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Chapter Text

Din strides through a ghost town that’s obviously been ravaged by war, with holes blown in the dwellings and debris on the streets. The navigation system said they’re on Ryloth, but he hasn’t seen a single Twi’lek citizen.

He avoids a recon droid, resisting the urge to shoot it down and bring the attention of whomever sent it. 

There are no signs of life until someone in an alleyway exclaims “little tailhead bit me!”

Din draws his blaster, glad he has Grogu stowed safely in the bag at his hip.

Two stormtroopers have a young blue Twi’lek girl cornered. To Din’s surprise, the other trooper says “Stop. Stop! You’re scaring her! She probably thinks we’re droids.”

He crouches down and removes his helmet, which Din realizes is closer to a Mandalorian helmet than a stormtrooper helmet. He appears completely unconcerned with showing his face, which is a dead ringer for Fett. He’s younger, but still bald.

“See, I’m flesh and blood, just like you.” 

The girl ducks away from his finger, and Fett's doppelgänger says “she looks half starved.”

The other trooper pulls a ration bar out of a pouch, and the one who looks like Fett offers it to the girl. She sniffs it suspiciously before snatching it and taking hurried bites, hunched protectively over her meal. Possibly the first in ages. Her tan dress is even more worn than Grogu’s robe.

The other trooper removes his helmet. His features are identical to Fett’s, but he has short black hair and a goatee.

The girl glances between their faces, then points at the two troopers. “Nerra, Nerra.”

“I’m Waxer, he’s Boil.” the bald one says. Din frowns. They clearly aren’t Fett. Clones, then, but the Clone Wars were when Din was a boy; older than this girl, but still young. 

Din doesn’t have time to wonder if they somehow went back in time. He has a sinking realization that the little girl’s village was destroyed by droids in the same way his childhood village was before he was taken in by the Mandalorians.

“Nerra, Nerra.” the girl repeats, only this time she notices Din. She points at him. “Nerra?”

This time, the girl says “Nerra” three times, pointing to someone behind them. 

Waxer and Boil whirl around, drawing their blasters but halting when they see a Mandalorian warrior in silver armor like Jango Fett’s standing in the alleyway. Unlike Fett, he has a tattered gray cape, and a burlap bag hanging over one shoulder.

Waxer is quite adept at reading emotions under armor and helmets. Clone armor was modeled after Mandalorian armor, just as they were made from Fett’s image.

Waxer detects confusion from the Mandalorian, who’s surprisingly soft spoken when he says “You’re not Stormtroopers.”

“We’re clones.” Boil says tersely. “We were modeled after one of you.”

The Mandalorian tilts his helmet slightly. “Fett was cloned?”

Has he been living under a rock? Their brothers are spread across the galaxy fighting. They’re on Ryloth for kriff’s sake.

“What happened here?” the Mandalorian seems to already have a hunch but doesn’t want to be proven correct.

“The seppies took over their city.” Waxer says. Boil shoots him a look for giving away mission intel, but this is a Mandalorian, and it seems pretty obvious. Besides, Waxer hadn’t mentioned the living shield part.

“With droids?” the Mandalorian’s tone is far more chilling now, and the girl huddles behind the crate again, glaring suspiciously at the Mandalorian.

“Take off your helmet.” Waxer advises, gesturing at his own face. “She thinks you’re a droid.”

“I can’t.” the Mandalorian says. “It is not The Way.”

Waxer’s never heard of a Mandalorian who wouldn’t remove their helmet before. The girl continues to eye the Mandalorian warily as she scarfs down her more of her ration bar.

Something wriggles in the Mandalorian’s bag, and a tiny green head pokes out of it. 

It’s obviously the same species as General Yoda, with large pointy green ears, but while General Yoda is clearly aged, despite being smaller than the Twi’lek girl, the tiny creature in the Mandalorian’s bag appears to be an infant with huge, innocent eyes.

The Twi’lek girl lets out a sort of squeal at the sight. Seeming to gather her courage, she creeps towards the infant. Waxer isn’t even sure what species it is- he’s never seen another of their kind besides General Yoda and he’s only heard of another called Yaddle. 

He knows that Jedi aren’t allowed to have children, so it can’t be theirs. 

The girl takes a hurried bite from the ration bar they gave her, then holds the unbitten end to the infant’s lips. Tiny green clawed hands emerge from the sack and pull the bar from her hands.

“Hey, don’t take that.” admonishes the Mandalorian in a surprisingly parental tone, not that Waxer or any other clone had much experience with those. The Mandalorian plucks the ration bar from the infant’s claws and returns it to the girl.

“Did you find that here too?” Boil eyes the creature in the bag, and the Mandalorian shakes his helmeted head.

Boil scoffs slightly. “Looks like you’re already on babysitting duty. You can look after this one too.” Boil jerks his head at the girl, then puts on his helmet. “Waxer and I have a mission.”

The Mandalorian nods, but the girl still seems extremely wary of him. Despite their similar armor, she’s seen no proof that he isn’t a droid, and evidently the Mandalorian won’t give her any. He isn’t quite as armored as Waxer and Boil- parts of his sleeves and pants are clearly visible, indicating a humanoid lifeform, but the girl doesn’t seem to notice.

It dawns on Waxer that the Mandalorian’s armor color and cape are similar to Wat Tambor, the separatist scumbag in charge of the invasion on Ryloth. 

“She doesn’t want to go with him.” Waxer says, suddenly with a much better understanding as to why.

“She doesn’t even want to go.” Boil corrects him. “Little monster was fine before we came along, so let’s move.”

Waxer dons his helmet and follows Boil out of the alleyway. He hears the girl whine and scamper after them.

Whenever Waxer turns around, he sees her duck out of sight. The Mandalorian makes no such attempt at hiding, striding down the street with his cape billowing while the infant peers out of the bag.

“What happens to her after we leave?” Waxer asks.

“Don’t get any ideas. We’re not taking her with us. He is.”

The Mandalorian speaks up from behind them. “She will become a foundling.”

None of the clones were actually raised in the Mandalorian culture, so Waxer isn’t sure what being a foundling entails. She doesn’t seem to be faring well here, though that could change once they free her people from the droids.

“If she has no family here, I will look after her.” The Mandalorian says, as if it’s standard practice to take in abandoned children.

Boil jerks his head, as if to say she’s out of their hands. 

Waxer turns, but sees no sign of blue. “She’s gone.”

“I’m sure the little biter will turn up.” Boil sighs.

The Mandalorian nods his head, indicating there’s something behind them. Waxer turns and sees the girl staring up at them, having somehow snuck ahead of them. He crouches and pokes her nose. “There you are!”

The girl giggles, and Waxer smiles under his helmet.

“He’s going to look after you.” Boil points at the Mandalorian, but the girl tugs on Waxer’s blaster. “Nerra! Nerra!”

She runs down the street, and Waxer calls “No, don’t go that way! That’s where the recon droid went.”

The Mandalorian jogs past them with the baby bouncing in the bag.

“Let her go, Waxer. He can catch her.”

“She’ll run from him too.” Waxer snaps. “I’m not going to let the droids get her!”

He follows after the Mandalorian, chasing after the girl. Boil shouts “I’m just trying to keep you alive!” before reluctantly joining the chase, muttering “Darned if I know why.”

The girl ducks under a rock wedged in the street but doesn’t slow down, and the rest of them vault over it.

She hides behind a beam but then peeks out at them, scampering away again.

“Wait, hold on there!” Waxer calls.

She stops running suddenly in a large courtyard of abandoned, destroyed homes, though she shies away from the Mandalorian when he catches up. She lets Waxer ruffle her lekku head tails. “There you are.” Waxer chuckles, relieved.

“Good. You caught her. I have binders if you need them.” Boil says, and both Waxer and the Mandalorian turn towards him. “What?!”

Waxer feels a small hand grip his and tug gently. The girl points to one house and pulls Waxer towards it, gazing around as she walks inside.

It’s a single dark room, save for the sunlight streaming through the hole blasted in the roof, illuminating the intricate tiles. 

The girl stands under the hole, gazing around, lip quivering.

“I guess this was her home.” Waxer muses. “Poor little thing, she lost it all.”

The Mandalorian shifts slightly.

Waxer hopes the Mandalorian will give her a good life. Waxer removes his helmet again, and spots a small, purple stuffed tooka laying on a sleeping mat. He picks it up and brushes it off, making it squeak.

Waxer holds the toy out to the girl, who takes it and finally breaks down, cuddling the tooka doll as her tiny form shakes with sobs.

Waxer kneels in front of her, cupping her cheek. “It’s okay now. We’re here to help.”

The girl surges forward, curling into his armor, which can’t be remotely cuddly. Waxer strokes her lekku soothingly. 

Boil crouches across from Waxer. “Don’t cry, kid. We’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

The girl throws her arms around Boil, who pats her awkwardly, glancing askance.

The Mandalorian hunkers down a little further away, respecting the girl’s reluctance. The creature squirms in the bag until the Mandalorian sets it on the floor. The infant toddles over to the girl, reaching out to her.

The girl smiles slightly, wiggling the tooka doll at the baby, though she doesn’t hand her toy over.

The Mandalorian pulls off his glove, showing his tan hands, and Waxer strokes the girl’s lekku again. “See? He’s flesh and blood like us.”

The girl slowly reaches out and takes his hand.

“It’s my duty to look after you.” the Mandalorian tells her. “You’ll be taken in by the clan and become a Mandalorian.”

Waxer can hardly comprehend having that choice. He and his vod were born to be soldiers, with no say in the matter. Before he can contemplate it too much, his wrist communicator beeps. “It’s the commander.” 

“We’re way overdue, Waxer. We’re going to end up polishing R2 units.”

“How are we going to explain this? Her?” 

“You’re asking me?” Boil gestures at the girl’s hand in the Mandalorian’s. “Look, she’s not scared of him anymore. He’ll take her off our hands.”

As they don their helmets, Waxer and Boil decide to say they ran into some trouble and their transmissions were jammed. The Mandalorian tucks the infant back in his bag and pulls his glove back on.

“See you, little one.” Waxer waves as they head out the door, but the Mandalorian follows, offering his aid.

Din’s life has come full circle. Never mind that he’s impossibly jumped back years. He’s gone from a child saved by Mandalorians to a Mandalorian saving a child. Twice.

As if summoned by the thoughts, enemies round the corner. They're not droids, but hulking, monstrous brown insects.

The girl cowers behind Din’s cape, crying “Gutkurr! Gutkurr!”

As Din, Waxer and Boil open fire, Waxer mutters that he thinks he knows why the girl never came back, and Boil shouts that this is what happens when they don’t follow orders.

They’re forced to retreat back into the bombed house as the Gutkurr charges.

Din feels Grogu shift in his bag, and the Gutkurr is lifted into the air by an invisible force.

Today has been bringing back far too many memories for Din with the girl’s circumstances being so similar to his own. Now he’s reminded of when Grogu saved him from the mudhorn.

Waxer says something about a jedi, still firing at the floating Gutkurr.

Unfortunately, the one Grogu’s lifting isn’t the only Gutkurr around. Another one charges, and they barely manage to slam the door on time.

“These suckers won’t give up!” Boil grunts, straining to hold the door closed as the Gutkurrs try and break it down. 

Din and Waxer squeeze off a few more shots as the monsters force the door open. Din glances over his shoulder to ensure his new charge’s safety. The girl has set her tooka doll aside and is crawling on the floor, pushing a rock aside before lifting a trapdoor.

“Good job,” Din fires a few more rounds as Waxer and Boil follow the girl through the opening.

Another Gutkurr starts making its way through the hole in the roof, and Din fires at it before ducking through the trapdoor. It falls closed behind him just as the Gutkurr charges into the house, biting at the trapdoor.

They make their way through the tunnels, the girl leading the way, clutching the bag with Grogu inside.

“How’d you end up with a baby Jedi?” Boil asks. 

“You know of the Jedi?” Din asks, surprised.

“You really have been living under a rock.” Boil mutters. “The Jedi are our generals.”

Din frowns. He doesn’t know much about the Clone Wars, or Jedi, and had no idea they were connected.

He can’t exactly say he’s from the future without sounding completely insane. 

“I’m supposed to deliver him to the Jedi.” Din says. It’s been the end goal of the mission for a while, but the thought makes him curl a hand around the bag where Grogu rests. He’d been almost relieved when Ahsoka Tano said she couldn’t train Grogu, even though that had been the end goal of the mission.

“I’m surprised they haven’t found him already.” Waxer muses. “He seems as strong as the general.”

Din glances down at Grogu in his bag. 

They twist and turn through the tunnels until they hear voices above them, similar to Waxer and Boil’s. Boil is the first to climb the ladder, pushing aside the manhole cover and climbing out. Din hears a sound like a laser sword deactivating.

Waxer climbs out after Boil, and Din hears another clone’s voice demanding “Where have you two slackers been?”

Din climbs out of the tunnel and helps the girl out, glad she’s more comfortable around him. Din stands to see Waxer and Boil standing at attention, saluting another trooper with a yellow visor on his helmet.

