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Din knew he had been fooled the moment he saw that lanky figure stepping through the cantina's entrance. The way the beaten up armor sat on him felt wrong in every way possible, helmet barely covering a sharp jawline and chestplate falling ridiculously short on his long, lithe torso. It paired oddly with the vibrant red scarf and the worn out cargo pants. And yet, the mysterious stranger wore this curious attire with such cool confidence that while anyone else would have attracted laughter, on him, it... worked. There was a little something, something indescribable, that made the hair on the nape of Din's neck hackle. Something telling him to be careful. Simply by the utterly unimpressed yet perfectly controlled way this so-called Marshal greeted him, he could tell this man wasn't anything near a young gun like those Din was used to cross. He had, like him, the stance and the energy of someone who had already seen so much of the worst the galaxy had to offer, that an outsider in shiny armor was nothing if not afternoon entertainment.
Then the helmet came off, and for as little of a surprise it felt for Din, what left him dumbstruck was what he found under it.
He wasn't really sure what else he expected, but it certainly wasn't anything near that angular, barely sun-kissed head of silver hair. The harsh light coming from outside bounced off each strand with a metallic glow where caramel brown turned grey. Yet it didn't shine as bright as the glimmer in those warm and sharp hazel eyes. The man - Cobb Vanth, what a perfectly fitting name - began talking, visibly sizing him up and buying time before the inevitable confrontation, and Din could only listen. He should have been angrier at this sly impostor, cut him off in his teasing and shoot him down, take the armor and leave this innocent dusty town without a marshal to assure their protection. It wouldn't even be difficult. Din was a Mandalorian, and Cobb was a man in an armor.
But he didn't. He let him speak, and responded, and he answered back. A tense and electric back and forth, though not like a sparring game, rather like a dance. Whether this tango was closer to the courtship display of two orbaks or the slow circling of rival massifs before a duel, it was yet to be determined, but it flowed with a sync like no other. Each snarky remark and hostile promise lined up one after the other like the right next step, sometimes grazing but never stepping on the other's foot.
''We're gonna do this in front of the kid?''
''He's seen worse.''
''Right here then?''
''Right here.''
Later, much later, Din would often ask himself how that dance would have ended if the Krayt attack hadn't interrupted it. He guessed fate was a curious thing, but one with a reason behind each of its moves.
Once the dragon disappeared under the dunes, he watched closely as Vanth went back into the cantina with a thoughtful frown scrunching up his features. Din followed him inside and gently picked the kid up from the jar he found him hesitantly peeking out of. The marshal sat back heavily at the table with a sigh. The Mandalorian noticed the moment the other man let his barriers down. Just a little, enough to let him peak through but not quite opening up. For now.
He grabbed the jar of spotchka and poured himself another glass inelegantly. His posture was more hunched then five minutes ago, weighted down by a form of fatigue Din understood only too well; the one born from trying to carry a whole community on your shoulders for just a little too long. Vanth downed the glass in one long drag before he slammed it back on the table and stared back at hunter standing across from him.
The look they shared might only have last a few seconds, but it was enough to convey years of similar struggles into one understanding.
Maybe they could work something out.
Din didn't expect their paths to cross again. Not that he hadn't wished for it, but he knew the universe too well to wish for nice things to happen twice.
His stomach pulled in nervous jerks as he maneuvered the N-1 around the Jawa sandcrawler. The Krayt dragon skull precariously tied on top of it was quite a sight to witness, one that was enough to bring many memories back in the Mandalorian's mind. Some none too pleasant like the acrid smell of dragon bile, some longingly warm like the gentle hold of a silver headed marshal's hand around his.
Din would be lying if he said he hadn't thought of Vanth since they parted ways all those months ago. He did, more often than he wanted to admit to himself. When he was laying curled up in the open belly of the Razor Crest, quietly freezing, he thought of the heat in the Tusken tent. When he wandered through the ever-so gloomy woods of Corvus, he thought of the Tatooinian suns shining harsh into squinting hazel irises. And when he watched Grogu leave with Skywalker, feeling more helpless than ever, he thought of the only person he would have wanted to throw himself into and cry.
