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Din set the Razor Crest down in the clearing with a practiced ease. Flipping switches and easing back on the levers, the Crest’s engines throttled down leaving the forest still again. Din’s shoulders sagged and he leaned back into his seat with a sigh. It was another long day of flying manually. The autopilot was on the fritzs and he hadn't had the time to repair it since a hasty getaway nearly three days ago. The one shot he hadn’t managed to outmaneuver struck the Crest and messed up the autopilot. Everything was alright now, he and his son were safe. Din looked over his right shoulder seeing his child standing up in his box that was strapped to the seat looking out the window. Trying to see the towering trees in the near dark. He let out another tired sigh and with a groan and his hands on his knees stood up stiffly.
“C’mon Grogu, let's eat and get some sleep. It's too late to go into town tonight. All the vendors will be closed, we'll go in the morning.” Grogu swung his head to look at his father, clad in his silver beskar and emotionless helmet, and promptly held up his arms to be picked up. Din plucked him up on reflex now at the gesture and cradled him in the crook of his left arm, Grogu cooed. As he exited the cockpit and descended the ladder he thought how natural the act was. He was still amazed at how this little creature, no, his foundling, his son, Grogu had him wrapped around his three little green fingers. Din smiled to himself in his head at the feeling.
Once in the cargo bay he pulled some crates away from the wall to form a makeshift seating area and sat Grogu down on one. The boy started babbling while his dad got dinner. Din turned to the wall and opened the locker that was the pantry. Near empty, except for a few ration packages left on the top shelf. Good thing they were going shopping tomorrow. He grabbed two packs and then stooped to the bottom shelf and fished with a hand feeling for what he hoped may be there. His fingers closed around a small bottle and he pulled it out. The last bottle of juice, that was lucky. Standing and closing the locker, he returned to sit next to Grogu on the crate.
Din sat the ration bars and juice on the crate that was the makeshift table. He reached up to his head and removed his helmet and sat it down on the floor next to him. Grogu trilled at seeing his father’s face then continued his line of babbling. Next he removed his gloves and those to joined the helmet on the floor. Din ran his fingers through his matted down thick brown hair undoing some of the helmet hairdo. He looked at Grogu and the boy gave a small laugh. “What?” Din raised a brow. “Is my hair that bad?” he continued to giggle at him. “Well,” Din reached down and mussed his son's hair between his fingers and made it stick out in odd directions. Grogu squealed in delight. “Now you match me.”
He reached back to the ration bars and peeled the wrapper off one and handed it to Grogu who quickly took the bar, but did not bite into it. He looked back at his father with an unimpressed expression. “It's all we got for tonight, sorry buddy. We’ll go shopping in the morning.” The child gave a chirp and started to eat.
Din unwrapped his ration and stared at it for a moment. It really wasn't very good, but it was better than an empty stomach. He took a bite and as he chewed started to make a mental list of the things he needed to purchase when in town. He wasn't sure how much of the list he’d be able to get since it was a small town not a large port. He was lost in his list when he felt a tug on his right arm, bringing him back to attention.
“Hmm? You want the juice?” he started to reach for it and the boy pulled himself up onto his lap when his forearm moved out of the way. Grogu sat and reclined with his back against his fathers torso and started eating again. Din’s heart felt fuzzy at the sight, he smiled to himself. He grabbed the juice and handed it to the child, who eagerly slurped it down. The sweet fruity taste much better than a bland ration bar.
Din finished his ration and waited for the kid to finish his meal. His left hand started to stroke the nearest little green ear as he thought about what their next move would be after the quick restock. He heard a small squeak of a yawn come from his lap and without any control over himself he yawned to. Definitely time for bed.
He took the empty juice bottle from the kid and sat it back on the table. Moving his left arm to hold the kid to himself he stood and moved to the bunk and sat him down. Grogu yawned again and with the back of a tiny hand rubbed an eye.
Din started to unbuckle his armor piece by piece and hung it on the wall next to the bunk door. He stripped down to the soft black cotton long sleeve undershirt and dark brown cotton pants that protected him from chafing. The tough leather overclothes that the beskar was mounted to was unforgiving against bare skin.
The child sat watching his father with half lidded eyes and drooped ears as he yawned again followed by a double eye rub. He was slowly losing battle to not fall asleep before his father joined him.
