Chapter Text
“This is only a down payment. I have a camtono of beskar waiting for you upon delivery of the assets.”
“Alive.”
Din Djarin looks up at the Imp scientist, Pershing, his grip tight on the ingot of beskar in his hand. He’s on edge, every muscle tensed, a sinking feeling of guilt sitting in his stomach at just the setting he is currently in. He’s all too aware of the stormtroopers watching them, but he keeps his posture steady and doesn’t give away a sliver of his feelings.
“Yes,” the Client says, though his voice is tight and the word is more of a hiss. “Alive. Although I acknowledge…” he leans forward and Din looks at him again, “that bounty hunting is a complicated profession. This being the case, proof of termination is also acceptable for a lower fee.”
Pershing stares at the Client, a startled expression on his face. “That is not what we agreed upon,” he says, and Din looks at him again.
“I’m simply being pragmatic,” the Client says, leaning back, and Pershing drops his head as though scolded.
Din looks at the Client, frowning beneath his helmet. “You said assets,” he says. “How many people am I looking for?”
“Two,” the Client says. “They have been a difficult pair to capture, but remain together.”
“Let’s see the puck,” Din says, grip tightening on his rifle.
“I’m afraid discretion dictates a less traditional agreement. We can only offer you tracking fobs.” The Client raises his hand and Pershing steps forward. “Though the assets are often in the same place, we do not want to risk only getting one.”
Pershing holds out two tracking fobs. Din rolls his eyes as he takes them, placing both on his belt. They’re deactivated for now, silent as they clip to his waist. “What are the chain codes,” he says, eager to go. He reaches for his vambrace.
“We can only provide the last four digits.”
Din looks up at that, frowning. “Their age? That’s all you can give me?”
“Yes. They are both fifty years old. We can only give you last reported positional data. Between that and the fobs, a man of your skill should make short work of this.”
Din stares at him, a deeply uncomfortable sensation in his stomach, before he begins to get up. With no resistance, he turns and begins to walk towards the door, footsteps heavy.
“The beskar belongs back into the hands of a Mandalorian,” the Client says. “It is good to restore the natural order of things after such disarray. Don’t you agree?”
Din stops at the door. His grip tightens in his hand, the words washing over them. Then, he walks out, the two tracking fobs fixed firm to his person.
He’s used to multiple targets. The thought of dragging in two people, or dragging in one and then going after the other, doesn’t bother him in the slightest. It may be more work and more of a hassle to get them back to his ship, but once he’s there it’s always a simple matter of getting them in the freezer and returning for his reward.
The thought of beskar in the hands of an Imp makes his blood boil.
He takes the job with a more mechanical attitude than most hunts, with determination to not just survive it but return the metal to his tribe. The Imp was right that Mandalorian iron being in the hands of Mandalorians was the natural order of things.
He’ll take the Ugnaught’s help. He’ll ride the damn Blurrg and when he gets to the compound in the middle of nowhere, tracking fobs beeping softly, he groans at the sight.
“Droids,” he huffs, getting up from his position on the ridge.
He doesn’t mind working with a droid for the sole purpose of getting a job done. He’ll hate it and not trust it and grumble to himself about it, but if it’s what he has to do to return the beskar, he’ll do it. With irritation, he partners himself with the bounty droid.
They clear the compound. Though the door is sealed shut, they turn and see the machine blaster, mounted and powerful. Seconds later, the door is blasted open and it falls to the floor with a clang. Din and the bounty droid walk inside as the tracking fobs beep. Another mercenary steps out from around the corner.
Din shoots him dead with no hesitation.
“Anyone else?” he calls.
They receive no response and both begin to walk further in. Sunlight beams shine across the floor. “The tracking fob is still active,” the droid says. Din pulls out a fob and holds it out. “My sensors indicate that there are two lifeforms present.”
Two, Din thinks. Perfect.
