Archive of Our Own

When the elevator doors closed, there was a heavy silence.

Then, only the sound of the Mandalorian reaching down to pick up his helmet and replacing it firmly. The man turned, looking back at the group of unlikely allies that wore a mix of expressions ranging from shocked to grim. Bo-Katan’s face was hidden beneath her helmet, like his, but he didn’t need to see her face. He could see the tightly coiled tension of her body from here; the stiff set of her shoulders, the hand that was still hovering over the blaster at her hip. A small part of him, in that moment, hoped she’d attack him to gain rights to the laser sword. He didn’t want the kriffing thing, and he wouldn’t mind punching something right then. But, a larger part of him knew that Bo-Katan was not his enemy, she was a Mandalorian, of a kind, and after the Purge the last thing they needed was more infighting.

Wordlessly looking at each member of his team, he finally nodded to Fennec, who nodded back. The assassin reached for her communicator and turned away from the group to let Boba know they were ready for their pickup. Plus one prisoner of war. Din’s gaze moved down to look upon Moff Gideon, unconscious on the floor. The bastard who had chased him and Grogu across the galaxy, who had stolen his kid, who had held the darksaber over the child and waved it around like it was a game, rather than a deadly weapon being held far, far too close to the wrinkled, little head. Leather creaked as his fist tightened, but he made no move towards the imperial scum on the floor. Cara needed him for the New Republic, and what was done was already done. 

Koska, Bo-Katan and Cara were still silent, as though no one knew what to say. Finally, Cara cleared her throat and looked sideways at the other women.

“W-was that Luke kriffing Skywalker? The hero of the New Republic? Senator Organa’s brother?”

“Yeah.” Bo-Katan intoned flatly. “It was.” 

Din’s head perked up with interest, but he said nothing. He didn’t know who a Luke Sky… whatever was, but he was glad he now had the name of the man who had whisked away the child. It had all happened so fast… he just… hadn’t asked. He was so focused on the sound of his own blood pulsing in his ears, the feeling of his heart breaking, the sound of Grogu’s coos and the feeling of those little claws on his face… He only knew the man was clearly powerful and had a benevolent presence like Ahsoka’s, which he supposed all Jedi possessed. It had seemed so certain, so inevitable. The man had come, and gone, Grogu with him, and then it was done. He was still reeling.

“If he really is the son of Anakin Skywalker… I knew the kid’s father back in the day, during the Clone Wars. Fought side by side with him and his padawan Ahsoka more than once.”

Cara scoffed and cocked her head at the Mandalorian heiress. “Mandalorians and Jedis, fighting together? I thought you guys all hated each other or something?”

“We’re ancient enemies, yes, but that was thousands of years ago. While Mandalore does not appreciate Republic or Jedi interference in our internal affairs, I did find trustworthy allies in them long ago. But after the rise of the Empire... I never expected to see one again. I’d only heard about Luke on the holonet… how he took down the first Death Star, then defeated Darth Vader and the Emperor. I didn’t believe the hype, I figured it had to be New Republic propaganda… but seeing him here… that must Anakin’s son.”

“Hm,” Cara agreed, settling heavily in a chair beside the Moff and setting her repeater blaster across her lap. “He’s certainly impressive in action. I’d never met Luke, but I’d heard of him of course. All the Rebellion's recruits heard the stories, he even flew with the X-Wing squadron during the Battle of Jakku.”

Koska leaned back against one of the control boards and crossed her arms, jutting her helmet’s chin up. “No one person can do all the stuff the holonet says he did. It’s impossible. He’s just one guy.”

It occurred to Din, still standing stiffly where he’d said goodbye to Grogu, that he’d been ignoring most of the galactic political drama going on for the last 30 years. The Empire had risen to power when he was still a child, around the same time he’d lost his parents and been adopted by the Mandalorians. He’d been so focused on training in the Fighting Corps and learning The Way that he’d spared little energy for the power struggle going on in the Core. His Tribe had retreated far past even Mandalorian space, to the Outer Rim. So, even when the Empire fell 23 years later, he hadn’t bothered to read up on the details. 

Sure, he was a bounty hunter, he flew all over the galaxy, so inevitably he ran into Imperial Stormtroopers and even Rebel factions. He’d seen their ships and uniforms, even shock troopers like Cara. But he’d never wanted any part of it. It wasn’t his war. Until it was... 

