Chapter Text
“About 15 or 20 of them came through here on foot. And something big sheared off those branches.” Din pointed the overhanging debris out to Cara as she took in the area. He moved to a spot near the scene and crouched in front of the massive patch of flattened soil and grass.
“AT-ST.” She muttered next to him, an angry edge to her voice.
“Imperial walker. What’s it doing here?” His gaze rose, taking in the path the thing must’ve taken.
“I don’t know. But this is more than I signed up for.” She stood with him, following his line of sight.
They turned around and weaved their way back to the village. Din spread his vision around the area and found the little one, engrossed in a game Winta was leading. It brought a smile to his face, but the expression soured when they climbed up onto his temporary house’s porch and the villagers gathered around them. Once they’d all made their approach, he relayed the only solution he could think of.
“Bad news. You can’t live here anymore.”
“What? Why?” Caben and Stoke, ever the pair, were first to voice their confusion.
“Nice bedside manner.” Cara mumbled to him, a wilted smirk crossing her face.
“You think you can do better?” He grumbled.
“Can’t do much worse.” She retorted and stepped up to the edge of the makeshift stage. “I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”
“You took the job.” Stoke complained, a thick haze of muttered agreement filling the air between them and the crowd.
“That was before we knew about the AT-ST.” She snapped, annoyance coloring her tone.
“What is that?” He asked, genuinely confused.
“The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn’t tell us.” Her voice raised in pitch as she got more angry. Din worried he’d have to step in if she got any more riled up.
“Help us, please.”
“You’re supposed to help us.”
“But we hired you.”
“Please.” The flock of farmers begged, fear setting in.
“We have nowhere to go.” Omera pulled Winta into her side gently and took the helm of the village’s voice.
“Sure you do. This is a big planet. I mean, I’ve seen a lot smaller.” Cara responded, posture growing defensive.
“My grandparents seeded these ponds.” Caben stated like it was obvious.
“It took generations.” Stoke backed him.
“I understand. I do. But there are only two of us.” Cara did her best to show them sympathy, but the villagers were going to hold their ground.
“No, there’s not. There’s at least 20 here.”
“I mean fighters. Be realistic.” Cara’s frustration was causing her voice to flow out higher and higher.
“We can learn.”
“We can.”
“Give us a chance.”
“Please.”
“I’ve seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes.” She hisses through her teeth, loud, angry, and laced with trauma.
“We’re not leaving.” Omera answers, unrelenting and solid in motivation as well as objective.
“You cannot fight that thing.” Cara’s voice drops to a concerned moan.
“Unless we show them how.” Din cut in after a pause, meeting her gaze head-on. She raises her eyebrows and sighs. He tosses his head at the door and lets her in first, stepping into the room behind her.
“Mando, you can’t be serious about this? Have you fought one of those things before?” She spins on him and bounces a fist on his shoulder. He looks between her and his shoulder slowly, gathering his thoughts.
“Yes, before you even joined the rebellion.” He grunted.
“When, then, and where? How many have you taken down, with a pack of farmers at your back?” She growled. He leveled his helmet at her, heat burning in his throat and chest. Without a word, he gestured to himself, knocking his knuckles against his chest with a ding.
“We all have a past, Dune, so watch it. You’re not the only one who lost their system to the Imps.”
“Alright, I’m sorry, but you don’t really think these people can match a pack of mandalorians?” She was genuine in her apology, but she held her ground.
“I’ve seen a mandalorian warrior single handedly take down an AT-ST and a squad of stormtroopers at once in defence of his home and known others to do the same. I think with enough prep, we can at least have them hold off the raiders while we handle the walker.”
“Who’s this warrior then? Is he here, because last I checked it was only you.” She jabbed at his chest. He held in a growl and took a step back until she couldn’t touch him.
“That’s none of your business. He’s probably dead now anyway.” His throat tightened. He hadn’t even really allowed himself the time to acknowledge the fact entirely.
“Do you have a plan for taking it on then?” She crossed her arms tightly across her chest. He brought himself back to reality and answered.
“I’m leaving it to you, considering you apparently are such an expert on AT-ST’s.” He bit out at her and turned to leave. She grabbed his shoulder.
“Mando, I’m sorry. I got in my head and I forgot, but these aren’t mandalorians. Can you really expect this of them?”
“I can, and I will.” He hissed between his teeth and shook her hand off, throwing the curtain aside. He needed to go for a walk and cool off.
