Chapter Text
The Mandalorian had been in so many impossible shootouts, he started to lose track. Something about this one was different. He was surrounded by bounty hunters and stormtroopers alike, with Moff Gideon at the helm of the ambush. The Mandalorian had been in a situation like this all those months ago, with his friends at his side. Déjà vu was probably the correct term for how he’s feeling. Except, Kuill is dead, IG-11 is gone, Greef Karga is still on Nevarro, and Cara Dune isn’t here. It’s just him and the kid.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to get us out of this one Ad’ika,” he said, defeated.
The child’s ears drooped, and he cooed sadly. They were safe for right now, barricaded indoors. Din Djarin took a moment to check his weapons, while the kid cuddled up to his midsection. A blaster burn had scorched his collarbone, and he was doing his best ignore it. The adrenaline rush was helping a lot.
He sent a message to Cara Dune for assistance a while ago, but he wasn’t even sure if she had gotten it yet. Hope that help was on the way, act like there isn’t. Suddenly he had an idea. He had three charges, and if he timed it right, he would be able to kill a lot of the enemies and it would cause a big enough distraction that he could take the kid and run in the opposite direction. This wasn’t a fight he’d be able to win, so escape was the only option.
“Okay Ad’ika. I need you to be quiet, and not squirm too much okay? We’re getting out of here.”
He tucked the child into the crook of his left arm. His pulse rifle was strapped to his back, and his blaster was snug in its holster. His heart was pounding. They only had one shot. He took a deep breath and tried to seem reassuring to his kid, who was looking at him with worried eyes. Din Djarin was nauseous. Now or never.
He kicked open the door separating him from the Imperialists and their allies, and he threw a now active charge into the crowd of troopers closest to him and the kid. He didn’t wait to see how many the explosive took out. He turned and ran into the forest that backed the cantina he had used as shelter.
The sound of blaster fire filled his senses. He did his best to dodge the shots, considering they were coming from behind him. After a couple near misses, he activated his next charge and launched it behind him. He heard the explosion and the satisfying screams of dying stormtroopers and bounty hunters. Good. It’s what they deserved.
He put more distance between him and the group chasing after him. They weren’t out of the woods yet. He had one charge left and didn’t want to use it to soon. The kid was relatively calm, the only indication that he was in distress was the distinct droop of his ears. His ship was still so far away, he was beginning to think that they weren’t going to make it. He kept running, his breathing getting sporadic, when a lucky shot hit him in the back of his left arm. The force of the blaster and gravity sent him stumbling forward and he dropped the child when his grip loosened as a reflex from the wound.
The child squealed as he landed with a thud. Shit.
He dove back down to the child to protect him. The shooting stopped. That’s never a good sign. Gideon approached the pair but kept his distance.
“We don’t want to hurt the Asset, Din Djarin.”
Din grit his teeth. His name being spoken out loud (again) after all this time was unsettling. He didn’t trust Moff Gideon or any Imperial’s more than he didn’t trust droids, if that was possible. So, he called bullshit right away. The Mandalorian was never much of a talker, but if he had to talk his way out of this, so be it. He was desperate. Din was never desperate. First time for everything.
He stood up slowly, his left arm hugging his chest. The kid was on the ground, clinging to the back of his leg, hiding from view.
“Then tell me what you want with him. He’s a child.”
Gideon raised an eyebrow in surprise. It almost sounded like the Mandalorian was considering negotiations. He would indulge Djarin, and then he would kill him and take the Asset anyway.
“We want to understand him. You know of his power, I’m sure of it. We want to discover why he has this power. He’s fifty, but young for his species. If we can harness that power, at a young age… the Empire could rise once more. We can’t do that very well if he’s harmed, now can we?” Gideon said. What the Mandalorian didn’t know, is that he was lying through his teeth.
There were other Force users in the galaxy. The Empire, or a shell of the Empire would rise once again regardless of the asset. The asset posed a threat, however. The remaining Imperials had hoped to convert the Asset to their side, to ensure the longevity of the new Empire. If not, then the Asset was to be eliminated. Obviously, it was of more value alive, but Gideon had no qualms about putting an end to it here and now.
