Work Text:
When sleeping, Din has always preferred the quiet of space. Planets have too much ambient noise – animals, weather, distant machinery, droids, all the sounds of life and activity, familiar and unfamiliar. Sounds can travel for miles, or be nearby. They can mean anything and nothing. He has been trained to wake at a rustle or whisper, but the precious seconds it can take to trace a noise’s origin are dangerous. Though his bunk is small and the ship’s autopilot is temperamental, Din is happy to sleep on the Razor Crest while in flight. He knows the meaning behind every click and creak. If something is wrong, he has a handle on it before he’s completely awake.
That’s why he jerks upright in his bunk when a sound he doesn’t recognize breaks into his sleep. It’s high-pitched. Quavering. Coming from above. Din stands.
The child is crying quietly in his hammock. His eyes are shut tight, and he wiggles back and forth, still asleep. Din’s first thought is that he’s hurt or sick, but nothing seems to be physically wrong with him. As Din watches, the child’s giant eyes flutter. He squirms even more, rubbing his face, a few tears leaking free of his eyelids.
Din carefully picks the child up, holds him against his chest, and settles back down on his bunk. The child must have had a nightmare. And Din…isn’t sure what to do about it.
“You’re not in danger,” he tells the child, deciding to start with reason. “Whatever you were dreaming, it’s not here.”
The child still lets out a few hiccupping sobs. Din doesn’t know if he’s awake or not. He bounces him a little.
“Quiet now, ad’ika,” he murmurs. Little child, he has taken to saying in Mando’a, away from outsiders. The kid must have been given a proper name by someone, once. Din doesn’t know if coming up with a new one is his job. “It’s alright. You’re safe.”
The child blinks up at Din. He’s definitely awake now, but restless. He rubs his face again, and won’t sit still.
Din had nightmares when he was young, after his birth parents were killed. Mandalorians aren’t cruel, but they also know that coddling children is harmful in the long run. If he woke up agitated, he was reassured nothing was actually threatening him, and told it was safe to go back to sleep. He has dim and faraway memories of his birth parents holding him, singing lullabies. He doesn’t remember the lullabies. Mandalorians don’t have many.
He cradles the child, and hums without tune or rhythm. It’s all he can do. The sound would come out distorted through his helmet anyway.
The child tilts his head, but doesn’t start crying again. He relaxes in Din’s arms. Every time the child blinks, his eyes shut for a little longer.
Din means to put the child back in his hammock. The child has a hard time getting out of it, so there’s less of a chance that he’ll wander the Razor Crest and break something while Din’s asleep. Din’s eyes drift closed, though, as the child settles against his breastplate and begins to snore softly. They’ll both be fine right here.