Chapter Text
As the elevator doors closed, Din Djarin stood in silent grief at losing a part of himself. He’d completed the mission set upon him by the Armourer of his own decimated covert. He’d given the child to one of his own kind. A Jedi. He’d done what he’d set out to do and he’d known this day was coming.
Why then did his heart feel as if it might break? Why then did this hurt so much? Dropping his head as his eyes clenched shut, he could still feel the echo of child’s soft touch on his chin.
Cara Dune came up behind him, but stood back where she could not view his exposed face.
“Hey... you okay?”
He couldn’t answer that. Was he okay? Never before in his entire adult life had he felt so lost.
“I’m sorry. I know that was difficult.” Cara’s words were soft, meant only for him and unheard by Fennec and the two Mandalorian women behind them. Her hand brushed Din’s back for the briefest of moments, but when he flinched from her touch, she dropped her hand.
“Mando…” She paused, unsure at his silence as he stood without his helmet, exposed. “Din…?”
He opened his eyes, and managed a brief nod, acknowledging her presence. He understood why she was behind him, respecting his privacy without his helmet. His eyes dropped to view the Beskar helmet beside his boots, yet he did not reach for it.
Never before had he looked at it as if it was not part of him. He had broken his creed for the second time. Not only had he lost the child, but he had lost his identity. He was no longer worthy to wear his helmet or his armour or be a child of the Watch.
From behind them, Bo-Katan spoke up. “What the hell was that? You rescue the kid and then just give it away?” She walked toward Mando, fuming.
Din closed his eyes at her words, and behind him he heard the intake of breath as Cara’s hackles rose.
Bo continued, “And you dishonour my position, taking the dark saber when you fully understood its importance to me.”
“Hey! Enough, lady!” Cara barked at her, stepping away from Din to face the red headed Mandalorian woman. “This isn’t the time!”
Sidestepping Cara, Bo continued on toward Din. “I need to talk to you!”
Din listened to their exchange until he could stand it no longer. He walked away from the women, each step feeling as if his legs might give way beneath him. His helmet lay on the floor behind him, the furthest it had ever been from him with every step he took.
“Hey! Mando!” Bo called, but Din was past listening to her.
“Leave him alone.” Cara told the woman, her voice low and threatening.
Following the Jedi’s footsteps, Din reached the elevator, letting the door close behind him, blocking out their voices at last. He punched a button on the panel, not caring which level he went to, but once the doors opened he found himself in a deserted corridor. Red strobe lights flashed, and somewhere in the distance an alarm blared. A dark trooper lay a few feet from him, a heap of mangled metal, and further up, a dead storm trooper blocked a doorway. He took the sight in automatically, feeling nothing for them.
But his eyes returned to the dark trooper. The Jedi had sliced them down like a knife through butter.
The Jedi. The one who had responded to Grogu after he had reached out from the Seeing Stone. The one who had taken the child.
At that thought, his breath quickened and he made his way toward a viewing port that looked over the hangar bay. After a moment the lone X-Wing fighter appeared from the bay, flew straight as an arrow and then disappeared as it jumped to hyper space.
“No!” he whispered, his gloved hand finding the window pane as his eyes never left the spot where the small ship had disappeared. “No…”
His gloved hand hung on the glass, in the same way the child’s had over the monitor as the Jedi had approached the bridge, wiping out everything in his path.
The child… Grogu. The foundling. HIS foundling.
Dank farrik, it hurt!
Once, a lifetime ago, he’d felt such heartache. As the hatch doors had closed above him and he’d caught the final view of his parents, his young boy’s heart had been laid bare. A child separated from his parents who were dead seconds later. And now he was the parent, separated from his child.
But there was a difference. His parents had been taken from him – but he had freely given away his child.
And suddenly he was punching the glass. Lashing out with gloved hands at the spot where the one-man ship had disappeared from view. He wanted it to hurt. Needed it to hurt, yet it paled in comparison to the hurt in his very core.
He felt rather than heard the scream that left his throat as he sunk to the metal grid on the floor. Sunk to his knees and leaned forward, as if to escape the pain. The tears that had begun as he’d tried to remain stoic for his kid let loose. And for the first time in his adult life, he sobbed, unable to find any other outlet for his pain. Never before had he needed such release from his feelings.
What the hell had he done?
Shaking, breath catching in his throat, he forced his tears to stop after a minute or two. With nothing else to wipe his face on, he used the hem of his cape. And at that, a memory arose of him wiping Grogu’s face after the kid had thrown up. Still on his knees, he leaned upright again, staring at the metal wall in front of him, his gloved hands on his thighs. He could not afford to bring up memories of the kid. Not now.