“Give us the child, and you both walk away from this.”
Din Djarin would not hand the kid over. He couldn’t.
“Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged.” With no warning, Moff Gideon pulled out the Darksaber.
Now acutely aware of just how hopeless this was, he activated his last charge and launched it into the crowd behind Moff Gideon. During the split-second distraction of the explosion, he pulled out his blaster and started firing.
Gideon ducked behind his troopers, waiting.
This was definitely the least pleasant fight the Mandalorian had ever been in. He couldn’t outrun them, so this was his last stand. He was essentially a human shield, using his Beskar covered body to protect his Ad’ika.
Every blaster bolt that hit the Beskar made the armor heat up to the point where it was almost unbearable. Thank the stars that troopers were awful shots, or he never would have lasted as long as he did. He was surprisingly efficient; despite being relatively grounded to one spot (the kid still hadn’t let go of his boot). He was only a man though, and he was exhausted. A particularly nasty shot hit him just below the knee, where the Beskar didn’t cover. His leg buckled underneath him, and he hissed in pain.
The kid chirped worriedly and started to peek around from behind the Mandalorian.
“Don’t! Stay behind me, I’m fine.”
As usual, the kid didn’t listen to him, but Djarin was being overwhelmed. Every time he shot a trooper down, another one took its place. A sea of blaster bolts shot towards him at the same time. He couldn’t dodge all of those. The child came out from behind Din and raised his little arms.
Time stilled.
The blaster bolts slowed in their approach towards the Mandalorian and stopped mere centimeters from him. The child opened his eyes, and with a flick of his tiny wrists, sent the bolts careening backwards. Many hit their marks. A lot of them scattered, seeing the Force in action for the first time. It helped but it wasn’t enough. Oddly, the kid didn’t pass right out. Maybe he knew how dire this was. The kid was a warrior, protecting the injured Mandalorian from getting shot again. Din resumed shooting at the plethora of stormtroopers that remained.
What he didn’t see, was that Gideon had snuck around to the side of the child and the Mandalorian. With a blaster in one hand, and the Darksaber in the other, he was hard to miss. They noticed too late. Gideon leveled his blaster, aiming at the space in between the Mandalorian’s helmet and his pauldron. If his aim was true, he’d hit Din clean through the neck. An inevitable kill shot.
The child launched another volley of blaster bolts back into the stormtroopers. Moff Gideon shifted his blaster and pulled the trigger.
The Mandalorian watched in horror as the child flew backwards, and light green fluid soaked through his robes. When his Ad’ika hit the ground, eyes closed, and unmoving, Din Djarin saw red.
With strength he didn’t know he had, he got up on his feet and turned towards Moff Gideon. If looks could kill, Gideon would be dead a hundred times over. He ran towards Gideon, rapidly firing at him. Swinging the Darksaber, Gideon managed to block the shots.
The Mandalorian was simmering with rage. He would never be able to get close with the Darksaber in Gideon’s possession. He thought fleetingly of Xi’an. Switching his blaster to his left hand, he yanked his vibroblade out of his boot. He kept shooting, distracting the Moff who clearly wasn’t entirely experienced with the unique weapon. Xi’an taught him to be almost as precise with small blades as she was. The anger that fueled him, made up the difference. With all the hate and anger he could muster; he skillfully flung the vibroblade so it slashed Moff Gideon across the throat. Gideon’s eyes widened in shock, and he sank to his knees. The Darksaber slipped from his grasp, deactivating before it made contact with the ground.
The Mandalorian stormed forward and retrieved his vibroblade from the ground. He eyed the Darksaber and picked that up too. He made eye contact with Gideon, who had a silent plea forming on his lips.
‘End it.’
That was too easy. Gideon was going to choke on his own blood (good), and it was still too pleasant of a death for him. Din Djarin activated the Darksaber.
“This belongs to the Mandalorians.”
Rapid fire could be heard from behind the Mandalorian and he whirled around, saber raised. Some of the tension poured out of his shoulders when he realized that backup had arrived. Cara Dune was piloting a gunship, raining hellfire on the stormtroopers who just watched one of their bosses get killed.
