Work Text:
“You are as his father.”
Such a seemingly insignificant sentence. Five words long, spoken quietly in the midst of a great battle.
They were the words that forever changed the Mandalorian’s existence.
Din had long lived a life of designed loneliness. He stumbled from one job to the next, focused only on continual survival and making enough money to provide for his needs and the needs of his people.
He wouldn't proclaim that such a life made him happy, but it had at least been simple enough.
Now, everything had changed. The Mandalorian’s life no longer belonged to him alone. To be the father of a foundling was the greatest responsibility a Mandalorian could take on.
A responsibility in which Din floundered.
The Child was alive, healthy, and relatively safe. For those needs, Din could maneuver with some ease. But as the little infant grew more attached to him, and vice versa, the Mandalorian found himself in deeper and deeper water. He feared to drown in its endless depths.
Din would die for the Child. He’d known this from the day he decided to turn his back on the bounty hunter code and rescue his own quarry. Since then he'd been constantly surrounded by enemies on all sides. Their arrogance and hunger caused a forever looping daily terror.
To die for the Child would be easy. Living for him was a much more perilous task.
The Mandalorian observed the town square in front of him. For the first time in a long while, his ward was not at his side. Din had sternly told the Child to stay in the ship while he went out for supplies. It was an order that the baby had ignored on many occasions before, but his trust in his guardian had steadily grown. He obeyed more easily now, a fact for which Din was eternally grateful for.
Din wasn’t sure why he’d stopped in the square to observe the scene before him. His eye had simply been caught by a pair across the marketplace.
A father and son. It was clear by their ages and shared features. The boy wasn’t older than six or seven and was hanging off his father’s side, smile wide enough for Din to clearly see. He seemed to be fighting for his father’s attention as the man haggled with a store clerk.
The father glanced down at his son and ruffled his hair affectionately. The boy grinned and grabbed the man’s hand to tug him down the path to the next stall.
The two shared a strong chin and brown hair that curled just above their brow. The boy’s skin was a shade lighter than his father’s and it was clear that he wouldn't grow as tall as the man, but the two still inexplicably seemed to match. Tied by blood.
As a Mandalorian, Din didn’t hold a very high opinion of blood. His was a society founded on families of choice. But still, as Din watched the pair walk out of sight, he couldn’t help but wonder if the man found being a father to a child of his own making was somehow easier.
The Child and the Mandalorian weren’t even the same species, let alone connected by their blood. Din wished desperately that he knew more about the infant’s people. Even their name would provide some small semblance of comfort.
Perhaps his ward did not yet understand how very different he was. Would he grow up to be angry with the Mandalorian for not being an actual relative? Would he resent the fact that he was practically stolen property?
Would the Mandalorian ever be able to explain his decisions to the Child? Explain why he’d handed him over to abusers in the first place?
There were so many questions in Din’s life now. Questions that seemed far too big to ever have answers. His life of simplicity fled as soon as he laid eyes on the Child and stretched out his hand for him.
Din carefully made his way back to his ship and his waiting charge. He pushed the close button harshly as soon as he was aboard and watched as the father and son’s world was swallowed up by rusty metal.
Before the Mandalorian could even shift around he heard a bright, soft coo echo in the small space. He turned to meet his greeter, heart lifting despite himself.
Surprisingly, the baby remained where Din left him, safely tucked into his cradle. The Mandalorian had steadily been collecting blankets that found their way into the baby’s small space. To his amusement, he now had trouble separating his charge from the little sanctuary.
Din crossed to him quickly and lifted the Child up into his arms. Little hands banged happily on his helmet as the Child cooed gleefully.
“Miss me, punk?” Din asked with a trace of amusement. The Child gurgled in response.
The Mandalorian’s mind returned to the man and his son from the square. Did the child run to greet his father after a long day apart? Did he turn to his guardian for comfort and safety?
Did the father ever consider the blood he shared with the child? If they didn’t have that, would it matter?
The Child stretched out his arms for the bag Din had brought back. “None of that,” he said. “The supplies in here are for us both and they're not for right now.”
Screwing up his wrinkly face, the Child seemed to consider pushing the point but ultimately decided against it.
Fatherhood seemed to be agreeing with him. Din didn’t particularly like very much about himself, but he liked that.
Din dropped the bag into one corner of the room and then quickly moved to the pilot's seat. It made him nervous to stay in one place for too long.
As he expertly maneuvered their ship over the treetops, the Mandalorian felt a light touch on his hands. Little green fingers curled over his and attempted to jerk the handle down. Din snorted with laughter at the lackluster attempt and at the frustrated noise that followed.
“Maybe in two or three hundred years, kid,” Din told his charge, ignoring the pout directed up at him.
As the pair shot back into space, Din’s mind once again returned to the man and his son from the village. He wondered if the man had any notion of how blessed he was to have been at his child’s side since birth.
It pained Din to know that he would never be able to know his Ad’ika as an adult. If his aging kept to its current rate, the Mandalorian would be long dead by the time the Child even entered the dreaded teenage years.
The Child was cursed to only have his found father for a blink of an eye.
That’s why you’re going to find his people , Din told himself firmly. So he won’t be alone.
Din hated the fact that the idea of the Child having a new family hurt his heart just a touch. He didn’t want to be forgotten.
Once, long ago, Din's own found father told him that to be a parent, one must become accustomed to sacrificing. They must open their arms and gladly accept the burdens of life itself.
The Mandalorian was just beginning to understand what he'd meant.