt beneath your boots. You look up, spotting thin clouds scattered across from what you can see of the light blue sky.
You close your eyes and breathe for the first time in what feels like days.
Endor is not what you thought it would be, but somehow better at the same time. A planet tucked so far away in the galaxy, there's actually a tiny spark of hope deep in your belly that maybe, just maybe, someone won't find you here.
You try not to feed that feeling.
You've been running for so long you no longer track the days. After the first year, you didn't find the reason for it. It was only shortly after that you stopped watching the sunsets or admiring the sounds of each planet you’ve hidden on. Then you'd stopped talking and smiling. Even hoping was too much. The mere word feels more like a bedtime story rather than a promise of something better. It makes you wonder what the point of all of it is.
Now you’re just surviving to survive, not surviving to live.
A big difference, you tell yourself.
During your trek, you stumble upon some old Imperial battlegrounds, remnants of stormtrooper helmets covered in thick moss, and blasters with triggers that haven't been pulled in years. You pass them without a second thought and trek further into the dense trees.
Looking up, you eye the streaks of blue peeking between shimmering leaves. A gentle breeze rushes between the trees and swivels around you, blowing your stray hair around your face before leaving you and finishing weaving its path through the forest. For a second, you find yourself thinking of home, but you push any memory worming its way to the surface far down and make sure it stays locked far, far away. It doesn’t matter; they’ll haunt your dreams tonight anyway.
Another breeze from a different direction brushes past you, but this one comes with a warning. You are not alone anymore; you're sure of that. Hairs rise at the back of your neck, and your body enters predator mode. Your dominant hand goes for the blaster on your hip, careful not to pull it out just yet.
The land around you quiets, and the sound of any life dies down. Even the wind stills, knowing it’s done its job by giving you a heads up before finding solace above the trees.
You hone your hearing through thick stumps and wait. You don't breathe, far too focused on the practiced footsteps coming up behind you. A slight scuff of the sole of a worn boot against a protruding root announces their closeness, and you spin, pulling the blaster from your thigh and aiming it at the Rodian behind you.
He freezes but doesn’t fire the blaster aimed at your chest.
The pause gives you a moment to take him in. Even with his blaster pointed at you, you don't feel any fear. You feel nothing. A gentle twist of your insides lets you know your body mourns those missing emotions.
“Go back to where you came from and live. I’m not worth your life," you rasp, just realizing how nice some water would be.
The Rodian says nothing. Bottomless eyes staring at you, his body at a complete standstill.
Blood rushes into your hands, and you cock your head to the side. The Rodian mirrors you, his antenna-like ears twitching and the blaster in his hand remaining in place. The muscles in your arms lock when you catch his finger jerk.
His species has always unnerved you. Their reptile skin that glistens under dense sunlight, or their big black eyes that seem to hold every secret in the galaxy. Including the ones hidden within you.
Something cold settles at the base of your neck at the simple thought.
A subtle breeze threads through loose strands of your hair, whispering more words of warning before returning to the treetops. Your brows furrow, and the blaster in your hand rises so the barrel points between his galaxy-filled eyes.
Yet, you surprise yourself when your finger hesitates on the trigger. It seems there may be some humanity left in you after all.
The Rodian sees your apprehension, his ears shifting from side to side like he's announcing to some Rodian-only channel that you're not the threat he'd expected and that catching you is what will be his winning ticket into the Guild's big leagues. So you prepare yourself, the toes of your boots digging into the moss gathered beneath, molars clenching, your peripherals narrowing as you focus your vision onto the center of his forehead.
But then you're surprised once more when he lowers his blaster, the barrel of yours dropping to where his long-fingered hand reaches into a pocket in his vest. Your stomach swirls with uncertainty when he pulls out a tracking fob, its light blinking rapidly now that it's in close proximity to its target.
The bounty hunter shakes the device, letting you take a good look before he drops it to the ground. Its red light flickers twice before it crunches beneath his feet.
You look at him with a surprised stare, waiting for him to point his blaster back at your chest the second you lower yours. But he never does. Instead, he nods once, his gaze lingering on you for a moment too long before he spins on his heels and walks away and back into the trees he first emerged from.
You lower your arm, your index finally unlatching from the trigger as you glare at the bits of machinery lying in the dirt and pull your vision back to the shrinking figure in the distance.
Too easy.