“Sir, there is an explanation.” Boil starts.

“We got sidetracked.” Waxer says, as the girl peeks out from behind Din.

A bearded human with a deactivated laser sword on his belt smiles slightly. “I think I see what sidetracked you.”

Several of the clones mutter about a Mandalorian, but are silenced by a gesture from their commander.

“Who sent you here?” the commander asks Din, though not nearly as demanding as he’d been with the others.

“Nobody. I’m just passing through. I can lend my assistance.”

The bearded man, who must be a Jedi general, eyes Din’s bag as if he can sense Grogu in it. His blue eyes widen, and he asks “where did you get him?”

“It’s a long story.” Din says. “I thought you had a mission?”

Boil explains that the girl led them through the tunnels, and knows her way around them.

The Jedi general crouches to speak to the girl in her native tongue. At first, she hides from him, but lights up when she’s finally understood. Din’s going to have to teach her Mando’a, but will need to learn her language as well.

After his brief conversation with the girl, the general decides “The girl can lead us through the tunnels to the prisoners. Cody, we’re going to need a diversion.”

The commander and other troopers split off, while Din, Waxer and Boil take the children back into the tunnels, this time with the Jedi General.

Din keeps Grogu in his bag. The Jedi general picks the girl up before Din can, and Din tries not to think of how he’ll soon be handing Grogu over to the Jedi.

After traveling through more tunnels, they enter a large underground room with stairs leading to the surface. There’s a cage big enough to hold a Gutkurr, but the only occupant is some kind of droid scrubbing the floor on its knees, complaining about how it has the worst job in the droid army.

It isn’t the only droid, but the Jedi general has already sliced through the others in the moment it takes Din to draw his blaster.

The Jedi waves his hand, using the same powers Grogu possesses, but he merely closes the door to the cage, trapping the cleaning droid inside.

Din fires through the bars, destroying it.

The Jedi hands the girl over to Waxer. “I’ll handle this. You keep her here.”

He silently ascends the stairs, pausing before the top to crouch and study the scene above ground. He gestures for Waxer and Boil to join him.

Waxer places the girl on the floor, signaling for her to be quiet. She copies him, holding a finger over her lips. Din pulls Grogu from the bag, setting him in front of the girl, who immediately wraps her arms around him, murmuring a quiet “Nerra.”

“We’ll be fine.” Waxer whispers before heading up the stairs. Din follows.  They sneak towards the cannons, which are surrounded by droids and Twi’lek hostages acting as living shields.

Commander Cody and the other troopers draw the fire of the droids and cannons. Din opens fire, feeling a sense of catharsis as he blasts droids to pieces.

The Jedi general starts slicing through the Twi’leks’ cuffs, freeing them and urging him to follow him down the stairs, into the underground tunnels.

Din wonders if the girl’s family is among the captives, or if she’ll join him. 

The Jedi general tells Boil and Waxer to follow him. He slices through more droids and uses his powers to fling another out of a spider-legged cannon. He commandeers the cannon, and Waxer and Boil drop their guns to load the energy capsule into the cannon. Din covers them, picking off more droids with extreme prejudice.

The general fires on another cannon, and Waxer and Boil hurriedly reload it.

The general manages to destroy two more before one of the cannons fires at him. He leaps out in time, but the explosion knocks them all off her feet and the weapons out of their hands.

The girl rushes out of the safety of the tunnel to check on them. “Nerra?” she tugs at Waxer, then Din, before rushing to the fallen Jedi, right in the sights of a tank.

The droid inside laughs mechanically. “You lose, General Kenobi.”

Din manages to snag his blaster and aim at the droid, but the other Twi’lek citizen ms charge at the tank, obstructing his shot. They tug at the droid, and Kenobi covers the girl’s eyes. She immediately peeks around his hand to watch the others tear the droid limb from limb. One holds up its head triumphantly, broken wires dangling out the bottom.

Large ships fill the sky overhead, and everyone watches in relief. Din returns to the tunnel to fetch Grogu, who’s valiantly attempting to crawl up the steps, but he’s simply too small. Perhaps the Jedi can teach him to leap up them.

Din tucks Grogu back in his bag, then bends to pick up the forgotten tooka doll. Returning to the surface, he finds the people celebrating. Several have crowded around the girl, though he’s unsure if any are family who can take her in.

“Numa!” one says, and the girl’s reaction indicates it’s her name.

Well, that didn’t take nearly as long as it took to learn Grogu’s name. 

“Hey, Numa.” Din calls, and she rushes over to him. It’s not quite as satisfying as finally using Grogu’s name, but it still feels rewarding.

Din crouches and holds out her tooka doll. She takes it but is more focused on Grogu, softly stroking his ears the way she does with the stuffed ears on her doll.

“Are any of them your family?” he tilts his helmet at the celebrating civilians. Numa smiles at them, but doesn’t return.

Kenobi approaches and asks something in Twi’leki. Numa responds, her smile falling, and Kenobi eyes her compassionately.

“She lost her parents when the droids invaded.” Kenobi informs him.

Din closes his eyes briefly, glad his helmet always shields his expressions. He’d hoped Numa hadn’t truly gone through everything he had.

He runs a hand over her lekku.

Numa clings to him, glancing back at the crowd and mumbling something before burying her face into Din’s Beskar armor.

“She hoped to find her uncle here, but she doesn’t see him.”

Din holds her closer. “I’ll protect you. You are a foundling, and in my care.”

Numa gazes up at him with wide eyes. She must hear it in his tone.

Kenobi clears his throat apologetically.

“We need to talk about the other child in your bag. He’s remarkably attuned to the Force.”

“He lifted a Gutkurr into the air, sir.” Waxer reports. Din is, of course, very adept at reading body language of people whose faces are hidden under helmets. He seems almost apologetic.

Another clone trooper says Kenobi had controlled a horde of them with force mind tricks.

“He’s another foundling.” Din reports. 

“How did you find him?” another Jedi, judging from the robes and armor like what Kenobi wears, strides towards them. His dark face is stern, and he ignites a purple laser sword, pointing it at Din. “Hand him over. Now. You’re under arrest for kidnapping, Mandalorian.”

“Sir-” Waxer starts, but he pauses when the Jedi starts struggling for a breath. Boil calls for a medic.

Remembering what happened when he arm-wrestled Cara, Din glances down and sees Grogu with his fist raised and clenched.

“Grogu, stop.” the Jedi wheezes. Grogu only complies when Din tells him to stop, squawking angrily at the Jedi.

Kenobi raises his hands placatingly. “Let’s discuss this calmly, shall we?”

Chapter Text

General Windu had stated that the Mandalorian is under arrest for kidnapping, but they have yet to restrain him or remove his weapons and armor. 

Normally, Waxer or Boil would have already fulfilled the implied order. Boil had even suggested using binders on Numa, but even he hesitates to cuff the Mandalorian. Waxer suspects the Mandalorian would protest more about the removal of his armor than his weapons.

The Jedi seem… distrustful of Mandalorians, to say the least. Waxer has heard rumor that, before the Clone Wars began, General Kenobi had visited their home world and fought Jango Fett. 

General Windu is clearly far more suspicious of the Mandalorian than General Kenobi, and rumor has it that he had been the one to decapitate Jango Fett during the Battle of Geonosis.

“Sir.” Waxer addresses General Windu, who is no longer pointing his purple blade at the Mandalorian, though it’s still ignited and humming. “He helped us look after Numa and free the civilians.”

Numa seems torn between whether she prefers the purple lightsaber, which is a brighter shade than her tooka doll, or General Kenobi’s blue blade, which is closer to her own coloring, though still brighter. Color preferences aside, she seems to be considering that the purple blade had been pointed at her new parental figure, while the blue blade had freed her people.

“That doesn’t explain how he’s in possession of a Jedi youngling.” General Windu continues to eye the Mandalorian suspiciously.

“I wasn’t aware any younglings were missing.” General Kenobi strokes his beard, perfectly content to leave his lightsaber deactivated on his belt. 

“I wasn’t aware there were other Jedi younglings.” the Mandalorian says.

This earns him a strange look from both generals and clones, though their expressions are hidden under helmets like the Mandalorian’s. The infant gurgles, and Numa swings her tooka doll by its feet, imitating the Jedi with their sabers.

“Watch him,” General Windu stalks away to have a private conversation on his comm. 

While the general is talking, the infant toddles over to a rock and finds a small lizard underneath. Without warning, the infant slurps the live lizard into its mouth and swallows it whole and still wriggling.

Numa squeals in disgust, wrinkling her nose, though she’s laughing at the same time.

Waxer’s never seen General Yoda eat a reptile whole, though perhaps he only does so in private. He’s certainly not about to ask, he thinks, glancing at the holographic form of General Yoda on General Windu’s call..

General Windu ends his call, seeming both relieved and perturbed. “Master Yoda said that Grogu is still in the temple.”

The infant squawks slightly at the name, and the Mandalorian says “I was told Yoda was a wise master.”

“He is.” General Windu says. “Does Grogu have a twin we didn’t know about?”

“This is Grogu.” the Mandalorian says, and Grogu coos up at him.

The Mandalorian turns his head slightly towards General Kenobi. “Are you able to train him? I was told he was too old, with too much attachment and fear.”

“Too old?” Boil echoes in disbelief, though their training began at birth. Before birth, really, since they were modified to be the perfect soldiers from Fett’s genes.

“He’s fifty.” the Mandalorian says. Waxer has heard that General Yoda is nearing one thousand standard years. He can’t imagine his lifespan stretching out that long, since he and all his brothers age twice as fast as standard humans, and most of them aren’t expected to live through the war.

“I sense much fear in him, and his connection to the Force feels repressed.” General Windu’s brow furrows in confusion, though the Mandalorian nods as if he’s heard that before. Waxer doubts the Mandalorian is force-sensitive to be able to feel whatever suppressed Jedi powers feel like. Waxer would never guess the kid’s powers were repressed, with the way he lifted the Gutkurr and choked General Windu himself.

“Look what he can do,” the Mandalorian says as he pulls a small, silver sphere from his belt. “Hey, Grogu.”

Grogu perks up immediately, turning towards him.

The Mandalorian holds out the sphere. “Remember how to take it? Show them what you can do.”

Grogu gurgles, and doesn’t do anything at first. Numa reaches for the sphere, likely to give it to Grogu, but the Mandalorian gently shakes his head at her.

“Grogu.” he says, and Grogu reaches a hand out. The silver ball flies from the Mandalorian’s hand to Grogu’s much smaller one. 

It’s hardly an impressive feat after seeing him lift the Gutkurrs, or watching what their Jedi Generals are capable of, but the Mandalorian chuckles. “Good job! See? He’s one of you.”

The Mandalorian coaxes Grogu to give the ball back, and holds it out again for Grogu to summon with the Force, but Numa manages to snag it before Grogu can use his powers. 

She calls something in Twi’leki and lobs the ball at Grogu. 

The small metal sphere bounces off Grogu’s head, making him squawk. “You okay, kid?” the Mandalorian asks, though from his tone, it sounds like Grogu’s experienced far worse. Instead of reprimanding Numa, the Mandalorian retrieves the ball and hands it to her, determined not to let her feel left out.

Grogu gurgles angrily, his large, dark eyes fixed on the ball. Before the Mandalorian’s finished pantomiming how to hold the ball out, the ball is ripped from Numa’s grasp by the unseen Force, flying into Grogu’s hand. Immediately after, Numa’s tooka doll soars into Grogu’s outstretched arms.

Numa rushes forward, tugging on her doll. Grogu refuses to relinquish it, despite showing little interest in it before. Waxer is somewhat astounded at how quickly the children had begun fighting. He doesn’t recall squabbling with his brothers like this, though they hadn’t had toys to call their own. 

The Mandalorian sighs heavily under his helmet and pries the tooka doll out of Grogu’s arms, returning it to Numa. He reaches for the ball, but Grogu pulls it towards his chest, clearly unhappy.

General Windu seems unimpressed with the scene, and Grogu’s willingness to spitefully steal another child’s toy. “I sense much fear in him. Fear of losing you. He has a strong attachment.”

General Kenobi sends General Windu a sharp look. “You said the same about my Padawan, and look how he turned out.”

General Skywalker seems to be a contentious member among the Jedi, though Captain Rex and the 501st swear he’s the best, and General Kenobi trained General Skywalker himself.

“Fear leads to anger…” General Windu starts to quote, like a mantra.

“Grogu has much to fear.” The Mandalorian interrupts. “He was being hunted by the empire, in my time.”

“There is no empire.” General Windu frowns.

“Your time?” General Kenobi raises an eyebrow.

The Mandalorian sighs heavily, as if deciding to divulge classified intel. “I was a child during the Clone Wars. Older than Numa, but still a boy.”

He says it as if the war is some long ago point in history, rather than the war ravaging the galaxy as they speak. 

