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The immediate priorities were clear immediately after Nevarro. Get away from there and any further backup Gideon might have. Food, hygiene, rest. He took care of the first for himself and the kid, then retreated into the refresher, where he scrubbed off the blood and grime and patched up his wounds the best he could. The kid tolerated a brief wipe-down but nothing more. Fine. Rest, then. He double-checked the autopilot was set. The Crest would wake him up as they got close to the next system. They both needed sleep. He sat on the edge of the bunk, and picked up the kid.
The child gave a high-pitched squeak and flinched as Din picked him up.
They had no language in common, but Din understood nonetheless, and felt a surge of mild panic. Idiot , he told himself. He’d seen the scrapes on the kid’s face, why was he assuming that was the extent of injuries?
“Are you hurt?” he asked, setting him down on the bunk as gently as possible.
The child’s ears drooped. He clutched the pendant and looked up at Din. He looked older, somehow. Din wondered how many fights like this the kid had been through before. This wasn’t the first, he knew that. It was too many, no matter how many it had been. Any child deserved more safety than that.
“Are you hurt?” he repeated. “Did they hurt you? Like this?” He pointed at, but doesn’t touch, the scrapes on the kid’s head.
“ Bah ,” the kid said quietly, and sort of pointed to his side.
“I need to see, to make sure you’re not seriously hurt,” he said.
The child blinked at him, which Din took as permission. Trying to be as gentle as possible, he unfastened the snaps holding the jacket closed. He lifted the soft little undergarment and his breath caught in his throat. A dark bruise stood out in vivid contrast to the pale green of the kid’s skin. It was smaller than Din’s hand, but that made it big enough to wrap around the kid’s tiny little body. On a human, Din would immediately suspect broken ribs, and from what he could tell, the kid’s anatomy wasn’t that different.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He felt abjectly awful. Yes, it had been a brutal day for both of them, but that didn’t excuse his negligence. He should have checked the kid over first. Before anything else. He had a child in his care, one too little to fight who had been thrust into combat anyway. That made it Din’s responsibility to check him over after, to assess any injuries. “That must hurt.”
That earned a quiet little grunt.
“Let me see what I can do,” Din said. He grabbed the med kit and rummaged through it. Even the smallest bacta patches he had were comically oversized for someone so small. Bacta was expensive, no matter what form it came in, and he tried to save it for the big injuries. He’d have to change that, try and find some child-sized supplies. If they even made things that tiny. Did they make bacta patches for babies? He had no idea. It went on the ever-growing list of things to figure out.
He did the best he could, using the cooking unit to cough out a cube of ice, wrapping it up in some cloth, and holding it on the kid’s injured side. They sat like that for a bit. The child seemed to relax. Slowly, his eyes drifted shut, and he leaned more and more against Din’s leg. Din waited until he was sure the kid was solidly asleep before gently shifting him and standing up. He hung up the wet scrap of cloth to dry. He didn’t want to risk waking the child by lifting him again, so he awkwardly and gingerly clambered around the tiny sleeping figure and settled himself in the bunk. When he finally got himself settled, the child was nicely positioned, nestled behind his knees as Din curled onto his less-sore left side.
They slept.
When they arrived on Nadiem, the kid was still hurting.
He’d perked up a bit, thankfully. They both had: two solid meals separated by nine hours of sleep would get anyone feeling better. But the bruise looked like it had darkened, and the child still moved stiffly and made painful little noises when Din picked him up.
“There’s not a lot here, but maybe we can find a doctor for you,” Din told the kid. It was optimistic. As far as he could tell, the planet was small enough and out of the way enough that, like Sorgan, the Empire had pretty much ignored it and the New Republic was following suit. The world was mostly farms, but the terrain was too varied to be a proper ag world. It produced enough for the locals to get by, and that was all. It might not have been the best bet to find information, or work, or a doctor, but it was a good place to stay out of sight.
He set the Crest down at what passed for a port (a large, empty field), and they headed into town. It was neither the largest town nor smallest little settlement on the planet, and they got plenty of stares walking in. It was reassuring; anyone who didn’t do a double-take upon seeing him was likely too familiar with Mandalorians, which meant trouble.
The man behind the counter in the first eatery they came to was flustered, but tried to cover it, anxiously wiping and re-wiping an already dry glass.
“I’m hoping to find a doctor,” Din said.
“Oh! Well. I don’t know if it’s up to what you’re looking for but Amja Cordai’s who you want to talk to. Her father isn’t up to much these days but she’s learned everything he knew and then some about healing.” He set the glass down and wiped his hands on the towel.
“Where can I find her?”
He pointed. “Just down the way yonder, just beside Friro Tal’s market. He’s got the freshest panka meat you’ll find in the sector.”
Din had no idea what a panka was. “Thank you.”
“Don’t hesitate to come back for dinner,” the man called as Din departed.