The Purge of Mandalore occurred just before the Empire fell, cutting his covert off from their homeworld. The tragedy had shaken the Mandalorian Tribe across the galaxy, whether they were born on the planet or not. And while he bitterly detested the Imperial forces that had carried out the attack, it was the war between the lingering Republic and the Empire that had preempted it. Empire or New Republic, it didn’t matter, the damage was done. Governments rose and fell, some worse than others but all seeking to instill some sort of “order”; he didn’t care for either of them. Out on the Rim, hunting bounties, the only evidence of the shift in power was the change in currency and the New Republic was just another government to avoid. War heroes like this Jedi… Luke Skywalker… just hadn’t been on his radar. 

Now he was wondering if he should have been paying more attention.

“He’s a Jedi.” Cara smirked, drawing Din’s attention back to the conversation. “They have crazy powers, I mean you saw what he did: he made those Dark Troopers look like child’s play. Looks like all the stories were true.”

Fennec walked back to the group then, face impassive.

“Boba’s on his way back, ETA 10 minutes.”

The other women nodded, but Din just turned back to the still smoking opening. His eyes kept straying back to the closed elevator where Grogu and the Jedi had disappeared from sight… it still felt hard to breathe.

Cara cleared her throat and shifted in her seat, looking between Bo-Katan and Din with an unreadable expression.

“So, uh, what’s the plan? I need to get this lump of nerf meat to Chandrila for trial. I assume you’re commandeering this vessel… should I catch a ride from Fett or can you give me a lift?”

The blue painted helmet lingered on Din’s back for a long moment before the Mandalorian turned bodily to face the trooper.

“Koska and I have been on a mission to reclaim Mandalorian resources and artifacts. Our ship was in use by our vod Axe Woves on a mission when you and your crew came to us. We need to rendezvous with him, but can move the meeting point. If we take you to Chandrila we’ll call Axe to port with us in orbit.” She looked to Koska who nodded, then turned her helmet to look again at the silent figure still facing the elevator. “From there… I don’t know. Now that the Darksaber has been found… and claimed… the future is... uncertain.”

Cara’s eyes also flit over to Din, then back to the Mandalorian in front of her. The trooper simply shrugged and nodded.

“Works for me. Fennec?” 

“I’ll give Axe the heads up.” Koska murmured to Bo-Katan from behind her, shifting from her easy lean on the console to start tapping away at her vambrace. Fennec, who still stood battle ready with her rifle pointed down but not put away, shook her head at the trooper.

“I’ll be departing with Boba.”

Cara just nodded again, eyes straying back to Bo-Katan. She carefully concealed her worry, but despite her easy posture, her body was taught and ready for action if needed. The Moff had said the darksaber needed to be won in combat. Bo-Katan clearly wanted that saber… Din had it. 

While the blue armored Mandalorian had been a worthy ally in the battle to the bridge, and seemed a noble sort, Cara didn’t trust the woman as far as she could throw her. If she tried to attack Din, Cara would be ready. Not that the Mando couldn’t handle himself - he’d proved that time and time again, most recently against a Dark Trooper and then Gideon himself. But that didn’t mean she’d just sit by and let it happen.

Especially when Din was clearly so… distracted. In fact, the man hadn’t said a word since the Jedi had left and he’d replaced his helmet. A short nod to Fennec and then a turn back to the marled blast doors… and he hadn’t moved since. Mando was generally a quiet man, but if Cara was being honest, this felt different. It felt heavy.

Before Bo-Katan could try anything, however, the Light Cruiser’s sensors started beeping, acknowledging the arrival of a new ship. Turning to glance out the window of the bridge, the team watched Boba’s Slave I approach. Fennec strode over to the security controls and flipped through a few options on the screen before pressing a button. A beep confirmed back at her and she pressed on her com.

“Boba, I’ve opened hangar bay 2 for you.”

“Got it.” His short, gravely reply echoed in the room. Fennec looked up at each of the other warriors. “Well, it’s been fun. But my ride’s here.”

Bo-Katan holstered her blaster and approached the woman, holding out her arm. “You fought well. We are grateful for your help taking this ship.” Fennec looked down at her outstretched hand for a long moment, eyebrow raised, before she thrust her rifle over her shoulder and grasped the woman’s forearm firmly.

“As did you, Mandalorian.”

“I’d like to... thank Fett as well. He may not be a true Mandalorian, but he came through for us and for the foundling. I’ll walk you to the hangar bay.”

Rifle back in hand, Fennec just shrugged and strode out of the room, the blue-clad Mandalorians following her as she stepped carefully into the hallway beyond, kicking one of the Dark Troopers to confirm it was well and truly destroyed. It didn’t move. 

