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"They know he's here."
"Yes."
“Then they’ll keep coming…”
“Yes.”
The Mandalorian’s voice was low, seemingly calm, but Cara could hear the tightly controlled rage beneath the monotone. Smashing his boot down on the beeping fob with more force than strictly necessary, the beskar clad mercenary clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring beneath his helmet. He glared down at the destroyed tracker, unsatisfied despite its loud shattering.
Fuck. Fuck. The kid had almost… he had been so close to a normal, peaceful life. For a moment, Din had hoped, maybe even for a moment believed, that this kid would get a happy ending. That he’d actually saved someone, for once.
It’s not that the Mandalorian found his work distasteful, quite the opposite. His work was necessary. If it wasn’t, the work wouldn’t exist. There were certain undeniable truths of the universe that the Mandalorian Creed revered: that battle was inevitable, necessary even, was one of them. Bounty Hunting may not be the art of war his people had once practiced, but the job kept his skills sharp and helped support the Covert. And frankly, he was excellent at it. Even enjoyed it sometimes. But he held no disillusions that he was leaving the galaxy a better place. More often that not, he was entrapping, tricking, hunting, sometimes flat out slaying. His bounties were likely no gems themselves, but he wouldn’t know - he never asked. It was against the Guild code. Perhaps some of those bounties had been good men… good women. He wouldn’t know, he hadn’t cared. He wasn’t so naive to think he’d never done wrong. He’d always just done what was needed for his survival, and that of the Covert.
But this time… this time felt different. In his very core, it felt different. The moment he’d laid eyes on the infant, it was like a switch inside him had been flipped… a switch he hadn’t even known existed until then. Sure, the kid had saved his skin, and by Mandalorian Creed he’d owed the child a life debt. But he knew that wasn’t the reason he’d returned to save the kid from the clutches of those Imps. He’d wanted to… he’d needed to… Something invisible was connecting him and drawing him back to that innocent eyed child.
And just like that he’d sacrificed everything.
His reputation, his work, his tribe, his life.... Everything he’d ever valued or believed in, he had sacrificed in a heartbeat for a small creature that he’d only known a handful of days. He had been prepared to die on that hover cart, elbows and chest shielding the swaddled form as the firefight raged around them. He’d accepted it even, in the moments before his Covert had revealed themselves to allow their escape.
And oddly enough, he’d do it all again if it meant keeping that kid safe. He still couldn't say why… he just knew it was true. Landing here on Sorgan he’d hoped… he’d hoped it could’ve all been worth it. That after all the horrible, shit things he’s done in his life, ending with exposing his Covert and betraying the Guild, that at least he’d done one good thing. That the kid could get the happy ending he never would.
It had been a foolish hope.
Sparing a last hateful glance at the pieces of fob, the now-fugitive spun on his heel and started storming back towards the village, knuckles tight on the shaft of his rifle. He was as pissed at himself as he was at the dead ge'hutuun. Clearly all it had taken was a few weeks to make him soft. Dull. Reckless. It was shameful. He wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
Cara, who had been watching Mando’s silent moment of grief and rage with a guarded expression, pursed her lips before falling in step behind him.
Let him brood.
They were halfway back to the village before the thought occurred to her.
“The little tyke was okay, right?”
An armored leg froze mid-step, then Mando's helmet was turning to look back at her. At his heavy silence, her heart jumped into her throat.
“You checked, right?” she pressed.
The mercenary’s answer was clear enough when he took off like a shot, sprinting like death itself was chasing him. Cara wasted no time bolting after him. Kriff, how did he run so fast decked out in all that blasted beskar? The forest air was humid and she was already starting to pant heavily.
Din, for his part, was pure panicked adrenaline. His breaths were clipped and controlled as he ran full tilt back toward the collection of huts and ponds, his heart pounding in his ears. The kid. The kid. Osi'kyr don’t let it be. Gedet'ye, gedet'ye.
Breaking through the tree line Din could see that both farmers and children were hiding behind their huts and fences now, staying clear of any open, exposed spaces. Jate. Good. They remembered. As he passed the second row of krill pools he stuttered to a stop, eyes raking left and right over the village folk. There, he could see Omera peeking out from behind a hut, huddling with the cluster of children that had been playing by the pond. Her eyes were fearful and she lurched to her feet at the sight of him, a blaster ready.
“Is there-”
The Mandalorian rushed over to her, eyes searching wildly between the children around her, even as he placed a gloved hand on her shoulder to calm her. He forced his voice to project that same calm with assuredness.
“No, it’s fine. It’s over.”
“Are you sure-” Cara pulled up then, jogging to a stop beside them, breathing hard.
“I promise.” She huffed. “The scum’s dead.”