Needless to say, Mos Pelgo was easy to pop at the back of his mind when Fennec called for more foot soldiers. Not that he wanted to involve the settlement into this odd war. They had already risked their lives for his plan to take down the Krayt -for what the Marshal had been ridiculously tolerant of despite the initial complaining-, he wasn't going to force them into any more avoidable danger. But... he wanted them to be safe. It was only natural to alert them of the bigger threat lurking underneath it all, the one even a tiny village lost in the desert wouldn't be able to escape from.
The town, if it could even be called that, was just the same as the Mandalorian remembered it. He parked the starfighter at the end of the main street, where he could take in the whole place with a single glance. Everything was just as beige and dry and dusty. Nothing too shocking for Tatooine. One unfamiliar face stood out to him though, and visibly not a very welcoming one.
''If you wanna park your starship, y'gotta to do it out there in the flat.'' the man instructed with an outstretched arm pointing toward the other side of town. Too bad Din was already climbing out.
''I'm here to see Marshal Vanth.'' he could probably have just continued his way to the cantina and asked the slightly friendlier bartender instead, but hey, at least the guy was taking his job seriously. He could respect that.
''I don't think you heard what I said.''
Or not.
''I heard you.'' A flash of red in his peripheral vision was suddenly enough to dissolve all his will to argue into thin air.
''I'll take it from here, Deputy.''
And there he was. Strolling on those lanky, desert-fit legs with his usual lazy confidence. The deputy looked at him with an exasperated frown before striding back to where he came from, his bad mood only met with an unwavering stoic expression.
The smile that bloomed on Vanth's face the millisecond after, this however would remain etched in Din's brain forever.
The man looked slightly rougher around the edges, and yet he'd rarely seen someone's face glow so openly. It was enough to take him aback for a moment. Even the twin suns on midday usually didn't illuminate one's face that way. The marshal radiated happiness so bright it bled through Din's beskar and pulled a grin from his tight jaw.
Oh, how he had missed that man.
He didn't expect Cobb to bring up Grogu. He hadn't said much to him about his mission, and the marshal didn't ask for more than what he got. He seemed to automatically like to kid though, and the little womp rat seemed to like this new companion. They had bonded over bantha jerky that night and when Din woke up the next day to find the child wrapped in a red scarf and curled up in the crook of the elbow of a sprawled out not-quite-stranger, he knew then he had been a good judge of character this time around.
The memory was nearly as painfully soft as the marshal's voice when he spoke in a way he had never heard him before. ''That's too bad... I guess we both lost something we were fond of.''
He sounded so genuinely compassionate it made the still open wound in his heart start bleeding again. The distant look in the other man's eyes let him believe the armor wasn't the only loss he was referring to. In a world like this, it couldn't be.
He didn't remember the last time someone spoke to him like this. Din tried to breathe some composure back into him through his tight throat. What was he supposed to answer to that?
I missed you. I'm sorry. I hope we're friends. I think you're a friend. I like your smile. Is it always this hot out here? There's something I need to warn you about. I'm fairly sure it is not usually this hot. If only you knew all the things I'm feeling right now, because I don't.
''Can I... buy you a drink?''
...well. At least he said yes.
They danced again in the cantina. It was more like a waltz this time; without the electricity of a potential threat in disguise hanging in the air, the steps were slower, gentler, even if not quite intimate yet. Din did sit at the table this time around instead of nearly shooting Vanth down, which was a considerable improvement from the last time. It was fairly admirable, how far they had come.
Cobb sipped his first whiskey while he listened to the Mandalorian's tales with great attention. The liquor swirled around the glass like a tiny pool of melted amber, making Din's tongue ache for the burn of alcohol. Despite not being a regular drinker, he could really use a few drinks right now.
He probably said more than what was necessary, or at least what was acceptable to be shared with someone he had known for so little. It was just so easy, with him. Cobb had a way of looking at you when you were speaking, all ears and not bouncing his eyes off for a second like you were the most important matter of the hour. At least Din assumed that's how he was, not that he'd seen him interact with pretty much anybody else. He was doing it right now however and it was an extra effort to keep his thoughts in line.