“I’m sorry, kid,” he whispered.
But why had he given permission? Why hadn’t he just decided to keep the foundling? Yet he already knew the answer to that. Because it wasn’t about him. It was about Grogu’s future, and keeping the little one safe. The Jedi had spoken the truth; the child would not be safe until he had mastered his abilities. The kid had a power that he himself could never understand or deal with. The child was safer with the Jedi than with him. He had said it many times – being with him was no life for a kid.
He’d done the right thing. But it hurt like hell.
With a shaking exhale of breath, he rose to his feet. Standing in the deserted corridor, he turned and walked slowly toward the rotating lights. And as he strode past the destroyed dark trooper he knew where he was. This was where he had fought Gideon.
His feet led him numbly to stand in the doorway of the cell that Grogu had been held in. Stepping inside, the sight of the tiny handcuffs stopped him in his tracks. Din had ordered Gideon to remove the cuffs, and there they were on the cell bench, the tiniest cuffs he’d ever seen.
In his mind, all he could see was the forlorn figure of Grogu, his hands bound with the cuffs and the whine he’d let out at the sight of his… father. His breath hitched at that memory.
Had the kid known he would come? Had he known? Or had he felt completely abandoned?
In one motion he swept them up and held them tight in his fist. His hand shook. Not only had the Moff taken his kid from him on Tython, and subjected him to who knew what, but Gideon had played him, making him take the dark saber and pitting him against Bo-Katan. He hadn’t wanted any of this. All he’d wanted was his kid back with him, safe in his arms.
He swore and whirled, his grief now mingled with anger. Exiting the cell, he strode back down the corridor toward the elevator. He had just reached it when the doors opened in front of him revealing Cara standing there, holding both his helmet and his Beskar spear. He gasped as he stood in front of her. She had no time to look away, her eyes landing on his exposed features.
Too late, she turned from him, but she had seen.“I… sorry. I’ve been looking for you.”
He stepped back instinctively. Having his face seen was foreign to him, and years of hiding it behind the Beskar had left him woefully unprepared for masking his feelings in front of others.
“You found me,” he managed, his voice low, barely audible above the siren that still wailed in the distance.
Her head still averted, she held out his helmet to him. “Here… take it.”
He stood still, hands at his sides. “No, I can’t.” He backed away again.
Despite herself, Cara looked at him, taking a step toward him. He sounded terrible. “What do you mean, you can’t?” Her eyes could not leave his features now. The first real look at him hurt her heart. She held onto his brown eyes, now red and swollen as he stood unsteadily before her, clearly lost, emotional and drained.
“Oh, my gosh, Mando…”
“I can’t take it. I broke my creed.”
“No, you...” Stepping closer she held the helmet to him in her outstretched arms. “Mando, take it.”
“No!” The anger in his shout stopped her, and she lowered the helmet.
“I can’t. But right now I have business with Gideon,” he said, attempting to get his voice level again. But it betrayed him, both thick with emotion and taut with anger.
She looked at him sharply, never having heard that edge in his voice and she raised his own spear across his breastplate to stop him.
“Out of my way.” He made to step around her, but she sidestepped, blocking him again.
“Look, I understand you’re hurting, and that Gideon hurt the kid, but you need to pull yourself together. We have work that still needs doing.”
“The only thing I need to do is take care of Gideon.” His hand wrenched the spear from his chest, sending it clattering to the metal deck. “Now get out of my way!”
Even without the spear, she blocked him once more, her hands now gripping both his upper arms below his pauldrons. He shook beneath her hands.
“Hey! It’s me!” she shouted into his face. “I am not your enemy!”
That stopped him, and he looked at her silently as if she’d hit him physically.
As she felt his resistance falter, she lowered her hands from him. “Listen to me. I know you’re not feeling it right now, and I’m sorry. But the Moff is my prisoner and I need to get him out of here. You and I both know that’s what has to happen. I need your help to do that.”
Not trusting his voice to betray him again, he looked down and brought his fist up in front of him. As her eyes fell onto his hand, he opened it to reveal the tiny cuffs.
“Oh, my stars,” she whispered, knowing who they had restrained. Her gloved finger touched them briefly in the palm of his hand. “He WILL pay for this. But by way of the law, got it?”
Still he remained silent, his eyes transfixed on the baby sized cuffs. Finally, he nodded. “Fine.”
He stepped to the side, then turned to face her. “But I won’t help you with him.” If he was in the same room with Gideon, he wasn’t sure he could keep his word to Cara. “Not after what he’s done, and what he would still do if he found…” He couldn’t finish at the memory of Grogu in the cell, exhausted and bound, and Gideon waving the dark saber over the child.
