Chapter Text
Din knew something was wrong.
He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew.
He was in the middle of a bounty hunt for Karga, but Din didn’t think twice before turning the puck and the tracking fob off and throwing them back into a pouch on his belt when his stomach dropped and twisted into a thousand knots, and he hardly spared more than a full thought as he went back to the Crest and paid his docking fees and left this little ice covered backwater planet when his breathing became almost too shallow to even be called breathing. Luke was supposed to be on Dagobah, so that’s where Din went. He was not terribly far from the swampy planet and the equally swampy system. He could make it in a day without using his hyperdrive, but Din knew he didn’t have a day so he pushed the Crest as hard as he could and ignored the rattling and shaking of the ship's hull.
Luke had always said he needed to invest in a new hyperdrive unit.
He broke Dagobah’s atmosphere easy enough, but couldn’t see Luke’s x-wing anywhere on the surface of the planet even after he circled a few times. But Din could see that little hut he had so often seen in Luke’s holocalls, so he landed the Crest on the only dry patch of land next to it, and knocked on its door hard enough and long enough that he almost broke it down.
The person who finally opened it looked properly annoyed, but his eyes widened ever so slightly in regonizition when he saw Din. Or maybe realization would have been more accurate. Din was too panicked to really notice the difference.
Master Yoda, Din’s mind supplied after a moment of silence.
This was Master Yoda.
“Where is he?” Din asked. Demanded, really. He was all but kneeling on the ground in front of the Jedi, so small both the hut and the Jedi was. It felt like Din was at an altar, begging and praying for an answer that he might not get.
Master Yoda’s hand tightened on the doorknob. “Gone.”
“Gone where?” Din pressed. He shuffled closer, reached out a hand before thinking better of it and letting it fall into the mud. Even the modulator in his helmet could not quite keep the desperation out of his voice. “Where did he go?”
Master Yoda stared at him like he wasn’t quite seeing him. It was like he was looking around Din, just at the edges of his armor and his figure, looking at something that Din couldn’t see. “Very strong, your bond is.” He murmured quietly to himself. So quietly that Din almost couldn’t hear it. “Yet around you, the Force moves.” Master Yoda tilted his head, let go of the doorknob to lay his hand atop the other that was already resting on his cane. He looked at Din with the eyes of someone whose wisdom did not come willingly. “Avoids you, it does.”
Din didn’t understand what the Jedi was saying. He didn’t care to understand. “Please, just—where’s Luke?”
Master Yoda blinked as Din’s voice cracked.
“Bespin.” He answered. He grew somber. For a moment, Din couldn’t make the connection between this Yoda and the Yoda that caused Luke to leave his training behind only after a few days because I’m Mandalorian, Din, what does it matter if I learn about this Jedi stuff? The Yoda that told Luke that love was not something a Jedi got to have, the Yoda that Luke told to go fuck himself, the Yoda that Din thought about hating because of how he had make Luke cry. “Move quickly, you must. Uncertain I am, about how much time Luke has.”
Din’s heart leapt to his throat. “He’s in trouble?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
Master Yoda hummed, then, “Go to him, Mandalorian. Before you cannot.”
Din didn’t need to be told anything else.
He got to his feet, ignored the mud and gunk and swamp water clinging to his armor and flight suit as he wadded back to the ship. He could hear nothing but how quickly his heart was beating–beating like the war drums of the Before Times. He ignored how his hands were shaking, how his whole body was suddenly so cold. He ignored his own shallow breathing, the way the Crest kicked and screamed and rattled at being thrown into hyperdrive again so soon. Ignored it all even as he was breaking through Bespin’s atmosphere, as he went towards Cloud City just as quickly as he went away from it because there was another ship leaving and Luke was on it.
He did not even think twice on what he was going to do. He followed the ship out of the atmosphere, followed it towards one of Bespin’s many moons, and only hesitated a moment before following it some more.
Din had done far dumber things than board an Alderaan war class ship by himself.
They just weren't coming to mind.
That was where the ship from Cloud City had gone, pulling into a docking port on the side of the ship.
Din knew he didn’t have much time before it closed the door and went into hyperdrive, so with all the recklessness that Paz insisted he had Din slid the Crest into the docking port a few moments after the other ship had entered. It was a tight fit. The Razor Crest already wasn’t made for docking ports like this, and trying to squeeze in next to another ship probably shouldn’t have worked. It definitely shouldn’t have worked. And Din should have been shot at as soon as he got off the Crest but he wasn’t. Because Luke was standing there covered in blood and grime and sweat and tears and there was so much blood—
“Starlight—“ Luke breathed it out. Choked it out.
Din rushed towards him and shoved past all the guards and personnel in the docking bay. The woman standing next to Luke–supporting Luke and keeping him upright–stepped aside more out of surprise than anything else. Luke pitched forward, and Din took his husband in his arms and held him so so close, pressed his forehead against Luke’s and tried to let all the love he had fit into the words that spilled from his mouth. “Luke, ner kar’ta.”