The marshal's features were tightened into a wary portrait once Din was done with his rambly explanation of the situation. Conflicted and pinched by a little something that right now wasn't the right time to dwell over, but surprisingly not shocked. The man tapped his empty glass against the table before rising and slowly walking over to the bar. Silence stretched on during what must have been the longest pour of whiskey in history. Din didn't add anything and let his friend (was he?) gather his thoughts, examining his backlit silhouette instead. His shoulders seemed broader, his middle maybe a little thicker. Even in tense situations like the current one, he still stood like those fashionistas in Canto Bight. Composed, but devilishly capable if poked in the wrong spot. Like a viper. A very red viper. He looked almost...
Din suppressed that foolish idea in the tightest corner of his mind. No. Focus. He needed to, because marshal Vanth was suddenly speaking again and he only caught the last half of his sentence.
Freetown didn't want to fight. The Weequay was loud and clear about it and the Deputy let his disdained frown speak for itself. Vanth, on the other hand... was clearly up to something. It was in the way he chose his words with the precision of a surgeon, pacing around the question but not denying it, that he sold himself. He knew something the others did not, bashful information that while he didn't share with spoken words tried to convey through that gaze that never dipped down.
''We're square, you and me.''
It's my problem. Not my people's.
The next words tasted sour in Din's mouth and he wished so profoundly he could have been a friend. Perhaps even tried to be a little more. Unfortunately, he had a job to get done. He always does.
''Yes we are. But I didn't think you were one to back down from bullies.''
I think you're the bravest man I know.
''See? That's what I like 'bout you Mando.'' Despite the insulted aftertaste, the cheeky teasing was back in Cobb's voice. ''That big smile of yours lets you get away with anything.''
That made it. For a fraction of an instant, it was too much to handle. All those unsaid words dancing between them, using the tense air as a tightrope. All this playing, teasing, nibbling. It made Din feel too warm with anger and frustration and- no, anger. It was anger. He hated having to do this, hated how he couldn't be stopping by will alone, hated the urge he had to squeeze that man so damn hard and never let go, and above all he hated the way those keen eyes always managed to find his behind that stupid visor.
...anger, right?
Then why did it taste so sweet?
Din slumped over, just enough to breathe out the overwhelming mess of emotions without losing his composure. ''There's no... easy way, to ask for a favor.'' he let out softly.
That damn look. The Mandalorian had had many people staring at him in fascination, like he was some kind of rare exotic specie or an overpriced art piece to either put on display or sell for wealth and prestige. All people listing out the ways they could use him and his beskar. Cobb wasn't like that. He looked at him the way one would admire a sunset, or the most beautiful singer in a bar's band. Only wonder, incredulity and the promise that if they weren't being spied on by two loudly judgmental intruders at the bar, there probably wouldn't be a table standing between them anymore.
It was the worst torture in the world.
They eventually came to an agreement. Just like that, their little fuss was shoved aside and forgotten about. It was still crazy to Din, how quick and natural it was to fall in sync with Vanth. The man shared what little events had occurred in their beloved sandbox of a village over the last few months, which included a pretty comedic retelling of how they managed to shove the dragon ribcage into the cramped cantina. It was nice to laugh again.
Din didn't stay much longer. He waited for Cobb to finish his second drink, reluctantly declined one for himself and so soon, it was time to leave, again.
Cobb didn't follow him past the deck. He was about to continue his way down the creaking stairs when the man stopped him with a hasty brush of fingers against his elbow.
''Hey, Mando.'' he prompted quietly. He pursed his lips briefly, the smallest demonstration of honest weakness. ''Ya know you ain't a stranger, right?''
Din let his gaze get lost in the space right above his shoulder.
I know. Ain't that the problem.
He gave the marshal a slow nod and for the second time in a single day, turned his back to the possibility of happiness for the sake of a strange witch called righteousness.
He needed to see him.
That's why he ended up here, standing in the cantina's entrance with nothing of the stance he had on his very first visit. For once the building was completely empty, not even a bartender in sight. It was curious, considering the late hour of the day. Not that Din was about to complain. He let Grogu waddle around and served himself a drink. Apparently he was no stranger, after all.
There was no monument of any sort to honor Cobb's memory. It was logical in a way, considering desert folks usually cremated their dead, the ever moving sands being no place for burials. It still left the Mandalorian appalled. So he went back to the place he knew best: third table right by the entrance, probably the only place that still somewhat felt like home.