The fob beeps quickly but as he turns his arm, it speeds up. There’s a small, rounded container against the wall, covered by ragged netting. Din approaches, his steps cautious, and the fob begins to shriek as he steps up to it. He holds the fob towards it and it beeps like mad. He reaches out and brushes the netting off.
The droid approaches, footsteps clanging against the floor. Din glances at him, then reaches down and presses a button on the container. There’s a mechanical whirrr and the front portion of the device cracks open and lowers into the sides. Din steps back and beside the droid, staring down.
Inside is a mess of blankets.
Din feels his stomach jolt.
“Wait,” he says. He looks at the droid. “They said fifty years old.”
“Species age differently,” the droid says. Din looks at the blankets again, watches a tiny hand reach up. “Perhaps they could live many centuries.”
Two pairs of eyes stare up at him. Big, brown, confused.
“Sadly, we’ll never know.” The droid’s arm raises.
Din throws a hand out to stop it. “No,” he says. He looks up at the droid. “We’ll bring them in alive.”
There are tiny squeaks. The eyes follow them as they speak.
“The commission was quite specific,” the droid says. “The assets were to be terminated.” The blaster raises, pointing to a singular small face, eyes staring down the barrel of a gun.
Psst.
The droid collapses to the ground, steaming and hissing, a hole burned through its head. Din reholsters his blaster and tilts his head to the side, staring down at the wrapped bundles inside the pram. He lifts a hand and holds it out, tracked by eyes, as he extends an index and pinky finger. He gives both a small beckoning.
Two hands reach up to him.
He walks through the desert with the pram trailing behind, the only sound coming from wind, his footsteps, and the soft coos and murmurs from the assets. They’re near silent as they walk but for the occasional sounds, and when he looks back they’re both staring off into the distance, eyes huge, as though the planet is something they’ve never seen before. The lizards draw their attention. It gives him the odd internal question of if they ever have seen the outside, but he pushes it away.
None of his business.
The fact that he’s bringing in two defenseless children is an unsettling discovery that sits in his mind but he refuses to acknowledge it. There is beskar waiting for him to return to his tribe. He’s brought in… young targets before. Teenagers on the verge of adulthood who decided to fuck themselves over but knew the consequences. In the past, they’d been rich brats, the ones who thought they were invincible, untouchable until Din froze them.
He’d never felt good about that. But the consolation then had been that they knew what they were doing and made the effort to defend themselves.
He doesn’t know what the Empire wants with children.
It’s not his place to ask.
It’s against the Guild code.
What about your Creed?
He pushes the disturbing thought away as they walk into the canyon, the high walls on either side providing shade from the hot sun. There’s a small trill from behind and he glances back to see the two practically wrapped around each other, one with eyes shut while the other is staring at Din. He looks away and keeps walking.
An unsettling feeling begins in his stomach and he stops, looking around. The hair on his arms stands on end, the creeping sensation that someone is near, and he stops to look, hand drifting towards his blaster.
For a moment, silence.
Then the trandoshans drop from above.
He raises his blaster but his arm is knocked down. Rapid beeping gets his attention and he sees two fobs on the trandoshan’s belt. In an instant he turns and motions the pram away in a shove, sending it flying to the other side of the canyon. Both children shriek.
He blocks the strikes with his vambraces, backing up, until he has the opportunity to rip the hunter’s weapon out of his grasp and slam him to the ground. Another drops and Din turns to block a strike just as a third appears. He’s caught between both until the weapon is thrown from his hands and he’s left to block with his vambraces.
He can still hear the beeps of the fob. He grits his teeth as he blocks strikes and manages his own, wrenching his rifle over his back to shock and defend. He electrocutes one, slams the other down with the rifle.
The first trandoshan sprints past him, towards the assets. He raises the blade over his head, letting out a cry, and Din jerks his rifle up. Takes aim. Pulls the trigger.
The hunter explodes into orange sparks, fading away as only a pile of clothing remains. The tracking fobs fall to the ground. They blink and beep in tandem, matching perfectly.