“Wow, you really know how to hold a grudge, you know that?” Her eyes looked up at him, as a smile flickered across her lips, trying to lift the mood. But at the sight of his downcast eyes, she regretted it.
“I’m sorry. Can we just talk before we head back up there?” She looked at his curly hair, his scruffy facial hair and mustache, still astonished she was looking at the real him and not the helmet. She waited for him to collect his thoughts, as his inner conflict radiated off him.
“I’m here for you,” she said gently. “You can trust me.”
He knew that and nodded tiredly. “It’s just…” He stopped and took in a shuddering breath.
It was just that he didn’t know what to say or do with himself. Emotions fluctuated wildly between wanting to shout in anger one moment then burst into tears the next. And his body felt as if it were wound tighter than a coiled spring, ready to let loose any second.
He was lost. Broken.
He no longer had a child to take care of. No ship – no home – to call his own. His child had left with the Jedi because he had been unable to provide what Grogu needed most of all. Because of his own failings and unworthiness where the child’s powers were concerned, their clan of two was now broken. He was now half of nothing.
He’d broken his lifelong creed, leaving him without identity and no former clan, after most of his covert had been murdered on Nevarro. And in blindly taking the dark saber from Gideon, he now had the right to rule what was left of Mandalor. He didn’t want ANY of that.
He just wanted his kid!
Hot tears stung his eyes again, and helpless, he leaned his back heavily against the wall, then slid down it as his legs gave way. He dropped his chin to his chest as the tears flowed and his breath came in short gasps.
In an instant Cara was kneeling in front of him, one hand on his raised knee, the other holding his hand that still held the cuffs. “I’ve got you… breathe… You’re okay...”
He wasn’t okay. Far from it. Emotions flooded him. From grief and loss, to anger at himself and anger at Gideon. But most of all, the heartbreak at losing his little green kid.
“I understand,” she said, still holding his gloved hand. “I lost everyone I ever knew and loved on Alderaan. Something tells me you’re not used to loving someone, are you? I bet you didn’t even realize you loved the kid this much until you lost him, right?”
At that he nodded. He hadn’t realized. He’d tried to distance himself, refused to let himself get attached to the child, knowing he’d have to give him up one day. And yet, despite his best efforts, that little green dude had got under his skin and settled deep into his heart. A heart that felt as if it were breaking.
“You’re not used to feeling the pain that fills you when you lose someone,” she continued, her voice soothing to his ears. “But hold onto that. Because in all this fracking universe, that’s what’s important. You hold onto your kid in here,” her finger found his chest, tapping over his heart, “because he’s worth that, and you’re allowed to feel this way. Don’t deny yourself this.” Her own words wavered momentarily at the sight of him, broken before her.
He leaned his head back on the wall behind him as silent tears flowed, and listened to her words.
“A while back you chose to die rather than take your helmet off in front of me. But you love this kid so much you just lifted that bucket of your own free will. If that’s not growth, then I don’t know what is. Cherish this change. Embrace it. He’s made you a different person, and this is now who you are. And that might take some getting used to, but you’re still you.”
As she spoke, his breathing calmed. The child had made him a different person. But a better version or a worse? He didn’t know that yet.
“And you’re still worthy to wear this armour proudly. I might not be as familiar with Mandalorian lore as you are, but from where I sit, I see a man of integrity, honour and worth. You may be down right now, but you’re still a true Mandalorian in every way. You’re still you, understand?”
His eyes drifted to her, taking some comfort in her strength.
“Yes, I’ve seen your face, as have others now, but you’re still worthy of this.” She pulled the helmet toward her, placing her hand on it, then lifted it toward him.
His eyes flickered from her to the helmet.
“You might not be the same Mandalorian you were raised as, but you are still one, and nothing can take that away from you,” she encouraged. “You broke the creed of your particular clan of never having your face seen. But what use is a creed that prevents those who love you from seeing you? The kid needed to see you, and you needed to see him with your own eyes. And whoever else saw you on the mission with Mayfeld, it was purely because of your love for your kid.”
He nodded, eyeing his helmet. Her words were making sense amid the jumble in his brain. He’d been a foundling and Mandalorian lore gave foundlings great significance in their clans. His foundling had asked to see his face and he had willingly given him that. His gloved hands wiped the tears from his cheeks and he looked at her again.
“Think of putting this back on as the start of a new creed. A family creed that symbolizes the love you have for your little one. That nothing will stop you from being reunited. A new creed where you learn and grow from this, and prepare for the day your little green guy comes home.”
“The Creed of Clan Mudhorn,” he said shakily.
“There you go, that’s perfect.”