Din sat slowly, back strategically fronting the doorstep, and reached up to unclasp the helmet and slip it off, his movements painfully slow. He settled the beskar dome in front of him, empty visor staring back at his tight-skinned, sweaty mess of a face. The tinted durasteel endlessly bland and cold, unwavering and emotionless. If only he could actually be such thing, then he wouldn't be slouched here mourning so dramatically over a man he had known for three days and a drink.
Gloved fingers ran across the table's smooth surface. It was a tender gesture, almost intimate, like brushing his digits over the hand of a ghost. He could swear that for a faint second, he felt a familiar pressure over his knuckles. His body sank into the chair as if to soak up the very last remains of Cobb's warmth, as if six months hadn't been enough to wash his scent away.
He sat there for a long time. Not crying, not drinking, not looking away either. Just sitting, because he didn't know how to dance alone. Cobb had always been the one leading the steps, leaning in close and twirling him around. Din wasn't a good dancer, but he'd tried his heart out because he knew his partner would pick him up if he missed a beat. It was scary now, without a blinding smile and a smooth accented voice to guide him through it.
He still gave it a try.
''I...'' Frustration seeped out of him through a sharp sigh at the way his brain immediately clogged. ''I don't know how to do this. I guess it would have been easier in front of a cross, or... something...''
He didn't know what to say. Or rather, he couldn't find words that sounded close enough to all those sloppy little things he was feeling. Blurry images beyond his own comprehension despite being the products of his very own mind, and still uncomfortably familiar, like an impression of recognition toward a stranger's face. What was there left to say at all? I'm sorry? It would take too long to enumerate the list of things he felt horrible for. The armor was first, then the sacrifices he had forced the town to make, and stirring enough sand to tickle Cad Bane's ear, and not staying would it be just two more minutes that day, not shooting that old mudscuffer on the spot after he dared standing in front of him with Cobb's blood still on his blue hands, and the armor, and the townsfolk, and the spice and Bane and leaving and the armor and that drink and-
''Mando?''
The hurricane in Din's head died down as quickly as it formed at the sound of the voice, asphyxiated by a chill that seized him whole.
It wouldn't be his first hallucination. They came pretty frequently, actually, when he was running low on sleep and the nightmares didn't bother waiting for him to doze off anymore before jumping at his throat. The Mandalorian kept his head low, body hunching forward in strong resolve to wait it out. He grasped his drink tightly enough to make the leather of his gloves complain and downed the blue liquid in one gulp. It was better to focus on the twinging over his tongue.
''...you okay there, partner?''
''Get out of my head.'' Din rasped out under his breath. He couldn't even find it in himself to be upset. If anything, Cobb's voice felt like a warm blanket thrown over his shoulders, an embrace he wished could sink into his skin and never let him go.
''Patu?'' Grogu's call managed to snatch Din back to the shifting reality. His body twisted in direction of the noise by instinct alone and was left in awe at the sight before him.
Cobb looked so real it was terrifying to witness. His roughened face was frowning but his eyes were soft, so, so soft. The red shirt had been traded for a black one that hugged his skinny frame in a mighty glorious way. He almost looked good, for a ghost.
Except Grogu was bundled in his arm, and as far as Din knew, Grogu was very much real.
No.
It was impossible.
Cobb was dead.
Din's brain contorted and bent backwards trying to recall the Weequay's statement. Gunned him down in cold blood.
Gunned down.
Not killed.
Dank farrik.
The realization sharpened into a needle and popped the bubble the Mandalorian was trapped in and only then did he register how his feet had carried him to the doorway, where an angel was standing in front of him.
''You...'' he choked out.
''Little guy here came to find me. Heard ya mumbling alone...'' Cobb kept his eyes closed, reminding Din of his bare face. Not that he was in a state to particularly care about the Way at this very moment. ''You okay? Sure don't look too good.''
Oh, but Cobb did. The strong glow of the twin suns setting the horizon ablaze in their descent bathed his skin golden, honoring each well-earned groove and thin wrinkle. It shone over the scar above his right ear, caressed the mole under his eye. While red would always fit him better than any other color, the deep black of his shirt made his slicked back mane of hair shine in a hundred shades from copper to snow white.