Din takes deep gulping breaths, looking at the assets. They stare back at him, almost unreactive to what’s just occurred, near identical but for the slight ear twitches and slightly varied clothing that distinguish them from mirror images.
They stare at each other as the fobs beep.
Then, catching his breath, waves the pram on and it floats to his side. He begins to walk again, this time with a stronger sense of urgency. He loops his rifle back over his shoulder again and pulls his blaster to keep in his hand, scanning now with more paranoia.
How many hunters did they send?
Behind him, the small assets fall perfectly silent.
They press on.
They don’t speak. It’s not a surprise considering how young they seem for their species, but there’s no communication at all and yet there seems to be anyway. Din doesn’t watch them much, not as they walk through the desert. But as the sun sets and light begins to fade, he makes the observation.
As he sets down his lantern and examines the wound on his arm, he doesn’t miss the way the two copies stare at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches them. One turns to the other, and the other looks back, as though a conversation is happening with just their eyes. Din watches as he takes his soldering tool and spreads the fabric around the wound, then grits his teeth when it sparks against his skin. He just needs the wound to close, to burn over rather than continue oozing blood. He’s got a million scars like that all over. One more isn’t much. He’ll have to stitch the fabric shut, but it’s not that much of an effort.
He spares another glance towards the assets. They’re swamped by the blankets around them, pressed close together with interlocked hands as though being apart is unimaginable. Din then shakes his head and turns his full attention to cauterizing the wound, gritting his teeth and wincing with each spark.
He can’t help the hisses and grunts that escape. “Osik.” It hurts like hell. His lantern only provides so much light and it’s becoming cooler as the sun disappears. He focuses in on the wound, shifting to curl in on himself, and gives himself a few seconds of a break to breathe before continuing. His attention is taken enough that he doesn’t notice the little shadow creeping out of the pram, or notice it approach him.
Not until there’s a soft coo and he looks up to see one of the kids standing beside him, straining to reach up towards his arm.
Din puts the soldering tool down and grabs the asset’s hand, pushing it down as he scoops him up. He stands and walks over to the pram, placing him back inside next to the other one. Both stare up at him and make soft noises before grabbing hands again.
Din shakes his head and returns to his spot, grabbing the tool again.
He works on his armor this time, fixing the wiring within. There’s another soft coo and he looks down, startled, to see an asset reaching up towards him, straining even harder, eyes squeezed shut and face scrunched with the effort. It’s the other one this time, he thinks. The clothing is made of the same durable material but looks more worn.
Din sighs and scoops him up, too, and walks to the pram. He places him back in beside the other, and both stare up at him with their big eyes, wide and reflective of the lantern’s light. Their hands grasp together.
He looks back down at them, tilting his head to the side. For a moment it’s silent and they only look at each other. Then Din reaches for his controls and the pram closes up, encasing them in darkness.
He returns to his armor.
As the sun rises, he wakes with a jolt, sore and stiff. He sits up and stretches, cracking various joints, then hears the soft whimpering from the side. He looks over at the pram, still closed, and hears the muffled twin whines. The memories of the last day wash over him in an instant and his stomach growls.
When did they last eat?
It’s a more humanizing thought than he should have for his targets, but detached doesn’t have to mean cruel. He reaches to his pouch and pulls out a ration bar. A bite or two is always enough to fill him and he opens it, tearing off a chunk for himself. He lifts his helmet and pops it in his mouth before lowering it again. Then he stands, chewing, and walks to the pram.
He hits the button on his controls and the pram cracks open, its sides lowering down, and the assets are exactly where he’d left them. They squeeze their eyes shut against the sun, then blink up at him, still squinting in the light. Din turns and begins to gather up his tools, grabbing the lantern.
When he turns around, he stops and freezes, staring at the pram that now sits empty.
What the hell?
He sprints to the pram and digs through the blankets, but they’re not hiding beneath them. He looks around but sees nothing but sand and rock. His heart jumps into his throat as his hands drop to his belt, feeling to the tracking fobs. He pulls off one, and it’s deactivated, but in an instant he turns it on and--
He stops at the sound of a blowing raspberry.
