Chapter Text
The Mandalorian’s heart constricted as he held the mythosaur skull pendant in his hand, thumb rubbing over the familiar ridges. He swallowed and handed it back to the child.
“Why don’t you hang on to that.”
Gaze lingering on the pendant as the child took it back eagerly, he felt grateful that this one memento of his tribe hadn’t been lost, like so much else. The memory of Mandalorian helmets - empty, charred, piled like trash - flashed in his mind’s eye. The child simply stared up at him, holding the beskar in his little claws. He worked his jaw, fists clenched.
He couldn’t afford to dwell on his loss… The kid was here, with him, safe. They didn’t die for nothing.
Sighing heavily through his nose, Din turned away from the child to face the ship’s controls, pausing to think. He saw Moff Gideon’s TIE Fighter go down, but without knowing more about what exactly the Imps were after, he still wanted to put as much distance between the kid and Nevarro as possible. Considering his options as he took them out of the planet’s atmosphere, Din finally set a course for the Raioballo sector. Not only was that region of space home to Dantooine and Lah’mu - backwater Outer Rim worlds largely forgotten post the Empire’s fall - but it was also on the other side of the galaxy, meaning he and the kid got to hide in hyperspace for a day or two. After the last few days they’d had, they desperately needed the rest.
Or at least… he did.
Glancing back at the child standing calmly in his crate, it didn’t appear as though the kid was injured or distressed by the harrowing experience they’d just escaped. A part of him was grateful to see the kid so unaffected, but another part was… worried. The short time they’d spent together since he’d rescued the little one from the Imps had been fraught with danger, uncertainty and violence. He didn’t know a lot about kids, but he remembered his own defining childhood experiences with fear and loss… how it had shaped him… scarred him. Somewhere deep down he was afraid that at any moment the trauma of it all would hit the child... and that he would be utterly unqualified to handle it.
The child just gazed back at him with his owlish black eyes, mouthing the mythosaur skull contentedly, drool dripping off one of the horns.
Well, so far, the kid seemed to be taking it all in stride, so he wouldn’t worry about it. Cross that bridge if or when it came up.
The nav computer beeped at him, confirming their route and showing the hyperspace plot with an estimated travel time of 41 standard hours. Jate. Din set the controls to auto-pilot and sat back tiredly. Now that they were off that daworir planet and safely in hyperspace, Din felt like his strings had been cut. The adrenaline and willpower that had pushed him through the last few hours had ebbed away… deep exhaustion and pain suddenly taking their place.
Dank Farrik, he hurt. The bacta spray that IG-11 had applied to his head wound had done its job, it had repaired the brain damage and skull fracture he had felt (good gods he had felt it), but the application had been quick and dirty. That explosion had caused more than just the one injury: his head still throbbed and his back flared with pain from where he’d landed heavily on it, his ribs ached where one of the Imps had managed to catch a fist just below Din’s chestplate; his neck was sore and quickly stiffening as he sat cataloguing his wounds… but worst of all was his right shoulder. When he’d shot out his grapple to catch the TIE fighter, he’d been singularly focused on the job: taking it down. He’d felt the ship pull his arm out of its socket the moment it caught, but he’d pushed through the pain, knowing that if he didn’t disable that blasted thing, Cara, Greef… his foundling… they’d be defenseless. Then, somehow, during his tumbling against the TIE he’d smashed his shoulder against it again and mercifully, luckily, it popped the joint back in. But stars, it still hurt.
Now that he was letting himself feel his battered body, the pain in his right shoulder flared white hot. Clenching his eyes closed beneath his helmet, Din braced his fists against his thighs and breathed in deeply through his nose. Unable to stop the pained groan that escaped as he released the breath, he held stiff, waiting for the wave to pass. He knew he should probably sling his arm… not to mention treat his other wounds… but at the moment Din was finding it difficult to muster the will to move at all. In the past, he would have allowed himself to pass out right there in the pilot’s seat, letting the exhaustion take him and dealing with the rest of it later.
A soft, sad coo behind him reminded him of why he couldn’t.
Taking a deep, centering breath, Din opened his eyes and swiveled his chair around to face the small green form. The child sat quietly, but his ears were drooped, eyes sad. The two stared at each other for a long moment and, not for the first time, Din wondered what the kid was thinking.