Before Omera could ask anything else, Din was gripping both her shoulders in his hands, pulling her attention back to his shining beskar visor.
“The child. Is- is he alright? I didn’t check. I didn’t-” A light tugging on his cape had the man glancing down sharply, an instinctual hand over his blaster, only to see Winta beside him with a blanket swaddled lump in her arms.
“U-um, he’s here, Mr. Mandalorian.” the girl said in a small voice, aiming a timid smile up at him. She was still a little afraid of his armor and the intimidating visage of his helmet when she looked up, but hearing the barely disguised panic in his voice made him seem a little more… human… just then. Winta pulled back the dark blanket to reveal owlish black eyes, wide and timid, set in a tiny green face. “He was scared from all the loud noise and started crying. I was afraid someone would hear him, um, in case bandits came again… so- so I wrapped him up. He seems okay now.”
Upon seeing the familiar helmet, though, the little body gurgled and started to squirm. The child struggled inside the blanket until finally he managed to free two little hands, which immediately reached up for his caretaker. Winta giggled and held the half-swaddled baby out to Din, who reached out just as quickly to gather the boy into his arms.
“Thank you.” He told Winta earnestly, voice choking minutely on the words. Distantly, he felt like he should be embarrassed at the blatant emotion, but at the moment all he could think about was the wriggling child in his arms.
“Ehhhh!” The child squealed in delight, his oversized ears popping out of the blanket as he squirmed further, tapping his little tri-digit hands repeatedly against Din’s chestplate in his own zealous greeting.
Cara snorted in amusement behind him, then turned away to yell out to the other villagers that the coast was clear, moving to aid a crouched elder from hiding.
Oblivious to the world around him, the relief Din felt at seeing the infant unharmed was shockingly visceral. Like his body had been burning aflame and then suddenly doused in ice cold water. Maybe that was why his hands were trembling when he’d reached for the bundle. Tucking the child reverently into the crook of his arm, Din pressed the blanket down, checking with his own fingers for any injuries. He didn’t hear any cries of pain though, only soft coos and a giggle when he accidentally brushed a ticklish spot.
Din realized he must look ridiculous... a Mandalorian warrior in full beskar armor and armed to the teeth, visibly shaking as he held a tiny green infant like it might disappear. He didn’t care.
Satisfied that his charge was completely unharmed, the mercenary’s thoughts turned back to the bounty hunter and his tracking fob. He straightened grimly, hefting the baby gently up against his shoulder before he turned back to Omera.
“We… can’t stay here any longer.”
The woman’s expression turned sad, but knowing. She lowered her eyes and nodded slowly. Din tried to ignore the wet sheen that she was trying to blink away.
“They were after your boy… weren’t they?”
“Yes.” he said simply, clamping down tightly on his emotions. He needed to maintain control. Whatever… softness this place had sown in him, it had lowered his defenses and nearly gotten them killed. It needed to end here. A wistful, human part of him wished things could have turned out differently. In another life, maybe they could have… but it wasn’t meant to be. The hard Mandalorian shell is what would keep him and this hunted child alive while they were on the run. Not the man, the warrior.
Omera folded her hands delicately against her skirt apron and simply nodded again, forcing a small smile despite her glistening eyes. “I understand. His safety will always come first.” Her smile widened as she reached for Winta and pulled the girl against her, kissing the top of her braided head. “As it should.”
The girl looked up at her mother’s sad face and then at the armored man, face crumpling. “Wait, you- you have to leave?”
“Yes.” The Mandalorian said, voice betraying nothing further. Winta shrugged out of her mother’s embrace and stepped right up to Din’s chest, putting herself nearly nose to nose with the quiet infant. The child’s little claws tapped gently against her pert nose, ears perking up in interest as she raised her hands to pull softly at his ear tips. The girl sniffed.
“But.. but we’re friends. I’ll miss him!”
“Winta...” her mother admonished.
“I know.” Din agreed, to Omera’s surprise. “And I’m sure… he’ll miss you too. He’ll miss everything about this place. But that hunter... the man with the blaster, he was after us. If we stay, you’ll all be in danger.” Din looked down at the child in his arms who was now cooing sadly, ears drooped, as he pat-pat-patted Winta’s nose with a tiny hand. “He doesn’t want that for you. And I…” now Din looked up at Omera, finishing gruffly, “don’t want that for you.”
Omera’s bottom lip wobbled, gazing at him as though she could see through his helmet, as though she could see him... then with a deep breath through her nose she closed her eyes and regained her composure. Like donning her own suit of armor, when she opened her eyes again, the wobble was gone and the smile was back. Winta, however, cried enough for both of them, sniffling wetly as crocodile tears started falling down her cheeks.
“I’m gonna miss you little baby!” the girl cried as she pet the infant’s big ears and wrinkled forehead.