Cara slung her heavy blaster up on her shoulder and rose with a sigh. Looking down at the dead weight that was the Moff on the floor and the repeater in her hand, she walked over to Din and placed her free hand carefully on his pauldron. He wasn’t startled, but neither did he move to look at her.

“Hey.” Nothing.

“Mando.” She tried again, voice still gentle, but firm. Finally, the helmet turned to fix her with its emotionless stare. She couldn’t help her brows creasing with worry, but knew now was not the time nor the place. She held out her heavy blaster. “Will you carry this for me? I want to thank Boba as well, but I can’t leave Gideon alone. I’m gonna chuck him in the brig, but I can’t hold my blaster and lug this piece of dung around at the same time.” She tossed a thumb over her shoulder, motioning to the Imp. Din simply nodded and took the repeater from her, leaning it over his shoulder. Cara stormed back to her new prisoner and grunted as she lifted him by the belt, then the arms, tossing him over her shoulder before standing with groan.

Din didn’t offer to help. 

This was New Republic business. If it had been up to him, he would have just killed the man and been done with it. The man who had chased them. The man who had Kuiil killed. The man who had revealed his name and murdered his Tribe. The man who kidnapped his child, experimented on him, and threatened him. A part of his blood that still boiled considered just killing the man outright despite Cara’s request. But the louder part, the logical part of him, respected that Cara has sacrificed her own position as Marshall, her own life, to come with him to rescue the kid. The least he could do was to honor that one request. 

But he would be hers to carry.

Cara strode past him through the mangled opening and he brought up the rear behind her, following the others.

After a quick detour to the brig, where Cara unceremoniously dumped Gideon’s body in a cell and watched the durasteel door hiss closed with a satisfied smirk, they reached hangar bay 2.

The Slave I was already docked with Boba carefully crouched outside, assault rifle in hand. No opposition came, however, only the team he had dropped off rounding the corner one by one. When the last of his Mandalorian brethren came through the bay door, Boba stood and looked him over, noticing he was empty handed.

“Where’s the kid?” He asked, confused. The others froze, Cara's gaze shooting to Din. But he just continued to walk, passing Boba, striding up the ramp and disappearing wordlessly into the belly of the ship. Boba's eyes followed the man's stormy exit with disgruntled unease, finally turning to look at the others.

“What? I thought the whole point of all this was to rescue the foundling?”

“We did.” Fennec sighed, coming up beside him. “Then a Jedi came, and took him away.” Boba frowned beneath his helmet. A Jedi separating father and son… again. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

“And he just let him?” he groused.

Cara spoke up this time. “It was his… mission or whatever. The head of his tribe tasked him with returning the kid to the kid’s people. I guess the little tyke was a Force user, so that meant the Jedi. I’m not really sure exactly how it all went down, but Mando had been looking for a Jedi for a while now. Guess he found one.” Cara shrugged more casually than she actually felt, but it wasn’t her story to tell, and Boba was still as much as stranger to her as the rest of this crew. She opted to change the subject.

“Hey, do you have a Carbonite system on your ship? I have a war prisoner locked up in the brig but I don’t want him causing any trouble between here and Chandrila.”

Boba stared at her for a long moment, then smirked.

“Yeah, I do.”

Boba and Fennec had decided they’d stay docked on the light cruiser until they reached Chandrila, so that Boba’s on-ship storage system could keep watch of Gideon’s vitals while he was encased in carbonite. 

Now that had been satisfying to watch. Cara smiled to herself. She almost hoped the man went blind, or needed an amputation, or any of the other common side effects of carbonite storage. He’d deserve it.

But, now that the war prisoner was out of the way, Cara was settled once again on the light cruiser’s bridge, surrounded by Mandalorians. Fennec had strode into the Slave I after Din, claiming she wanted to get some shut eye, while Boba had followed Bo-Katan and Koska back to the bridge with Cara, the latter entering the coordinates and flight path for Chandrila. The three Mandalorians sat silently across from each other behind her. The tension in the air was thick. Koska and Bo-Katan had both taken their helmets off, seemingly at ease as they inspected their vambraces and armor for damage after the battle, removing one piece at a time to look it over. The practiced ease was an obvious ploy to cover the tension. Boba Fett remained helmeted, watching them. It was as though he was gating them, keeping them in his sights. Cara could barely stand it. Was this how all Mandalorians were with each other?

A part of her was grateful to Boba, however. When Din mutely strode back into the Slave I, likely desiring the somewhat familiar enclosed quarters of a gunship, it had been clear to all that he needed some space. Boba was making sure he got it. 