The Mandalorian clearly isn’t one of them, judging by his voice, and no standard human ages as fast as Waxer and his brothers. It makes no sense, if traveled in time, but then again, the Jedi powers and Force don’t make sense either. Waxer supposes traveling at lightspeed would seem as unlikely as traveling through time to some; he doubts Numa has ever experienced lightspeed, though that’s likely to change soon.

“What is this empire you speak of?” General Windu folds his arms. “Do the Separatists win the war?”

Waxer almost doesn’t want to hear the answer, doesn’t want to hear that all they’re fighting for might amount to nothing, but if they know the strategy, there might be a way to prevent it.

“The Empire almost hunted your kind to extinction. I was told the Jedi order was no more, but some survived. The survivors were forced into hiding, much like my tribe.”

“But you found a Jedi.” Kenobi strokes his beard, frowning in concern.

The Mandalorian nods. “Ahsoka Tano.”

It takes a lot to ruffle General Kenobi, but he visibly startles at the name of his padawan’s padawan.

Chapter Text

Din follows Kenobi and the troopers towards a transport gunship. The doors slide open, but Kenobi pauses outside. Windu has already taken a squadron of walkers and clones to help liberate the rest of Ryloth.

Grogu whines when he sees the gunship. Din gives him a reassuring squeeze.

“Will you train him?” Din asks, though he doesn’t hand Grogu over yet. Kenobi seems like the likeliest bet; despite both Tano and Windu’s reservations about Grogu being too old and too scared, Kenobi said he hadn’t let that stop him with his own apprentice. 

Din has no idea how Jedi apprenticeships work, though it’s obvious Padawan is a synonym. Do they have to recite a creed like Mandalorians? Is Kenobi considered too old to take on another apprentice? Is Grogu too young? 

Kenobi hasn’t answered him yet, so Din continues. “I was told Grogu was taught by many masters at the Jedi temple.” Din hopes that means they won’t turn Grogu away now- sure, Grogu’s at least two decades older, but he’s still barely out of babyhood and has yet to speak a word. “Were you one of them? Was your apprentice- your Padawan- one of them?”

“Neither of us had the pleasure. I was busy with my own Padawan, and now he has his hands full with Ahsoka.” Kenobi seems amused, though he eyes Din shrewdly, as if he can see through Din’s mask. Din stiffens slightly, unsure if it’s strange Jedi magic or simply experience from working with the troopers. 

“You could have the pleasure now.” Din says, unsubtly. Grogu is a pleasure, even if he’s stubborn and doesn’t listen.  If Kenobi turns him away, in this time where the Jedi have a whole temple, then who can he possibly find to help Grogu learn to control his powers?

“I’m afraid I’m a little preoccupied.” Kenobi casts a significant glance at the troops. Clearly this wasn’t his first battle as a general, and won’t be his last.

“Someone’s training him now, right?” Din pauses and adds “The other him.”

Thinking of another Grogu is bizarre, to say the least. Din carefully doesn’t think about how his childhood self is somewhere in this galaxy. He isn’t sure what year it is, if he’s already been taken in by the Mandalorians or not. He has a brief image of himself, armored, swooping in to save himself as a child, as if time travel wasn’t confusing enough already. 

Grogu tries to bury his face against Din’s shoulder, his tiny claws gripping Din’s cape. 

Din hugs him before holding him at arm’s length to look at him properly.

Grogu glances between Din and Numa, as if betrayed. His tiny mouth forms a pout.

“I’m not replacing you, buddy.” Din tells him. “I could never replace you. But you belong with the other Jedi, in their temple. They can teach you how to control your powers.”

Grogu visibly balks at the idea, squirming in Din’s hands, trying to wriggle back to his shoulder, away from the Jedi and clones.

“He doesn’t want to go with you.” Din tells Kenobi, somewhat unnecessarily. 

“I was rather hoping you’d come along,” Kenobi says. It’s not really a request, but it’s not a veiled threat, either. “We have much to discuss.”

“Am I still under arrest? I won’t be able to answer your questions.” Din senses several coming, likely an entire interrogation. It’s his own fault, really. “I didn’t know about the Jedi when Grogu first showed his powers. I don’t know how the empire rose, or why the Jedi fell.”

“We’re not taking you into custody.” Kenobi assures him. “This is an invitation. A request for aid.”

Din sighs. He supposes that’s fair, if he’s asking them to train Grogu. He doesn’t see how he’ll be any help at all, even with his vast skill set. He could hunt and take down targets, but he’s no historian and has no idea who to hunt to prevent the fall of the Jedi. Or how well the Jedi pay.

He’s not sure how he feels about working with Jedi. They were enemies, but if they can help Grogu, he’s willing to put past wars aside.

He wasn’t planning on trying to take down an empire, or stop it from rising. He’s more concerned with finding work, and getting Numa settled. He wasn’t planning on stopping the fall of the Jedi, either, but Grogu needs them to help master his powers.

“Grogu may be able to provide some answers.” Kenobi says.

Din would shake his head, but he remembers Tano talking to Grogu without really talking, some sort of Jedi mind thing. 

As if reading his mind, Kenobi says “I don’t believe you’ve met Ahsoka in this timeline.”

Din glances down at Grogu in his arms. “You remember the nice lady?”

“She’s fourteen.” Kenobi’s definitely amused now, though still speculative.

Din sighs and follows Kenobi into the gunship. It’s standing room only, and Grogu’s still rather rigid in Din’s arms while surrounded by clones. It’s clearly not armor that bothers him- Din’s living proof of that- but perhaps they look a bit too much like stormtroopers.

Numa’s initial reservations have completely disappeared. She clings to Waxer’s armored leg with a joyful cry of “Nerra!”

Kenobi says something to her in Twi’leki, and she nods and clings tighter to Waxer. She gasps when the gunship lifts into the air, keeping a death grip on Waxer’s leg and her tooka doll.

Waxer smiles down at her. Even amid all the confusion of time travel, Din can’t fully wrap his head around the troopers taking their helmets off so casually. To be fair, Boba Fett didn’t have the same rules around armor that Din does, though it clearly means a lot to him. 

The flight isn’t long at all, just beyond Ryloth’s atmosphere to the large ship waiting in orbit. The clones disembark the gunner with military precision, though Boil turns back to Numa.

“See you later, little one.”

Numa pouts slightly, though not as much as Grogu had at the mere prospect of saying goodbye.

Waxer gives Numa one last hug, telling her to stay out of trouble. Din hardly thinks that’s a promise he can keep.

“Nerra!” Numa waves as the troopers start to walk away.

Waxer asks Kenobi what she keeps calling them, and Kenobi responds “ Nerra. It means brother.”

Another set of troopers is already striding towards them in military formation, and Numa swivels her head between the approaching and departing groups. 

Din spots Ahsoka Tano. She’s as young as Kenobi said, having barely reached puberty, but the white markings on her face are the same. Her Lekku are shorter, falling only around her shoulders.

“Aww,” Ahsoka coos at Grogu. “You’re even cuter than Stinky. And you smell a lot better.”

“That’s not saying much.” the Jedi with her mutters. He wears the same robe and armor combination as Kenobi and Windu, but they’re dark blues and reds rather than tan and white. The scars on his face speak of many battles, and he has a glove over his right hand.

Ahsoka grins at him. “I bet you wouldn’t mind keeping this guy safe. Master. Look at him, he’s like a baby Master Yoda.”

Din frowns. The older Ahsoka had mentioned Yoda too. Din’s figured out that, whatever Grogu’s species is, it isn’t very common, but there has to be more than one other member, right?

“Is that our next mission, General Skywalker?” one of the clones asks. 

“A protection detail won't be necessary.” Kenobi says, which is blatantly wrong in the time Din’s from. “We’ve been asked to train him, though Master Windu said he’s too clouded by attachment and fear.”

Skywalker scowls. It’s clearly a sore spot for him, and Kenobi presses on. “Apparently you said the same thing, Ahsoka.”

“Something to tell us, Snips?” Skywalker asks. Ahsoka shakes her head, equally confused, and Din notices a thin, beaded metal chain dangling over one of her striped lekku. She hadn’t worn it when he met her in the future, and he has no idea what the purpose is. Is it a Jedi thing? Will Grogu get one?

Numa peeks out from behind Din, peering at Ahsoka’s lekku. None of the Twi’leks have intricate stripes on their own, or the montral horns at the top. 

“Are you collecting strays? Following in Master Qui-Gon’s footsteps?” Skywalker’s eyes flit between Numa and Grogu. Ahsoka smiles at Numa, who hesitantly smiles back. 

Skywalker glances up at Din. “Don’t tell me he’s a stray, too.”

“He’s a Mandalorian, sir,” the lead trooper in this squad speaks up. The helmet held at his hip has blue markings rather than yellow, though Din’s eyes are drawn to the kama hanging from his belt, wrapped around his legs. Din blinks at the traditional Mandalorian garb. 

“He claims he’s from the future.” Kenobi says. 

Din sighs, resigning himself to more questions. Delivering Grogu to the Jedi isn’t getting any easier, even now that he’s back in a time with enough of them to fill a whole temple.

Chapter Text

Din is spared from further questioning when Numa’s stomach growls loudly. She attempts to cover the noise by hugging her stomach with her thin arms- no doubt a carryover from hiding in the city.

Din doesn’t know when her last meal was, before the ration bar Boil gave her.

“Do you have something for her to eat?” Din asks Kenobi. “Grogu, too. I can pay, of course.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Kenobi assures him. “The mess hall is this way.”

Din nods his thanks and follows Kenobi through the gray corridors. It’s far bigger than the Razor Crest.

The mess hall is full of clone troopers, all in armor but with their helmets removed, identical faces distinguishable by tattoos, hairstyle and facial hair. They all immediately stand at attention when Kenobi, Skywalker and Tano enter the room, until Skywalker says “At ease.”

Grogu wiggles in Din’s arms, but seems less bothered considering all their helmets are off. Numa grips Din’s hand, though he sees her eyes scanning the crowd for Waxer and Boil. Waxer waves at her from the sea of armor. “Numa!”

“Nerra!” she squeals, rushing over to his table and scrambling up on the bench to throw her arms around him. 

“Waxer,” he corrects gently, though he doesn’t seem to mind being called brother . Now that he knows Numa’s name, he uses it at every opportunity. He points to himself and enunciates his name. “Waxer. I’m Waxer, Numa.”

“Wakker.” Numa mutters, and Waxer chuckles that it’s close enough, ruffling her lekku. “We’re about the right age to be your brothers.”

Din’s shocked to learn they’re only ten, despite resembling young men. It’s almost as shocking as when he first saw Grogu and realized his fifty-year-old target was still a child. 

Boil’s seated across from Waxer, and he’s the one to poke Numa’s nose this time. “Are you hungry?”

Boil pushes his own tray towards her, and Numa leans close, sniffing at the rations. Din suspects they’re rather bland, but Numa digs in, shoveling food into her mouth. 

Skywalker glances at Kenobi, as if wondering if he’ll gently chastise her for her lack of table manners, but Kenobi’s eyes are sad. Numa obviously doesn’t know when she’ll see her next meal, though it’s now Din’s job to provide them.

“You’ll never go hungry again.” Din promises Numa. She glances up back at him and smiles, understanding his tone if not his words.

Din wonders if Numa used to be picky about food or if she always ate indiscriminately. Grogu will eat just about anything, but all children are different.

“Slow down,” Waxer tells her, stroking her head. “Don’t make yourself sick.”

Kenobi translates, and Numa slows, but Din suspects it’s partly because her stomach can’t handle much, likely having shrunk during her starvation. She can’t finish what’s on Boil’s tray and pokes at the remainders. Her eyes are crafty, like she’s debating stashing some away for later. She twists around, holding some out for Din and Grogu.

“Can he eat this?” Waxer asks, glancing at Grogu, who squirms in Din’s arms. Numa slumps against Boil, eyelids and limbs heavy with exhaustion. She’s had a long day.

“If he can stomach a live lizard, he can stomach this.” Boil mutters.

Waxer says something about their rations being designed to accommodate their accelerated growth.

Another trooper that Din doesn’t recognize gestures at the line of troopers waiting to get trays. The troopers all let Ahsoka and the trooper with the kama skip to the front of the line to grab their trays. When they return, Ahsoka holds a spare tray out to Din. “Come eat with us.” 

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t.” Din says.

The troopers’ eyes go slightly stormy, as if Din thinks he’s above them, or too good for their rations.

“He can’t take off his helmet.” Boil mutters to his neighbor, which earns Din several confused looks from the clones and Jedi alike, like they’ve never heard of his Mandalorian culture.

“I can’t show my face to another living being. This is The Way.”

He’d already broken it once, to save Grogu, but he won’t break it for something as simple as a meal.

“What about droids?” Skywalker asks, immediately. “Do you show your face to droids?”

“I don’t like droids.” Din replies, and Skywalker frowns. He suspects Skywalker’s opinion of him has dropped even further, but he doesn’t particularly care, unless it will somehow prevent Grogu from getting his Jedi training.

“I mean, nobody likes battle droids, but Artoo’s the best.” Ahsoka says. She holds out her own ration bar to Grogu, who gurgles and gnaws on it. Ahsoka seems to find this adorable and asks Din if she can feed Grogu.