It would have been impossible to miss Friro Tal’s market, which was behind a neon yellow storefront, with a badly clashing purple awning over a streetside display of produce. An alley ran beside the market, and just down it was a doorway marked with the red medical insignia.
Din rapped on the door. It opened after a few moments, revealing a short woman, barely up to Din’s shoulder. She did a double take, but composed herself well.
“Yes?”
“I was told I could find a doctor here.”
She studied him, up and down, eyes lingering on the child. “I’m the closest thing you’ll find on this planet,” she said. “Come in.”
He stepped in. The space was small, separated from a living space by a half-drawn dark fabric curtain, and functional. There was a medical bed, a wall of cabinets, a counter topped with an array of instruments.
“My -- he’s injured,” Din said.
The child whined, and pressed his head into Din’s side from within the bag he sat in. Din gently lifted him, once again feeling a shock of guilt. He clung to Din’s fingers as he tried to set him on the table.
“Huh,” the woman said. “I don’t know his species.”
Din had already decided that it was best to play it straightforward. “I don’t either. I rescued him, after he was kidnapped.” It was basically true, and much easier than the full and actual truth.
The woman blinked at him several times, but didn’t seem particularly phased. Instead, she just squirted a spray of cleansing gel onto her hands and rubbed them together. “Okay,” she said, and addressed the child directly. “My name’s Amja. Can you tell me your name?”
The child just whined, and grabbed even tighter at Din’s thumb.
“He doesn’t speak. Not any language I recognize.”
“Well, we can try and work around that. What’s his name? How old is he?”
“I don’t know his name, but he’s fifty.”
She looked at him.
“I’m not sure but I believe his species is very long-lived. He’s a child.”
He could tell she had questions, big ones, but she didn’t ask. Instead, she just looked back at the child. “Okay, kiddo. Let’s do the best we can here. Can you show me what hurts?”
He could not, or at least, would not. Instead, he looked up at Din, eyes pleading.
“It’s okay. She’ll help you.” To the woman, he said, “He fell. His side is badly bruised. I’m afraid his ribs might be broken.”
“Uh-oh,” she said, but kept her tone light. “That sounds like it hurts. Can I take a look?” She glanced at Din. “Can you…”
“Sure.” He pulled his finger free from the child’s grip, which he was unhappy about, and unfastened the jacket again.
The woman stepped over to the counter and picked up a scanning device. As soon as she stepped back towards them, the child let out a high-pitched cry of alarm, and scrambled backwards, climbing over the far edge of the bed before Din could stop him.
“Whoa, maybe not,” the woman said.
Din stepped around the bed and knelt. The child lunged for him, grabbing Din’s calf and wrapping himself around it. He was crying, Din realized. There were no tears, but his ears trembled and every breath brought a barely-audible wail. He pressed his face into Din’s leg, clinging with all his might.
“It’s okay,” Din said. For about five seconds he was at a loss for what had scared the normally calm child.
And then, he remembered Nevarro the first time. The lab. Pershing, a medical scanner in his hand. A tiny, motionless form, lying on a medical table not unlike this one.
He was an idiot .
“You’re safe,” he told the kid. “It’s okay. She doesn’t have to touch you or scan you if you don’t want. I promise you’re safe.”
Pershing had claimed he’d protected the child, but whatever he’d done -- clearly, the kid remembered it, and clearly, it had been bad. For all Din knew, that was the only time the kid had ever seen a doctor. For all Din knew, the people who’d had him before had done similar, awful things. For all he knew, the kid had been tortured by a string of doctors. The child’s fear made perfect sense. Din was the problem, for not realizing sooner. For not expecting this, for not understanding this innocent he’d taken responsibility for.
“It’s okay,” he said again, gently putting his hand on the kid’s head. “No one’s going to hurt you. I promise.”
“I’ll put the scanner away,” the woman said, quietly.
It took a few more minutes of kneeling on the floor, sheltered by the bed, before the child stopped trembling. He finally braved a look up at Din, then immediately leaned his face into Din’s leg again. His ears drooped and his face was bunched up in anxiety.
“You’re safe,” Din said, over and over. He gently stroked the child’s head, and swore violently in his head. Give him a problem he could shoot at any day. Something that needed to be shot, he could fix. This...this was harder.
“Can I pick you up?” he asked.
The child allowed it, loosening his grip on Din’s leg. He kept his face pressed into Din’s arm, refusing to look around, his grip so tight Din could feel the tiny claws pressing through his jumpsuit.
“New people can be scary,” Amja said.
Din swallowed, hard. “There was a doctor who did some sort of experiments on him. Before I had him. I don’t know what.”
Her expression hardened for an instant, then softened. “Oh, I am so sorry, kiddo,” she said. “This must be so scary for you, and you’re hurting.”
She gestured for Din to sit in the chair up against the wall, and pulled over a low stool. They sat facing each other, the child clinging desperately to Din. The medic’s movements were all careful and slow. When she sat, she kept her hands on her knees, in plain view. She knew how to show she was safe.
