Work Text:
Let Sleeping Marshals Lie
Din climbed down the ladder from the cockpit of the Crest. “Course plotted—we should be at Tatooine to pick up Grogu in—”
He stopped at the sight in front of him, heart swelling with fondness. Both Cara and Cobb were asleep. It didn’t surprise Din—this last battle had been hard fought. Cara was curled up, resting against Cobb’s side and shoulder, arms splayed across his chest, like she was clutching a stuffed bantha, fingers curled into the man’s dark red shirt. Cobb was slumped against the wall of the ship, legs stretched outwards, an arm cradling Cara’s back, his head having nodded down to rest on top of Cara’s. His silver hair was mussed, falling forward, hiding a smidge of blood on his face. They were both still covered with the sweat and dirt from the fight, and Din felt a momentary panic that maybe they were injured…but no. They were just sleeping the exhausted sleep that comes after an adrenaline crash.
Din turned and grabbed a blanket from off his bunk, and then carefully, he settled down next to Cobb. The marshals didn’t stir—they were out. Din gently tucked a lock of Cara’s hair back behind her ear, and then draped the blanket across the three of them. He felt Cobb sigh as the extra warmth settled around him. Vanth often slept between them, claiming he was too cold otherwise. Din watched them, a tender feeling that he still wasn’t quite used to spilling up out of his heart and spreading across his chest. His clan of two—now a clan of four.
He leaned against Cobb’s other side, listening to the deep and steady breathing, and drifted off to sleep.