Djarin was going to be relieved, but he remembered why he killed Gideon. Anger bubbling up again, he examined the Darksaber that was now in his possession. He would make quick work of this. Adrenaline at an all-time high, he ran right into the sea of stormtroopers, putting the blade through anyone that was close enough. He went absolutely feral. He may have gotten shot a few times (again), but if he did, he didn’t notice.
He cut down stormtroopers one by one until there was only a handful left. Cara had landed the ship in a clearing and raced towards the scene with her blaster drawn. She shot down the remaining troopers and scanned frantically for Din. When she saw him, she was unsettled? Maybe scared was a better word. His back was towards her, so she had to get closer to realize what was going on. He was beating the shit out of a stormtrooper who was clearly, very dead.
“Mando?” she approached him worriedly.
He ignored her. Or maybe he didn’t hear her. She couldn’t tell. He was unhinged, that’s for certain. She put her blaster in her holster and continued to cautiously creep near him. The last thing she wanted was to startle him.
“Djarin?”
The only answer she received was a grunt, but that was probably because he kicked the fallen trooper. She noticed an unhealthy amount of crimson darkening his sleeve, his collarbone, and his leg. That doesn’t include the blood dripping down his breastplate. She didn’t know if it was his own or the stormtrooper’s. Probably a mixture of both.
“Din!”
In the blink of an eye, he had the Darksaber pointed at her throat. She put her hands up in an attempt to placate the Mandalorian. She couldn’t see his face, but turmoil was radiating off him in waves. As if he suddenly realized who he was threatening. He deactivated the Darksaber and dropped it at his side.
He swayed unsteadily and collapsed.
“Whoa!” Cara rushed to his side. “Are you okay?”
He couldn’t answer. How could he?
“That sword. That was the one Moff Gideon stole right? Where is he?”
Din raised his good arm shakily and pointed in the direction she just came from. She helped him up, and they slowly trudged to Gideon.
“It's okay, I gotcha.”
About twenty feet from where Gideon was slain, Djarin stopped moving. He pointed in the same direction that they were going but made it clear that he would not be accompanying her. Cara gave him a quizzical look but figured that he was more hurt than he let on, so she let it slide.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, what she hoped sounded reassuringly. What the hell happened to make him like this? He seemed detached. Like he wasn’t all there. She saw Gideon’s body, and smiled grimly. The son of a bitch was dead. Brutal death, but it was probably better than he deserved.
Satisfied, she returned to the Mandalorian, just to find him on his knees, his back towards her once again. If she squinted, she could have sworn that she saw him shaking.
As she neared him, she could tell he was holding something small. Halting to a stop right behind him, she peered over his shoulder and her heart sank, a strong wave of nausea hitting her.
“Oh god,” she groaned.
She understood now. The kid. He was gone.
Din just stared at the child, his brain short circuiting. He heard Cara call his name. She was right behind him, so why did she sound like she was a million miles away?
“Din? I’m going to get your ship, okay? I had to crash the gunship and I passed it. I’ll bring it back here and then we have to leave.”
She had to give him time alone. Nothing may change, but he certainly wasn’t going to react or do anything if she was around. He needed time. It wouldn’t be enough, but she wasn’t sure all the time in the world could help him now.
Once Cara was gone, Din cradled the child close to his chest.
“Ad’ika,” he murmured, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
His voice was tight with emotion. He had spent decades learning to stuff his feelings in a box and throw away the key. He wasn’t about to stop now.
“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad,” he whispered. He should have said it sooner.
By the time Cara made it back, the Mandalorian was back on his feet. He had laid the child to rest in the forest. She didn’t expect him to answer, but she had to ask after he boarded the Razor Crest.
“Are you okay?” she regretted it as soon as she asked. Of course, he wasn’t okay. In a weak attempt to cover it up, she added, “Physically?”
He was in the cargo hold of his ship, where Cara had joined him once she put the ship on autopilot. They were going back to Nevarro. He was sitting on the floor, his head tilted back against the wall. He was quiet for a moment.