Cara was antsy though, worrying about him. A part of her wanted to respect his need for space, but after a while she couldn’t fight the urge to go check on him. She stood.

“Auto-pilot’s set for Chandrila. I’ll… be back.”

Boba simply nodded but never angled his helmet’s gaze away from the seemingly untroubled Mandalorians across the bridge. Cara grimaced but didn’t dissuade him, storming out of the room back towards the elevator.

When she stalked quietly up the Slave I’s ramp, she wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. The entry bay was clear, one of the two cabins closed and locked and the kitchen space empty. So, the trooper gripped the ladder and climbed purposefully into the passenger bay, where their team had been planning the operation just earlier that day.

There she found Din. 

The man was simply sitting, hunched over, elbows on his knees, as he held a small spherical shift knob in his hands. Cara had seen the baby playing with that knob during the trip from Sorgan to Nevarro… she knew he had to be thinking about the child. The shock trooper stepped out from the ladder shaft and stood silently, watching him. She knew he’d noticed her arrival, but he didn’t look up… didn’t acknowledge her at all.

Cara didn’t need to ask him if he was alright. She knew he wasn’t. Her heart broke for both of them, honestly. She’d seen from those early days on Sorgan how much that little green whirlwind adored his adoptive father, and later, on Nevarro, had seen how deeply this man cared for the kid right back. The Mandalorian armorer had named them a Clan of Two, called Din the kid’s father… she didn’t have to imagine what he was feeling right now. 

She’d never lost a child, but she figured the loss of her entire family might compare. It was devastating. It was life shattering. So life shattering, in fact, that she’d seen him take off his helmet, broken the sacred creed which he’d insisted he’d rather die for only a year ago, just to say goodbye. 

Some people never came back from something like this. 

She hoped Mando did.

Sitting down carefully in the seat next to the man, Cara simply stayed, and waited.

For Din’s part, the minutes since Grogu had disappeared behind the elevator door had been a blur. It had felt like he was reliving that moment again and again... the weight of the little body in his hands... the weight of those large dark eyes staring at him over the Jedi's shoulder... every step carrying him further and further away... the elevator doors closing on his face for the last time, like waves crashing against a rocky shore, dashing any hopes he'd had that this would be a reunion. His body worked on autopilot as the scene repeated over and over in his mind's eye, every separation feeling that much more surreal. Then suddenly he was alone, the churning of the world around him coming to a standstill as he sat in the gunship, the silence settling heavy around him.

He knows giving Grogu to the Jedi was the right thing to do. He knew it would hurt. 

He just didn’t realize how much. 

He… he wanted to pull his heart out of his chest. One moment he felt it beating thunderously in his ears and the next it was constricting so hard he thought it might stop altogether. The weight on his chest grew heavier with every breath; it wanted to choke him and he couldn't help the hand that instinctually reached up to grapple at his collar. An icy chill that had started in his core was spreading to every extremity. He was trembling from the cold.

He felt like… like his entire reason for being had been ripped from him and now he had what… a sword to rally a broken planet and a broken people and a calling he never asked for? All he’d wanted was to keep his… to keep Grogu safe. But it wasn't just a sense of duty, he’d taken comfort in the kid’s presence too. It had awakened something in him. A need… a purpose… a yearning for family, for connection. The child had filled a void he hadn’t realized he’d had in his life until those little green arms had reached up to him, those wide eyes searching his… 

Shoulders slumping, he tried to find solace in the memory of finally looking at his kid with his own eyes. After everything he'd been through to get the kid back, he’d wanted so badly to just... look at him… and he’d wanted Grogu to know his face too. Even if they never saw each other again, he hoped the kid would at least remember that... remember him. He knew Grogu still had the mythosaur necklace… so while he held the durasteel shift knob between his fingertips, he hoped that somewhere out there Grogu had the beskar around his little neck, reminding him of who protected him… who loved him.

Loved… he’d never even said it. Not once. Now he regretted it, fiercely. 

Din’s face crumpled beneath the helmet. He dropped his forehead to the little shift knob with a clink, shoulders shaking.

Why had he waited? Why hadn’t he said it? Did the kid know? A bitter part of him scoffed… did it even matter? His little less than two years with the kid was a blip in the child’s lifespan. Ahsoka had even said that many had raised and trained Grogu over the years, why would the kid remember him any differently than the others. He needed to accept that he’d done his duty, the child was gone, and he’d have to move on.

The thought made his chest tighten and his throat constrict. No. No. He didn’t want to move on. He wanted his son back.