Din grabbed his gloves and helmet off the floor and put the gloves with the rest of his armor hanging on the wall. Facing the bunk he scooted Grogu to one side so he could crawl in and tucked his helmet in the corner out of the way but ever within reach. He laid down on his left side with his back against the wall to leave room for the child in the small bunk space. When he got settled he motioned to Grogu and watched as the child near sleep walked up to him.
“Ad’ika,” he said in a tired sympathetic tone, “let's get some sleep.” The child agreed by burying his small face into the crook of his fathers neck and curled his body up into Din’s chest. He tapped the buttons on the opposite wall, turning off the lights and closing the door to the bunk with a quiet hiss. Grogu snuggled in even closer against his father as Din pulled a lightweight roughspun blanket over them and let out a relaxed sigh. His right hand went to his son and with a thumb slowly rubbed his back as he drifted off to sleep.
—
Din slowly woke up, how long had he been out? He looked at the clock on the opposite wall. Late morning, he had dearly needed all the hours of sleep he had gotten after being up for nearly three days with no sleep. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes then pulled back the blanket. The child was asleep perpendicular to himself and the wall taking up more space than Din in the small bunk. Little womp rat. He slid his hands underneath the small body and brought him up to his chest and scooted to a sitting position leaning against the steel wall. The child stirred but didn't wake, making a little cooing sound.
“Ad’ika…” Din took a tiny tri-digit hand in between his fingers and rubbed “time to wake up.” The tiny little green nose twitched then large dark eyes fluttered open and gazed at him accompanied by a happy coo. Grogu clasped both his little hands around his father’s index finger and burbled. Din poked his finger into his son’s belly and wiggled it, the child responded with laughter at being tickled. “Alright, let's get this day started.”
Din opened the bunk door and scooted out and set Grogu on the floor then turned back and pulled out his helmet and left it resting on the edge of the bunk. He turned to his armor hanging on the wall and started to get dressed. The child went to the bottom of the ladder and started to climb up towards the cockpit. “Don't touch anything.” Din was answered with a set of chirps.
Fifteen minutes later Din slung the empty brown satchel over his shoulder and called up to Grogu. “Ad’ika, time to go.” He heard a small thump as the child landed on the floor then a few moments later he saw a small green face with large ears looking down at him from the top of the ladder. “C’mon, breakfast is waiting in town.” Din held out his hands as Grogu lept from the top into his arms and trilled when his father caught him. Tucking his son into the crook of his left arm he picked up his helmet off the edge of the bunk and put it on. Standing at the back of the cargo hold the door lowered letting in a rush of fresh air smelling of pine.
Din walked down the ramp and onto a bed of brown pine needles. He looked down the path, behind him the Crest’s ramp closed and the security system engaged. A few minutes down the path Grogu started to squirm and wanted down. “If you want to walk it's going to take longer to get to town and get food.” The squirming ceased. “You can walk when we go back to the ship,” The Mandalorian ran a quick thermal scan of their surroundings. All clear. “When we get closer to town you'll have to go into the satchel.” The child babbled with his gaze to the massive pine trees overhead.
Thirty minutes later they were approaching the tree line that rimmed the edge of the town. The Mandalorian placed the child in the satchel and swept his cloak over it to conceal the kid. He walked through the main gate that opened up into a thoroughfare lined with various stalls doing brisk business selling a variety of goods. Dehydrated fruits and vegetables, freshly butchered meat on hooks, large wicker baskets filled with colorful spices. Others had bolts of linen cloth, or stacks of tooled leather items on display. He heard soft ‘ooos’ coming from his hip, he brushed his fingers over the little head under the cloak. Passing a side street he was hit with the delicious smells of the food stalls, he immediately turned down the street.
Walking the row of food stalls there was a sharp tugging on the leather at his hip and a loud coo. A few passersbys gave the Madalorian a strange look but didn't stop. He was standing in front of a stall that had a large charcoal brazier burning low. On wooden skewers were large white grubs that the Trandoshan slowly roasted. More tugging at his hip, if it's what he wants… He looked up and down the street, everything was normal. No ill meaning or hard lingering looks at him. Just the regular kind, that of curious townsfolk.
He moved his cloak back and pulled the child from the satchel and set him on the worn wooden bar that made up the stall front. There were no stools so he remained standing leaning an elbow on the bar with the child in front of him babbling excitedly. “I’ll have an order of grubs please.” The trandoshan looked the pair up and down, a little surprised at how these customers looked.