A rustle behind you confirms your thoughts, and your head snaps toward the sound.
The air catches in your throat when you notice a shadow hovering in the nearby treeline, its figure similar to the bounty hunter that continues to walk away from you. But unlike that Rodian, this one is inching toward you.
A tag team?
One bounty hunter is nothing new, but two bounty hunters? The corner of your mouth twitches. The Guild is getting desperate.
You look away from the approaching alien and let it think you're unaware of its presence and more preoccupied with watching its partner fade into the distance. It takes the bait, jumping from the shadows and rushing toward you like a predator still learning to catch its prey.
Your hand grips your blaster tight enough that you worry there might be imprints indented into the metal when you're finished, but you pay that thought little mind, choosing to focus on the threat that closes in from behind you.
Thick, warm blood pulses through your veins. The muscles surrounding your lungs tighten, and the hair along the back of your neck sticks straight as adrenaline fills your system. When the Rodian dives toward you to pull you to the ground at the last second, you step to the side, and the creature strikes the floor at your feet. It doesn't even get the opportunity to reach for you before you aim your weapon and shoot it multiple times.
Humanity gone.
Its chest rises once before collapsing for the final time, green blood trickling through the thick fabric covering its torso and dribbling onto the moss that matches its color below. You wait for an inkling of remorse to strike your gut at the taking of a creature's life, but of course, there is none.
You look up just in time to see the living Rodian running your way, blaster in his hands as he charges at you, and once again, you stay still, unmoving. Only when he finally gets close enough do you pull your oh-so-heavy rifle, sighing from the relief of no longer carrying it on your shoulder, and aim it right at your target. With a quiet exhale from you and a slow pull of your finger, the Rodian drops to the ground.
The sound of his body thunking into the soft dirt makes no louder a sound than a dead tree falling to its side after a long life well lived, and it makes you wonder about all the deaths this forest has seen and the destruction now covered by its never-ending growth. Even though you doubt it, you hope you're the last being to bring violence to something so quiet and serene—the last one to be the reason why the dirt feeds on blood instead of water.
You had your reasons, you tell yourself. You had no choice but to defend yourself. You gave him a choice, and he made his decision.
Moist air fills your lungs as you inhale, and you roll your shoulders before looking skyward. "If you're gonna keep trying to kill me, maybe don't send the worst bounty hunters in the Guild?" You suggest to the Maker and look down at the body at your feet. "An actual challenge would be nice," you mumble, tapping the first Rodian you killed with the toe of your boot.
Something tells you later that perhaps this time, the Maker was listening to you after all.
✶☽◯☾✶
Warm air turns frigid as the sun lowers into the horizon.
Shadows from surrounding trees bleed across the dirt, dragging along the soil like nightmares before vanishing once night entirely claims the sky. You look up, eyeing the shimmering blend of planets you’ve been to and those you hope never to see again before returning your vision to the small fire across you.
After a days-long trek, you finally succumbed to your body’s pleas for a good night's rest. You resisted at first, but once your mind offered the promise of good dreams, well, how could you say no to that?
Eventually, you stumbled across a sizeable pit nestled between a cluster of thick trees. You instantly decide it’s where you’ll spend the next few hours, quickly noting it's hidden enough to make a small fire and remain unseen by whatever lurks beneath your sheltered surroundings. You keep your blaster within immediate reach for that exact reason.
The heat from the crackling flames reaches to touch your skin, and you flinch when one comes too close. You remain in place, eyeing the orange plasma with a narrowed gaze, speaking an unspoken threat for the next time it gets too close. It regresses back into itself, somehow seeming to heed your warning.
Your focus returns to your lap, fingers tracing over the array of items you scavenged off the two bounty hunters. A warm feeling flutters in your chest when you open a small purse, and a handful of credits roll into your open palm—just enough to get you a ride off this planet for when this forest is no longer deemed a safe haven.
After nibbling on what you assume are cranker roots, courtesy of your latest kills, you lean forward, closer to the fire that aches to nip at your skin.
A fogginess settles in the corner of your vision as you stare absently into the flames and hold your hands before you, turning your palms toward the fire. Orange heat grazes your skin, and you don’t move away even though it hurts. Instead, you push your hands closer toward them, letting the searing pain move from your palm and ease its way between your fingers.
Your bottom lip catches between your teeth when memories play behind your eyes and when distant screams fill your ears. Some filled with terror, others with defiance, and the rest with last breaths.