At some point, during his quiet implosion of pain and defeat, he heard Cara come up the ladder and enter the passenger bay. He heard her settle beside him, but ignored her. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want her sympathy. Nothing would change what was. His son was gone… it was done. But unexpectedly, she didn’t pry, she just sat, eventually leaning forward to lean her elbows on her knees like him and stared at the durasteel floor, saying nothing. 

After nearly an hour of Din stewing in pain and Cara saying nothing, Din felt guilt seep through his walls. He should say something, let Cara know he was okay. He wasn’t… but he would be, someday. She’d been a good friend and ally, he could tell she was worried, in her own way… it was the least he could do. 

But when he tried to speak, his breath caught in his throat. His fists only tightened around the small shift knob. He wanted to say, “I’m fine,” but found he couldn't choke it out. He felt exhausted, defeated, lost. He wanted to scream or cry or punch something but had no energy to do any of it. His head dropped and he sighed, frustrated tears dripping onto the interior of his helmet. 

Cara finally shifted beside him, taking his movement as an acceptance.

“Mando…” she ventured, still unwilling to use his name when he hadn’t expressly given it to her. “I- …you did what you had to do.” The man just shook his head beside her, saying nothing. It was as if the trauma had struck him mute. Cara frowned. 

“The kid’s in good hands, you know. Luke Skywalker’s one of the most powerful people in the galaxy, if anyone can look after him, he can.” The Mandalorian’s gloves creaked, his fists tightening until they trembled, but otherwise did not react. Cara’s concern spiked. She tried to remember what she did when she’d lost her planet… how she’d coped.

“You just put one foot in front of the other now, you know? Take what you’ve got left and make a plan, keep moving.” 

This was clearly the wrong thing to say.

Suddenly, the Mandalorian was lurching to his feet, ripping his helmet off and throwing it savagely across the room with a hoarse roar. The solid beskar crashed violently against the computer controls with a reverberating clang before rolling across the floor. The man heaved angry breaths beside her, fists clenched at his side.

“And what do I have left?” he seethed, turning to her. “My tribe was murdered, my ship was destroyed, I broke my creed and my foundling is… is gone. I have nothing left.” Din started pacing the room, hands coming up to grip his hair wildly. Cara watched the helmet roll on the floor with a facade of calm, resisting the urge to look up at his exposed face. 

“I’m… I’m not even a Mandalorian anymore. I broke the sacred creed by which I’ve lived my entire life... I don’t know what I am now.” His rough voice choked. “And I don’t even regret it. I’d do it all again... for him. But he’s...” the rant broke off and Cara pretended not to hear the ragged emotion in every shuddering breath, but despite herself a tear tracked down her cheek as she kept her eyes locked on the floor. She wasn’t used to hearing his voice so… unfiltered without the helmet. She could hear every nuance, even the small whine at the back of his throat as he gripped his hair harder and paced. Abruptly, he squeezed his eyes shut and stopped in his tracks, throwing his hands down and going still. 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s done.” His tone was low and hard, like she was used to hearing. The Mandalorian slumped back into his seat, as if the fury and fire had suddenly leeched out of him. He lent over his knees and pressed the shift knob to his forehead, eyes watery.

Cara clenched her eyes closed beside him, needing a moment to gather herself. Dank farrik, this whole thing was a mess. She listened to the man’s hitched breathing beside her, not daring to look at him… not daring to let his agony overwhelm her. Her lips twisted into a determined grimace.

“I know this… sucks, Mando. It was hard when Alderaan was destroyed. For a while, I didn’t know how to go on. But we had the war, and I just… threw myself into it. You’ll find something too. It doesn't have to be today, but you can’t give up. You’ve still got me and Greef in your corner. And your Armorer is alive… out there somewhere. There’s still hope.” 

Din scoffed darkly. “Hope. Right.”

“Hey,” Cara punched his arm, just below the pauldron, and finally chanced a glance to the side. His hair was brown… as were his eyes, though at the moment they were glassy and bloodshot too. His scruff was messy, but trimmed short enough that she could see the muscle of his jaw working as he clenched his teeth together. “Don’t be like that. It gets better, I promise.” 

The man just shook his head. “I… I used to have a purpose, Cara. Support the Tribe. Protect my people. Protect the kid. But now… all of it’s gone. And Bo-Katan wants to kill me for this kriffing laser sword… ” He motioned to the lightsaber hilt on his belt and shrugged. “that I don't even have a right to wield anymore.”