Din hands Grogu over, and Ahsoka slides on the bench next to the clone trooper with the kama and blue markings, who Ahsoka addresses as Rex.

As Ahsoka feeds Grogu, cooing at him, Kenobi closes his eyes. He looks relaxed, until his eyebrows draw down, and he says, mostly to himself “Oh dear. That just can’t be.”

“What?” Ahsoka looks up from where she’s offering Grogu a bite of rations.

“He has… troubling images in his mind.” Kenobi doesn’t sound fully surprised, since Windu had already said Grogu was too afraid, but the contents still worry him.

“Visions?” Skywalker asks, and Din senses that question comes from experience. Is that a common Jedi thing? Grogu can’t tell Din about his fears, or visions or memories, though apparently he can tell other Jedi with his powers. All the more reason for him to go with them, though his heart clenches at the thought.

Kenobi opens his eyes, gaze sweeping over the crowd. “He saw Clones shooting down Jedi.”

There’s an outcry at that from the troopers, a chorus of voices saying that they’d never betray their generals or the republic and a few swears like sithspit and kriff. Kenobi quickly covers Numa’s cone-shaped equivalent of ears, though she’s too tired to duck away from his hand this time.

“You said he’s from the future?” Ahsoka asks, worriedly glancing at Grogu like he might bite. “That… that can’t be the future. Can it? Even if the separatists win, Rex and the others would never turn on us.”

“Never, Commander.” Rex promises, face stony and determined, back ramrod straight. “Even if Ventress tries using her Sith mind tricks on me, I’ll never-”

That sounds like it comes from experience, too, though Din becomes lost in his own thoughts as he studies Ahsoka. When she was older, she’d said that anger and fear could corrupt the best of them, though she’d said it happened to a fully trained Jedi Knight, the best.

Din reluctantly tells them what Ahsoka’s older self said, which only further heightens the tension in the room. Ahsoka now looks fearful, and so young. “Someone else turns? Like Dooku?” 

“Was Dooku the best?” Din asks.

“He trained my Master.” Kenobi says. “This is quite disturbing news. We’ll need to talk to the Council.”

Din sighs. That’s going to cause further distractions and delay Grogu’s training, though it’s his own fault for giving away so much. He doesn’t necessarily want the Jedi to be wiped out- or almost purged. Grogu needs them. But he needs to look after Grogu and Numa and get enough jobs to put food on the table, not worry about this war. He’d like to get as far away from it as possible, honestly.

He considers searching out his Clan, but they wouldn’t know him now, and running across his childhood self would be likely too bizarre.

By now, Numa’s fully asleep, leaning heavily on Boil. Grogu gurgles in Ahsoka’s lap, reaching for Din, and Ahsoka hastily presses him in Din’s arms.

Din wonders if he can negotiate transport back to Ryloth, where the Razor Crest waits, but Kenobi has other ideas.

“Come, we’ll set you up with a room.” Kenobi says. Din scoops Numa off the bench, into his other arm, and Waxer hands over Numa’s tooka doll, which was forgotten on the bench. Kenobi grabs the tray Din hadn’t touched. “For later,” he explains, and Din nods his thanks.

The room they’re given is simple. Two alcoves form bunk beds in the steel wall, and there’s a ‘fresher down the hall. Din lays Numa and Grogu on the lower bunk. Numa snuggles her doll in her sleep. 

They already look like siblings- Grogu’s brown robe and Numa’s worn, brown dress are similar, like members of a clan wearing similar armor. Though Din and Grogu look nothing alike, and they’re still family.

Din watches his children sleep, wondering if this will be the last night they’ll be together, when Grogu will join the Jedi. Slowly, he removes his helmet and eats the rations while the children sleep soundly, for the moment safe from the war. 

Chapter Text

Din wakes before both children. He’s surprised Grogu stayed awake so long after lifting the Gutkurr, and figures he needs the extra rest. He’s more surprised that Numa slept through the night, having expected her to have nightmares; his own childhood dreams after the invasion had been haunted by droids. His dreams often ended with a droid aiming at his unmasked face, and he’d wake up fearing death before remembering the Mandalorians had rescued him. 

Far from nightmares, Numa is smiling in her sleep. Din wonders if she’s dreaming about her parents and life before the invasion. Those dreams were almost more painful than dreaming about droids.

Numa wakes slowly, and Din watches her smile fade when she realizes her dream was just that. She curls into a ball under the blankets.

“I’m sorry.” Din says, hoping the message comes across even if she doesn’t understand the words.

Numa pokes Grogu slightly, as if fearing he’s dead; Din had the same thought the first time Grogu passed out after lifting the mudhorn.

“Nerra?” Numa whispers. Din’s heart clenches; she’s already calling him her brother, and soon he’ll be going off with the Jedi, just like Waxer and Boil.

“He’s fine. He needs to rest.” Din tells her. “Are you hungry?”

Din had saved some of his rations from the night before, in case Numa needed a snack in the middle of the night.

Numa slips off the bottom bunk, leaving Grogu and her doll tangled in the blankets. She eats half the ration bar and stashes the rest underneath the bedding. 

“We can get more.” Din promises, wondering if Waxer and Boil are available to eat breakfast with her, or if they’ve already shipped out on another mission. 

Numa seems desperate to get out of the cramped sleeping quarters- the blank metal walls and simple bunks remind Din of a prison cell. Granted, the Razor Crest isn’t the most welcoming ship either, hardly suited for children despite becoming Grogu’s home.

Din nestles Grogu in his arms, and Numa cradles her tooka doll in a similar manner, obviously emulating him. Din smiles slightly, though he frowns as Numa shivers. 

He pulls a blanket from the bed and drapes it over Numa’s shoulders. She points to his cape and adjusts the blanket like he’s given her a costume. Din chuckles. He hadn’t thought of the similarity, only space is cold and Numa’s sleeveless, worn dress doesn’t offer much warmth. 

She follows Din into the hall, the blanket dragging behind her and almost getting caught when the door closes.

After a quick visit to the communal ‘fresher down the hall, Din leads the way to the mess hall. Numa keeps straying to explore, poking random access panels in the long corridors.

“Stop touching those.” Din says, strongly reminded of Grogu poking buttons on the Razor Crest, and expecting Numa to trigger an alarm at any moment.

Numa tries another door before scurrying to Din’s side. He wonders if she’s searching for the mess hall or a place to hide, should the need arise.

The troops are wrapping up their meal by the time they arrive. “There you are,” Boil says to Numa when she rushes over. They’ve already finished their trays.

Waxer fetches more, but doesn’t sit back down, not even when Numa pointedly pats the bench, then tugs his hand with an impatient “Nerra!”

“I have duties to attend to.” Waxer tells her, regretfully. “We’ll be back. I promise.”

The troopers file out of the mess hall, leaving Din alone with Numa and a sleeping Grogu. Din keeps his helmet on regardless of the isolation. Numa eats in silence and Din watches her. His life changed drastically upon taking Grogu in, and now it’s changing all over again.

Grogu still hasn’t awoken by the time Skywalker and Ahsoka enter the mess hall followed by an R2 astromech, but he stirs when they arrive, blinking sleepily and wiggling in Din’s lap. Din wonders if that’s a coincidence, or some kind of Jedi connection.

“The council said they’ll test Grogu.” Ahsoka tells them.

“Will they train him?” Din frowns, not sure what a test entails. He glances at Ahsoka- her future self’s tests hadn’t seemed to hurt Grogu, and she’d clearly communicated with him, but Din doesn’t know what delving in his mind for hints about the war involves. Or is that all they care about? The older Ahsoka had refused to train Grogu, after all.

“They trained me.” Skywalker says. “Does your ship need repairs?”

Din nods, and Skywalker offers to do it himself. They board a gunner loaded with various parts and tools, which flies them back to Ryloth. Din objects to the R2 unit coming along, and Skywalker actually says he’s hurting the droid’s feelings. Din huffs under his helmet, but directs the pilot to where the Razor Crest landed.

Skywalker immediately gets to work on the Razor Crest, visibly relaxing as he’s working on it. Numa plays a skipping game over the rocks and around trees. She watches, awed, as Ahsoka performs seemingly impossible flips with her Jedi powers.

Ahsoka tries to instruct Grogu in how to hop, but Grogu puts in the bare minimum effort. Din wonders how that will affect his training. Grogu hadn’t even summoned anything until Din encouraged him with his favorite silver shifter knob.

“Let’s go, Snips.” Skywalker says, gazing back at the ship in the sky. “Come on, kid.”

Grogu ducks behind Din’s cape, and Din says “He doesn’t want to go with you.”

Skywalker crouches to be on Grogu’s level, scarred face softening slightly. “I had to leave my mother behind, when I became a Jedi.”

His expression darkens once more, and there’s clearly a lot he’s leaving out of that particular story.

Din wonders if Skywalker is the Jedi Knight the older Ahsoka was referring to when she warned him about Grogu becoming corrupted by attachment, whatever that means. Din’s doesn’t necessarily buy it; he’s grown attached to Grogu, himself, and hasn’t been corrupted. His fear of Grogu being harmed and anger at those who hunt him haven’t led him down dark paths.

Even meeting more Jedi doesn’t make them any less mystifying.

Grogu stares at Din with his huge, dark eyes, and Din tells him “You belong with your kind. They understand you.”

They understand him in a way Din will never hope to achieve, not like the language barrier separating him and Numa, which Numa finds ways to work around.

“The temple’s where you belong.” Ahsoka half coos at Grogu. “It’s where all younglings grow up.”

All except Skywalker, apparently.

Grogu balks at Ahsoka’s words.

“We’ll make sure the future you saw doesn’t play out.” Skywalker promises, though Din has no idea how he intends to keep that oath or how big of a part he played in it. 

“They’ll take good care of you.” Din says. He picks Grogu up one last time, holding him close as he says “I’ll be back, I promise.”

It’s an odd echo of what Waxer and Boil promised Numa. 

Grogu presses a tiny hand on Din’s helmet.

Din’s heart stutters. He knows what Grogu wants, he’s seen Grogu trying to peek whenever he lifts his mask to drink, but it goes against everything he knows. 

Yet here he is, cut off from his Clan by a few decades, in a time where cloned soldiers wear Mandalorian helmets and Din himself is technically still a child. It may as well be a completely different galaxy, despite being the one he was raised in, and none of the rules he knows apply.

Slowly, Din removes his helmet, his focus lasered in on Grogu. In his peripheral vision, he sees Numa peering at his face, comparing it to the clones.

It feels like a second and a year at the same time. Din feels Grogu’s tiny hand press against his cheek as Grogu gazes at him, drinking in the sight of Din’s face.

“Don’t be afraid.” Din says, and slowly lowers Grogu to the ground. Grogu toddles towards Numa, reaching out, and she kneels to embrace him.

Grogu turns and waddles over to the astromech, which beeps and whistles, then to Ahsoka, who picks him up.

Skywalker lifts Grogu from Ahsoka’s arms, leaning to murmur in his large pointed ear. “Don’t look back.”

Grogu doesn’t listen, staring back over Skywalker’s shoulder. Numa waves goodbye, but Grogu silently reaches out for Din.

Din watches until they disappear from sight, and he’s left feeling as if he’d been picked over and left scattered in pieces, like the food on Numa’s tray earlier. His mind reels with what he just did, and what he’s lost, and he jams his helmet back on his head.

Numa clings to Din’s hand, as if fearing he’ll pass her off to someone as well. Gripping her hand back, Din leads her up the Razor Crest’s ramp. Numa pauses for one last long look at her homeworld, and follows him inside, gazing curiously around.

“Ready to go?” Din asks her, entering in the coordinates to Coruscant. There’s bound to be work there- possibly jobs with the Jedi, as bizarre as it is for Jedi and a Mandalorian to team up- and that’s where Grogu’s going. He may be letting the Jedi train him, but he’ll still be checking in. 

Chapter Text

Being the capital, Coruscant is of course far busier than Ryloth, even with the chaos of the droid occupation, and Numa peers out the cockpit window from behind her doll. Vehicles fly in every direction in crowded lanes, and the buildings that tower into the sky are a stark contrast to the dilapidated houses in Numa’s hometown. 

Numa jumps slightly when the comm crackles, though she relaxes somewhat when Din calmly responds to the landing protocols dictated to him.

After docking the Razor Crest, Din stands on the landing platform, looking around. He has no clue what a Jedi temple would look like, though he doubts most Jedi would be eager to welcome a Mandalorian into their temple.

Numa’s still hiding in the ship, obviously overwhelmed with the commotion of the city. Din goes back in, crouches down, and eventually coaxes her out. She stays huddled under his cape, clinging to his leg and peeking out at all the strange sights.

She hasn’t been this skittish since he first found her, but he can hardly blame her. He wonders how Grogu’s doing, if Grogu’s similarly scared. Grogu’s a tough kid, but so is Numa.