“What do you call him?” she asked.
“I just call him kid.”
She looked a bit skeptical of that, but didn’t question it. “I promise I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do, kid. My job is to help people when they get hurt or get sick. All I do is try and make people feel better. Sometimes using a scanner like that helps me see if something’s wrong inside you, but I don’t need to use it. I put it away and you don’t even need to see it, okay?”
No response.
“If it’s okay with you, I can just look at where you’re hurt, and that way I can see if I can make it feel better. I just want to see it with my eyes, and if it’s okay, touch it with my fingers, and that way I can know the best way to help you.”
Warily, the child lifted his head from Din’s bicep. He didn’t turn to look at the doctor, but did at least look up at Din. His eyes were questioning.
“You can trust her,” Din said.
“You can even stay right there with your dad, if you want. Is that okay if he just undoes your jacket so I can see?”
The child seemed to consider it, and slowly wiggled around in Din’s arms, facing her.
Amja smiled. “You are one brave little kid,” she said. “Is it okay for me to open up your jacket, or do you want dad to do that?”
“ Eh ,” he said, pulling back a little.
It was harder one-handed, but Din managed the top few fasteners without loosening his grip on the child, and gently lifted the undershirt.
“Oh, I bet that hurts. Is it okay if I touch you? I just want to feel what’s going on in your chest and belly. It might hurt a little bit, but it’ll just take me a few seconds.”
“ Eh ,” he said again, and stayed still. Din nodded.
The doctor was gentle, probing the child’s thin little body with experienced fingers, watching the child’s reaction intently. The kid tolerated it without complaint, though his ears twitched and he flinched as she touched around the bruise.
A voice from long ago echoed into Din’s head: A Mandalorian may be afraid but he fights through it anyway . The child didn’t lack courage.
“Okay. You did great ,” the woman said. “You can button up your jacket if you want.”
“Is he okay?”
She squirted a sanitizing gel onto her hands and rubbed them together. “I don’t think anything’s broken, or if it is, it’s a very minor fracture. HIs belly doesn’t seem tender, which suggests there’s no major internal injuries or bleeding. Honestly, without knowing his species, a scan wouldn’t even tell me much more. How does he seem to you?”
He cocked his head, uncertain what she meant.
“Energy level, appetite, activity, is he sleeping…”
“He seems okay. We both were tired after what happened and slept. He ate normally.”
“Good. Kids usually have ways of telling you when things are wrong even if they can’t talk. Any fever or anything?”
“No. Not that I’ve noticed.”
“Good.” She looked down at the child, who was still watching her with unease. “Well, kiddo, it looks like you’ve got a real nasty bruise, but you should heal up just fine.” Back up at Din. “I can give you a bit of bacta lotion that should help. It’s not very concentrated, but he shouldn’t need a whole lot of it. Normally I’d give you an herbal salve but it can cause some problems in certain species, and I don’t want to take that risk.”
“Thank you.” Guilt was still hanging on him like a weight, but it was lightened by the reassurance that the kid was more or less okay. He hadn’t been overlooking a serious injury. Just a minor one, which he’d been unprepared to deal with.
“I assume you’re taking steps to avoid any more, uh, falls?”
“As best I can.”
“Good. Do you have a medkit with appropriate things, just in case?”
“Most of my supplies are sized for an adult.” Admitting it once again caused something unpleasant to contract within him. He should have prioritized differently.
“Yeah. You can always trim bandages to fit, if need be. And again, I’m hesitant to recommend any medications without knowing his species, but the basics -- bacta, bandages, therm packs, it’s a good idea to keep that all on hand when you’ve got a kid around..” She rummaged through a cabinet and emerged with a small round jar, which she handed to Din. “Just a bit of this, once or twice a day on that bruise. It should heal up within a few days. Keep the rest on hand for the future. And make sure that he’s eating his normal diet, whatever that is. Let him rest if he wants, but he’ll know how active he can be without pain, so you don’t have to limit him. And you, kiddo, need to avoid any more falls like that. I’m guessing you scared your dad half to death.”
Din, for once, was not at all bothered by the suggestion he was scared.
“Thank you,” he said, again. “What do I owe you?”
“The lotion’s normally fifty credits, but if you can’t…”
She trailed off, because Din was already reaching into his pocket and pulling out a stack of credits, well more than fifty.
She shook her head. “That’s way too much.”
“Please. I’m sure there’s a great demand for your services.”
She looked at the credits, and then up at him. Hesitantly, as if expecting him to yank his hand back, she accepted them. “Thank you. That’s...very generous.”
He nodded. “Again, thank you.”
“Take care of each other,” she instructed as he rose. “No more falls, okay?”
He looked down at the child in his arms, at the trusting brown eyes, and thought that even as he failed, this child trusted him. That was worth all the credits in the galaxy. He’d take a thousand blows to save the child from another bruise.
“I’m trying.”