Solemn blue eyes and scarlet palms flash in your vision, followed by burning walls and black capes while someone tells you to run and another calls your name.
You hiss, pulling your hands away from the flames when the pain brings you back to the present. You lean back, resting against a thick log lying neatly behind you, and exhale through your nose as you rub away the hurt from your scalding skin.
You stare into the fire, your blinks becoming longer as the flames dwindle. Sleep crawls along your skin, pulling at your lashes as you wrestle with its incessant tugging.
And so, after a slight tug of war, you eventually succumb to its calls, sinking into the log beneath you with crackling flames dancing across your eyelids.
✶☽◯☾✶
It seems your mind fulfilled its promise of only good dreams.
Morning sun kisses your cheeks, and you shift, wrapping your arms tighter around your torso to keep any more warmth from escaping. You nestle further into the log you lean against, desperately trying to sink back into your soft dream of a white bird sleeping safely alongside a silver moon with a small green frog nestled between them.
But an unnatural sound adjacent to you rips you from your fading sleep, and your eyes snap open.
Before you know what stands before you, a deep-rooted instinct leads you to reach for the blaster you’d last seen next to you. But instead of finding a weapon, your hand lands on cool dirt.
A scowl replaces your features, and your body turns rigid. Dread echoes from your chest to the tips of your toes when you notice a figure standing across your long-dead fire. The feeling worsens when you recognize the armor covering his body.
Beskar.
You’ve seen the impenetrable armor before—years ago on a rather unfriendly Mandalorian when you lived a life much different than this. Your paths barely crossed, but it was long enough for you to know you never wanted to deal with the likes of his kind again.
Until now, at least.
This particular Mandalorian is quiet. Even with his blaster pointed at your unarmed frame and the tracking fob that taunts you from his belt, he doesn’t move. He just stares at you, waiting, watching, wanting to see what you do next.
“That’s not yours,” you nod at the blaster dangling from his other hand like a simple keychain, or should you say your blaster.
How did he get so close without you waking up?
He doesn’t respond, verbally at least, but his grip on your weapon tightens ever-so-slightly.
Both hands plant at your sides as you re-adjust yourself, your fingers digging into the dirt, tiny, gritty particles gathering beneath your nails as you ball your hands into fists. Your eyes dart to your surroundings and assess any possible weak points that could aid in a quick getaway.
You don’t find any.
That's when his head tilts to the side before straightening, and he shakes his head, the brightening sun glinting off his hardened visor.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
His voice surprises you, and your movements stall. For someone so cold, for a people with such a feared reputation, his voice is relatively soft.
You don’t let that fool you.
“Do what?” You ask, continuing to ball the dirt in your hands.
His head tilts to the side again. “Run,” he says flatly. “I wouldn’t run.”
Now, you tilt your head, raising a brow as a spark of energy ignites in your bones. Considering he had the perfect opportunity to cuff you in your sleep, you can’t help but wonder if he really means the opposite.
You eye him suspiciously and feel him do the same. A fluttering sensation tickles your skin when you sense his sheltered vision traced over you like you’re a wild animal preparing to lunge.
You release the dirt gathering in your fists and hold them open at your chest as you bring yourself to a stand. His blaster follows every move.
“I’m gonna go ahead and assume I can’t bargain my way out of this?”
No response.
You sigh, pursing your lips before noticing that the bounty hunter has also snatched your bag and rifle. Your head snaps up from the ground, a sudden rage warming your skin at the thought of him touching your things.
Your hands clench at your sides as you stare at him through a hooded gaze. Drowsiness clings to your overworked muscles, but the adrenaline that pulses through your veins combats it, and your shoes sink into the earth as you ready yourself.
When the Mandalorian moves, your knees slightly bend in your body's preparation to go into a quick sprint, but before you can do that, he tosses binders at your feet.
“Put them on." His voice is ice cold.
You look down at the binders, then the Mandalorian, and repeat.
“No.”
His head tilts slightly to the side. “No?”
“No.”
He switches the safety off on his blaster, which is insulting to you that he thought he’d need it on in the first place.
“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”
Starring into his visor with a defiant gaze, you swallow the weightless sensation roiling in your gut and ignore your heartbeat thrumming in your ears, “Neither.”
And with that, you run.