A shaky hand came up to brush against the man's cheek. The scratch of his beard under the pad of his fingers, the warmth of his skin beneath it, the way he twitched in surprise without pulling away was... alive.
Something shattered in Din's chest, like a crack in a ship's window rupturing after one too many blows. His face twisted in a spasm and he let the sob in his throat crawl out and launch his body forward to trap the marshal in a sloppy hug. He heard him huff at this firm armored body crashing into him, along with Grogu's squeal at the sudden double dose of affection that was obviously all directed towards him. A long arm found its way around his waist and up between his shoulder blades like the most natural thing in the world, holding him close and silently promising to not let go until he did.
''I'm sorry.'' Din whispered against the tender spot between Cobb's neck and shoulder, his newly decided safest place in the galaxy.
Cobb didn't answer, just held him tighter. The silence sent a glacial shiver through Din's spine, all the way up to his brain where it bloomed into a crazy idea.
The Mandalorian pulled away from the embrace just enough to almost brush the other man's nose with his own. It was a bad idea, probably the worst he'd ever had, but it also seemed like the rightest thing to do. There was only one gift he could think of that seemed big enough to match the absurd size of this silvery marshal's heart.
''Open your eyes.'' he murmured before he had the time to find back his sanity.
''...I think you forgot your bucket over there, partner.'' Those twitching eyelids remained shut. If anything, they were even more so than before.
''I know.''
''Then I ain't moving.''
''Cobb, please.'' That caught his attention. ''It's okay.''
The third confirmation was finally enough to bring those multicolored eyes to flutter open. The way they found Din's own without even trying was the closest thing to poetry Din had ever seen. It sent his pulse off-tempo and made his skin crawl like static in a bad transmission. There is was, that expression of wonder that set the gentlest light on the other man's face whenever his mind drifted far, far away.
A slow smile spread across his dry lips, morphing into a familiar smirk.
''Nobody's ever told me Tatooine had a third sun.''
This was usually the part where either Din woke up or the dream was obliterated by terrors. But not this time around. The hand caressing his jaw was as teasing as it was flesh, the face studying him as smug as it was utterly fond. It felt so right it hurt, and in that rare moment of quiet he would anchor himself to in the rough moments still yet to come, he let that once sinful thought carry on.
Beautiful.
Maybe it was by instinct, or because of Grogu sneakily using the Force again, that he let his forehead fall softly against Cobb's. An honest and nearly intoxicating share of unspoken words finally finding their way through the simple press of skin against skin.
''I'm sorry.'' Din said once more. After trying it out twice he could confirm it was indeed a weak thing to say, but his head still felt too fuzzy to add more. Not now. Now, he was just happy.
Cobb nuzzled against his cheekbone. ''It's alright.''
Din would have been perfectly content to stay here for hours, for days, forever, but life isn't a mythological tale where lovers are turned into stars and statues for their love to last eternally, and eventually Cobb's brow left his as he angled his head over the Mandalorian's shoulder.
''However...'' he began while readjusting the kid on his hip. The little gremlin had had his share of sappy moments and was growing fidgety, ready to go explore the wonders of the cantina. The marshal flashed him an amused smile and looked back at Din with a comical squint. ''I see you dared having a drink without me.''
The decades of running, the pains and the losses along the way, the exhaustion and emotional beating of this crazy train wreck the past two years had been, Din would relive it all in a heartbeat just to get to see this picture everyday. To fall asleep without having to fear finding an empty crib in the morning, to get his ears babbled off by a tiny creature who he could finally love without boundaries, to find sunshine anytime he needs it just by staring into those impossibly deep brown eyes. To wake up to a soft beard against his neck, to not have any need for music anymore because of this lovely drawl swinging flirty banter at him, to feel at home whenever his forehead meets his.
And the beauty of it was, the longer he stared, the less impossible that dream felt. Maybe he could even be so bold as to call it a possibility.
They walked back into the cantina together, back to that table where they fell into each other's orbit all those months ago. Grogu devoured bantha jerky he definitely hadn't forgotten the taste of. Cobb poured the spotchka generously, though it's in Din's tales he veritably drowned. And Din?
He stayed.