He didn’t get very far, because he’d entirely forgotten about the crowd of waiting villagers standing outside the building. Omera looked at him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.
“We’ll figure something out.” He muttered and pushed his way past them. The kid waved small arms at him until he swiped him up and out of town.
Sorgan had tall trees. They were big and straight and thick, standing sentinel to everything that happened under their branches. It stirred thoughts of blue armor and heavy steps. It made Din feel safe. He found a particularly round one and sat on the ground at its roots, his back against its bark. The child settled into his lap and looked up at him with those clear, dark eyes. He sighed and dropped his helmet against the tree.
“You’re judging me, aren’t you?” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement, an analysis of his own position. The kid cooed and put a clawed hand on his arm.
“I guess I couldn’t blame you. It’s been a bit too long for a battle-hardened mandalorian to be caught missing another life. Another person. People.” He sniffed. The kid’s hand was warm, and frankly, Din couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him with the intent to comfort him sincerely. Frankly, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him with the intent to comfort at all. The little one hummed, climbing higher up his body.
“Do you mind if we just sit here for a little while?” He asked. His throat was tight, and it burned without any heat. The Armorer would probably say he needed to confront his pain and find its root, work to overcome it. Not that that was even possible now. What good is a dead person’s advice anyway. The kid blinked.
He let himself drift for a few minutes, running a hand over the back of the kid’s head. The infant leaned into the touch. The repetitive motion soothed him, and he let the kid lean against him, guiding his tiny head from his silvery shell to the soft patch of fabric under his pauldron.
God he missed the way things were. The purge was years ago, the rise of the empire even further back. He was barely able to hunt on his own when the stormtroopers came to Concordia. He had hazy memories of the Armorer, nearing her 18th year, eager to fight them. The whole moon was, really. Even Paz, two years beyond him, would slam his shoulders against their plastoid shells as he stomped his way through town. Back then Din had found it endlessly attractive. Now he just thought it was foolish confidence born of a better time.
The child tapping his helmet with alarmed squawks brought him back to the present. He realized with a start that he was crying. He coughed roughly and sniffed.
“I’m alright ad’ika . Let’s head back to the village, huh? Get you some food.” He swallowed the trickles of fluid collecting in the back of his throat and stood, adjusting the kid in his arms. The little one looked at him for a long moment. He had the vague impression the emotion he saw in that gaze was doubt that Din was, in fact, alright, but the kid rested his head on his shoulder regardless and stuck a thumb in his mouth.
The walk back to the village put the little one to sleep in his arms. At that point, the villagers had thankfully dispersed, and he navigated his way to the house quickly. The crib was waiting for them, and he laid the kid down delicately, tucking the blanket around tiny shoulders. He brushed a thumb over a soft face and turned, exiting the building in search for Cara. They had a fight to plan for.
----
“You got two problems here.You got the bandits, and you got the mech. We’ll handle the AT-ST, but you gotta protect us when they come out of the woods, and I don’t have to tell you how dangerous they are. Cara Dune here is a veteran. She was a drop soldier for the rebellion, and she’s gonna lay out a plan for you, so listen carefully.” If Din’s voice was particularly raspy, no one said anything. He stepped back and allowed Cara to take the lead.
“Now there’s nothing on this planet that can damage the legs on this thing, so we’re gonna build a trap.We’re gonna need to dig real deep, right here, so that when it steps in, it drops.” She pointed to her sides where she was flanked by the krill ponds. “The two of us will hit their camp. Provoke them. That’ll bring the fight out of the woods and down here to us.” She glanced at him, a question in her expression. Din nodded his approval and gestured to the strongest of the group, gesturing for them to follow him.
“I’m gonna need you to cut down trees and build barricades along these edges. I need it high enough so they can’t get over, and strong enough so that it can’t break through.” He pointed to the outer rings of the town between the first houses and the krill beds. He left them to the task and returned to the main group.
“Okay. Who knows how to shoot?”
----
Din was good at compartmentalizing. The haze of the day and the flashes of the battle fit itself into a box, and the box fit itself onto other boxes on a massive stack he’d labeled ‘for a later day’. If he had his way, that day would come after he was dead.
Unfortunately his mind had different ideas, because while that little metaphorical box found a spot in the pile, it knocked another over, and while he stared into the shell of the AT-ST, empty of all but flames and death, he saw more than he wanted to.
