Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cantina they step into is bustling with a low grade buzz only small no name planets have, though it does dampen slightly as he walks past the threshold, the expected pointing, a hush that follows him everywhere. He only gives them a cursory glance before looking for a table to sit at, they quickly lose interest in him seeing as he clearly is not on a hunt.

He spots a clear table nearer the back, and angles for it as he side-eyes the people pointing at his little follower.

The lothcat beneath the table false lunges, growling as it does in the child's face, the aggressive action startles the kid; who stumbles back and nearly falls. With no thought Din quickly bends down, snatching the child up to his chest. His throat twinges as he vocalizes a croaky spit, the sound echoes oddly within helmet, and fairs worse through his vocoder. It comes out as staticky feedback, but it ends in an unmistakable snarl deep enough that it vibrates the child in his arms.

The lothcat's ear pin back, it hisses in fright; quickly shuffling even further back underneath the table, knocking into legs in it's haste to gain space from a larger predator. The occupants of the table not already staring at him in confusion turn to look at him as the lothcat finally makes it's way out from under the table, darting off deeper into shadows. 

Din takes no notice of anything after his initial instinctive reaction, wordlessly he glances down to the child. But he sees nothing, can't see anything, only—

Flashes of a remembered red cloth cloud his mind's eye, he can feel the texture of it gripped within his tiny fists, can feel and see the light of small grade missiles flashing through the weave of the arm covering him—

The kid coos, breaking him from his flashback; the little one is staring up at him in child like wonder, little mouth open showing sharp teeth. Din swallows thickly, unlocking his legs and attempting to continue on like nothing happened as the people at the table stare openly at him.

His eyes meet a stranger seated just past a support beam, they stare at him with no fear, almost hostile as they watch him pass. He takes note of the tattoos, and knows they'll be a problem in such a small village like this. They can only be hiding out, same as him. With effort, he keeps the sigh to himself as he places the kid into a seat on an empty table.

If he weren't so thrown from his own reaction, he'd have enjoyed their scuffle outside.

Maintenance, repairing and overall upkeep of the Crest whether internal or external, has always gave Din time to mull over his thoughts. The latest issues seems to involve the hydraulics in his landing gear, no doubt from his run in with the Ravinak that used the metal struts as it's chew toy.

In between putting the the kid down for a nap, and then feeding the both of them left over broth, Din's thoughts keep going further and further back in his life. But for the life of him he cannot remember the last time he shifted.

He feels beyond foolish, verging himself into a self deprecating mess of disgust, hurt and confusion at his own forgetfulness. How could he ever forget he was a shifter? How could he do that to his first family? The family that died so that he may live, the family he misses nearly everyday in moments of idleness. 

How many times had he watched others shift, looked on as they were beaten or harassed? 

Killed even, for something they had no control over in the first place. Thought of a less than human, merely animals too stupid to been seen as the sentients they are.

Now that his mind is aware, it seems that his body remembers what he ignored for so long. The broth had made him salivate even through his helmets filters, and he heard the child wake from his nap before the kid could even begin to fuss about being alone, Din had come inside. 

His newly acknowledged senses had him thinking of their future uses, and one of them would be extremely useful if the child was taken from him. Picking the kid up and passing him the gear knob, Din slowly looked down at the child in his arms. The little claws scraped over the smooth surface, enthralled with the repetitive motions the child took no notice when Din slowly lifted his helmet to just below his nose.

Leaning forward he took a tentative sniff of the kid.

He smelt faintly like leather, sort of swampy, and sweet like blue milk. Mostly he smelt like Din himself. Constant contact and closeness had the kid covered in Din's own scent. Shaking his head Din tugs the helmet back down, his helmet seals engaging once the clips from his kute locked. 

The sharp noise makes the kid look up from the ball to Din's visor, humming Din softly swipes one finger along the bottom of the kid's cheek. The child giggles, shoulders jumping up to cover his cheek, but immediately he lowers them and bounces as much as possible in Din's arms. His big brown eyes stare up at Din imploringly, huffing a laugh he takes another barely there swipe, this time closer to the kid's ear. 

The kid nearly screams out a laugh this time, wiggling he drops the gear knob to grip his ear in surprise.

After the child recovers from his giggles Din places him down, clearing up the meager amount of supplies he has in the bay so the child can play safely, snatching the knob up and giving it back to eager claws.

Once he's sure the kid knows it's play time he leaves the hold to continue working on the Crest.

Now that he knows the kid's scent, if he gets taken Din will know what trail he'll need to follow. The thought that he could do more circles his mind as he works quietly, keeping his ear out for the child.