He’s immediately on your heels, so close you can hear him grunting behind you with each breath as he follows you through the trees. Every few seconds, he fires his blaster, the laser beam whizzing by your body before striking a nearby tree and forcing you to redirect your path.
Your lungs squeeze with each step, each pump of your heart pushing your heated blood through your veins as you dodge the Mandalorian.
He fires his blaster again, this time flying by your head before landing in a nearby tree. You almost turn around to look at him, wondering why he keeps firing at you when you’re clearly worth far more alive than dead.
You don’t have time to think about it before you throw yourself into a thick bush, the bounty hunter diving in right after you. This time, he curses, and you almost grin until your foot catches on a protruding root, and you nearly tumble to the ground.
Your feet skid along the dirt, and your knees almost give out as you try to find your footing. But then you feel the graze of gloved fingers along your arm as the Mandalorian reaches for you, and your survival instincts take over. A wild burst of energy floods your veins once more, and you continue your dash through Endor’s endless forest.
But it doesn’t last as long as you’d like, not when your body is surviving off of a few bites of a foreign meal and only a few hours of sleep. That’s when the Mandalorian fires his blaster for the final time.
Instead of landing in a nearby tree, this one grazes your arm, burning through the thin cloth covering it and leaving a blinding pain in its wake.
You shriek, instantly moving to cover the wound with your palm as you continue your faltering pace.
“Fucking womp rat!” You shout over your shoulder, catching a quick enough glimpse of the silver warrior chasing after you.
When you turn your attention back to the untouched trail before you, you realize too late a fallen tree blocks your path. You only have time to suck in a breath before your shins connect with the solid trunk and tumble to the ground below.
More roots and broken twigs scratch at any exposed skin, and you roll onto your back as you attempt to catch any lost breath. You wince when you accidentally grind your fresh wounds into the dirt.
Even so, you continue to crawl away from the approaching Mandalorian, kicking shaky legs when he tries to grab one. And he eventually does, locking a gloved hand around your ankle to tug you toward him.
Even though you know you’ve been caught, you don’t make it easy for him. When he bends down to bind your wrists, you slap them away, even going as far as trying to flip onto your stomach when he grabs the spot where your binders connect to heave you upward.
When you’re finally on your feet, you’re facing him, and you catch his visor linger on the burning wound on your arm before it reflects your defiant stare.
“My ship is that way,” he jerks his head to the left. “Are you going to make this easy, or do I have to drag you?”
Your gaze narrows, and when you take too long to answer, he locks his hand around the binders again to pull you into him, close enough to recognize the shade of your irises in his darkened visor.
“Not so confident now, are you?” He asks quietly, but you can hear the smirk behind the thick beskar covering his face.
That’s when your vision shifts into a deep red, and reason flees your mind like a flock of spooked birds. You can’t help yourself and choose to let your anger at getting caught win.
The corner of your mouth turns upward, and you inhale before throwing your head back and shoving it into his helmet. It barely rattles him, but it distracts him enough for you to bring your knee high and land it right between his legs.
He catches it too late, only having enough time to step back and shift his hips out of the way, but when your knee lands close enough for a quiet grunt to escape his helmet, you grin.
But your moment doesn’t last long because the Mandalorian returns the favor and knocks his helmet into you.
Then, the world turns black.
✶☽◯☾✶
You wake to the feeling of something digging into your abdomen.
You let out a tired yawn when you open your eyes to find yourself looking at the passing ground. You pull your head up, still not entirely understanding what is happening until you realize precisely where you are.
You're slung over the Mandalorian's shoulder.
Every muscle in you tightens, and so does his arm around your thighs. You slam your cuffed wrists into the beskar shielding his back, and he grunts, his pace never faltering.
“Put me down right now, or the first chance I get, I will cut you limb from limb and hang you in these very trees for the Ewoks to eat.”
He keeps walking, unfazed by your threats. His grip on your thighs is so tight that your toes start losing feeling. You begin to wiggle as much as possible, finding any attempt to get loose. He finally stops walking and drops you to the ground.
The Mandalorian spins you around to face a ship, and any hope you had for freedom floats away with the breeze. He lifts his wrist to his chest before typing a code into his vambrace, and the ship's platform lowers to the ground. That’s when something pokes you beneath your uninjured shoulder, and you quickly realize he’s holding a blaster to your back.
“Move.”