First it was the family at the outskirts of his home town on Concordia, their rickety old barn and livestock crushed by some rowdy AT-ST pilots. The whole family had been in the center of town for a party, and when they came home, their oldest, 16, had thrown all caution to the wind and jumped onto the craft, scaling it and pulling one pilot half-way out of the viewport before the other shot her between the plates of her cuirass. She’d fallen off the craft, landed on her back, punctured a lung, and died within the hour.
Her buire had appealed to the local governor that the pilots receive disciplinary action. It was overturned on the grounds of self-defence. The entire town received a new curfew for their trouble, with the small mercy of the pilots’ transfer as an afterthought.
The second incident was the library, if you could even call it that. The community had designated one house, closer to the center of the village, as the pool of all their chronicles and history, some of it system-wide, most of it local. Buire would bring their ade there for group lessons, or to pick a new topic to learn. The new pilots weren’t happy with their recent station, and used the cannons on the only building they knew was unoccupied at the time. No one, even the aliit’alor , bothered with a complaint this time.
Next it was his own cabin he lived in with his buir . They were away on a hunt, and returned to their foyer crushed and family heirlooms looted. His buir’s gloves had creaked with the force of his clenched fists. They barricaded the hole with the leftover timber and the help of a few friends and spent the next few weeks using the emergency exit getting in and out.
Then the purge had started. He was never going to forget the image of his damaged home crushed under a walker, or the sound of his buir’s helmet hitting his knee with a clang as he fell to a blast at the base of his unprotected neck. Paz had taken his hand and pulled him into the woods with the rest of the fleeing clan. Din never saw who’d delivered the shot.
A coo broke his eye contact with the flickering orange around the walker, and he looked down to find the child at his knee. He exhaled and crouched down, tucking his gloves under the little one’s arms and lifting him into his elbow. It was time for some sleep. Din hoped he could keep his eyes shut for more than an hour.
----
Sorgan did something to him. Maybe it was the consistent days. Maybe it was the peace. Maybe it was the community he hadn’t truly experienced in years. The covert had been open to him, but after what happened with Paz… the man had always held more sway than he knew. Din got used to making his visits short.
He liked being able to talk to people without them seeing his failures first.
The kid loved it. He got food Din was pretty sure was closer to a natural diet for his species, at least compared to ration packs. He slept somewhere more comfortable than the makeshift hammock he’d stretched across the Razor Crest’s tiny berth. He saw other kids, and other kids to play with meant more games. Winta had taken it upon herself to make him her new best friend, and the rest of the children soon followed suit. He rather liked the way his heart swelled at the sound of tiny giggles.
He and Cara spent the first few days after the raid helping tidy up, so to speak. The walker was too heavy to rope up and haul into the woods, so he and a few villagers went back to the Razor Crest to get his cutting tools. They dismantled the machine and moved it out of town, and when their task was finished, they worked on reconstructing the destroyed houses.
On the last day of construction, he took a short break to head inside and cool off. He stopped by the well with a cup and brought it with him. When he came out again, his chestplate let out a sudden ‘cong’, punctuated by a startled, ‘oh!’. His hands shot out and grabbed Omera’s arms, steadying her on the porch.
“You alright?” He waited until she was oriented to drop his grip on her biceps. She chuckled and repositioned the jar she was holding to rest on her hip.
“Yes, thank you. I'm sorry, I didn’t know you were inside. I should’ve knocked.”
“It's okay.” He said, falling silent. Her eyes trained on his visor for a moment, before she blinked and moved the jar into his view.
“I brought you some water, so you don’t have to run back and forth between the well and here every time you want a drink.” Her lips smoothed outward in a smile. He tilted his head down to the container and back up to her, bringing his hands up to cup its base and neck.
“Thank you.”
In Din’s experience outside of a mandalorian setting, the way he lapsed into quiet put people off. They would squirm like he was blaming them for something by simply looking at them. It was another thing he liked about Sorgan. Omera and the rest of the villagers didn’t seem to mind that much. She gave him one more smile and left him to take the jar inside. His eyes followed her before Winta’s shout of glee diverted his attention, and he ducked back into the house.
He set the jar down on the table by the window and set his hands down on its surface, leaning forward to roll the thin curtain out of the way. People were milling around in his line of sight, carrying timber and baskets of seeding material, on their way to try and salvage what was left of their krill ponds. It reminded him of the armorer’s riduur , the way she would run around with the other farmers and plant the neral before they could get to the less sturdy crops.