He turns around, fob still gripped in his hand, and follows the sound over the small rock ridge where it slopes down at a shallow angle. The assets are cooing and trilling as they wander off, their walk more a waddle, their hands still gripped together as they look out at the desert.
Din lets out a sigh and walks over. They turn to look at him and he tilts his head at them before he leans down and reaches for one. He takes them by the waist and lifts but the other won’t let go and instead lets out a shriek, pulling on his copy’s hand. Both let out their own shrieks then, a noise so loud and shrill that it overloads his helmet’s sensors and he hisses in pain.
He reaches out and scoops up the other asset. For a second, this provides blessed relief, as the screaming stops. But he tucks each under an arm as he begins to walk back and it’s another mistake. Both reach for each other, faces scrunching just before they let out identical piercing wails, breaking into sobs.
Din’s entire body tenses, wincing at the sound, and when he takes a step his foot hits something and he falls, hitting the ground with a groan. The assets are dropped and disappear from his reach as he gets to his hands and knees. He pushes up to one knee and turns to see the stupid rock he tripped over, only nothing is there.
He stares, then turns and looks at the children.
They’re standing just a few feet away, shoulders pressed together, looking at him. Their hands are locked again and they both sniffle, tears in their eyes.
They don’t run. They just stay together.
Din watches them, and when he moves a foot closer they take a step back. But they still don’t try to run. Din holds his hands out in surrender.
“You stay together,” he says. “I get it. Okay? You both stay together.”
The assets watch him. They give each other a brief look, then at him again.
“We need to go,” Din says.
He reaches for them again. This time he scoops one in each hand with care, and this time there is no screaming. He cradles them against his chest, then walks to the pram and places them both inside. They look up at him and Din again goes to gather his tools.
They coo and trill but make no attempts at escape. Din calls the pram to his side and begins walking again through the desert. There’s an unsettled sensation in his stomach but he continues on. They just have to get back to the Razor Crest. They’ll fly to Nevarro. He’ll get his reward and they’ll be gone and he won’t have to think about it again. His armor can be replaced after years of use, he’ll have better protection, he’ll be able to keep providing for his tribe.
He hardens himself against the soft noises coming from behind and puts up the cold exterior.
The sun rises into the sky. Soon the Razor Crest isn’t far and they approach the ridge that overlooks the valley. But the sound of raspy, high-pitched voices and clanking metal draws his attention and he stares down into the valley at a massive crawling fortress. It’s parked beside his ship and there’s a stream of jawas between the two vehicles. Din scowls and drops to a knee, pulling his rifle around and taking off the scope.
His ship is in fucking shreds.
Fury building, he raises his rifle and zooms in on the scope, taking aim. He finds one jawa and takes the shot, the creature exploding into dust and dropping the tube it carried. He reaches down to his boot and pulls the next charge, reloading. He jams it in and aims again, shooting a second into nothing.
Beside him, the assets make curious coos. They crowd against the front of the pram, leaning out to watch.
A jawa holds a gun, blindly shooting it. Din reloads and shoots it, dissolving it to nothing. The jawas are rushing onto the sand crawler, the door beginning to close, and Din gets to his feet before running after it.
He sprints down into the valley. He drops to his knee and aims up for the sand crawler’s tail end, firing a shot. It pierces the pipe and steam shoots out, but there’s no other effect and he scowls before rushing to his feet.
No parts, no flying home. No reward, no beskar, no providing for the tribe. Any thought of the assets with him disappears, so focused on charging the fortress that they may as well not be there. He catches up and jumps, grabbing onto the side.
He begins to climb.
When he hits the ground, the lights go out. For too long, he lays still, until his eyes open again and he jolts up.