The shock trooper considered him for a long moment, then stood and strode across the room to retrieve his helmet. Sitting back down beside him, she held it out to him. The man looked away darkly, refusing to take it. 

“I’ve met Mandalorians before you, you know… and you’ve seen the others. I can’t pretend to understand the Creed you took Mando, but I can observe that there’s more than one way to be Mandalorian. Maybe everything’s different now, sure. But you’re not suddenly not a Mandalorian, I don’t care what your Creed says. Just cause Alderaan is gone doesn’t mean I’m suddenly not Alderaanian…. I’ll always be Alderaanian, until the day I die. Because it’s my heritage, it’s how I was raised, it’s what I think of when I remember home.” Cara choked a little on the word, but took a deep breath and raised her chin.

“You’re worthy of that sword, Mando, and you won the right to wield it. Listen, I’m sorry your kid is gone… the hurt’s not gonna disappear overnight… trust me, I know.”

Din, finally, moved his head to look at her. It was the first time their eyes had met. He still wasn’t used to looking at people without his helmet, and especially in his agonized state, his gaze felt… fragile. Cara tried a half smile. 

“But maybe having something else to fight for is exactly what you need.”

The Mandalorian stared at her, expression unreadable, before his eyes dropped back down to the little durasteel sphere he still held in his fist. His bottom lip wobbled as he wrapped his fingers tightly around the knob again, his heart still aching for the little coos and the soft patter of tiny feet that used to follow him wherever he went… but then he looked back up at Cara and took the helmet from her, pulling it down over his head. It hissed shut and instantly the image of implacable calm, of hard, furious focus, was replaced. 

The hard beskar outline and dark t-shaped visor stared back at her, but this time, Cara knew there was an aching, shattered man beneath it. She’d seen his haunted eyes, his gruff beard and blotchy cheeks still red from tears of loss. She now knew it wasn’t just a warrior, a machine of death, but a man under that visor. 

She’d always known, really… she’d always sensed his kindness, from the way he’d insisted on helping the villagers on Sorgan, from the way she’d seen him treat the ugnaught with that quiet respect, from the way he’d called desperately into the comm when he’d feared for the Kuiil’s life, or insisted that the droid not sacrifice himself for them, from the way he’d hesitated to leave the kid in a kriffing school, afraid to let the boy out of his sight… this was a man who built attachments, who loved, who would kill efficiently when needed but never to be cruel… 

And because she’d seen this kindness, she’d befriendeed him. As hard as she portrayed herself to be, she’d been raised Alderaanian, and there was a reason she’d fought so hard for the Rebellion. She’d wanted peace… she’d wanted love and kindness to prevail. She never in a thousand years expected to find the epitome of it in a Mandalorian on Sorgan, but she had, and it was why she’d trusted him… still trusted him. It was why she’d protect him from Bo-Katan if it came down to it.

Cara smiled at his helmeted visage, glad to see him putting himself back together, even if only on the outside. She clapped a hand on his pauldron.

“Get some sleep, Mando. You’ve earned it, and we’re still about 4 hours from Chandrila. We’ll come get you before we drop out of hyperspace.” 

The man just nodded and sighed. He did feel exhausted, but part of him doubted he’d get any sleep. He’d try though, it was at least a way to avoid Bo-Katan a while longer. Cara stood up, and placed her hands on her hips.

“I’ll tell the others not to disturb you.”

“Thank you.” Was all he said, and he meant it. Cara nodded and made her way back down the ladder, leaving him to his own thoughts in the heavy silence of the docked ship.

Despite his churning emotions, Din did actually attempt to get some sleep. He’d crossed his arms over his body and slumped back in the chair, ignoring the discomfort that he’d long gotten used to. In his line of work, he’d learned to sleep anywhere, in any position. 

It barely felt like any time had passed when suddenly Din was startled awake by a soft sound off to his left. On instinct, he had a blaster out in a flash, trained expertly on the head of Fennec Shand, who had just emerged from the ladder’s port opening. She frowned at him.

“Put that thing away, Mando. I was just sent to let you know we’re about an hour away from Chandrila.”

Heart still pounding in his chest, the man simply grunted softly and reholstered his blaster, shaking off the remnants of a troubled dream. The rest was slipping through his fingers now, but the image of Grogu being taken by the Dark Troopers lingered, his frightened eyes, his little hands reaching… Din shook his head again, angry at himself. He needed to get back on his game, if Fennec had been an actual enemy, he would have been dead twice over. 

Standing, the man flexed his fingers and arms, mentally assessing his equipment and trying to ignore the ache in his lower back from the uncomfortable kip. The ex-assassin simply stared at him, one eyebrow raised now. 