He wonders if Grogu misses them. He misses Grogu already, and can’t occupy himself with the determination to rescue him. He hasn’t been kidnapped.

Din starts naming the things around them; Numa’s probably too overwhelmed to pick up any words in Basic, but his voice seems to soothe her. He points out the speeder bikes, the cruisers, but doesn’t name the droids.

He hails a taxi and is glad when the one piloted by a droid zips past, already driving another customer.

A green Twi’lek with a pink head covering pulls her taxi up to the landing pad, smiling at Numa. Numa smiles back shyly as Din helps her in. 

The driver asks Numa something in Twi’leki, and Din briefly wonders if he’s suspected of kidnapping again, if their driver thinks he’s rounding up young Twi’leks to be sold. Twi’leks are, unfortunately, highly sought by slavers. The way Numa’s clinging to Din seems to alleviate some of their driver’s fears.

“Where are you headed?” the driver asks, and Din asks where the best place to find work is. She names the Industrial District, and speeds off, weaving through traffic.

“You’re new here, then?” she asks, then repeats the question in Twi’leki for Numa.

Numa launches into an explanation, and the driver nods along. “I saw on the holonet. Of course, the war is everywhere now.”

She lapses back into Twi’leki, and Numa mimes her story as she tells it, mimicking blasters and lightsabers, complete with childish sound effects.

Their driver nods along in all the right places before glancing at Din. “Thank you for your service. It’s rotten, how folks take you for granted while acting like you’re lower life forms. If it weren’t for you, we’d’ve lost the war ages ago.”

“I’m not a clone.” Din says, though he isn’t offended. Waxer, Boil, Cody and the others had shown their bravery and humanity on Ryloth, and Din had only witnessed that one mission. 

Din isn’t sure how he feels about the troops wearing Mandalorian armor, even if Fett was a Mandalorian, but there’s not much he can do about that.

Their driver chats amicably with them, pointing out certain buildings like a seasoned tour guide.

“That’s the Jedi temple, there, in the Senate District” she nods at a large building with five spires looming over the surroundings. The center tower has a large circular room at the top, and Din wonders where Grogu is in the temple, how the tests are going.

The older Ahsoka’s tests hadn’t seemed to hurt, but Din has no idea what the council is doing. Are they delving into Grogu’s mind for any information on the future? Does that hurt? Din doubts having someone rummaging through your memories is a very pleasant experience. 

Din automatically begins cataloging entrances, exits and any visible security measures on the temple, in case he has to break Grogu out of there.

The temple disappears from Din’s sightline as their taxi speeds towards the Industrial District. 

Din doesn’t think about how his new Republic credits are just as out of place in this time as he himself is. Their driver eyes them dubiously, searching Din’s helmet.

“I’m not from around here.” Din says, apologetically. 

“You know how many people I get trying to scam me?” she asks, probably doubting Numa’s whole story now, but then she sighs and says “Look, since she said you helped liberate Ryloth, I won’t charge you. But you better get some real credits.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Din says, glancing out at the Industrial District. It’s cluttered and dirty and not exactly kid-friendly, but then, neither were most of the places Din took Grogu.

“You take good care of her, all right?” their driver offers one last smile to Numa before pulling away. Numa waves until the taxi is out of sight.

Din huffs, and Numa grabs his hand. He sets off looking for work. This might not be the best place to find bounties, but he makes a few credits helping two Wookiees and a Rodian unload crates from a cargo ship, under the watchful gaze of a Toydarian. Really, the Wookiees do most of the heavy lifting, and end up getting a bigger cut, though Din still doubts the wages are fair in the first place, if the Wookiees’ grumbling is anything to go by.

Din isn’t up to date with Coruscant economics in this year- or his timeframe- and he shouldn’t get involved, but he says “Surely they earned more than this.”

“You’re welcome to give them your cut.” the Toydarian sneers, trunk curling, not seeming to factor in that the Wookiees could pull his limbs off if they wanted to.

Numa isn’t remotely scared of the Wookiees despite their towering frames and growls, even trying to hug them as if they’re giant cuddly toys. She scrambles up onto the crates but still isn’t anywhere near eye level with the Wookiees.

Numa waves goodbye, then hugs her tooka doll to her stomach as it rumbles.

Din finds a diner called Dex’s and is taken aback to see Kenobi sitting at one of the red booths lining the wide windows. Kenobi looks at ease, as if he’s a regular here, sitting across from a potbellied, four-armed Besalisk with a food-stained shirt.

Numa, of course, immediately sprints over to Kenobi, climbing uninvited into the booth and settling half on Kenobi’s lap.

“Who’s the little one?” the Besalisk asks.

“This is Numa, Dex. We found her on Ryloth.” 

Dex holds out a huge hand for Numa to shake, but Numa just stares at him. Dex calls over a waitress droid, telling her to fetch some dough and Jawa Juice.

He spreads a paper in front of Numa and tips an array of markers out of a cup. Din spots a few other children playing with dough or drawing on their own papers as they wait for their meals.

Kenobi’s lips twitch under his beard as he locks eyes with Din’s helmet. “You’re welcome to join us, you know.”

Dex turns around, a grin splitting his face. “Whaddya know, a Mandalorian! If you’re looking for a bounty…”

“Dex…” Kenobi sighs warily.

Din slides next to Kenobi on the red bench, but sits stiffly. Numa somehow sprawls over both their laps, eyeing the paper thoughtfully, deciding what to draw.

A waitress droid comes over with the dough and juice, and Din eyes it distrustfully. There’s a human waitress too, but Din isn’t planning on eating and exposing his face here. He’s broken the creed twice for Grogu, but isn’t about to start getting lax about it.

Numa takes a bite out of the dough, then holds the blue and green markers. She starts to draw herself in the middle of the page, though neither marker fully matches her own teal tone.

“How is he?” Din asks, not having to clarify. “Did he pass the test? What tests were they?”

“Nothing strenuous.” Kenobi says. “He could sense the pictures Master Fisto showed, but often projected images of you and your ship. He’s quite afraid of losing you. Master Yoda is concerned by his level of fear.” 

“You said they thought the same about Skywalker, and you trained him.”

“I did.” Kenobi agrees. “It was my Master’s dying wish.”

“So will they train Grogu?” Din wonders how many times he’ll have to ask. Merely convincing them is almost more work than finding Jedi in his timeline. “They’re already training the other one.”

“I’m not certain he wants to be trained.” Kenobi says. “Anakin was determined to become a Jedi, and our Grogu seems happy with his path, but your Grogu…”

“He needs training, to keep him safe.” Din says. “I know he can be stubborn, but-”

Kenobi chuckles. “He’s got nothing on Anakin.”

Din doubts Skywalker kept eating a frog lady’s eggs while escorting her to her mate, but keeps that observation to himself.

Dex is a wealth of information, giving Din some tips on several bounties, though Din needs enough credits for fuel to start. Dex says he’ll pay Din to wash the dishes, which is a far cry from his usual work, then laughs and tells Din of a few wanted individuals here on Coruscant. 

Kenobi shares that Dex had been the one to tell him about Kamino, where the troops are cloned and raised. According to Kenobi, they were cloned from Boba’s father, Jango, and Kenobi admits that Jango was killed in the first battle of the Clone Wars on Geonosis.

Din wonders where Boba is now, if he needs someone to take him in. He’d be a child now, too, like the Din from this timeline. There’s no way he ages twice as fast like the clones, though he had looked very weathered by years and trials when Din met him in their time.

Numa interrupts by holding her finished drawing up in front of Din’s helmet. It’s not just her in the picture anymore. On the left are three other Twi’leks, and Din knows without asking that they’re her parents and uncle. Numa points them out, saying something that Din doesn’t understand exactly but catches the gist of regardless. 

Din’s in the drawing, too, on the right of Numa, with Waxer, Boil, Kenobi and Grogu. Dex booms a laugh, saying she drew Kenobi perfectly.

She’s colored Din’s armor a dull gray. Numa chatters about her nerras, pointing at her drawing as if hoping Grogu, Waxer and Boil will materialize out of the paper to join them for their meal.

“Good job.” Din tells her, making sure to point at and acknowledge each figure in the drawing. “You got everyone. We can hang this up in the Razor Crest, when we get back.”

He never got to hang Grogu’s artwork; Grogu isn’t old enough to draw. He can imagine Grogu using his powers to take the markers to taste them, which would lead to a squabble like the two Zabrak children a few tables over.

Din doesn’t say that he wishes they’d get Grogu back, but Kenobi seems to read his thoughts anyway, despite his mask. Din is both comforted and saddened knowing Grogu feels the same.

Chapter Text

Din quickly realizes his mistake in taking Numa along for the first bounty, because this looks bad.

Numa stares in disbelief as Din hauls the target- a middle aged Weequay man- out of his apartment, wrists secured in binders. 

Numa shouts something, jabbing a finger at them as tears trickle down her shocked face. She turns and flees down the hallway, disappearing around a corner without looking back.

Din’s target takes the opportunity to try to slip out of his grip, but Din quickly subdues him, thankful he doesn’t have to deal with Numa and his target bolting in opposite directions. Still, it’s the second time Numa’s run away in only a few days. Din hopes this won’t become a habit.

“She said you should let me go.” Din’s bounty tugs fruitlessly at his restraints. 

“Be quiet.” Din doesn’t snap, but he isn’t truly as calm as he sounds.

Of course Numa was highly bothered by the sight of Din forcibly escorting the target from his home, bound just as her people had been a mere few days ago.

Din tugs his target down the hallway, eyes scanning the nooks for Numa. She can’t have run far, and is just as likely to have found somewhere to hide. 

He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain this to her. Is she still going to want to be under his care, or is he going to lose both his children?

He spots her at the end of the next hall, just before her lekku disappear into the lift. “Numa, wait!” Din calls, catching the doors just before they close.

Numa’s busy jabbing every button she can reach, but she backs away from him, pressing herself into the wall. 

She’s just as wary as when she’d first seen him, as if the past few days hadn’t happened. The betrayal in her eyes makes it worse than their first meeting.

Din holsters his blaster, to the evident relief of his target, and crouches down to Numa’s level. He tries not to make it seem like he’s trapping her.

“I’m sorry.” Din keeps his voice calm and quiet, even as the target starts to edge away.

“Don’t move.” Din snags the target as he attempts to scamper in the opposite direction. The target sags helplessly, perhaps playing it up to get more of Numa’s sympathy.

“He’s not innocent.” Din tries to explain, though it’s clear Numa doesn’t understand. He doubts she would, even if they were speaking the same language; this is clearly hitting too close to home. “He’s wanted for trafficking dangerous animals.”

Din tactfully doesn’t mention that this man brought Gutkurrs to illegal fighting arenas, according to the client; Numa’s already frightened enough without hearing the name of that particular beast.

“That’s not me!” the target protests. “Are you saying you think we Weequay all look the same? That’s-”

He shuts up when Din turns his head, probably imagining a much more intimidating expression than the exasperated look Din is giving under his helmet.

Din sighs. He should have taken a bounty on a droid; Numa doesn’t seem much more fond of droids than he is. An escort mission would be even better in Numa’s eyes, but he can’t escort anyone off planet when he’s low on fuel.

Has he really ruined his trust with Numa over this first bounty? She’d been so proud just last night, when he hung her drawing on the wall next to her bunk on the Razor Crest. 

Numa edges away from the lift’s wall, scoots around Din, and tugs on the target’s binders like she’s Kenobi cutting through the Twi’lek prisoners’ bonds.

The target shoves Numa at Din and takes off down the hallway, back towards his apartment. He’s not particularly fast. Din helps Numa up and checks her over, heart squeezing at the way she bristles at his touch.

Numa turns and races after the target. Din strides after them, trying not to seem like he’s chasing Numa, figuring he’s scared her enough already. He’s shocked that Numa follows a stranger into his apartment, but then again she’d been on her own in Nabat.

Entering the target’s apartment, he finds Numa crouched next to the target, eyeing a live tooka locked in a too-small cage. It hisses at her, a far cry from her beloved cuddly toy, and scratches at her when she starts to undo the cage’s latch.

The target, meanwhile, has grabbed a blaster and clutches it in his bound hands, aiming it at Din’s beskar chestplate.

Din snags the blaster with his grapple line, yanking it out of his hands while simultaneously aiming his own. The target grabs Numa, trapping her against him with his binders against her neck. She’s too small to fully shield him, but Din isn’t going to risk her. He remembers negotiating for Grogu’s safety, even handing over his jetpack.

Before he even begins speaking, Numa sinks her teeth into the Weequay’s leathery arm. The target lets out a startled cry, calling her a term even worse than Boil’s old favorite, tail-head. 

Numa almost manages to slip out of his hold, and Din feels a swell of pride.

And then the tooka escapes its cage, having scratched enough at the latch that Numa loosened. It launches itself at the Weequay’s head, and he flails his bound arms, attempting to protect himself from tooka teeth and claws.

Numa slips away, rushing over to Din and ducking behind his cape as the tooka digs its claws into the Weequay’s braided hair. Din knows she’s peeking out, watching the tooka get its revenge.

