Chapter Text
They’ve been here for a week now.
Here being the run-down hovel nestled in the swamps of Dagobah, of course. His master’s old hut had fallen into disrepair since the last time Luke stayed here, the ancient swamp reclaiming it from the space it had carved out among the roots of a great gnarltree. The sight of the sagging, moss-covered walls had struck some muted sense of grief that still resides in Luke.
He brought the child here because he has nowhere else. The academy is a hope in his mind, but, well - still a distant one, for the time being. In the meantime, he has his first student, and watching over a child occupies too much of his time to worry about setting up something more formal. Not yet, at least.
And, really, Dagobah had been where he himself had trained. What better place is there to teach his first student?
They mostly stay in the X-wing for shelter. When the dawn sunlight dances through the dense fog, Luke gets up and assembles breakfast. They eat while leaning against the ship’s side. By midmorning, they begin their lesson for the day, and afterward Luke goes over to the hut and tries his best to fix it into a proper home again. Grogu either watches him as he works, teething on the metal pendant around his neck, or he searches the murky water for frogs with R2.
(The first time Grogu stuck a frog in his mouth, R2 had screeched and sent Luke into a panic. He had worried for days after that - how could he not? But the kid didn’t get sick, and he seemed weirdly anatomically capable of eating frogs... so maybe it has something to do with his species???)
(This whole caretaking thing is gonna be the death of him.)
And so, a week has passed.
Logically, Luke knows that it’s unreasonable to expect major progress in just a week. Especially when dealing with a toddler who’s apparently fifty years old... A toddler who looks suspiciously like his old master. Maker, he has no idea what he’s doing.
But still, he expected some progress. Instead, the kid has been surprisingly shy and withdrawn.
He had spoken to Luke on the bridge of that Imperial light cruiser in the fleeting shapes of half-formed images and words murmured in others’ voices - enough to communicate the importance of the Mandalorian with whispers of joy safety home and flashes of silver. (And if the kid hadn’t convinced him, then the way the man knelt and removed his helmet for Grogu certainly confirmed it. Luke doesn’t know much about Mandalorian culture, but he could see the clear reverence in the action to understand its significance.)
But they needed to leave quickly. The child had called for help, after all, and Luke had cut down countless Dark Troopers to get to him. Not to mention they were on an Imperial light cruiser, what the kriff was that doing around still? He needed to get the kid out of there.
So he had hurried off to his X-wing. The kid had seemed happy enough on the way there, playing and chattering along nonsensically with R2. But as they took off from the cruiser, the kid had stared out the viewscreen with an odd look to his face, small claws coming up to palm the glass like he had the Mandalorian’s face. The Force moved sluggishly around him.
So preoccupied with the departure, Luke didn’t have enough time to unpack all that. And now he sorely regrets that, a week into the getaway on Dagobah.
The first day had been spent setting up camp. The kid had remained silent the entire time. The Force was cautiously still around him, as though he were holding it back and trying not to be noticed. Luke gave him his space, carefully telegraphed his movements, and the child watched him the entire time with dark eyes.
On the second day, Luke attempted training. They weren’t able to move past meditation. The Force remained untouched. But when Luke asked for his name, he brushed up against his mind to communicate in that odd way of his. He told Luke his name in the form of the Mandalorian’s modulated voice, lilting a quiet “Grogu?” A swell of joy accompanied the memory before Grogu brought his walls back up, and the Force went cold.
It was better than nothing, at least.
In the following days, Luke tried to test Grogu’s levitation skills. He brought sticks, and pebbles, and rocks, and even entire branches, and the kid did nothing but blink up at him uncertainly. But Grogu excelled in meditation, and his mental shielding was quite extraordinary for his age. He must have had training at some point - so what could be the problem?
It’s troubling. A week has passed, and Luke is stumped. He can’t teach someone who doesn’t want to be taught. But... he doesn’t think that’s the issue.
When dawn filters through the trees and Grogu still sleeps, snoring softly in the X-wing, Luke huddles near R2 and attempts to start breakfast.
