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the first few days were the hardest for him. Being told everything you’d grown up knowing was a lie wasn’t exactly the most enjoyable experience, you were sure. Having to give up your surrogate son was just the cherry on top of your tin-can-man’s giant trauma cake. The first day after Grogu was gone, you’d woken to find your partner gone- most like pacing outside the ship. You’d pulled on your tunic and pants and then went out the side door. Your suspicions were confirmed and you found him outside, walking in circles and muttering while a kettle boiled over the fire. You crept out into the cool morning air, the blanket from your shared cot wrapped tightly around your shoulders.
“Hey, Mando,” you called quietly when you stepped outside. He halted and turned to you, pale colours of the fire reflecting off the metal of his helmet. it was still dark, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was far too early for either of you to be awake.
“Did I wake you?” he asked as his voice crackled through the modulator. you smiled at him and shook your head.
“no, you didn’t,” you told him, crossing to one of the stumps by the fire, sitting down, “do you wanna talk about why you’re up before sunrise doing a DIY racetrack with your boots?”
“it’s nothing,”
“give me a chance metal man,” you told him and you smiled when he sighed.
“do you want tea?”
“only if you’ll drink it with me,” you replied, “I have the blindfold,”
“no,” he told you, and you frowned. you’d known he was in a bad mood, but you hadn’t been expecting such a blunt answer.
“Oh. okay. well, I’ll let you get your tea while I dress,” you told him and stood, tightening the thick blanket around your shoulders, “love you, Mando,”
“I love you,” he said back quietly, watching you go.
——
he resisted the urge to put his head in his hands- purely because the helmet would make things uncomfortable for him. instead, he clenched his fist as the door hissed shut behind her and groaned angrily towards the rising sun. he wanted to spend time with her, wanted to sit with her and drink tea and talk, but not now. if they did that it would be like- like nothing happened. he couldn’t do that yet, not when Grogu- his foundling, was lightyears away with some stranger. it hurt too much.
instead, he made himself a cup, lifted the helmet just enough to drink, and finished the tea as quickly as possible. it burned, boiling still, but the pain grounded him. he was used to pain, and it didn’t match the hollowness that dug its way through his chest.
——
The second week was a bit of the same. no sleeping in, and no warm morning cuddles. you woke up to the sheets cold where he usually slept, blankets tucked around you. you looked up and couldn’t help the sound of shock that escaped you. Grogu’s cot was gone. Maybe you’d spent too much time with Mando, or maybe you were the same way, but you knew exactly what he was doing. you scrambled out of the cot, grabbed his sleep shirt as an extra layer of warmth and rushed outside. He stood in front of the fire, items of Grogu’s in the flames.
“Din!” you called, and he turned sharply, stuffed bantha handing from his fingers. You rushed to him, nearly colliding with his beskar-plated chest.
“What?”
“Don’t, please,” you told him, swiping the stuffed animal from his gloved hands and gripping it tightly, “For the love of the Force, stop,”
“I need to let go,” He told you, “I’m letting it hinder me,”
“You’re letting it heal, Din,” You said softly, hand reaching up to gently press a hand against the cool metal of his helmet.
“But, it doesn’t feel like it’s healing,” he admitted, voice barely discernable through the modulator, “it just hurts. It’s like I’m drowning, and like each time I try to come up for air I’m just pulled back down.”
“Hold on,” you said, reaching for the fabric you kept tied around your arm, “I know it’s not fun to be upset in the helmet. I’ll just get the blindfold-“
“No.” He told you, “Leave it off,”
“But- the helmet,”
“Just, close your eyes,” he said so softly that if you weren’t trained to pick through the static of the modulator you never would have heard it. You closed your eyes tightly, hoping the shock didn’t show on your face as you heard the soft hiss of his helmet releasing. You heard him set it on a stump and then he pulled off his gloves, the leather creaking just loud enough for you to discern what he was doing. Gently, you felt the warmth of his fingers trace over your face.
“Would you still like to talk?” You asked and he let out a sigh, the sound so much more human without the helmet- but still so familiar you couldn’t help but smile softly.
“You can open your eyes,” he told you, voice hesitant as if he were telling you some important secret. You didn’t do it at first, too scared to do it wrong somehow. Eventually, however, you did it, letting out a cautious exhale. Your lids lifted and you found yourself looking up into the face of the Mando- the Din Djarin. Soft brown eyes, the colour of chocolate, reflected the light of the rising sun. You gently reached up and wiped the tears around his eyes away with your thumbs.
“Hey,” you whispered, “He’s going to be okay, okay? We did the right thing giving him to the Jedi,”
“I know,” He sighed, eyes closing as another tear escaped, “But I miss him,”
“I know,” you replied as you pressed your forehead to his- something he’d told you long ago was a symbol of affection between Mandalorian warriors, “I miss him too,”