The tooka decides it’s terrorized its former captor enough and launches itself from the target’s head to the countertop, sniffing the seafood that the Weequay had been preparing when Din found him. As the tooka enjoys its feast, Din grabs the target. “Touch her again and I’ll bring you in cold.”

This time, Numa helps Din tug the target down the hallway to the lift, but once again starts pressing all the buttons.

Din’s almost grateful for that whole incident, since he’s clearly back in Numa’s good graces.

Upon their return to the Razor Crest, Din makes sure Numa’s busy playing with her doll before he stows their captive away. Din doesn’t know if Numa’s ever seen someone frozen in carbonite, but doesn’t want to frighten her again.

Of course, Numa’s far too curious and quiet on her feet. When he turns around, he sees her lurking in the doorway, hugging her doll.

Numa comes over to inspect the carbon-frozen Weequay, but doesn’t turn a betrayed look at Din this time. Instead, she pokes curiously at the glowing panel on the side of the carbonite brick, and Din gently pulls her hand away.

“Don’t touch that.” he says. He’d been planning on leaving Numa on the ship during the next hunt, but she’s clearly able to get into even more than Grogu was. He’d probably come back and find she’d unfrozen someone from carbonite or played with his weapons.

Numa tosses her doll at the frozen Weequay with her best yowling sound, acting out the previous battle.

Din leads her from the room. Numa runs ahead, throws her tooka on her pillow and dives onto the bed beside it. Numa pretends to be a tooka herself, playfully scratching her bedding. She even lifts her lekku above her head, mimicking a tooka’s large ears.

Din gazes at Numa’s drawing on the wall, relieved she’s not still mad enough to rip him off the picture or run away. 

Will she get upset about every bounty he brings in? Maybe bad man should be one of the first phrases he learns in Twi’leki.

“I’m sorry you had to see all of that.” Din tells her. “But that’s my job. I’m a bounty hunter. I bring people in.”

Numa blinks at him, stopping her game for now.

He wonders if she’d be better off staying on Ryloth. She’s a foundling, but he’d taken her from her own planet, her own people. It wasn’t like when he and Grogu were traveling the galaxy looking for Jedi.

His life isn’t one for a kid, even if Grogu had ended up carving a place in it for a while. 

“I know that looked bad in your eyes.” Din says. 

To Din’s surprise, Numa flings herself at him, and he sits on her bunk, holding her against his beskar chestplate. Like Waxer and Boil, he’s not exactly cuddly in his armor, but Numa doesn’t seem to care.

She’s not crying, thankfully, but Din knows today won’t be the last time he upsets her, or their last disagreement. He wonders what she’ll be like when she grows. Will she want to follow The Way, or forge a different path?

During today’s incident, he’d thought it impossible that she’d ever want to be a bounty hunter, though she’d seemed content to bring the Weequay in in the end. She’s a tough kid, and hadn’t been bothered by the clones’ violence against droids.

This leads to wondering what Grogu will become, if he’ll be a Jedi. Din tries not to think about how he won’t live long enough to see Grogu reach adulthood.

Din’s pulled from his thoughts by Numa’s tooka doll smacking into his visor. Numa giggles and swings again, whacking Din’s chest plate. Din snags Numa’s pillow and playfully hits her with it.

Numa laughs, swinging wildly. Grogu never played like this, Din thinks, as Numa leaps from the bed and rushes away, likely hiding behind a corner to ambush him with her tooka.

Maybe Numa will grow up to be a Mandalorian warrior, maybe she won’t, but for now, Din plans to take things day by day.

Chapter Text

It’s barely been two weeks since Skywalker walked away with Grogu, and Din misses him terribly. Numa and his bounties keep him busy. He earned a few spare credits accidentally finding a child’s missing pet and earned significantly more tracking down a vase that was stolen from an museum, right before it was shipped offworld. He’s taken in a few rogue droids, much to his satisfaction, and tracked down a father who wasn’t paying child support. He hadn’t accepted any money from the mother for that one.

His ship still seems too quiet and empty without Grogu’s coos.

Kenobi had mentioned Grogu didn’t want to be trained, and Din knows Grogu is stubborn, but he’s still surprised to receive a holo message from Kenobi about Grogu’s difficulty so soon. 

Kenobi’s message details how Grogu had thrown visiting troopers around the room with his powers. Surely the Jedi should have kept Grogu from seeing clones in the temple, after witnessing his memories? Din shakes his head but returns the call. 

Din must be the first Mandalorian to be invited to the Jedi Temple, and he and Numa are personally escorted through the halls by Skywalker and Ahsoka. 

Din gets numerous curious glances, but far less hostility than he’s accustomed to, especially considering the turbulent history between Jedi and Mandalorians. Actually, Skywalker’s the one who mutters something about Mandalorians and senators.

All the Jedi are dressed in similar robes, and a few wear pieces of armor like Kenobi and the clones. Just walking through the halls, Din can tell this is where Grogu belongs. Even with the war raging through the galaxy, the temple has a peaceful atmosphere; everyone inside is tranquil, even if Skywalker and Ahsoka argue about their latest mission as they lead Din to Grogu.

It’s a much better environment than constantly being hunted, and everyone here shares Grogu’s abilities, can help him learn to master them.

It’s exactly what Din’s been searching for, and it’s obviously far better than what he’d be able to find in his own time, but Grogu remembers these halls full of blaster fire as troopers hunted the Jedi.

Din wonders if these Jedi have come up with a plan to prevent that, if it’s even possible to prevent it. Clearly Grogu escaped the first Jedi purge, but it’s probably best if he doesn’t relive that experience.

It would be best if nobody had to live through that experience.

Din’s about to interrupt Skywalker and Ahsoka’s bickering when they lead him into a room full of toys and toddlers of varying species.

Din sees a familiar white, egg-shaped hover pram. It’s the very same one he’d found Grogu in. He had no idea Grogu had it for so long, and it sends him reeling back to when he’d first found Grogu and they’d reached out to each other.

He reaches out again, and Grogu once more touches his finger. Everything seems to still until there’s a soft squeal from the other side of the room.

Another Grogu rushes at him, riding an astromech droid and bouncing excitedly on its dome, urging the droid to hurry up. The droid beeps, but is careful not to drop Grogu.

Din glances between the two Grogus. He knew, logically, that there was another Grogu from this time, but seeing them together is another matter entirely. Their coos are the same, their laughs are the same. Din honestly can’t tell them apart; they’re even wearing the same worn tan robe.

It’s easier to believe Grogu’s fifty, now that he sees this decades-younger one is identical, unlike Ahsoka.

The Grogu on the astromech leaps into Din’s arms as if it’s been two years instead of two weeks, and the Grogu in the pram keeps reaching for him desperately. Din’s reasonably sure the Grogu in his arms is his, but they’re both acting like they know him. 

“Your Grogu seems to have convinced ours that he’s missing out.” Kenobi’s tone is light, and he patiently listens to Numa chattering about nerras.

Din knows the Jedi can communicate with Grogu, but it never occurred to him that Grogu would tell his younger counterpart all about Din, in whatever way they communicate.

“Missed you, he has.” a raspy voice says, and Din spots the first other member of Grogu’s species he’s seen. He’s wrinkled and old but not much bigger than Grogu, hardly coming up to Din’s knee. He’s dressed in a similar brown robe to Grogu’s. 

“I missed you too, buddy.” Din tells Grogu. The Grogu in his arms reaches for his helmet, and the one in the hover pram makes grasping motions until Din scoops him up, too. It’s so familiar yet so different, suddenly holding two instead of one.

“You mean you missed two buddies.” Ahsoka says, and Skywalker seems ashamed that his apprentice made that joke. Ahsoka doesn’t seem to notice, completely charmed by the two Grogus.

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen a clone before, Snips.” Skywalker teases.

“The 501st isn’t this cute,” Ahsoka replies, though both Grogus ignore her, their large dark eyes fixed solely on Din. Din’s not looking at anyone else either, until Numa tugs his cape.

Numa stares up at the two Grogus with the same look Grogu had before coming here, clearly fearing being replaced. She marches over to Kenobi, and Din doesn’t need to speak her language to know she’s asking to be picked up. 

Kenobi, however, does speak her language and murmurs something in Numa’s ear. Numa eagerly chats with him, obviously relieved to have someone understand her again. She’s no doubt filling him in on their latest adventures.

“Resistant, both have become.” says the old Jedi of Grogu’s species, who must be the Yoda both Ahsokas mentioned. “Focused on training, they are not.”

Din wonders if Grogu will talk like that, whenever he starts to speak, and briefly imagines Grogu- both of them- babbling “The Way, this is.”

“Do you think backwards, too?” Din asks before realizing he might have insulted the highest ranking Jedi. “Does Grogu?”

Yoda just chuckles, and the others seem to be shocked or hiding amusement. 

Getting back to the point, Din turns to both Grogus and tells them “You need to listen to your teachers. They’ll show you how to control your powers. Training is not easy. It’s only been two weeks. My Mandalorian training took many years.”

One Grogu lifts a tiny hand and effortlessly summons a rubber ball from across the room. That must be the Grogu from this timeline, since Din’s Grogu had struggled to summon his favorite gear shift knob. 

As if reading his mind, the gear shift knob zooms off Din’s belt into his Grogu’s hands.

“Good job!” Din says. His Grogu burbles, clutching the silver sphere, until the other Grogu snatches it out of his hand.

“Grogu,” Din scolds, and both turn to look at him with matching coos.

Having two of them is confusing; they’re both Grogu, but he can’t call them the same name, and it’d feel weird calling one the child again. “Give him the ball.”

Temple Grogu holds the rubber ball out to Din’s Grogu, but Din’s Grogu only wants his shiny silver ball. They squabble over it, and Din groans. One Grogu was already a handful, and he can see why they’re trying their teachers’ patience.

“Stop fighting.” Din says. “Give him the silver ball.”

Does he know the word silver? Trying to coach his Grogu through swapping red and blue wires hadn’t been very successful, and he’s had a couple decades more to learn colors than Temple Grogu.

Din’s Grogu reaches out again, summoning the small sphere into his equally tiny hand.

Temple Grogu drops the rubber ball and reaches out, making a block float and setting atop another block.

Numa gasps and claps, wriggling out of Kenobi’s arms and adding another block to the stack.

Din’s seen his Grogu perform impossible feats with the Force, but Temple Grogu has far more finesse. Kenobi confirms this, saying it’s rare for such a small child to have this level of control.

Din realizes that his Grogu needs the training even more than Temple Grogu, but Grogu himself is in denial.

“Keep practicing, and you can do that too.” he tells his Grogu, who pointedly turns away from the floating blocks, instead pressing his face against Din’s chest, as if Din will decide to leave him here for more training and take Temple Grogu instead.

“I told you he was stubborn.” Din says to Kenobi.

Yoda answers, instead. “Committed to the Jedi order, they are not.”

“You promised you’d go with them.” Din chides his Grogu, who’s almost squashing his face into Din’s Beskar. Grogu grumbles against his chestplate. He almost says Grogu hasn’t given the temple a chance before he remembers his Grogu lived through this once already. And apparently he’s shown Temple Grogu what happened.

Din waits for Yoda to express his concerns about Grogu’s fear and anger, like all the Jedi before him. Instead, Yoda says that Grogu helped unshroud some mystery, but “always in motion is the future.”

“Prevent the Jedi from falling, we must.”

The other Jedi nod solemnly, though the moment is interrupted by a Wookiee toddler knocking the block tower down. Numa laughs, hugs him and starts rebuilding the tower. Temple Grogu once again levitates blocks, not seeming to tire as quickly as Din’s Grogu. 

“Grogu’s made his choice.” Kenobi says. “They both have.”

“They’re just going to leave?” Ahsoka stares at them. “Leave the Jedi?”

Din stares down at both Grogus. For all his Grogu knows, Din sent him to relive the massacre at the temple. 

“My duty was to deliver to your kind.” Din tells him. “To take you to where you belong.”

Grogu’s fist curls over Din’s heart, and Kenobi translates, somewhat unnecessarily, “He’s saying he belongs with you.”

“Both of you?” Din asks, and they give him the same smile with wide, adoring eyes.

So much for Jedi training being easier in this timeline.

Neither Grogu wants to go into the hover pram, even though he used to be content riding alongside Din. One Grogu tries to shove the other into the pram and get Din to himself, but Din’s grip is steady. 

Kenobi doesn’t try to hide his amusement. “You certainly have your hands full now.”

Din hadn’t brought his bag, and he’s sure they would have fought over who got to ride in it, anyway. His holster prevents him from having a second bag on his right hip, so he’ll have to come up with another method of transport.

For now, he holds both Grogus, the hover pram following behind him, empty. Numa looks like she’s considering climbing in, even though she’s far too big for it. She ends up leaping, trying to scramble up Din’s back, tugging his cape as she slips until Temple Grogu lifts her with the Force. Numa’s arms wind around Din’s neck, her legs wrapping around his waist.