“So, are you coming?” 

Din glared at her beneath his helmet, then bent to pick up the beskar spear that he’d placed on the floor when he’d first arrived. 

“Yes,” he ground out, placing the spear in its holster across his back. 

He followed her down the ladder, out of the Slave I and back to the light cruiser’s bridge, where Cara, Bo-Katan, Koska and Boba Fett waited. Boba looked up and stood. 

“Well then, I see you’re back. If you’re finished, I’ll prepare my ship for departure. Fennec and I will be leaving when we drop out of hyperspace.” The green painted Mandalorian looked pointedly from his travel companion back to Din. “Will you be joining us, brother? Or staying with the princess?”

Din stood still, gaze shifting from the bounty hunter to Bo-Katan and back. Boba approached him and clapped a hand on his shoulder, barking out a gruff laugh.

“I heard from the others that you defeated Moff Gideon for the darksaber, that you’ve won the right to rule as Mand’alor.” Din paled under his helmet and was eternally grateful Boba couldn’t see it. The news was still shocking, even to him. The older bounty hunter just chuckled darkly. “Wished I’d been ‘ere to see the look on her face,” he nodded behind him to the blue-clad warrior, who was currently helmetless and now glaring at the back of his head. “Bet it was priceless.”

Din clenched his fists at his sides.

“I… didn’t know what it meant. I was just trying to save the kid.” He insisted gruffly.

Boba guffawed. “Even better. Serves her right.” The larger man sighed. “Listen vod, do what you need to do, but know you’re welcome to come with us. You’re clearly good in a battle, and we’ll be staying very far away from Mandalore and the Core.” 

Din hesitated. Running away from this insanity sounded incredibly appealing in that moment, especially with both Bo-Katan and Koska glaring at him hotly from across the room, over Boba’s shoulder. But Cara’s words came back to him… maybe he did need something to fight for. He didn’t know.

“I… haven’t decided, yet.” His rough, modulated voice sounded firmer than he felt.

Boba huffed a final, mirthless laugh. “Well, when you figure it out, let me know.” And with that, he stalked off the bridge towards the hangar bay. 

Sighing, then squaring his shoulders, Din made his way over to the other two Mandalorians and cautiously slid into a chair across from them. They, against one set of bridge controls, he, against another. They stared at each other silently for a long, long moment. Cara and Fennec watched tensely, eyes darting between each of the armored warriors.

“You want to kill me for this relic.” Din finally said, wanting to get this out of the way.

“No.” Bo-Katan countered calmly. Din scowled beneath his helmet.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Your eyes said differently earlier.”

“Well, that was earlier.” Bo-Katan smirked and Din growled.

“What changed.”

Rolling her eyes the woman clapped her hands on her knees and sighed, hanging her head before looking back up at him, eyes boring into his t-shaped visor.

“What do you really know about the Purge?” Din tensed at that, not expecting the sudden change in topic, but entertained it warily.

“Only what we heard out on the Rim… no one from my tribe had been to Mandalore in years, but it still devastated us... every covert in the Outer Rim."

Koska scoffed beside her companion.

“It was meant to.” She grated out angrily. “The Empire couldn’t risk the Rebellion enlisting us-” Bo-Katan raised a hand to stop Koska, motioning her to calm down before taking over. 

“My sister, Duchess Satine, tried her way. Peace loving “New Mandalorians”...”, this time it was Bo-Katan who scoffed. “It didn’t work, clearly. The Empire took advantage of our weakness, of our division, and destroyed us. There’s not much left of Mandalore, but it’s still the only source of raw Beskar, and it is our birthright.” The heiress slammed a hand down on the bridge’s controls at this, her righteous anger flaring on her cheeks. 

“The Empire glassed half the planet, destroying Sundari along with half the hemisphere… and Concordia...  millions died.” Bo-Katan’s voice broke and Koska looked down with a snarl, her fists clenching in her lap. The women looked at each other, something passing between them, before the redhead looked back up at Din.

“But Keldabe's dome survives. If we retake the old capital and call out to our people to return, we can force out the Imperial remnants. They scattered us on purpose, vod, because they know we are unstoppable together. I needed that sword as a symbol of power, of unity, to reclaim our homeland.” She sat back then, eying Din meaningfully.

“But you have won it, rightfully. I don’t want to kill you, but I will not fail our people. Either, you refuse to wield it, and I will be forced to battle you for it.” She let the thought linger. Din tensed. “Or, you claim your right to the title of Mand’alor and reunite our people, with clan Kryze behind you. It’s your choice.”