“I’m not sure. I can’t feel anything, so that’s probably not good.”
Cara blanched. He was probably in shock. She didn’t know if it was because of the kid, or the amount of blood he lost, or the trauma of it all. Before she could ask another question, he blacked out.
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When Djarin woke, he wasn’t on the Razor Crest. His arm was in a sling, and there was a bacta pad on his collarbone and his leg. He hurt everywhere. Groaning he sat up, and it all came rushing back.
“Oh good, you’re up.” Greef Karga was sitting by the end of the cot. “You had Cara and I worried there.”
“I take it we made it to Nevarro okay?” His voice was surprisingly steady.
Cara came in with food, and a jug of water.
“Yeah we did. Listen, you’ve been out for a few days, so you need to eat. Karga and I will leave you be for a while, but then we need to talk.”
Djarin nodded his head once, in silent confirmation. Relieved that he didn’t put up a fight, his friends shuffled out of the room. In one swift motion, he pulled his helmet off and placed it on the bed next to him. The rest of his Beskar was cleaned and placed neatly in a pile on a table in the corner. His stomach growled and he noticed how hungry he was. He did his best to eat slow, but he ended up throwing it all up anyway. The water he could handle. Shortly after he donned his helmet, there was a knock at the door.
“Is it safe to come in?” Karga asked.
“Yes.”
Cara entered, followed by Greef and they both looked nervous. They kept glancing at each other and fidgeting.
“What is it?” Din sighed.
Cara cleared her throat.
“What you went through was- is, a lot. What are you going to do now?”
He blinked. What is he going to do now? Oh right. He didn’t have to worry about the kid anymore. He would go back to his clan- oh right. The Imperials came through and killed them. His focus shifted to Karga.
“Am I still welcome back in the Guild?”
Greef looked taken aback.
“Of course, Mando! That offer has no expiration date. Though I do recommend you wait a bit until your arm has healed.”
He looked at Dune. “I’m a bounty hunter. I’m going to keep bounty hunting.”
Okay. She didn’t have to like it, but it was his decision.
“Are you going to take care of yourself?”
Now he was annoyed. “I’ve made it this far.”
“You know what I mean," she said seriously.
“No, I don’t Cara! Stop dancing around the subject. If you want to say it, say it!” The Mandalorian raised his voice.
“You haven’t talked about it, about him at all. It’s not normal. It’s not healthy,” Cara said.
Djarin was getting mad. She was trying to pry the box open. He kept it locked for a reason. Except, this time it cracked. Just a little bit, but it still cracked.
“What do you want me to say Cara? The child is dead, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it? He’s gone. It’s over. I can’t change the past, and neither can you.” He calmed as he spoke.
He took his arm out of the sling, testing his range of motion. Pretty good considering the minimal amount of bacta that was applied. He grabbed the Beskar from the desk and put it all back on. Even his signet, which he had somehow unearned.
Imagine that. The only Mandalorian in the history of Mandalore to earn a signet and have it unearned in a matter of months. He shook his head and huffed, almost laughing at himself. It would be him of all people.
“Greef, how many pucks do you have on you right now?”
Karga looked through his pockets.
“Eight,” he supplied.
“Good,” the Mandalorian said. “I’ll take them all.”
Karga offered him the pucks, without objecting. He knew the Mandalorian needed this. That’s how it usually goes. Keep busy, and you might not fall apart.
Before he left Cara Dune and Greef Karga in the hotel room, he stopped in the doorway.
“Thank you both. For everything.”
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Six Months Later:
Business was booming. The Mandalorian was now the most widely known, successful bounty hunter in the galaxy. He was different now. Cold. Calculating. A shell of the man he used to be. It didn’t matter. Cara called him out on it, and he retaliated. It’s safe to say that they weren’t friends anymore.
The Mandalorian very rarely, if ever stepped foot on Nevarro anymore either. Client’s would contact him directly if they wanted a job done, so he hadn’t seen Greef either. He probably never would, unless someone placed a bounty on Karga.