“Do you want them raw or cooked?” The cook asked as he reached for a basket with the grubs. The Mandalorian looked down to the child who was fidgeting with excitement. “Make it two orders, one of each.” The vendor grabbed a handful of the grubs and put the wriggling creatures in a wooden bowl and placed it in front of the kid.
The child gave a high pitched squeal of excitement and grabbed a fat grub that was nearly as long as his arm and stuffed it unceremoniously into his mouth. He made a quick bite on the head then slurped the grub down like a noodle and it was gone. The Mandalorian shook his head. “Womp rat.” The vendor laughed as he was skewing live grubs onto thin pieces of wood. Then laid them out on the grill, sizzling when they made contact and tried to squirm to no avail. The kid continued to stuff grubs in his mouth one by one, each meeting its end to the bite/slurp combo. The child held one extra large grub up to the man in silver next to him. The grub wriggled fiercely to escape the little green hand. “I'm not hungry, eat up, we've still got shopping to do.” The little green kid gave a half growl at the man then bit and slurped the grub down.
The cooked ones just took a minute to roast the delicate skin to a golden color. The cook slid the cooked ones off the skewer into another bowl and handed it to the kid. More happy squeals and more grub munching. He sure did like them, better get some to go… “Can I get one more large order of the cooked ones, well done, to go please.” the cook nodded as he began skewing more grubs. The Mandalorian handed the vendor the credits as he tucked the bag of cooked grubs on his right belt loop, out of the child's reach, they were for later.
Putting the child back into the satchel, this time not covering him with the cloak he went back to the main drag. Over the next hour, only slowed down a bit by the little green kid at this hip he managed to get most of what was on his list purchased. Pulling the draw string tight on the canvas sac, now filled with mostly foodstuffs, the Mandalorian hefted the large canvas sack over his right shoulder and he started towards the main gate of the town.
The last stall before the threshold of the gate cought his eyes and the child's too, though not for the same reason. A young twi’lek had her dazzling hand crafted jewelry on display, the kid was babbling and reaching for the shiny objects. The Mandalorian angled his left hip away to keep the jewelry out of his reach, “No touching.” and sat the canvas sac down.
“Hello,” he said and pointed to an open wooden box with an array of colored paint sticks. “How much for that.” The young twi’lek was staring open mouthed at the sight before her. Her brain, given a moment to catch up, regained speech. “Are you a Manalorian? Your armor is beautiful, it makes my jewelry look dull in comparison.” She gushed out all at once. “Yes I’am, uh, thank you…” He gestured again to the box. “How much for the paints?” The twi’lek picked it up off the table and handed it to the man to look at. “15 credits.” He gave a nod of his head and handed her the credits. “Thankyou.” He added the paint box to the canvas sac, shouldering it again and left the town.
The trek back to the Razor Crest was made twice as long by someone short and green. But that was ok, the kid needed to stretch his legs and well, be a kid. Din walked slowly as his child zigzagged back and forth across the pine needle path speaking gibberish the whole time. Looking at flowers, bugs, rocks… anything that was at eye level if he was honest. The kid came to a flower and leaned in, took a sniff then sneezed hard enough to sit him down on his rump. He looked to his father and held up his arms. Din chuckled as he stooped to scoop him up in the crook of his left arm.
The ramp to the Crest lowered and he walked up it depositing the sac on the floor and the child at the edge of the bunk. “I need to repair the autopilot system…” he left the sentence hanging as Grogu rubbed an eye and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. Picking back up, “And you need to take a nap.” Din picked him up and made a little nest out of the thin blanket and his pillow back in the corner of the bunk, “I'll be right outside, sleep.” and tucked him in. Grogu cooed and snuggled in, his gloved fingers brushing the edge of an ear, his heart getting all fuzzy at how adorable the sight was. He closed the door to the bunk and picked up his tool bag by the door.
—
Two hours later the repairs were completed and the pantry restocked, time to move on. Din sat in the cockpit, fingers flipping switches and pushing buttons without looking. The engines come to life stirring up dust and pine needles, he eases back on the controls and the Crest lifts off the ground. Once cleared of the trees he angles the nose skyward, blue sky gives way to black dotted with stars.
Squeaky babbling and little claws around his right calf get Din's attention, with one hand still on the controls he picks the kid up by the back of his tunic and sets him on his lap. “Have a good nap?” chirp, he’ll take that as a yes. “Hang on, we're gonna jump.” The child grabbed onto his father’s upper arm and braced himself as the stars elongated, then blurred, letting out an excited coo. Din held the Crest steady as he turned on the autopilot system, ‘please work’, he thought to himself, green light.