Din sat, thinking. His mind was reeling from the picture that had been painted for him. While he’d never been to Mandalore himself, he did consider himself Mandalorian, and did take pride in his people’s culture... their shared heritage. The Purge, the genocide of his people… despite him not being on planet when it happened, had cut him to his core, like all his brothers and sisters. It’s not that he didn’t want to see his people strong, reunited… he’d just never thought he’d be anywhere near the one doing it. He’d never been a leader. While some in his tribe chose to teach the next generation, leading trainings, drills and missions, he had always followed his own path alone. As a beroya he’d been able to support the covert by bringing back money, food, recaptured beskar and other supplies. He’d never had to give speeches, or rally troops… much less an entire people. He wasn’t prepared for this, he didn’t want it. 

“If I’m Mand’alor…” he started slowly, “why can’t I just decree that the darksaber is yours, and give it to you? Why won’t you take it?”

Bo-Katan frowned and looked like she wanted to argue, then finally looked down and sighed.

“Because we’ve tried that before,” she admitted. “When the darksaber was first recovered after the Clone Wars, a very bright and capable young Mandalorian, who was also not willing to take on the mantle, bestowed it to me. I was able to unify nearly all of the clans that were on the planet - Kryze, Wren, Vizsla and others - but I didn’t take on the title of Mand’alor. I didn’t feel that I could. I became reigning Regent of Mandalore. But then the Empire came.” Bo-Katan’s expression turned dark at this. “I tried to rally our off-world brothers and sisters, but the True Mandalorians and remnants of the Death Watch…. They’d heard how I came in possession of the darksaber and refused to rally behind me. Our division… our stubborn beliefs… it was the reason the Empire could swoop in and dethrone me and take our planet. And once they had it, they could destroy it.” She looked up at Din then, her expression fierce, a scowl ready on her lips.

“If no one else will try to unify Mandalorians, to take back our home planet, I will. It is what I have spent the last five years trying to do. But, I will not subvert our culture yet again. If we are to reunite all Mandalorians, it must be under the true Mand’alor.”

Then, she smirked at him. “And right now, that’s you.”

“Dank farrik.” Din heard Cara hiss from a few feet away. He knew she and Fennec had been listening, rapt, and the woman’s unintentional reaction to the weight of his new role echoed his sentiments perfectly. 

Din sat for many minutes, head down as he thought. The darksaber was a heavy weight against his hip… feeling heavier than it really was.

Kriff. Kriff. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this. But what else did he have? Going back to bounty hunting felt empty… he had no Tribe to bring his earnings back to, no foundlings to donate beskar to… the Armorer was alive out there somewhere, and perhaps others from his tribe, but he had no way of finding them. The Razor Crest was obliterated, and with it everything that had been home for the last 20 or so years. And the child, Grogu, his- ...was gone. His quest had been completed. His Clan of Two was now a Clan of One… not really a clan at all. He had nothing to go back to. Perhaps Cara was right, perhaps he did need something new to fight for.

And Bo-Katan had made a compelling point. He did believe Mandalorians should be reunited. He’d hated that they had to hide away in dark tunnels to avoid the Empire and other rivals as much as Paz had. They were a proud people. To be so scattered and weak… perhaps this was what he was meant to do now. And if it worked… perhaps he could find surviving members from his covert. He hoped fervently to a maker he didn’t believe in that at least some of the foundlings had escaped...

The thought of foundlings gave him pause. How he’d wished for a safe place to call home for his own foundling. If he stayed… if he fought with Bo-Katan, the foundlings could have a home… they could have a future. 

That decided it for him.

Looking up, he met Bo-Katan’s gaze through his helmet, then straightened in his chair. 

“Alright.” Bo-Katan and Koska expressions morphed from guarded to shocked. “I’ll come with you.” Behind them Din saw Cara smile. 

The redhead narrowed her eyes at him. “Be very sure.”

Din reached down and touched the hilt of the darksaber at his hip as he met the warrior’s gaze head on.

“I am." His assured firmly. "We’ll rally our people and then we’ll retake Mandalore.” 

Koska slapped her hand down on her knee with a “Hah!” of victory, and Bo-Katan’s smile was absolutely feral.

“Well, then, oya Mand’alor."

"Oya manda!" Koska seconded fervently. "But first, vod, we don't even know your name...” 

Din couldn’t help the small, sad smile under his helmet as he thought of Grogu, his heart aching.

“Din Djarin. Clan Mudhorn.”