His work became his life. He hardly found the thrill in it anymore. But he did what he had to do to survive. Some days were hard. He would open the panel of the compartment of his ship where the kid used to be safely tucked away. Then he remembered that the kid wasn’t hiding. He was gone. He looked for the kid everywhere he went. He knew he wouldn’t find him. The kid was dead, and he had buried him.
He had just returned from his last job, and currently there weren’t any more scheduled for him. He did that on purpose. Like he said, some days were hard. But every night was hard. He found himself dreading sleep. He would get a good two or three hours of rest, when nightmares of that day would tear him out of his slumber. He tried to go days at a time without sleep. He succeeded. The less sleep he got, the sloppier he was on his jobs. The amount of times he’s used his cauterizer in the last week was testament enough. At this rate, he would be all burnt flesh by the end of the year.
So, for the first time in his life, he had a clear schedule. Hopefully, he would be able to catch up on sleep, and then pick up another job. He wasn’t optimistic, but he had to try.
He set the Razor Crest to autopilot, to crawl around in deep space. He removed the Darksaber from his belt and placed it on the cot next to him. Paranoia would never really leave him.
He closed his eyes, and let exhaustion take over.
It was raining blaster fire. Cara had showed up earlier here. The odds were looking in to be in their favor. Din genuinely smiled. He thought this was the end. It was far from it. Suddenly an odd light glinted in his peripheral vision.
Moff Gideon had the Darksaber.
Recognition of the weapon and its history sent tendrils of anger shooting throughout his body. Gideon would pay for that. He wanted to kill him.
Then he noticed the blaster pointing at the child.
“NO!”
He launched himself in front of the child, and the blaster bolt ricocheted off of the corner of his pauldron. He didn’t notice that Gideon had shifted the gun to shoot at him instead. His movement had deadly consequences.
A sickening feeling worked its way into his throat, and he tasted bile. He turned his head slowly to look at the child who was lying face first in the ground next to him, his robes smoking from the heat of the shot.
Din dropped to his knees. This was his fault.
The dreams were always different, but they always ended with the same line.
“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum Ad’ika."
He woke up with a gasp and shot up like a rocket. He placed his helmeted head in his hands. Apparently, he was going to suffer indefinitely. Frustrated, he went back to the cockpit. Maybe if he went to a market or something, he could purchase sleeping pills or some other form of medication that would save him from his endless nightmares.
He’s tired, on edge and frustrated, so when looks at the Mythosaur pendant that the child used to wear around his neck once upon a time, a little bit longer than normal as it dangles from the ceiling in the cockpit, he grips the lever a little too hard, and the knob pops right off and in to his hand. This tiny, insignificant ball should not make him hurt this much.
He stood up and threw it to the back of his ship. He wanted it out of his sight. He returned to his seat, the silence nearly suffocating. He wouldn’t kill anyone ever again if he could get his Ad’ika back. Maybe if he wasn’t so sleep-deprived, he would have noticed sooner. A few minutes later he realized that he never heard the ball clang when the metal hit the metal of his ship.
He quickly withdrew his blaster and turned around, side-stepping the pilot’s seat.
“The toy I’ve heard so much about, this is?”
Din Djarin scanned the cockpit and saw no one until he glanced at the floor. He froze. A much older version of the same species as the child was in front of him. There was a cane in one hand, and the knob-turned-toy in the other. He couldn’t be much more than two feet tall, and he was green, but tinged blue. Almost like a ghost. He shook his head.
“Now I know I’ve lost it.”
The creature laughed.
The Mandalorian tried blinking a few times to make it go away. It stayed.
“Yoda, I am. Real, this is.”
Yoda used the Force to send the ball back into the Mandalorian’s hand. Djarin caught it and clenched his fist around it. Wait a minute.
“How did you know about the toy?”
Yoda laughed again.
“Many things I know, Din Djarin.”
Din tensed.
“Why are you here? I… couldn’t protect one of your kind, if that’s why.” He was lost. He might actually be crazy. Or he managed to fall back asleep, and this was another dream.
Yoda sobered up at his confession.
“Your best, you did.”
Din leaned against the side of the pilot’s seat and sighed heavily.