Din felt utterly out of his element, unsure if he should let her have her moment or nip this in the bud before it got overwhelming for all of them, the child included. The last thing they needed right now was a tiny green meltdown. But before he could decide which route to take, Omera was pulling Winta away, cradling her daughter’s head against her chest and shushing her comfortingly.
“It’ll be okay Winta. We’ll never forget our new friends, will we? We’ll always have them in our hearts.” Winta just nodded and sniffed into her mother’s dress, as Omera smiled sadly at the armored man over her dark-haired head.
Feeling confident he couldn’t stand another moment of this, Din simply nodded silently and trod away to his and the child’s shared barn. They had to go, and it was time to pack.
When he and the child were finally alone in the hut, Din closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He felt frustrated and exhausted. His emotional range was usually limited to grim determination, violent focus, and boredom (the hyperspace jumps between jobs were lonely and long). Today however, he’d ping-ponged from an unfamiliar longing to battle-readiness, to rage, then blind panic, which melted away to muted regret… all in less than a kriffing hour. The mercenary shook his head and gently pulled the little bundle on his shoulder away to hold it out in front of him. The child’s small wrinkled face just gazed back at him and blinked, seemingly unperturbed.
Well, that made one of them.
Sighing again, Din set the toddler down in the borrowed crib then turned around to begin placing his weapons and supplies back into their crates. He worked methodically, trying not to think about the fact that he’d likely never see this place again. The child cooed softly behind him, bouncing on his toes as he held onto the little wooden bars, watching his caretaker work. Once his guns and ammunition were packed away, he reached for the extra vibroblade that he’d left on the shallow table beneath the window. Beside it, Din saw the small wooden krill-shaped toy that Winta had given the child not long after they’d arrived. He paused mid-reach, gaze catching on the innocent toy. His eyes lingered, wrist still out stretched, before he shifted direction and instead scooped up the toy, spinning on his heel as he stood. He looked down at the wooden figure in his leather gloved grip silently.
“Ehh!” an insistent noise brought him out of his thoughts, and the Mandalorian looked up. The child was reaching out with one hand eagerly, the other gripping the wooden crib tightly as he leaned over the edge. “Buh!”
“Alright, alright.” Din couldn’t help a small smirk as he stepped over to hand the toy down to the child. The toddler gurgled happily as he gripped the krill in two little hands, shaking it up and down excitedly before hugging it to his robed body. For a moment, the man was content to just watch his young ward enjoying himself. The child turned to look up at the beskar helmet with a toothy smile, shaking the toy krill vigorously again and making little shrieks of joy when the wooden segments of its body clacked together loudly.
“You like that thing, huh?”
“Buh buh.” the child babbled in agreement, eyes back to watching the toy in fascination.
During this quiet moment of reprieve, the mercenary felt a swell of affection for the kid. The fierceness of it nearly took his breath away. Din then couldn’t help remembering that a bounty hunter had nearly assassinated the little tyke just an hour earlier. The thought sent a spike of fear unbidden through him, lodging his heart in his throat. He’d almost… the kid had almost…
Before he even realized what he was doing, Din was reaching down to scoop up the little one into his arms with trembling hands. The child only made little noises of happiness at the sudden move. Din held the small body up to his neck and hunched his shoulders into the embrace, one palm coming up to cradle the back of the little head. The child still had the krill clutched in one claw and used his other to grip the rough cloth, burying his tiny face into the man’s unarmored neck. Distantly, the Mandalorian wondered if the kid could hear his heart beating as loudly as it was in his ears.
“Mmmm, meh,” the infant sounded, muffled by the cloth.
“I know.” Din murmured, as though answering the child’s gibberish. Closing his eyes, he took a shaky breath in, held it for a long moment, then released it. “I know. I’ve got you, ad’ika.”
He froze.
The Mando’a endearment had slipped out without thinking. He let the meaning of it sink in. He hadn’t formally taken in this child as his foundling, nor had he performed the adoption vow. Kriff, thus far he’d been so focused on just trying to keep him and the kid alive that he hadn’t thought much of it. Regardless, he could feel the attachment he’d already formed with the tiny bundle in his arms. The word had felt… natural.
“Ad’ika.” he murmured again, trying the word out. It rolled off his tongue. It felt right. Sighing, the man began to pace the small space, holding the small body close. Tilting his head down, he rested his helmet against the top of the child’s head, adding a gentle bounce every few steps or so.
“I’ll keep you safe.” he promised in a low tone, more to himself than anything. Part of him hoped the child understood though. He still didn’t fully comprehend why, but he knew at his very core that he was ready to murder half the galaxy and even sacrifice his own life if it meant keeping this child safe. This infant that couldn’t even speak... that he’d only met a month ago.
“I’ve got you.”
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