Grogu sniffed the air, tiny nostrils flaring, and zeroed in on the bag at his fathers hip. He tried to reach for it but his little arms were too short. Din pulled the bag from his belt and opened the top and handed it to Grogu. The child immediately plunged a hand in the bag and stuffed a cooked grub in his mouth. He couldn't slurp these ones down, they were crunchy and needed to be chewed. He grabbed another one and offered it up to his father. Din looked at it and reached a hand up to remove his helmet and set it on the console, then took the cooked grub and popped it in his mouth and chewed. Grogu trilled in approval past the grub still half chewed on in his own mouth, and handed another one up to Din. “They are pretty good when cooked till crispy. Not a fan of them when they are still gooey in the middle.” He ate another, and he kept accepting all the ones doled out to him by his tiny companion. Finishing the bag of bugs, and sure the autopilot wasn't going to falter, Din grabbed his helmet and cradled the kid as he left the cockpit and descended to the cargo bay.
“Grogu, I've got a surprise for you,” he set him on the bunk edge with his helmet and opened the weapons locker and pulled out the wooden box from the market. “So you’ll have something to do while we travel.” The boy tilted his head and perked his ears up in interest. Din opened the lid and placed the box next to Grogu. There were sticks of a dozen different colors in the box, the child grabbed one and trilled and stared at the colored stick. He looked back at Din and started moving the stick to his mouth. “Do not,” he warned, pointing a finger to the boy and raising his brows, “put that in your mouth, I'll show you what to do with them.” The boy chirped in acknowledgement. “Let me get out of my armor and get things set up so you can paint.”
Din stripped down to his brown cotton pants and black long sleeve shirt with the cuffs pushed high up his forearms. His thick dark brown hair tussed after pulling the armor off over his head. He rounded up a few items on the floor in the middle of the cargo hold as Grogu babbled watching. He grabbed the light brown canvas sac from the market and his knife from his boot. He popped the threads holding the seams together at the circular base and up the sides. Then laid it out flat as a large rectangle on the floor and a seperate small round piece that made up the bottom of the sac. Din lowered himself to the floor and sat cross legged and pulled a piece of flat scrap metal and a bottle of water and the color box in front of him. He gestured to the child to come next to him and watch. Grogu moved to Dins right knee and put his hand on it waiting.
Din grabbed the bright green color stick from the box, “So first we need to shave some of the color off the stick.” He shaved a pile of green flakes onto the piece of scrap metal with his knife. “Then we need to add water, just a tiny bit though, so the paint will be wet.” He grabbed the bottle of water and let a few drops onto the flakes. “Then we mix the flakes and water together to make paint.” Putting the tip of his knife into the wet green flakes and agitated it till it formed a thoroughly mixed green puddle. Grogu watched in rapt attention as his father spoke and worked the knife.
“Go ahead.” He gestured to the puddle, the child looked up questioningly and cooed, clearly confused. That caught Din off guard, did the kid not know what finger painting was? “Here, like this.” He dipped his finger into the paint and moved it over the canvas and drew a small circle with squiggles coming from it. The child's eyes lit up with understanding and he mimicked the actions of his father. Dipping a tiny claw into the color and making a wobbled circle. “Very good, see, it's fun right? I'll make you more colors.”
Din thought about how the kid clearly didn't know what finger painting was. The child was at least 50 years old, surely in that span of time he had got to do one of the most basic things of childhood? He let his mind drift back to the memories of his own childhood… Before the beskar, the helmet and the creed.
He was young, maybe 7 he thinks, he's not sure anymore… It's hard to remember what seemed a lifetime ago. Old memories slowly written over with traumas and trying to survive in a hard galaxy. His parents gifting him a box of colored paint sticks flickers to life in his mind's eye. His father… with his thick dark hair and comforting low voice explaining to him at the kitchen table how to mix the colors with water to get the right consistency. His mother… with warm brown eyes and her gentle encouraging smile. Her finger in the color, he can't remember what one though, lost to the overwrite, her drawing a flower on the parchment. His father, drawing a sun in yellow, that detail survives, with short lines from it making rays. Din himself drawing…
He’s abruptly pulled forward in time back to the cargo hold floor. A worried little green face at his knee keening trying to get his attention. His eyes stung, was… was he crying? He brushed a quick palm over his cheek and it came back wet. He can remember the last time he had cried, it's was one of those permanent memories.