“There must be something I’m missing,” he mutters. The fire-starter sparks, but doesn’t light the damp kindling underneath. R2 chirps next to him, and Luke turns to face him. “No, not the fire. The kid. What do you think?”
R2 whirrs with exasperation. Luke frowns. “You think he’s... afraid?”
He sits back on his heels and stares at the smoldering brush with dread.
On the ninth day, as they settle down on a nearby tree root for morning meditation, Luke makes his move.
“Grogu?” He starts, and the kid’s head jerks up immediately. “Is there a reason why you aren’t using the Force?” He makes sure to keep the air around him calm and light-hearted. But still, the kid’s face sours and his Force presence goes eerily still.
When Grogu doesn’t respond, Luke sighs. “You don’t have to answer if you aren’t comfortable. I just want to help.”
The kid watches him for a moment longer, grimacing in a way that makes him seem more severe than a toddler should be. (And Luke is reminded that Grogu may be a child, but he’s still older than Luke himself. Regardless of biological aging, that’s still a long time to see things.) But then Grogu’s shields slip slightly - enough that Luke glances fear before they slip back into place. His heart drops.
“You’re safe here,” Luke assures softly. “R2 and I won’t let anything hurt you.”
The kid grips the pendant like a lifeline, and Luke catches a glimpse of silver between small green fingers. His ears droop, yet his walls come down. Hesitant, but a clear invitation. Luke reaches out slowly, giving him enough time to stop him. Grogu pushes memories at him before he can get too deep.
The images are vague and fleeting. Pale walls. The sides of a crib. Silhouettes passing by, hushed conversation. Warm blankets and distant giggles. Everything outside is so big and loud and overwhelming. But here is comfortable. Here is safe.
Then - another who looks like him stands over the crib (and underneath the memory, Luke dimly recognizes Master Yoda) . A nice Togruta with bright red skin stands nearby. The two exchange big words whispered with urgency. Hands reach down and wrap around him, pulling him out of the crib as he cries.
And the temple is burning around him and everything is loud again, the roaring of flames and screams and blaster fire on all sides. And he must remain quiet, he must not be found. Here is danger. Here is not safe.
A pram closes over his head. And everything goes dark.
The shields come back up and Luke is forced out. He blinks his eyes to reorient himself with reality, but he still sees the afterimage of bright flames. The kid shivers and clings to the pendant.
Luke reaches out a hand, and draws away when the kid flinches. “I’m so sorry, Grogu,” he murmurs.
The kid is quiet for days, after that.
They continue meditating every day, but Luke doesn’t try any training. Both he and the kid need to process their conversation. Late at night as Grogu sleeps in the X-wing, Luke settles down near the water’s edge with R2.
“So the kid is traumatized,” Luke says plainly. R2 agrees with a sad beep.
“He lived through Order 66. He had to hide to survive - both in mannerisms and in the Force.” Luke sighs and turns to R2, who whirrs and flashes his central light. “He isn’t touching the Force because he - what - doesn’t feel safe?"
The droid beeps an affirmative.
Luke shakes his head. “But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he reach out through the Force if he doesn’t feel safe using it?”
R2 whines insistently, and something in Luke clicks.
As he and the kid sit on a tree root sipping broth the next morning, Luke finally asks. “Who was that man on the light cruiser?” Grogu’s ears perk up, eyes wide and head tilting to the side with an excited coo. Luke reaches out to him with the Force, and tentatively, the kid responds.
It starts with a bad dream. He wakes with a sharp cry. Quickly, he stifles it, but he’s too late. The man stirs on the cot below with a grunt. The man will be angry, like the others were. He must be quiet. He must not be found.
A hand lands on his back. He jumps at the contact, and stays frozen. Here is danger.
But - instead of shouting, the man murmurs to him unintelligibly in a language he doesn’t recognize. The consonants are sharp, but somehow sound soft coming from the man’s mouth. The hand rubs gentle patterns into his back. He goes limp and lets the man pull him against his side. Clutching the gloved thumb, he cries.
Luke withdraws. Grogu stares into his broth. The Force twitches around him with a strange mix of emotions.
Well, that certainly explains some things.