“Din.”
And the sound that slipped from Luke’s lips was so broken that Din felt his own heart break with it.
—
Leia had been scared when she saw the ship following them out of Cloud City, but Luke—broken, hurt, anguished Luke—had visibly relaxed when he saw it. He had murmured words in a language Leia didn’t know, pressed the one hand he still had left against the window, smearing blood and grime across it as he said it’s okay I know him and left the unspoken plea please let him in hang between them. So Leia told the soldiers to stand down, to let the approaching ship onto the docking port, and when Luke started moving and sluggishly bleeding more blood she wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him off the ship and down the ramp.
Leia had not been expecting a Mandalorian, but something in Luke came back to life when he saw him. He had taken a step forward, tried to get closer, but Leia held fast and tight.
The Mandalorian didn’t seem to be entirely aware of his surroundings when he stepped off his ship.
He zeroed in on Luke, crossed the docking port like he was crossing a swath of no man's land and was determined to get to the other side. Leia had not even realized she had stepped back until Luke was tucked away in the Mandalorian’s arms, clinging to the fabric of his cape like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He went boneless as he pressed his forehead to the Mandalorian’s, and Leia tried not to choke at the smear of bright red blood that was left behind on the pretty silver armor.
The Mandalorian put his arm around Luke’s waist, right where Leia’s had been only moments before, settling his other hand just below Luke’s elbow. Far enough away to not bring immediate attention to the missing hand, but close enough to say I’m here.
Luke collapsed into the Mandalorian’s side, still clinging to his cape.
“Where is your medical bay?” the Mandalorian asked. Leia had been half expecting him to snap it out, not to speak softly and gently.
“This way.” Leia turned, and led them out of the docking bay.
Luke had mentioned being married once. Leia did not think she could say she was surprised to learn that he was married to a Mandalorian.
–
The woman–Princess Leia Organa, Din learned–had brought them to a state of the art medical bay, where all they had been able to do was clean the blood and grime off of Luke, disinfect and bandage his wounds, and hope to the stars that his severed limb wouldn’t become infected by the time they were able to get them to a Rebel base. Din wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t be. This was a war class ship. They weren't designed to provide state of the art prosthetics on a whim.
A war class ship's capabilities began and ended with only enough medical supplies to keep soldiers from dying.
Still, Leia had apologized, had brought them to a quiet and secluded room and told them she would be back to check on them when they got closer to Endor. She let the door close behind her, leaving Din to guide Luke into bed, to wrap his husband in blankets, to remove his own armor and let Luke still cling to his cape even though he wasn’t wearing it anymore, to let Luke press himself up against Din’s side and try to bury himself in Din’s chest.
Luke was a sweaty, shakey mess in Din’s arms.
Din knew better than to ask what had happened.
“I can still hear him,” Luke whispered into Din’s neck. It was the first words he had spoken since the docking bay. “He keeps–he won't stop talking to me–”
“Who–?”
Luke shook his head, clung tighter to Din. “I can’t–please, Din, make it stop.”
Din’s mind was going in a thousand different directions and his heart beat in time with each new thought he had. And then suddenly he thought about when Ben was still alive, when Luke was still so excited to learn about these new powers he had. He remembered Luke saying that he couldn’t sense Din as well when he was wearing his helmet, and remembered Ben’s surprise at that statement. He remembered Ben asking to see the helmet, remember watching the old man smile and say how it was probably just an odd coincidence.
Slowly, Din pulled the helmet off his head. “Luke,” he said softly, focusing all his attention onto his husband to ignore how strange the air felt against his bare skin. “Luke, look at me.”
Luke did.
His eyes were red and puffy and wet, cheeks red and blotchy from the tears.
“Can you put this on for me?” Din asked, swallowing as his throat grew tight.
Luke shook his head again, much more violently. “I can’t–that’s your helmet–”
“Mhi me’dinui an,” Din murmured, gently cutting him off. We will share all. “Please, I think–I think it might help.”
Luke stared at him. Din set the helmet between them, lifted one hand to cup Luke’s cheek and brushed a tear away with the pad of his thumb. Luke leaned into the touch, took a breath that Din could hear rattling in his lungs, then ducked his head down. Din lifted the helmet back up, slid it over Luke’s head. Luke’s shoulders dropped, and his breath was much stronger this time.
“He’s–quieter.”
“Good.” Din pressed his palms to the side of the helmet, where Luke’s cheeks would be, and pressed a kiss to his husband’s forehead. His lips just barely grazed the bloodstain that was still there, but Din could still taste the copper and zinc. He hated it. “Get some sleep, cyar'ika. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
You can tell me what happened then Din left unsaid.
Luke didn’t argue.
He curled up into Din’s side, and Din easily ignored the sharp corners of the helmet digging into his shoulder. He only knew Luke was asleep when his heavy breathing evened out into something gentler.