Ahsoka walks them out of the temple, but Din isn’t really listening to her attempts at conversation. His mind is reeling. He has no clue what he’s going to do with two Grogus, and he’ll have to think of another name besides Temple Grogu. Ahsoka had said Grogu was like a baby Yoda, but he can’t call him that now after seeing the wizened Jedi.

Din resigns himself to the fact that his life will only get more complicated from here.

Chapter Text

Grogu has always attracted attention on his and Din’s adventures. Most beings find him adorable. Din expects the effect to double with two of them, but somehow it increases exponentially.

Before, passerby on Coruscant had been too busy to give a second glance to a fully armored Mandalorian, even with Grogu, but the two Grogus attract smiles and waves. Some passerby pull funny faces to try and make them laugh, but none of them succeed.

“Are they identical?” asks a Toydarian man selling hats and toys in a booth by a landing platform, though the answer is right in front of him. “Look, you can dress them as identical soldiers, just like you, eh?”

The seller nods his trunk at a knitted hat with a familiar-shaped visor stitched on it. Din had no idea there was clone trooper merchandise, but he spots some trooper dolls in a basket.

“Here, try it on.” the Toydarian’s wings beat as he flies out of his stall, holding a hat towards one Grogu’s head. “With a few holes, his ears won’t be a-“

The Toydarian yelps as one Grogu pushes both him and the hat away with the Force. Numa laughs as she scolds “Ner-raa!”

“They are Jedi?” the shopkeeper’s trunk curls in surprise. He shakes his head, as if he should have guessed from their robes.

Grogu- Din’s Grogu- lets out an angry noise, waving a fist. Thankfully he doesn’t choke the Toydarian.

“No.” Din says, shortly, and Grogu relaxes in his arms. Admitting a connection was asking for trouble in his time, and it’s odd how widely known and accepted the Jedi are now. Still, they’ve made their choice to leave the temple.

Din politely declines the sale of knitted clone helmet hats. He’s not about to dress his children in mock versions of armor, though he imagines these hats would feel strange for the clones, too. After all, any child wearing one likely isn’t one of the clones.

Din turns to leave but is interrupted.

“Aw, you have a good eye, little miss,” the Toydarian smiles at Numa, who’s picked up the fallen hat and is trying to cram it on her head. She can’t fit her lekku under it, but beams at her reflection in the mirror the Toydarian helpfully holds up. 

Numa glares at Din when he shakes his head, and keeps the hat on with a pout. He doesn’t know how to explain the significance of helmets with their language barrier, nor is this the place to do so.

Din doesn’t yield, and there’s a stubborn standoff until Numa notices the toys in the Toydarian’s stall. Toy tookas of varying sizes and colors, clone trooper dolls, even fake lightsabers with transparent blades and toy blasters.

Numa’s been overwhelmed by Coruscant’s hustle and bustle, but she’s enthralled with this little booth. She points between some tiny tooka dolls and both Grogus. Din nods. Grogu might not steal Numa’s if he has his own, and it’ll help him tell them apart, unless they switch.

One Grogu, likely the one from the temple, is drawn to a tan tooka with dark brown ears, and Din suspects it reminds him of the tan and brown robes of the Jedi. The other Grogu isn’t as interested in these toys as he is his favorite gear shift knob, but he chooses a gray tooka, no matter how much Numa tries to entice him with a green and tan tooka that matches his own coloring. 

The Toydarian tells Numa she can have the green one, for a price, of course, but Numa puts it back and reaches for the toy clone troopers in the basket instead, waving them at Din. “Wakker! Boy-yul! Nerra!”

She grabs a toy blaster that’s bigger than the dolls and pretends one trooper doll is shooting it, making pew pew noises with her mouth.

Din passes over the required credits, earned from his last job. Numa has, thankfully, forgotten the clone trooper hat entirely and she plays a game with her trooper dolls, battling invisible enemies. Din makes a note to teach her how to properly hold a blaster.

They end up leaving the stall with each kid clutching a toy or two, though Din’s Grogu quickly drops his gray tooka in the hover pram so his hands are free to clutch Din’s cape.

Not a minute later, a tiny, elderly woman approaches.

“Which one’s older?” she asks.

“He is,” Din nods at the right Grogu, but pointedly does not answer how much older he is.

“It feels like yesterday my babies were this small,” she says. 

Numa peeks out shyly from behind Din, ducking behind him when the old lady smiles at her. Din’s sons aren’t nearly as shy, gurgling and gazing at the scarf wrapped around the woman’s head.

“Treasure this while you can,” she tells Din seriously. “They’ll be grown before you know it. Mine are spread throughout the galaxy.”

Grogu coos, and Numa tugs on Din’s hand.

“I thought I’d love the peace and quiet, but I miss the noise.” she says, eyeing Din’s squirming children wistfully.

Din nods. Considering Grogu’s lifespan, he won’t have to worry about his sons growing too fast. Even Din’s almost forgetting they’re a couple decades apart.

It’ll be strange, watching Numa grow up so much faster.

The old woman smiles, then disappears back into the crowd.

He’s approached several more times, and most beings hone in on his sons.

“How do you tell them apart?” asks a young boy, after scrutinizing their faces for any slight differences.

“I gave them different tookas.” Din says, though he’s starting to think that idea would have worked better if he had two hover prams and each Grogu rode along with their distinguishing doll. 

“I thought you’d dress them in different colors or something.” the boy muses. “Or can you just tell them apart by now?”

Of course this boy thinks Din’s been raising both Grogus their whole lives. Din doesn’t answer.

“Does one of them have a secret mole or something?” the boy asks, which is only making Din aware of how out of his depth he is. Caring for Grogu alone had been a big adjustment, and now he has two of them, plus Numa.

“If it’s a secret, I wouldn’t tell you.” Din smiles slightly, though the boy stares, wide-eyed, only seeing Din’s stoic helmet.

The boy’s mother hurries him along with a nervous glance at Din. Din sighs.

The sort of attention both Grogus are attracting is exactly what he’d tried to avoid in his own timeline. He knows Grogu’s cute, but the level of interest everyone seems to have in the two of them feels disproportionate.

It’s a relief when he visits the troopers again, seeing as none of them treat two Grogus like some huge curiosity. 

Numa’s excited too, clutching her new trooper dolls with her old purple tooka, chanting “Wakker, Boy-yul! Nerra, Nerra!”

“They’re on a mission,” a Nautolan Jedi smiles apologetically at Numa, crouching down to her level. He’s a different shade of green than Grogu or Yoda and has more head tentacles than Numa, but they twitch in a similar manner, and Numa’s lekku respond.

Much like Grogu’s communication with Ahsoka, Din’s excluded from another way to connect with his kids. Numa’s lekku and the Nautolan’s tentacles seem to have a conversation, though he also speaks Numa’s language, like Kenobi.

Din would think knowing Twi’leki was a Jedi thing, except Skywalker and Ahsoka clearly had no clue what Numa was saying when they met. 

The Nautolan turns to the kids in Din’s arms. “Ah, Grogu! I heard there were two of you now. Have you chosen to forge a new path?”

Both Grogus gurgle, shifting in Din’s arms as armored troopers walk past. Numa waves her clone dolls at the troopers, a few of which nod slightly at her as they pass after greeting the Nautolan as General Fisto.

Despite her disappointment at Waxer and Boil’s absence, Numa quickly befriends more troopers, sitting beside them to eat in the mess hall. She pulls at her trooper dolls’ helmets, frustrated when they won’t come off and glancing accusingly at Din, as if it’s his doing.

As Din holds two identical Grogus, he surveys the troopers around him. They’re all identical, but have individualized themselves with different hairstyles and tattoos. Din isn’t going to tattoo one Grogu’s face to tell them apart, and they don’t really have hair. 

Din wonders if he should buy them different colored clothes, like the one boy recommended. Grogu had only had his one robe on his travels with Din, and that worked fine for them, even if it meant Din had to clean it whenever Grogu spit up soup.

Maybe he could paint some accents on one robe, like several troopers have done with their armor. He suspects Numa will color her trooper dolls at the next opportunity.

Din’s eyes are drawn to a group of five clones who have darker armor and seem to be outcasts among the others. One has a much stronger build than the other clones. One member of the group has half of his face tattooed, and another has a sniper’s crosshair around his right eye.

“Cute kids,” the trooper across from him nods. He has standard white armor, with blue accents like Rex’s.

Another trooper leans to whisper to his brother “Did the Kaminoans start cloning baby Jedi, too?”

“They’re not Jedi.” Din says.

“What are their names?”

The other trooper nudges him with an elbow, their armor clanking. “They’re too young to pick their names, Fives.”

“This is Grogu,” Din says, though they both turn to look at him, and he sighs. “They’re both Grogu. I don’t think he picked it, but I didn’t know his name until he told Ahsoka.”

“They can’t have the same name.” Fives says. “You’d be better off calling them by their numbers.”

“Says the guy who picked a number for his name.” Echo mutters. though Din's distracted by Numa scampering over to the table of misfit troopers eating separately from the others.

Numa fearlessly approaches the huge trooper, who grins at her far more enthusiastically than even Waxer had. Numa proudly shows off her trooper dolls, then darts to the next table, determined to show them to everyone.

“I just called him ‘the child’ before I learned his name.” Din says. It was better than the asset, at any rate. He remembers the joy of finally learning Grogu’s name, and how Grogu always perks up hearing him say it. He glances down at his sons. “I’m not calling you that now. Do either of you want a nickname?”

They just stare up at him with huge eyes.

Din glances at the troopers, his helmet hiding his helpless expression. How do they pick their names? Would they name his Grogu ‘Knobby’, because he loves that gear shift knob? No, that doesn’t sound right.

“You don’t see many of his kind.” Fives muses. “Apart from General Yoda.”

“What about Yodu?” the words have barely left Echo’s mouth before both Grogus and Fives give him an unimpressed look. Yogu isn’t received any better.

“Knobby?” Din isn’t serious in that suggestion, and one Grogu makes a rather rude sound.

Echo and Fives suggest more nicknames, and a few troopers at other tables glance over curiously. Numa returns to Din’s side, clearly wondering what the fuss is about. 

“Grogu, Grogu.” Din points between them with a shrug. 

Of course, Numa declares they’re both Nerra. 

“One of them’s almost old enough to be your grandfather.” Din tells her, though of course she doesn’t understand.

The Jedi, Fisto, joins them, still smiling, and his twitching tentacles and words fill Numa in on the situation. Numa tilts her head, glancing between them, and then points and renames them.

“She called them Baby Grogu and Grandpa Grogu.” Fisto translates with a laugh. Grandpa Grogu looks decidedly smug about his seniority.

“You’re both still babies.” Din points out, His Grogu- Grandpa Grogu, as Numa said- still has his claws buried in Din’s cape, far more attached to the cape than his new toy. 

The end of Din’s cape is already tattered and frayed. He rips off a strip of the fabric, pausing as he debates whether to tie it around Grandpa Grogu’s head or neck. 

He loops it over Grandpa Grogu’s forehead and under his ears, realizing that it sort of resembles Numa’s headpiece. Numa grins, touching her own and then Grandpa Grogu’s, looking expectantly at the one she’d dubbed Baby Grogu.

“It’s so we can tell them apart.” Din explains, and Fisto translates. At any rate, it’s better than trying to keep track of which Grogu is Temple Grogu, or which one Numa had deemed the Grandpa.

Chapter Text

Din wakes to the sound of metal thunking on the floor, then a softer plop. And another. Then an excited coo. 

He waits for the pitter-patter of little feet on the metal floors of his ship. Sure enough, they’re up, far too early.

He sighs and gets up, heading to what is now the kids’ room.

Both Grogus have tossed their tooka dolls onto the floor, along with Grandpa Grogu’s favorite orb. Baby Grogu effortlessly lifts one of the dolls with the Force before letting it plop onto the ground again. 

Grandpa Grogu grunts in annoyance; wielding his powers clearly takes more effort despite being older. The more disgruntled Grandpa Grogu gets, the more smug Baby Grogu seems to look.

Din sighs, wondering how much they’d poked and prodded each other at night. 

He really needs to buy another hover pram, but he hadn’t exactly planned on having two of them. They look cute, curled up in the pram together, but getting them down for the night is a hassle. 

Gone are the days where Din simply dumped Grogu in the hover pram and let him conk out when he needed to.

Grogu used to be relatively easy; now, he fusses if Din leaves him unceremoniously in the pram. He’s clingier after his time with the Jedi; Din has to hold him to get him to sleep.

At night, Din winds up holding one Grogu in each arm, and Numa demands stories. Din figures it’s as good a way to teach her Basic as any, and he doesn’t need to edit out all the violence in his tales of disintegrating Jawas and bringing bounties in cold. She’s seen worse, anyway.

As if getting them down for the night isn’t a hassle enough, all three children seem to be having a bout of nightmares. Din can’t exactly blame them, but it means he needs to sleep in his armor in case one of them decides to join them in his bed.