Day by day, Luke asks for more, and the kid shares more. The hesitation melts away, replaced by eagerness.
Grogu shares memories of sitting in a pouch by the Mandalorian’s side, looking up to catch the bottom edge of his helmet. He shares memories of swaying in a small hammock above the man in a dark, enclosed space, quiet except for the sounds of the man’s breathing. Of sitting together in the cargo hold of a ship and sipping from bowls together. The feel of warm metal pressed against his side, a strong arm tucked around him. Soft humming and gentle words in a modulated voice. A tender smile in the tilt of a helmet.
But there are also a few... concerning moments, to say the least. These come quickly, less detailed, as though Grogu doesn’t want Luke to see them. Blaster fire is all too common. A wave of heat washing over him. Rough waters, and unhinged jaws closing over him. Even a behemoth krayt dragon rising through the sand.
As alarm builds in Luke, Grogu shifts away from danger, and instead focuses on the Mandalorian. How the man had carefully sheltered Grogu in his arms, shielding him from blaster shots. How he tucked Grogu into his pram and sent him away with the Ugnaught. How he bounced Grogu on his leg and held his hand and wished so badly not to let go that the Force sang with it.
There was comfortable. There was safe. There was home.
The days pass by and more memories are shared. Luke witnesses the bond growing between Grogu and the Mandalorian, and a terrible feeling claws at his stomach with each new scene. A terrible feeling that he went about the situation on the light cruiser entirely wrong.
“Is the Mandalorian... your father?” Luke finally asks when the sour feeling crawls too far up his throat and R2’s lights flicker at him too aggressively to ignore.
That old hesitation is back. But the kid blinks, and he trusts Luke.
It starts in flashes, as always. A silver ball. A silver helmet. A silver spaceship that felt like home. A silver pauldron with some strange animal skull engraved on it.
And then - the sky is blue, and the ground is brown, and there is a strange animal charging towards the man with its single large horn. He stands in front of it, armor smeared with mud and barely upright as he holds a vibro-blade out. The Force is a screaming maelstrom of danger danger danger. Grogu reaches out and lifts the animal, and everything goes black.
The black shifts and gives way to orange and blue. He’s in some dark room, lit only by the bright blue flames of a forge and torches against the walls. A droid holds him against its chest while the man stands nearby, unsteady on his feet. Across from them is another Mandalorian with an intricate gold-plated helmet, moving around the forge with casual proficiency.
She pours liquid metal into a mold. Her narrowed visor tilts up to face the man. “Until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father,” she says, voice authoritative and allowing no argument. The man looks at Grogu and bows his head.
She steps forward and welds something to the silver pauldron against the man’s shoulder. Her touch is careful, like a blessing. The skull engraving is brand new.
Luke blinks away the memory to see Grogu watching him, ears flattened against his head. He wrings his small hands together.
“A clan of two,” Luke says, echoing someone else’s words. And he thinks of the man on the bridge, his teary eyes closed shut as he leaned his forehead against Grogu’s. Luke sighs and drops his face into his hands. “I’ve made a mistake, haven’t I.”
“I’ve separated a father and son,” Luke bemoans that night. R2 chirrs.
“Alright, alright, you don’t have to be mean about it.” He turns to face the droid. “What do you think I should do?”
R2 lets out a single, deadpan beep.
Three weeks after they arrived, Luke joins the kid on his frog hunt. They walk out onto a root extending over the water, and Grogu’s ears swivel around with excitement at the new terrain. He stares at the river below them with rapt attention. Luke glances away for one moment, and the next time he looks, the kid already has a frog in his hand and is swallowing it whole.
The air is filled with the trills and warbles of animals hidden in the trees. Plants twist and tumble around each other towards the meager light filtering through the thick canopy above. This planet has always been so alive. Luke can feel it in the Force, how it flows around them so easily. And it pushes him forward, beckoning him to the decision that has been building for weeks now. He takes a steadying breath.
“Grogu,” he says. Eyes wide, the kid turns to him just as the last frog leg disappears in his mouth. With a chuckle, Luke kneels down to be at eye level.
“Would you like to see your dad again?”