He’d always liked her. She was sharp and hot-tempered, but sweet once you were in her good graces. She and the armorer had been a good match. The last time he saw her, she was dragging him half-conscious into a makeshift medical ward. He wasn’t awake when she left, or when the stormtroopers got her.
He came back to his body as Omera came into his field of view, and with mounting surprise and a bit of horror he realized his heart did a flip.
----
The child stuck his head through a patch of long grass, his big eyes focused on a blue frog croaking on a ledge. He leapt forward with all the power in his short little legs and slapped a hand down on its back, stuffing it partially in his mouth and putting in a considerable effort to swallow it whole.
“Ewwww!” The watching village children, centered around Winta as per usual, groaned in exaggeration. The child let the frog drop from his mouth with a plop, and the creature jumped straight into the nearest water.
Din smiled under his helmet and fidgeted with his thumbs under his belt. Cara chuckled from her seat on the other side of the porch. Omera stepped out of the house and handed the bounty hunter a cup of spotchka.
“Thank you.” Cara said quietly, taking a sip. Omera turned to him.
“Can I set you something in the house?”
“Um, thank you. Maybe later.” He waved a hand from waist level, not bothering to unfasten his thumbs. She turned her gaze to the pack of laughing kids. Her face broke into a grin.
“He’s very happy here.” Her voice was sweet, affection betrayed in her tone.
“He is.” He nodded in agreement, his eyes flicking between them and her behind his visor.
“Fits right in.” She commented and stepped off the porch, off into the rest of the village. Din followed her with his eyes and tried not to think too hard about it. How long had it been since he’d done so without bloody hands painting his guilt red?
“So, what happens if you take that thing off? They come after you and kill you?” Cara asked, turning her shoulders to face him. He met her gaze for a moment and turned away again.
“No. You just can’t ever put it back on again.” The idea alone made him feel… naked, and alone. The potential for his entire life to end in a moment, without the mercy of no longer being alive for it. Cara scoffed.
“That’s it? So you can slip off the helmet, and settle down with that beautiful young widow, and raise your kid sitting here, sipping spotchka?” She waved her cup around for emphasis. He turned and glared at her. He knew she didn’t understand the full depth of the concept, but all the same, it was a bit hurtful. Especially given the fact he’d considered it. She shrugged and took a sip, her gaze turning over the surrounding area.
“You know, we raised some hell here a few weeks back. It’s too much action for a backwater little town like this. Word travels fast. We might wanna cycle the charts and move on.” He said slowly, forcing himself to state the reality of the situation.
“Would not wanna be the one who’s gotta tell him.” Cara nodded to the kid, currenting waddling back and forth between outstretched hands holding krill. Din swallowed.
“I’m leaving him here. Traveling with me, that’s no life for a kid. I did my job, he’s safe. Better chance at a life.” If he was being honest with himself, which he rarely was, he’d allow the thought that the reassurance was for him to actually cross his mind. Instead, he mentally tackled it like a security guard catching a fan breaking onto a bolo pitch.
“It’s gonna break his little heart.” She rolled the spotchka cup around in her hand, preventing the drink from splashing over the sides with gentle rocks.
“He’ll get over it. We all do.” She didn’t say anything in response. They watched the kids play for a few more minutes before he pushed off the wall and went looking for Omera. He found her between some of the krill ponds.
“Excuse me.” He called her attention. “Can I have a word?”
“Of course.” She brushed her hands off on the front of her dress and followed him out of the casual hearing range of the others. He turned around and tried not to get distracted by the way her smile made the tips of his fingers tingle a little.
“It’s very nice here.” He said. Her smile widened, and she nodded.
“Yes.”
“I think it’s clear he’s… he’s happy here.” She thought over his words for a second, and her smile dropped away the slightest bit.
“What about you?”
“Me?” He was still not very used to her and the community’s inquiries after his wellbeing. She nodded again, softer this time.
“Are you happy here? We want you to stay. The community’s grateful. You can pack all this away in case there’s ever trouble. You and your boy could have a good life. He could be a child for a while. Wouldn’t that be nice?” The look in her eyes made his throat hurt and his eyes wet.
“It would.” Din hoped he didn’t sound as close to tears as he was. He blinked a few times, and watched as Omera’s hands lifted slowly, cupping the sides of his helmet with a shaky grip. It was as he saw the edge of his visor shift that a flash of blue crossed his mind, and the echo of a familiar tone said ‘ Din’ika ’. His hands wrapped around her wrists with the lightest grip he could manage and he pulled them away from his head.