Did he think? Did he feel? Sometimes the kid seemed to be pure instinct like any normal toddler, oblivious to the dangers that followed them; yet at other times the boy’s piercing gaze was grave… ancient… and his actions purposeful. The kid was 50 years old after all, he had to be fairly developed to have survived this long, but in truth Din knew nothing about this species or how its young matured. It was hard to tell if the child truly understood or was just reacting... intuiting from the tones and emotions around him. Even if it was just the latter… staring down at those wide, sad eyes, it occurred to Din that maybe the kid could sense his pain, now.
Or maybe he was overthinking it.
Din sighed and made to stand, suddenly bracing a hand against the side of the ship for support as a wave of dizziness rocked him. He swallowed back another groan. Ugh, everything hurt.
The child made another sad sound, tiny claws now gripping the edge of his crate as he craned his gaze up at the towering armored man.
“I- I’m fine, ad’ika.” Din gasped out absently as he let the dizziness pass, modulated voice rough. The responding burble was almost indignant. The bounty hunter shook his head minutely before gazing back down at the kid through his helmet’s visor. Black eyes stared back... then, small arms were reaching up to him. Whether the child was asking for comfort or offering it, Din’s heart clenched in his chest at the trust in that simple gesture.
He hesitated, considering telling the kid to just stay put: he’d need both hands to navigate the ship and any medical supplies… but the pulse of anxiety at the thought, like ice in his veins, told him that he wouldn’t be able to stomach letting the kid out of his sight just then. Not after what they’d just gone through. Not with the child reaching out to him...
Kriff, he was whipped.
Sighing in resignation, Din reached down with his uninjured arm to scoop up the small bundle, trying not to smile at the delighted trill, before limping tiredly through the cockpit’s door. His trip down the ladder was slow, the creature's small claws gripping the fabric of his cloak while he used both hands to lower himself one rung at a time. Din’s heel hit the floor before he realized it, vision whiting out momentarily when the heavy landing jarred his injuries. Breathing jaggedly through the spell, the bounty hunter shook his head to clear it.
“Ato?” The little burble by his ear was soft but insistent.
A gloved hand came up to pat the kid’s back. “Ne baatir, naas. Ne baatir,” the man murmured absently as he stepped away from the ladder and limped over to his bunk. Smacking the button on the wall that opened the small space, Din eased himself into a sitting position on the edge, bringing his good arm back up to cradle the bundle of robes against his neck.
“I’m gonna set you down, kid.” He informed aloud, pulling the toddler away and setting him on the bunk beside his hip.
Now seated again, Din’s eyelids fluttered, exhaustion pulling at him so hard he nearly blacked out on the spot. No. No, he needed to at least sling his arm, it was still sensitive and he’d hate himself later if he did something stupid like dislocate it in his sleep because he hadn’t bothered to do something so simple.
Grumbling, the Mandalorian reached up with his good arm and unclasped his cloak from around his neck. It was the closest thing on hand so it would have to do. Blearily tying the ends into a firm knot, Din secured the makeshift sling over his head and gingerly settled his right arm into the tight crook of fabric. Bracing himself, he reached behind his neck to tighten the contraption, hissing through his teeth when it pulled his bent arm flush against his chest.
“Mmmph,” he grunted behind tightly sealed lips, tossing his head back as he waited for the worst of the pain to pass. The white hot flare consumed every sense for a pulsing few seconds. As he slowly came back to himself, Din distantly felt two small hands on his hip, pressing against him urgently with small, fearful coos. His gaze shifted down, blackness still tingeing the edges of his vision. Wide, dark eyes met his, now glistening wet with nearly-tears. Oh no.
“It’s okay… it’s okay… I’m okay.” he murmured thickly, trying to comfort the little one, but his modulated voice was weak even to his own ears. He was barely even aware of what he was saying, just that he couldn’t take the small sounds of distress. Din settled his unhindered hand gently on the child’s head, patting it softly, hoping it was some small assurance. The child merely responded by crawling up over his hip onto his lap, and then up his chest, small claws hooking into his soft body armor and underclothes until he settled in the nook between Din’s left pauldron and neck. Any other time the man would have frozen in awkward surprise, but Din was too tired to overthink the rare physical closeness. He merely raised his hand to cup the tiny back, gently pressing the bundle of robes closer. The child gurgled a soft sound into his neck, burrowing his face into the cloth.
Sighing, and unable to stave off his exhaustion any longer, the Mandalorian let himself fall back slowly until he was lying flat on his cot. His legs were still bent over the edge of his bunk, his helmet and armor was still on, and he still had injuries he could feel littering his body… but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Now that he was horizontal, and with the small warm lump against his neck unbudging, he doubted he could have gotten back up even if he'd wanted to. Din’s eyes slipped closed, his body going lax as exhaustion finally overtook him.