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Gagging on smoke, he reached up a heavy hand to wipe away the harsh tears cascading steadily down his cheeks. Din nearly wretched at the rancid smell of filth and blood and it took all his willpower to remain standing upright.
He couldn’t breathe. There simply wasn’t any air. How could he live without air? It wasn’t possible.
An explosion sounded to his left and he instinctively jerked away. Din’s mouth opened to scream but he choked instead, ash pouring in and clogging his throat. He couldn't breathe.
“Ahh-na!”
The Mandalorian jerked awake, breath blessedly heaving through his lungs. For a moment his body was tensed for action, for danger, before his eyes finally focused and met wide black orbs only inches from his face.
All the tension bled out as quickly as it had come. Din’s head thumped back against his pillow as he reached a shaking hand up to rake through his hair.
“Sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry, Ad’ika . I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
The green infant sat still upon his guardian’s chest, eyes bright with concern as he gazed down at the barefaced man. This was a new development between the two. Din took off his helmet in front of the baby for the first time nearly a week ago. He’d felt sick with nerves, terrified of the little creature who would be the first living being to see his face in decades. Din barely even knew what he looked like. He’d been avoiding mirrors for nearly as long.
To his surprise, the Child only expressed joy at finally seeing the face of his guardian at long last. He’d traced Din’s features with his little fingers and gurgled happily at the new aspect to their increasingly intense relationship.
That had been that. The Child was his and therefore allowed to see his true face. Din wasn’t quite sure why he had expected anything more dramatic than the simple acceptance from his kid. After all, the infant has shown unfailing, and in Din’s opinion, unwise, trust in the Mandalorian from the moment they met.
Now, the Child’s eyes were locked with his own. Din knew he must look a mess. Drenched in sweat, his pulse continued to race towards an invisible finish line. He hated that the kid was around to see him at this brutal low point.
“It was just a dream, little one,” he continued, biting back a groan as he sat up cradling the Child to his chest. “I’m sorry I scared you. It’s all ok, I promise.”
The Child whined and burrowed into his neck. Little hands reached up to grip his chin.
Din took a deep, shuddering breath and clutched at the baby in his arms. At that moment, the Child felt like his only tether to the rest of reality. If he let go, he’d just float right out of the ship and into the endless vastness of space. If the Child were not here in his arms, Din wasn’t sure if he would mind such a fate.
He rocked his precious bundle back and forth. The Child let out a pleased whine and twisted to burrow even closer to the man.
Din had never been comfortable with physical touch. It was more than simply being a part of Mandalorian culture, he personally never felt the need or desire to actively seek out the embrace of another.
Skittish. That’s what other Mandalorians called him as a child. Skittish, he’ll jerk away from your touch, don’t even bother, he’s just skittish.
It didn’t matter how many times he shied away from the Child’s touch. The kid would simply come back with reaching green fingers and a toothy grin.
Din wasn’t very good at allowing himself to be cared for.
“I’m supposed to be the one comforting you,” the Mandalorian said softly, still rocking them back and forth. “I’m an adult and you’re just a pipsqueak. You know, a lot of people are actually afraid of me. They find me very intimidating.”
The Child babbled happily.
Din closed his eyes and focused on the small weight in his hands. He was no longer free to fall apart in the depths of the night because of his haunted dreams. To live for another had its responsibilities.
“You need to go back to sleep, punk,” the Mandalorian said softly. He gently pulled the Child down to rest upon his chest.
The Child looked at him with quizzical eyes and he could almost hear the judgment radiating off the small bundle.
“Oh, no, none of that. I’ve had enough sleep for one night. For one week. I’ll be fine,” he said, taping a long finger on the Child’s back. “You, however, need to sleep. I’ll look after you.”
Din was sure that if the Child had possessed a true verbal vocabulary, the Mandalorian would be getting an earful. As it was, the Child simply huffed and resettled on his ribcage. He gently lifted up and down as the man breathed.
Closing his eyes, Din wished away the dark images that still swirled about his mind. He couldn’t afford to be swallowed up by his past any longer. Not with someone counting on his future.
Nightmares plagued the Mandalorian since before he put on the helmet. Sometimes, he would go months without one only to wake up in a cold sweat with gunfire echoing in his ears. He’d learned long ago that trauma wasn’t something to just get over. Trauma had to be packed up in a tidy little case and carted around in all the footsteps of life.
The Child shifted and Din froze until the baby settled back against him. He no longer carried only his own luggage.
The Mandalorian knew that he could not afford to be lost within his own past. The nightmares, the flashbacks, the inability to grow close to other people, his life was marked by terrors from long ago.
Din lifted a finger to rub gently over the Child’s fuzzy head. For the first time in a very long time, his future didn’t seem so shrouded in darkness and uncertainty.
Perhaps one day he would be asked why he decided to give up everything he had ever known to save a child that wasn’t even his.
If asked, the Mandalorian would respond that he didn’t save the Child, not really. It was the Child who finally gave the Mandalorian back his life.
Din walked steadily along a road for the first time in decades He could look up and see the path stretching out before him.
The Mandalorian now, finally, saw the light.