“It was all for nothing. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.” Months of pent up emotional pain bled through his voice.
“Fail, you did. Your fault, it was not.”
His head snapped up at that.
“Then who’s fault was it?” he asked angrily.
Yoda looked around, taking in his surroundings.
“The will of the Force, it was.”
The Force. That was the power or sorcery that the child had. He scoffed at the thought that the ‘Force’, would want a baby to die. He came to terms that he was indeed, speaking to a dead person. They stood in silence for a long time. When it became clear that neither of them were going to speak, Din turned around and looked at the stars passing by through the front window. After a few minutes, he pulled the Mythosaur pendant down and stared at it. There was a pattern with him, he noticed. He had everything, he lost it all. He had everything, he lost it all. And it continued to repeat.
His parents.
His clan.
His friends.
His kid.
Yoda watched the Mandalorian sadly. He felt the darkness in him, which had fought relentlessly to snuff out the light his whole life. Only now, the darkness was winning.
“Highly of you, Ad’ika thinks.”
Din Djarin went rigid, and nearly cut his hand with the pendant.
“What?” he whispered.
A very familiar, sorely missed babbling noise filled the cockpit. Djarin switched the pendant to his left hand and gripped the headrest of the pilot’s chair to steady himself. He felt his eyes betray him as they burned with unshed tears. The babbling noise got closer. He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to turn around.
“Please, I can’t. I can’t do this,” he whispered again. He wanted to wake up now. It was worse, somehow, knowing that this wasn’t a dream.
A soft tug of his cape convinced him to turn around slowly, steeling himself. He looks down at the floor and sank to his knees.
The kid was right there. Right in front of him. His clothes lacked the bloodstains that the Mandalorian had last seen on him, and the child was glowing a faint blue color, just like Yoda.
“Ad’ika?”
The kid’s ears perked up, and he made the grabby motions with his hands. He wanted to be picked up.
He looked to Yoda, who was silently observing. Seeking confirmation. Can you even touch a ghost? Yoda gave a slight nod, and Din went for it. He scooped up the kid and the weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders. The child squealed happily as Djarin held him close to his chest, squeezing a bit harder than he should have. He couldn’t help it.
The helmet masked the tears that finally escaped him. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” he said. He was grateful, obviously. But it didn’t make sense. Yoda cleared his throat.
“Missed you, he has.”
A lump formed in the Mandalorian’s throat. He looked down at the ghost of a child who was gnawing on the top of his breastplate.
“I missed you too, Ad’ika.” His voice cracked when he spoke. He sat there holding the child, stroking his big ears with his fingers.
He listened as Yoda did his best to explain something that Din couldn’t fully grasp yet. The Force connects all things. No one is ever really gone. Force users can come back and interact with the living under certain circumstances. Apparently, Ad’ika cried non-stop when he couldn’t find the Mandalorian. Yoda taught the child about his abilities and how to manifest as a Force ghost, so he could go find his lost guardian. Force ghosts could only interact with the living sporadically.
However, he may have hinted that it was much easier to appear in dreams and interact with the living that way. Djarin’s breath hitched.
The child squirmed out of Djarin’s hold and waddled to the mythosaur pendant which found its way to the floor amidst the reunion. He picked it up and held it out towards Din, a questioning look on his face as he babbled.
“A-ga da a-ba?”
Din took the pendant and tied it around the child as a necklace.
“Why don’t you hang on to that? It’s yours.”
The child immediately stuck it into his mouth. The Mandalorian laughed.
“Time for us to go, it is,” Yoda said solemnly. “See him again, you will.”
Djarin’s heart sank, but he nodded. Before they disappeared, the child placed a three-fingered hand on the back of the Mandalorian’s hand.
“Ba-ba bu, buh!” The kid shook his head in frustration and tried again. “a-ga… dada!”
The Mandalorian started.
“I-” he had so many questions. Did the kid know what he was saying? It was just baby talk. Then the kid dropped this on him just before both ghosts vanished.
“Boo-Buir. Buir!”
His heart stopped. Long after they faded, he kept replaying it in his mind.
Buir.