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Din sat, watching as Grogu lifted the frog with the Force. Din was a buir now. Grogu’s buir. He still couldn’t wrap his head around that. His heart beat faster in joy whenever the thought crossed his mind. This, he decided, was the best decision he had ever made.
Looking towards the horizon, Din realized that the sun was fast sinking, leaving orange and purple remnants peeking over the horizon where the town was. With a jolt, he realized how long it had been since he last relaxed like this, soaking in the world around him and ignoring all other responsibilities. An alarm beeped from within the cabin, cutting through his thoughts, and Din turned it off with the controls on his vambrace.
“Grogu.”
Din’s voice was calm and soft through his vocoder, but Grogu picked it up quickly. His furry head raised to meet Din’s and the frog flopped back into the water. Din reminded himself to come back tomorrow to catch a few frogs. Grogu deserved a little indulgence after all he had been through.
“It’s time to eat.”
Though Din knew that Grogu could walk perfectly fine by himself, he still went and picked him up, cradling him in the nook of his arm. Old habits die hard.
“Din Grogu,” Din muttered in awe, and Grogu laughed, a laugh filled with childlike innocence.
“Patoo! Da!” Grogu’s black eyes stared up at him, and Din could not help but press the cool metal of his helmet to Grogu’s tiny green forehead. Dank Ferrik, Din would give up everything to make sure Grogu could laugh like that till the end of time. Cradling him in his arms again, Din entered the little cabin.
Greef Karga had claimed it small, but it was still quite large, especially when compared to the little cot on the Razor Crest. There was a master bedroom with a double bed, a full kitchen, and a bathroom with real, hot, running water. Even better, Karga had made sure that the room and kitchen were fully stocked. Food, toys, toilet paper- you name it, Karga had probably stuffed it somewhere in here. Somehow, Din admired the man’s attention to detail. He reminded himself to thank Karga later.
For now, Din placed Grogu in a booster seat at the kitchen table. Grogu’s little head poked over, staring at him questioningly. His hands made little grabby motions as if indicating Din sit as well.
Din chuckled. “Hold on, kid.” He went over to the small microwave, which was the source of the beeping earlier, and took out two bowls of soup. It was a simple broth he had made, consisting of vegetables and meats native to Nevarro. Din was not much of a chef, but he still considered the meals he made distinctly Mandalorian in their simplicity.
He placed one bowl in front of Grogu, another across the table, and sat down. The thought crossed his mind that this was like a real family event, eating dinner together. He was really Grogu’s father. A clan of two.
His hands tightened in his lap.
Under Grogu’s watchful eye, Din raised his hands to his helmet and pulled. The pressure lock broke with a hiss, and an unkempt man’s face was revealed. Curly brown hair stuck to his forehead in wild fashions, and a slightly overgrown mustache was visible over his scruff. Impossibly brown eyes met black ones. The metal of the helmet clinked as it was softly rested on the table.
Grogu stared at him for a moment, and Din’s chest squeezed. This was the second time Grogu had seen his face, but Din still felt nervous. What if Grogu rejected him for how he looked? What if Grogu didn’t like his face?
Instead, Grogu only tilted his head, picked up his bowl, and started slurping away.
Din’s heart melted. He felt his face stretch into a smile. Kriff, he loved his son so much, but Grogu still had so much to learn.
“Kid, use a spoon.” He reached out to place the utensil in Grogu’s hand and mimicked bringing the spoon to his face. “We may be Mandalorian, but we still need proper etiquette.”
“Patoo!” Grogu humped, his eyes squinting at Din. He placed the spoon down, rather angrily.
“What would Bo-Katan say if she saw you eating like that?” Din questioned. He felt a bit guilty for using her name in this way, but not really.
It did the trick, and Grogu picked the spoon back up and resumed eating his soup. He still struggled to grab onto the spoon with his little clawed hands, but Din was glad Grogu was at least trying. Eventually, he would learn, just as Din had so many years ago when he was taken in by his own buir.
When dinner was over and Din had cleaned up, Din and Grogu moved to the bedroom to prepare for bed. Slowly, with utmost care and a smoothness that only results from decades of familiarity, Din removed his armor. Piece by piece, he exposed himself to Grogu.
“A Mandalorian’s beskar’gam is sacred to who we are, so we should treat it with respect. Our armor protects us from the barrage of the world, without it, we are not Mandalorian.” Through the process, he narrated his actions to Grogu, reciting lines he remembered his own buir had once told him. Grogu may not have armor yet, but it was never too early to learn.
His armor gleamed with the warm light of the cabin, coming to rest delicately on the dresser by the bedside. After removing everything, he placed his helmet on top of his chest plate. A promise, but not for today.
Eventually, it was only his flight suit that remained. And even that he changed out of and replaced with soft cotton pajamas. This was his most vulnerable state, and he did not hesitate to show his son.
Din returned to where Grogu sat on the bed and picked him up. Grogu’s eyes were drooping with fatigue, but when Din hugged him to his unarmored chest his small arms reached to hug back.
“Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad, Din Grogu”, he murmured, reciting the sacred line. He pressed his face into Grogu’s green fuzz. I know your name as my child, Din Grogu. The armorer may have already declared them father and son, but the real vows were to be spoken in private. “We are now truly a clan of two.”
“Patoo!” Din lifted Grogu once more so that they were eye to eye. Despite Grogu’s mental age, his black eyes swirled with empathy and understanding that no normal child should have. It was at times like these that Din was reminded that Grogu had been in this world far longer than he had, and experienced a pain that Din would never understand.
“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” I love you . Din didn’t know how much Grogu could use the force to sense emotions, but he tried his best to project his love into Grogu’s mind as well.
Grogu made grabby hands towards his forehead. Din laughed, eyes suddenly rather wet.
Slowly, he brought their foreheads together, skin on skin. He allowed himself to drown in the feeling for a few minutes.
He struggled to drag himself away. “Okay okay, time for bed, Grogu.”
Grogu made the cutest noise back at him, but wouldn’t let go and Din didn’t have the heart to decline. “Fine, but only for a little longer.”
By the time he placed Grogu in his little hammock beside the bed, the kid was fast asleep.
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Din had long since realized that even though he was Grogu’s father, he would never see him come of age. Grogu was 50 and yet still acted like a child. Would he still be alive when Grogu could make his own decisions with the mental ability of an adult? Chances were extremely unlikely.
But so be it. If his destiny was to be by his son, until time wore his bones down and his wrinkles deepened and his hair turned white, so be it. Din would make sure that his time spent with Grogu would be something Grogu would look back on and cherish. He would make sure he taught Grogu to the best of his ability so that, when he passed on, Grogu would take the lessons Din taught him and use them to write his own story, his own song.
And knowing that, Din was the happiest Mandalorian alive.
The happiest buir alive.