His child whined at his knee clearly worried at his father’s distress. “It’s ok ad’ika. I just got lost in an old memory.” Looking at the scrap metal plate there were more colors on it. But none had been touched by the child. Grogu had watched his father slip into the past as he continued to make the paint on autopilot. “Go ahead and try more colors.” The boy didn't move but continued his soulful stare.
Din sighed, and dipped his finger in the red paint, “When I was a kid my parents had given me a box of colors like this one.” He drew three simple human silhouettes, bringing his finger back to the red paint as needed. “It… it’s…” There's a lump in his throat he can't quite swallow down, his voice falters and cracks “It's… one of the last memories of…” He can’t finish the sentence and squeezes his eyes shut.
Grogu’s eyes have a glassy sheen to them, his ears drooped seeing his father like this, hurting from things long past. He presses his tiny hand into the green paint. On the canvas he makes three hand prints. Din watches him silently. Grogu looks back up at his father's warm brown eyes then back to the hand prints. With a sad warbled cry he smears two of the hand prints fading them out. Din’s heart drops by what he has just seen. “Ad’ika…” he reaches for his child but Grogu stops him, pointing to the red figures with little tears trailing down his cheeks. Din looks at them and opens his mouth, but no words come, unable to speak, he smears two of the red figures, tears running down his face. He takes a shaky breath and dips his finger into black then white paint, swirling the colors to make a light gray. Din draws a larger gray figure next to his red one, then makes the head of his red one gray. With his knife tip dipped in black he draws the signature black T on the heads of the two figures. “He saved me.” he exhales. Grogu made a low keening cry as he put his middle finger in the paint and drew in imitation a big gray human silhouette next to his tiny green hand print.
Din’s face crumpled and he scooped up his child and pressed him to his neck cradling him. “Ad’ika…” his voice broke, the little body shook with sobs in the crook of his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut and rested his cheek on top of his child's head. “Ner ad’ika… Ner ad’ika…” he soothed, gently rocking. The cargo hold echoed with warbled sobs and softly spoken Mando’a.
The sobs gradually turned to sniffles. Din pulled away a little bit and with a thumb wiped at his child's tear stained cheek. “Ner ad’ika, I will always be here for you.” His warm brown eyes and comforting low voice reassured. “We are a clan of two…” He pulled the circular piece of fabric over in front of them and covers the bottom of his right hand in light gray paint and presses it to the canvas, leaving a perfect large handprint. “We are all each other has.” He lowered Grogu to the floor. Grogu put his right hand into the green paint, then looking at his father’s gentle smile he firmly placed his tiny tri-digit hand in the center of his father’s handprint. Din’s heart swelled and his eyes teared up again, he blinked them away and cleared his throat.
“That's..." voice still wavering, "That's enough dwelling on sad memories for one night I think. We’ll pick back up with the painting tomorrow.” he grabbed an old rag and put a splash of water on it and wiped off the paint on his hand. Grogu offered up his little hand to be cleaned with a sad coo. In a few wipes he had it good enough. “C’mon ad’ika let's go to bed.”
He scooped up his child and went to the bunk, moving the helmet to its corner in the back. He crawled in and settled on his back, Grogu snuggled into his chest right over his heart. Din chuckled and pulled the blanket up over them.
—
The next day paint time went much better. Din had turned the large piece of canvas over so Grogu could paint on the clean side. There were more color options this time with no detours into the past while preparing them.
Din lay lounging on his left side on the floor of the cargo hold. His head propped up on his left hand. Content in just watching as his son sat in front of his chest and enthusiastically put colors on the canvas. Gibberish filled the hold, a good sound for sure.
Grogu trilled at him. “Hmm?” The child stood up and came face to face with his father, large clear brown eyes staring straight into Din’s warm brown eyes. “What are you up to? You little womp rat.” Din raised a brow. Grogu reached his hands out covered in paint and put two little tri-digit handprints on Din’s cheeks. He let out a happy squeal at the sight. Din couldn't help but chuckle, Grogu took that as an invitation to smear more paint. Din scrunched up his nose and eyes, making the child giggle. He dipped the tip of his index finger in the white color and touched it to his child's tiny nose leaving a white spot. Grogu went into a full on giggle fit. Din’s face cracked into a huge smile. He glanced towards the bunk and hanging on the wall was the cloth with the large handprint and the tiny tri-digit in its center.
A clan of two.