His entire body aches, still feeling shocked from both the electricity and the fall. He breathes raggedly, pain all over his body. He turns his head and sees the tracks of the sand crawler but it’s nowhere in sight. He lets out a pained breath. He turns again to see the pram hovering nearby, both children sitting and staring at him. He blinks at them. He’s sure there was only one pram before. And two targets, not four.
They just watch him.
With a pained sigh, Din gets to his feet.
The ship is completely torn apart. When they return to it and he walks through it, the anger keeps building and building. His weapons locker is raided. Pipes and tubing hang from the ceiling, panels from the walls missing. He goes up to the cockpit but it’s completely stripped, just about everything taken from it.
His engines make a half-hearted whine at best.
Exhausted and frustrated, he goes back down below and sits, leaning back as he stares at the decimated ship. He sucks in a breath, then lets out a sigh.
There’s a soft squeal. He looks to the side door and down, where one kid peeks around the corner and makes another small squeal. At first, his brother is nowhere to be seen, until he too appears around the corner. Their hands aren’t glued but they do press together, looking up at Din with curiosity.
Din shakes his head, then stands. He walks over, scoops them up into his arms, and walks down the ramp towards the pram.
There’s only one option left.
The assets pout about being back in the transport device but don’t make a further fuss. Din waves the pram to his side and begins to walk. The sun is starting to set, but he hopes to keep the light at least until they arrive at their destination; Arvala-7 days feel short, but the sun takes time to rise and set.
The sinking feeling in his stomach won’t go away.
The walk to the Ugnaught’s takes long but they manage to make it before the sun completely sets, still light to see by as they approach the small compound that serves as both farm and home.
“I thought you were dead.”
Din feels like he is.
As he’s given tools to repair his circuitry, he allows the assets out of the pram to wander, both looking delighted to do so. They stay linked by the hand, cooing and blowing raspberries, one following the other like a train. When a frog hops nearby, their eyes light up and they waddle after it together.
The Ugnaught looks at them, then at Din. “This is what was causing all the fuss?”
They stop their hunt to look up at the Ugnaught.
“I think they’re children,” Din says.
“It’s better to deliver them alive, then.” The Ugnaught walks past him to the table full of tools.
“My ship has been destroyed,” Din says. “I’m trapped here.”
“Stripped, not destroyed. The jawas steal.” The Ugnaught holds out a tool to him. “They don’t destroy.”
Din takes it. “Stolen or destroyed, makes no difference to me.”
The assets both make excited noises. Din looks over. They’re focused on the frog now, letting go of each other but still close as they follow after it. One lunges forward and dives on top of the frog.
“They’re protected by the crawling fortress,” he says. “There’s no way to recover the parts.”
“You can trade.”
“With jawas? Are you out of your mind?”
“I will take you to them.” The Ugnaught looks at him. “I have spoken.”
Din lets out a sigh. Then realizes that things have gone quiet behind him, followed by a squeal. He turns around and looks at the pair, then huffs. One asset is busy scarfing down the frog, whole, while the other looks on with a sad expression.
“Hey!” he snaps. “Spit that out.”
But there’s no hesitation and the kid swallows, then looks up at Din with a smile and a coo. He lets out a burp and then giggles. Until his brother drops down to sit on the ground, sniffling, and lets out a soft mournful wail. The smile disappears and he comes to the other’s side instead. Din glances at the Ugnaught, who shakes his head.
The wail goes on, but soon fades out and instead the kid turns and looks up at Din with shiny eyes. Then he stands and holds his arms up, letting out a shriek.
“No,” Din says. “Whatever you want, no.”
The asset’s expression falls and he stares at Din before his eyes squeeze shut, tears falling, and he lets out another wail. This one has more intensity, veering into sobs. It’s loud and akin to an alarm.
Din scowls. “Fine!” he says. “Fine. I’ll find you a frog, too.”
The crying tapers off. The tears still fall, but the kid stares up at Din, sniffling.
Din huffs and looks to the Ugnaught. “Any more around here?” he says.
The Ugnaught nods, turning away to place a tool back on the table, but Din can hear him suppressing a laugh.