“I don’t belong here, but he does.” Something sparked in him, and he steadied his voice. The look of disappointment on her face left an ache in his chest anyway.
“I understand.” She looked down and swallowed, and then met his eyes, her view finding his through the visor somehow. “I will look after him as one of my own.”
A gunshot sounded. He pulled her behind him, scanning the trees in quick flicks of his head. His pistol was out and trained on the treeline. Ignoring the screams of the children wasn’t an easy task.
“Go get the kids.” He ordered. She spun around in an instant and took off as he bolted toward the shot. He found Cara standing over the smoking body of a bounty hunter. The beep of a tracking fob bounced around the foliage. He rolled the body over with his boot and picked up the blinking device.
“Who’s he tracking?” Cara asked, her voice oozing with tension.
“The kid.” He grunted out, turning toward the village. She shifted, facing him fully.
“They know he’s here.”
“Yes.”
“Then they’ll keep coming.”
“Yes.” He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, throwing the tracker onto the ground. His boot slammed down on the device, and he felt the plating pop under his sole with a crunch, the circuitry crackling as he destroyed it.
He stalked back toward the village, leaving the body for the scavengers. Cara followed him, and when he began pulling his things from the house he had just started thinking of as his own, she wordlessly began helping. Caben was the first to come and investigate.
“What are you doing?” He asked as Din leaned a rifle case against a crate of ammo boxes. Stoke hovered a few feet away.
“The kid and I have to leave.” He placed a hand on the long plastoid container, letting it bear some of his weight. Caben was one of the people that had gotten used to the way his visor felt like he didn’t blink, so he didn’t start shifting around when he made eye contact.
“Why?” Stoke came over to stand at the other farmer’s elbow. “I thought you guys liked it here. It seemed like you were settling in well.”
“Is it because of that shot?” Caben asked before Din responded. He sighed and nodded.
“It was a bounty hunter, tracking the kid. I thought we were too out of the way for anyone to find, but they got to us. I don’t want to risk everyone here and the kid.”
The pair nodded, disappointment lowering their shoulders and folding their spines. It put a smile on his face, however sad his eyes were. It was nice to know he’d be missed at the least.
“Dune will keep you safe, and she has my code if she needs an extra hand.” They nodded and straightened a bit.
“Mind if we help out then?” Stoke offered, gesturing to the stack of supplies. He looked down at them and back to the two farmers.
“Not at all. Thanks.”
The pair pushed the work along quicker, and when Stoke retrieved the cart for him, the other villagers took notice. They began loading, and he took the opportunity to track down the kid.
He was with Winta’s pack, and when Din approached, he turned and toddled over, lifting his arms a bit. Din tucked his hands under his tiny limbs and lifted him, gathering him up into the crook of his elbow. The rest of the kids followed them back to the cart.He set the child on the side of the vehicle and started stacking the last of the ammo cases. Cara’s heavy steps approached, the grass rustling softly beneath her boots.
Are you sure you don’t want an escort?”
“I appreciate the offer, but we’re gonna bypass the town and head right to the Razor Crest .” He explained to her and set his last case on the vehicle. She shifted her weight and threw her bag over her shoulder.
“Well then, until our paths cross.” Her arm lifted, hand open for his. He gripped it firmly and shook.
“Until our paths cross.” She smiled and let go, walking away. Winta broke away from the other kids and ran up to the kid, wrapping her arms around him. He chirped, his ears drooping.
I’m gonna miss you so much.” She whimpered, tears dripping down her cheeks. Din watched her, his chest squeezing. Omera stepped into his field of vision, and he turned his body and attention to her. She looked as if she would like to say a thousand things, and nothing at all.
“Thank you.” Her lips curled around the words, and Din nodded firmly. She smiled slightly as Winta let go of the kid and came over. Omera tucked her child under a comforting arm and stepped back, allowing him to pick up his pulse rifle and circle the cart, sitting on its end. He nodded to the assembled villagers as the craft started moving. At least this goodbye was peaceful.
They got to the Razor Crest within an hour, and he spent the last of the daylight to load the crest. He picked up some quick supplies in the town, strapped the kid in, and got them out of atmo.
“Alright kid. Let’s get out of here.” He muttered to the little one. With a few buttons and the flick of a lever, he picked a set of coordinates and threw them into hyperspace.