But you don't. Once you get on that ship, he will put you in carbonite, and whoever lays their hands on you after that will take you to a Republican prison ship… or worse. That cannot happen. So, you spin toward him, the desperation evident on your face.
“Whatever the bounty on me is, I will double it. Whatever you want, I can get it for you. Please. I ca—I can't go back to them.”
A moment of what you’d like to think is him considering your offer passes before he jerks his weapon. “Get on the ship.”
You breathe through your nose. Not happening.
So you spin back around and make him think you are turning back to the ship, but you don’t stop spinning until you face him again. Using the last remnants of the energy powering your overworked body, you throw one of your legs into the air, striking the heel of your boot into the hand holding his blaster. The movement exposes an open target between two pieces of beskar, and before he can react, you throw as much energy as you can into a punch with cuffed hands and land right between two of his ribs.
He doubles over with a grunt, the breath leaving his lungs. You don't hesitate to release what sounds like a war cry and lunge yourself into him.
But it seems you overestimated the power of your push because when you knock him over, you pull yourself down with him, biting your tongue when your chin slams down onto his chest.
A strong, iron taste numbs your mouth, and you roll off him and drag yourself to your feet. But before you can take another step, a cool glove wraps around your ankle. You lean forward to slide out of its grip, but you’re not strong enough, especially when he pulls hard and tugs you into the dirt again.
You land on your stomach with an oomph, flipping onto your back as he pulls himself to his knees and reaches for the blaster. You pull your legs up to your chest and shove your heels between beskar, which ends up being his neck. He waivers and releases a growl. You instantly move to grab the blaster before him, but he's too quick.
Before you know it, both of you are panting heavily, and he's pointing his weapon at you again. Your face only shows defiance.
“I am not getting on that ship,” you spit.
A deep sound comes from behind the beskar, a rumble from his throat. He stands up, keeping a hand on your ankle, and drags you through the dirt toward the lowered platform.
You continue to thrash in his grip, fighting him with every last drop of your dwindling energy.
You kick and pull your feet, try to flip on your stomach, but his grip on your ankle is like death, cold and unmoving. He lets a deep breath ease through his modulator and sheathes his blaster at his hip before bending down to grab your other ankle and pulling them simultaneously.
You claw at the dirt, letting any sound escape as you fight for your freedom.
If anyone were around right now, they’d think there was some kind of scrap between two feral creatures inhabiting this wild planet.
After a few steps, the Mandalorian growls and drops your ankles, spinning on his heels to look down at you. “That’s it.”
In a blink, his blaster is pointed at you, and for the first time since he’s bound you in cuffs, you stop moving.
Like it had been summoned, a gentle breeze descends from the trees. It kicks up fallen leaves around you and the warrior, encircling you like its framing and important photo before whispering more words you aren’t sure you understand.
And then, as fast as it arrived, it leaves.
The Mandalorian's shoulders sag, and the blaster pointed toward you drops a fraction, almost as if you aren’t the only one the wind spoke to.
But then he straightens, and his hand tightens around the blaster. You take a deep breath, staring down the barrel as you realize what he’s about to do. An empty feeling fills your gut, and your mouth turns dry as you look away from him, opting to look at the sky instead.
It’s okay, you think. This ending is better than whatever the Maker had planned for you if he were to get you on his ship.
One of Endor's silver moons floats above you, still shining strong even though the sun claims the sky, and you swear for a moment you see a white bird floating across its image, just like you’d seen in your dream.
You take another deep breath, your stomach tightening as you squeeze your eyes, waiting for the blaster shot that will finally end it all… but it never comes. That’s when you open your eyes to the Mandalorian, only to find he’s looking at something else.
A gentle coo has your gaze snapping in the same direction.
You blink, eyes widening as you stare at the small creature standing at the edge of the bounty hunter's ship.
Impossible. There’s no way you're seeing what you're seeing right now.
You sit up, utterly unfazed by the blaster still pointed at your chest, choosing to wipe your eyes with the back of your hand in an attempt to rub the haze from your vision because there is no fucking way—
The child coos again, his hands reaching for you like he’s begging for a hug. You blink again, eyes trailing from his wide ears, the brown cloth wrapped tightly around him, and his big bug-like eyes that are still filled with curiosity and warmth.
Your lungs squeeze as you look between him and the Mandalorian, confusion etched across your features as you stare at the child you thought had been long dead.
“Grogu?”