His hand reached for the helmet, feeling the familiar weight of it as she gave it to him. And at her nod, he lifted it, hesitated, then gently placed it back on his head and locked it in place. As his view of the world returned to its normal perspective from inside his helmet, he felt a moment of comfort that his features were once more hidden. But now hidden for his little guy and not out of customs that were all but obsolete among the remaining Mandalorians. He could do this for Grogu, because while he himself might have failed, the kid was worth it.
“There you are, there’s the Mando I know,” she said patting his knee. “And you know what else? You’re my best friend, even under that bucket of yours.” She rose to her feet, holding out her hand to him. “You ready?”
Taking her hand, he allowed her to haul him up off the floor. With a final look at the baby cuffs, he stowed them safely in his pocket next to the child’s silver ball. He swallowed hard as he felt the round metal, then reached down and picked up his spear.
“Thank you,” he said, standing beside her, clipping the spear to the back of his armour. He should tell her she’d become his best friend too, but his voice failed him. He felt exhausted. All he wanted to do was stop feeling for a while and descend into the oblivion of sleep.
“Come on, let’s go see what they have in that hangar bay down there. I spotted some ships when we arrived. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to stay on this cruiser with those mad women on the bridge, and I need to take Gideon in.”
She was right about that. The last people he wanted to see right now were Moff Gideon and Bo-Katan. He walked silently beside her, before heading down the elevator toward the hangar level. As the doors opened he saw the Slave 1 docked inside. So Fett had returned, but Din groaned inwardly at the thought of spending any more time inside that rotating tin can. He spied the green and red armour through the cockpit window, and nodded in acknowledgment at Fett’s raised hand.
Cara’s voice came from some distance away. “Oh, yeah, this might work.”
Looking to where Cara was walking, he spotted what had caught her eye. Not an Empire ship, but obviously one they’d seized at some point. An old Corellian freighter that looked about the same vintage as his Razor Crest. His heart gave a lurch at the memory and that all that remained of it sat in his pocket. But the ship looked solid, and he walked up the side ramp then toward the cockpit.
It had room for a pilot and copilot, with two passenger seats behind. Bigger than his old ship, but still familiar. While he checked out the state of the ship, glad for something to do, she took a quick look through it before returning to him. “It’s empty, and there is no cargo in the hold. Whatever they were hauling, the Empire took for themselves.”
“She appears to be in good shape, and has plenty of fuel,” he said, turning from the pilot’s seat with the dashboard lit up behind him. His eyes landed on the empty passenger seat on the starboard side. The seat where the kid used to sit in the Crest. He tore his eyes away from it.
She folded her arms and leaned on the doorway to the cockpit. “You gonna be okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah.” He would be, if he could just get away from here and get some rest and some time to himself to sort out where he went from here.
“Okay, I’d better head back up there, in case Gideon gets any ideas.” She gave him a final look then turned to leave. “You know where to find me.”
He did.
“Be safe,” she called back.
“Cara. Wait.”
She looked back at him.
“Thank you. I mean it. Thank you, for...” He didn't need to finish.
She smiled at him. “Well, bucket head, in case you hadn’t realized it, the kid’s not the only family you got, okay?”
He managed a smile beneath the helmet. “I know.”
She walked down the corridor and exited the ship, leaving him alone. Within moments he closed the hatch, fired up the engines, then turned the ship in the hangar bay. Bypassing damaged Tie Fighters and the Slave 1, he hovered safely, then pushed the lever forward to exit the cruiser.
As he rose away from the Empire ship, he didn’t give it a backward look. Instinctively, he looked in the direction the Jedi had headed, but he had no idea where he had taken the kid. He trusted when the time came for the kid to return, the Jedi, infinitely wiser than himself, would know how to find him.
Whenever that day came…
He sighed, and closed his eyes briefly. But for now he needed to set a course. As he studied the star charts, one planet stood out. Sorgan. He could go there, but not to the village where Omera lived. The lush planet was out of the way and quiet with plenty of real estate. He could lose himself there until he felt ready to face others again. He punched in the coordinates, then made the calculations and jumped to hyper space.
As the familiar white and blue strobing lit up the cockpit, he set a timer on the panel. He had several hours yet before he’d enter the Sorgan system. Tiredly, he rose from the seat and walked down the corridor to the centre of the ship. There he found a somewhat stocked galley, complete with seating, table, and bunks set into the walls. It wasn’t his ship, but for now it was home and he was grateful for the space.
As he rolled into a bunk, something dug into his side, and he reached down, finding the dark saber still clipped to his belt. He didn’t want it anywhere near him, so unclipped it and tossed it the bunk above where he lay.
And as the ship sped toward Sorgan and some much needed sanctuary and solitude, Din fell asleep and dreamed of better times.