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The Mandalorian woke with a start and hit his head on the top of the bunk. Good thing he had nodded off with his helmet still on. Something had woken him, but what?
There it was again! A tremor was running through the whole of the ship, making wall panels vibrate and tools and boxes rattle on the floor. As he hurriedly stumbled towards the cockpit through the sombre lighting of the night cycle, he went though the possibilities in his head.
Tractor beam? No, not while they were in hyperspace. A natural phenomenon, like a gravity well? Not probable, his instruments should have warned him when he calculated the route. Attack by some kind of energy pulse device? Malfunctioning machinery? The doors swished open.
The child was crying – he'd have to deal with that later – and some alarms were beeping. He jumped into the pilot's seat and pulled them out of hyperspace. Whatever was causing this, he needed to be able to discern what it was, and he couldn't do that in hyperspace. The streaks behind the transparisteel shortened and became stars. He checked for enemy ships. Nobody in the vicinity. Natural occurrences causing this? None. His instruments told him that every part of his ship was working. But the instruments might be wrong. So he turned off everything but the most essential systems. Nothing changed.
The tremors were still shaking his ship... and the baby was still crying.
He turned around and really looked at him for the first time since entering the cockpit. The little thing was wailing at the top of his lungs, he was thrashing about beneath his blanket and in the dim light the Mandalorian could just make out tear tracks on his cheeks. He hesitated.
Dank farrik, he wasn't trained for this. Show him a target and he would list off ten different ways how to take out, bring in or protect said target, but dealing with a child in the throes of a nightmare? No clue. Only hours ago, the child had been giggling; pushing, pulling and prodding every button, lever and switch in sight until the Mandalorian put the little womp-rat in the crook of his arm and he had snuggled closer and fallen asleep. But now...
He watched as the little one let out a heart-wrenching scream and a shudder tore though the Crest. He had to do something.
“When you find yourself in a situation where no clear path is open to you, trust your instincts. They will lead you right.” The Armourer had once told him that. Alright. Instincts.
He untangled the child from its blanket, picked it up and started gently rocking it. Sad, big, brown eyes looked up at him and and the crying abated. Slightly. The bounty hunter could see the salty, crusty remains of the baby's tears and took off his gloves to wipe them away. This skin-on-skin contact calmed the child considerably, so he kept it up, stroking his cheeks, those giant ears and the fuzzy head. He couldn't have said how long he stood there, rocking the little being in his arm, keeping up the tender ministrations, but eventually, crying turned to whimpering with the occasional hiccup thrown in and then that tapered off as well, along with the tremors of his ship. The blinks became longer, the child yawned and closed its eyes, three little claws still around the thumb of the hand holding him.
The child was sleeping peacefully.
But still the Mandalorian held him close. He didn't know what horror had caused this specific nightmare, but the little one had lots to choose from. The Mudhorn, the firefight on Nevarro, being experimented on... enough to be going on with. And everything his fault.
As he looked down at the sleeping form in his arms, he made a vow: whatever the cost, he would reunite this child with his kind, make sure he was safe. A life with him was no life for a child.
And for now, he would make sure that, whenever possible, he would be with the child when it was asleep, so he could interfere and console it before his nightmares ever became that bad again.
So the Mandalorian put him in his crib, restarted the calculations to their next lead on a Mandalorian covert and went to hyperspace. He guided the crib next to his own bunk, sat down and pulled off his helmet. It still felt weird to be doing this with another living being, but the little one was clan now. He checked again – breathing calm, ears twitching slightly, so completely normal – and then laid down facing the crib. This way, he could be there for him when he needed him.
He would always be there for him.