Din’s heard some species’ babies wake up every few hours to feed, and he’s glad both Grogus are past that stage, if they ever had it to begin with. Yesterday, both of them attempted to follow him into the ‘fresher, and waited outside the door with pitiful squawks, as if they never wanted Din out of their sight. Which would mean never leaving his armor, or eating.

It seems they fared fairly well in their own room, but Baby Grogu is making the silver ball hover out of Grandpa Grogu’s reach. 

“Don’t tease him.” Din scolds, plucking the ball out of the air and handing it to Grandpa Grogu, just as Grandpa Grogu tugs on Baby Grogu’s ear in retaliation. 

Grandpa Grogu takes the ball, crawling out of the pram to tug on Din’s cape.

Din had hoped Grogu might be comforted by the scrap of cape that’s now tied around his head like a hood, but Grandpa Grogu isn’t one to be fobbed off with a piece of fabric, even if it came from Din. He wants Din, not a scrap, or a tooka doll, which stays on the floor.

Grandpa Grogu coos in Din’s arms.

“You used to sleep more,” Din sighs. Or at least, Grogu wasn’t always so loud when he woke up.

Baby Grogu grabs for Din, too.

“I can’t carry both of you and still use my blaster.” Din tells Baby Grogu while scooping him up, though it’s unlikely they’ll be attacked in his ship.

Numa has gathered the dropped tooka dolls, and has the clone trooper doll take care of the three tookas. Din smiles behind his helmet; she’s acting out their little family, even putting the two tiny tooka dolls in the clone trooper’s arms to keep them from fighting.

“Time to eat.” Din tells them, surprised Numa hasn’t wandered to look for food herself. Numa skips ahead as Din carries both Grogus to the table.

He has to serve both Grogus at the same time or they’ll fight over the food. Even so, whichever one slurps down their meal first reaches for the other’s, and Din pulls them to opposite sides of the table. Not that that solves matters, with Baby Grogu using the force to try and steal Grandpa Grogu’s meal.

“Did the Jedi teach you to steal?” Din frowns behind his helmet. At least Kenobi and Fisto don’t give the impression that they’d condone theft.

Grandpa Grogu waddles across the table to Baby Grogu, and Din sighs and pulls him into his lap. They both chose him, but he needs someone to train them- the Mandalorians aren’t experienced with Jedi powers, and even Grandpa Grogu is too young to speak the Creed.

The kids make a mess of the table, and Din has to wipe them and the table down, pausing to stop Baby Grogu from wandering into the cockpit to poke the buttons, while Grandpa Grogu generally gets underfoot, though Din’s training keeps him from tripping over his kid. 

Numa helps clean a bit, but runs off after Baby Grogu. No matter where he turns, one of them's getting into something.

Just looking after three little rascals is keeping Din’s hands full, even without teaching them the ways of a Mandalorian.

Chapter Text

Din’s been struggling to get good jobs; not because of his own lack of skill, but because it’s much harder to find proper babysitters for three little womprats than just one.

Back when it was just Din and Grogu, he could leave Grogu with a local while he worked on a job, but babysitting two Grogus and Numa is a bit more of an ask. People are far less willing to look after three for free, and the prices for babysitting three kids would take up a considerable portion of each payment. Who knew childcare could be so expensive?

Din can’t exactly leave them on the ship like he did with Grogu, either. The Grogus would fight- what if they choked each other with their powers?- and Numa gets into everything. Numa wouldn’t keep them shut in the room he’d kept Grogu in.

Somehow, having three times the number of kids makes everything about ten times harder.

One time, Dex let the kids sit in a booth at his diner while Din helped chop ingredients in the back, but it had turned into a disaster. Both Grogus had unashamedly helped themselves to various customers’ food (leading to some very heated complaints and threats of bad reviews) while Numa had tried attacking the waitress droid. Din can’t say he blames her, but Numa had successfully tripped its wheel while it was carrying a stack of dishes.

Din doesn’t want his kids to cause any more chaos at Dex’s, so that had been a one-time gig.

“I know a place you could get some credits,” Boil says the next time that they manage to share a meal in the mess hall.

“I’m listening,” Din says.

“We’re clones of a Mandalorian just like you. Silver armor and all.” Waxer says, which Din had learned from Dex. “Jango Fett even trained some of the ARC troopers.”

“Jango?” Din asks, though of course Boba would have been a kid about now. 

“He was killed on Geonosis, our first mission.” Boil’s report abruptly veers into a conspiracy. “Rumor says General Windu cut his head off.”

Waxer jams his extruding elbow armor into Boil’s side, which would have winded him and possibly bruised around his ribs if he weren’t wearing his own armor. Waxer glances pointedly at Numa, though she’s not listening, focused on Waxer’s helmet. 

Numa had squealed excitedly when she saw the little Numa head painted on Waxer’s helmet, and she’s now carefully finger-painting two tiny Grogu heads onto the helmet with a sort of green vegetable mush that passes for food here. Waxer doesn’t stop her, and he’s probably cleaned worse off his helmet than vegetable mush.

Now that she’s no longer half starved, Numa’s become a great deal pickier with food and refuses to eat the stuff she’s finger-painting onto Waxer’s helmet, though she still enjoys the bland ration bars, perhaps by association of meeting Waxer and Boil.

The Grogus don’t want to be spoon-fed the mush either, even if it looks like what babies might eat. Then again, they aren’t like human babies, since they eat amphibians whole.

Numa had tried fobbing hers off on them, flying her spoon like a starship towards their mouths, only for Grogu to push the spoon away with his Jedi powers.

“Did Jango have a son named Boba?” Din asks, rather than asking if the clones resent the Jedi for killing Fett. For now, there’s peace, both Grogus settled with crackers.

Boil nods. “Only unmodified one of all of us. Ages at a normal rate for humans.”

“He wasn’t trained like us, either.” Waxer pauses, before amending. “Not that he wasn’t trained. Fett was probably teaching him to be a baby bounty hunter.”

“So he’d be a foundling,” Din muses. He’d wondered where Boba was in this timeline, but didn’t know his father was dead. It’s bringing back memories of his own childhood, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Boba harbors the same distrust of Jedi that Din does of droids.

Din glances at Grandpa and Baby Grogu. They’re not Jedi anymore, but how would a child Boba react if he saw them?

“They Kaminoans would probably pay you to help train the newest batches.” Boil is saying, interrupting Din’s thoughts. “You are a Mandalorian, after all. Wouldn’t even have to be a full-time gig, just show up at Kamino occasionally, teach some special classes and collect the paycheck.”

The name Kamino rang a bell; right, Dex had mentioned it was where the clone army was made.

Boil says it like it’s a novel idea; getting to choose where to go and which jobs to take. Din soberly thinks that the troopers get no choice at all; they hadn’t even chosen to be troopers. They hadn’t sworn to the creed; their regulations had been hammered into them since their creation.

Clearly Boba Fett had more freedom than the clones when Din met him, and from the way that Waxer and Boil talk, he’s much more free in his upbringing too.

The way they’re bred for war, not even given names… it is not The Way. 

Din thinks of how the clones are part of no clan but their own. 

Numa, oblivious to any of these thoughts, chatters enthusiastically to Waxer and Boil, while Din keeps Baby Grogu from stealing Grandpa Grogu’s food.

Kamino is rather dreary with apparently perpetual rain. The dark storm clouds apparently never leave, and Din wonders if all the troopers here are pale before becoming more tanned on missions.

Numa huddles close to Din at the rumbling thunder. The Grogus wriggle in his hold at the rain hammering down on their large ears.

The inside is almost the opposite; so starkly white and blank that Din’s glad he has his helmet to adjust to the abrupt contrast in lighting. 

The Kaminoans are just as starkly white, their faces dominated by huge, black eyes like Grogu’s, but atop long, skinny necks. They’re almost as blank as the walls here or the clones’ ripoff Mandalorian helmets (the shinies, as they’re called, before their armor is covered in paint and battle scars), faces betraying no emotions.

“Mandalorian, we’re quite pleased you’re here.” one of the Kaminoans says. “The clones’ template was another Mandalorian, and there was an unfortunate accident that led to his demise. We’re relieved to have another here to train the newer batches.”

“I’m not here to be cloned,” Din says, just to make that clear. The thought of thousands of clones spreading his face across the galaxy is deeply unsettling, and his face contorts behind his helmet at the prospect.

“It would pay quite handsomely, if you are a worthy template.” 

“No.” Din’s tone brokers no argument.

“May I ask who cloned them?” one of the Kaminoans peers unblinkingly at the Grogus in his arms. Din tightens his grip, slightly unsettled. “It wasn’t us, and our cloning facilities are unparalleled.” 

The Kaminoan sputters slightly as if his long neck has suddenly been squeezed. 

“No,” Din grabs Grandpa Grogu’s tiny hand and pulls it aside, and the Kaminoan clears his throat.

“They’re twins,” Din says quickly, which is close enough to the truth. Aren’t twins genetically identical, just like clones? Obviously two Grogus would be genetically identical, too, unless the scientists Din delivered him to and rescued him from were doing some especially heinous experiments. 

Surely these cloners know what twins are.

“Ah, yes, of course.” 

“What are your rates for training the newer batches?”

He names a reasonable price, though he wants to observe Din’s skills first, which seems fair.

The Kaminoan leads Din to a viewing room above a huge training arena. Din watches some of the troopers, wearing training armor rather than the Mandalorian armor, fight against automated blasters and droids. 

They’re skilled, but have yet to reach the proficiency Din had seen in Waxer, Boil and the rest of the 212th attack battalion under Cody and Kenobi’s command. 

Their faces are visible under large, clear visors, which seems incredibly wrong, and they lack the battle-hardened look of Waxer and Boil. They look maybe a few years younger, but perhaps the battles had seemed to age Waxer and Boil faster than their already-accelerated aging.

“As you can see, our training programs are quite effective, but the clones benefit from lessons from an experienced warrior.”

Din nods. He’d easily be able to give them some pointers, although he usually works alone and doesn’t get nearly as much of a chance to practice team tactics as they do.

The troops-in-training clear out of the arena, and Din leaves the kids in the observation room, telling them to be good and hoping they won’t choke anyone. Does Grogu think their elongated necks look especially chokeable?

Din spares a single glance up at the window; Numa has her face almost pressed into the glass, and both Grogus are watching intently with their large, dark eyes.

Din readies his rifle, now set to stun, as the first droid approaches. It’s nice, being able to destroy droids for training purposes, and he takes them out with prejudice.

The training simulation is challenging enough that it’s taking Din’s full attention without overwhelming him, but one of the droids he’d been aiming at gets yanked up with a shower of sparks before he can shoot.

Din’s strongly reminded of the mudhorn incident. He spares a glance at the observation window. Grandpa Grogu has his fist raised and is using his powers against the droids instead of choking the Kaminoan observer.

Baby Grogu quickly copies him, and another droid gets yanked above the metal training field.

Numa raises her toy blaster and pretends to fire at the droids, and Din quickly redirects his attention back to the simulation, taking out more droids.

Once he’s finished, he returns to the observation room, and Numa sprints to meet him, throwing her arms around him. Din returns the embrace, frowning behind his helmet. Of course seeing Din fight droids would bring back memories, even if these droids were less humanoid than the battle droids.

“Thanks for the assist,” Din tells his kids.

To his surprise, his own training classes begin immediately. Rather than being led to the adults who are almost ready to ship out to war, though, Din’s led to a group of identical kids who look to be around the age of ten, though that means they’re really five, about Numa’s age.

A few of them are whispering about a field trip to a real republic cruiser, though they quickly silence themselves and stand at attention as the Kaminoan leads Din into the room.

Din glances over the sea of faces. Any one of them could be Boba. Had he come back to Kamino after Jango was killed? It sounded like this was his home, but perhaps it brings back too many painful memories. Was he already found by another Mandalorian? In that case, he would have become their foundling.

Or is he somewhere here among thousands and thousands of identical faces?

Din supposes he could ask the Kaminoans if they know Boba’s whereabouts, but he can at least get paid for training first before possibly jetting across the galaxy. 

He’d been expecting to train young adults, though, not kids.

These kids are eerily still and silent as they wait for instructions, and it looks as wrong as Numa had, half starved and crouching behind a crate in her battle-torn city.

Din realizes with a jolt that all these kids are orphans. Their genetic host is dead, and the Kaminoans certainly aren’t acting as parents, more as overseers, trainers, observers. Had Jango acted as a parent to any of them except Boba? Din doubts it.

The creed dictates that Din take in any foundlings, but he’s already overwhelmed by two Grogus and Numa. Sure, he’s been thinking of looking for Fett, but would the creed dictate he take in every single clone? Even a whole clan couldn’t take in this many, and this is just one class out of hundreds, maybe thousands.

Every Mandalorian clan put together would still be overwhelmed by the sheer number of foundlings in this facility. And these are just the kids who look to be ten. What about the ones who look to be Numa’s age of five? Or the toddlers like Grogu? The infants he’d seen growing in glass pods? (Thankfully they aren’t beginning as eggs that Grogu would eat).

What has Din gotten himself into? He’s already so far over his head with three kids.