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Today had been a spectacular screw-up. You deserve this , Din thought savagely to himself. You put making a quick handout on top of your safety. On top of his safety.
You deserve this.
The Child sat by the Mandalorian’s feet, ears flat against his head in distress. He’d remained mostly silent since the duo returned to the ship, seemingly shell-shocked from the events of the day
Din had gone out for a quick job and returned to find the door blasted in and his ward gone. The Child hadn’t been with his captors for more than an hour before Din followed him, guns blazing with deadly accuracy, but the experience showed them both just how vulnerable they were.
The Mandalorian and his Child were perhaps the most hunted pair on this side of the galaxy. The bounty hunters just kept coming, and Din knew it would be on his head if the Child was hurt, or killed he couldn't even consider that. He wouldn't survive it. His entire existence now centered around this little infant and it scared the man shitless that today could have ended up differently.
As it was, the Mandalorian only had a burned arm for his trouble. The bounty hunters turned out to be much better at stealth then brute strength. Only the discharge of Din’s own flamethrower caused him damage.
The Child was unhurt. Scared and distressed but unhurt. Din could have cried for gratefulness.
He deserved the biting pain of his burn for letting this situation happen in the first place. He knew better. He’d been blinded by his need for supplies and although they were vital, nothing should have come above protecting his charge.
The Child let out a mournful coo.
Din’s eyes snapped over to his ward and he felt the tiny pressure of the baby's hands against his leg. “It’s ok, little one. Nothing to worry about.”
The Mandalorian swallowed before continuing. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I swear it won’t happen again. I won’t let it.”
The last words were spoken under his breath, dripping rage.
The Child heaved himself up to sit on his guardian’s leg. He took a moment to find his balance and then reached over for Din’s arm.
Din winced but allowed the Child to move his arm closer. “ Ad’ika ?”
The little hands closed over his burn and the Mandalorian bit his tongue to keep from crying out. What was his kid doing?
An uncharacteristically solemn expression stole over the Child’s face. Something rippled in the air.
“No!”
Din thrust his arm back with so much force that the Child fell backward with a squeak. Din cursed and caught the baby before he hit the ground.
“Sorry! Sorry,” he gasped, visually checking over the little green figure.
The Child appeared unharmed but clearly was severely miffed. He reached back for the Mandalorian’s arm with a louder, more forceful coo.
Din caught the hand, painstakingly gently this time, and brought it up to hold against his cheek. “No, Ad’ika . I don’t need to be healed. You shouldn’t tire yourself out over a little thing like this. Honestly, it’s ok.”
I don’t deserve it.
The Child screeched his dissatisfaction and again reached for Din’s burned arm.
With a sign, Din picked up his ward and unceremoniously deposited him in his cradle.
While the Child could not speak in words yet, he rarely had trouble showing his feelings. As soon as his feet touched the bottom of his little bed, the Child screwed up his eyes and wailed.
The sound cut into the Mandalorian’s heart, but he simply continued the slow work of bandaging his arm. He could still smell the burning flesh and grit his teeth against the pain.
Finally, the task was done. Though his arm still stung something awful, at least it was protected against infection.
The Child’s wailing had finally ceased. Din moved cautiously over to the cradle, nerves making his throat feel horrendously tight.
He peeked over the edge of bars. The Child sat quietly in the very center of the cradle, little arms crossed over his chest. He looked up at the Mandalorian and gave a mournful coo.
With a sigh, Din reached down to pull the Child up into his arms, only wincing slightly at the pain that shot up his arm at the movement.
Once he had the Child securely propped on one hip, the Mandalorian moved to the controls and set the autopilot. The ship rose somewhat shakily into the air and then they were over the treetops, moving back into the relative safety of space. At least in space, the Mandalorian wouldn’t be able to make any rash decisions and leave the Child behind to fend for himself.
Din shivered. He’d purposefully lifted the Child into his one remaining good arm. Muttering to himself, the Child tried yet again to reach across the Mandalorian to grasp at the injury.
“I already told you no, Ad’ika ,” Din said, trying to keep his voice gentle. “It’s fine. You don’t need to waste your energy.”
It was at times like this one that the Mandalorian desperately wished the Child was older and they could have a proper conversation. It was so difficult to explain ideas like loyalty and honor to an infant. The Child’s intentions were good, of that there was no doubt, it was Din himself who felt unworthy of them. There could come a time when Din was too injured to protect the Child. Then he would be forced to accept his charge's sorcery and allow the infant to drain his own power reserves.
Today was not that day. But the Child was so good, so pure, Din knew he would never be able to properly explain such complicated matters to him.
As it was he would bear the brunt of the Child’s annoyance and disappointment. This too was what he deserved.
You shall be as his father . The Armorer’s words played in a constant loop in the Mandalorian’s head. Nothing was more important than that. The days of his selfish predilections were over.
Din would have to find new ways to live. He couldn’t leave the Child unprotected while he was out on a job that may or may not be paid. If nothing else, today had shown that truth.
Din sat down in the pilot’s chair, carefully balancing the Child on his lap. He reached to one side, fumbling a bit until he found the Child’s favorite toy, a wooden music and projection box he’d acquired during their travels.
He pressed one of the levers and the small cabin was filled with a jolly tune. The Child’s ears perked up at the sound and he made to grab the toy.
The Mandalorian surrendered it easily, glad that the Child now seemed distracted from both his crossness and desire to heal his guardian.
There was no telling the dangers the two would face. It seemed their destinies were to be intertwined with danger and violence. Din was used to such a fate, but he hated the fact that the Child would have to become accustomed to it as well.
The time would come when a simple burn would hardly be a passing thought in the grand scheme of things. A time when the Child would know he could not afford to weaken himself over such a small matter. Until that time came, Din would be tasked with making those decisions for his ward.
Even if the Child hated him for it.
You’re worth it. I know you are. And one day, you’ll know this as well.
For now, let me carry it all for you.