The only problem? he isn't sure if the creed applies to his kat too. Is the child permitted to see it? It doesn't seem possible to hide himself once he's shifted, doesn't seem practical either, but then most of the galaxy thinks that about the creed itself.

The thought that he'd need help to wear anything as a kat makes his chest shake in mirth. It quickly turns into a real laugh as he realizes that Paz would be the one that would have to do the task, Din rests his head on the hull as he takes a shuddering breath. 

He hopes Paz will forgive him for the mess he left behind.

They may not get along too well now, but there was a time they were as close as brothers. Paz is still his commander, still his emergency contact, still the one with permission to do what's necessary for Din were he to ever need his helmet removed. With five years on Din, Paz had assumed a mentor position for Din in the first years after he'd lost his home. He'd taught Din basic along side other members of the tribe. 

At the time of his rescue Din had only spoken the two languages of his household, he hadn't started public school yet. And even then Din isn't sure that it would be on the curriculum. Aq Vetina didn't host many foreigners, so he highly doubts basic was taught at the schools. And now he may ever know.

It'd taken a communal effort to teach him basic, none of the tribe had spoken either languages he spoke. But learning basic helped Din gain confidence, and also made him realize how much he enjoyed learning languages. He'd begged them to teach him Mando'a, as soon as they declared him proficient in basic.

Once he was comfortable enough, Paz had then taken on teaching Din the tenets, and once he'd passed his initiation, he'd become his superior in the Corps. 

He never told anyone in the Tribe he was a shifter, and he doesn't recall ever shifting near anyone after his family had fallen. He cannot remember shifting at all after the attack. Too shaken from the loss of everything, too heart stricken to want to imagine looking at his own paws and not have a far larger set somewhere within his sight. 

He's not sure that the covert holds shifters, he's never seen anyone else in another skin but humanoid. If there were any, and he's not seen them, then it's very possible their altered skin still holds to the Creed.

But his body is a weapon, in both skins, and it's a tenet to uphold all weapons; to utilize anything and everything available to protect a child.

He feels like he's warping the Way into what he wants, but he has no one he can ask. And he wants, he wants this desperately, like the child he cares for who burrows into his ribs to avoid metal and find his real body not his shell.

One of the weak spots in his set, found and exploited so quickly by his charge. The first time it had been surprising to feel the body heat, and eventually the moist feeling of tiny breathes against him. It makes Din too fond for words, chest tight and his throat swollen with emotions he can't parse through.

Din turns off his solder, thunking his head against the hull again.

He's in conflict, this is duty of care, and duty to tribe. Even if the tribe places children is high regard, even when they came to his and the kids defense, he's not sure they would allow this.

He remembers members removing armor and gloves when he was too upset to remember where he was, that he wasn't trapped in that cellar watching his parents leave him, over and over again. 

Wasn't watching his grandmother push them away from their dwelling; wasn't listening to his mother choking on her cries as she watched her own mother fall to the hail of bullets meant for all them.

Wasn't watching his grandfather roar in grief, giving them one more push away, before flying at the droid far too close to them all. 

He knew, he knew he wasn't there when the Mandalorians touched him, because there was no fur. No heat, no growling rumble against him, no familiar solace.

None had ever removed their helms, but many had dressed down to touch him in a way that was familiar, that wouldn't frighten him deeper into his mind. He knows not all of them are human, he's seen most everyone's hands at one time or another.

But his kat, it'll be soft, a perfect pillow to sleep against. He remembers the feeling of laying with his parents. Remembers the feeling of dense fur tickling him, the feeling of a rumbling purr against his cheek, the heat and comfort of napping against a kat.

Din inhales shakily, he'd forgotten for so long what they looked like, with no fear in their faces. He remembers now, he remembers them in the soft glow only a sleepy mind can conjure. The smell of them all as they took some time out of the sun, his father twitching his lips to tickle Din with his whiskers while his mother flicked her tail under his feet, eliciting peeling laughs from him.

How could he deny a baby that sort of comfort? The care he missed so desperately as a orphan. Denied a deeper connection to his saviors he was not yet used to being withheld. He remembers seeking reassurance, only to become frustrated with the metal barrier all the warriors wore. No one Mandalorian had ever adopted him, he was raised by all, until he took on an apprenticeship with the bounty hunter.

And while he loved them, it was a love one has for a best friend, not a parent. The bounty hunter had never adopted him before he had died in a botched bounty, a bounty Din should have been there for.

To deny a baby of something so simple to their care feels wrong, the child may not be his, but he is in Din's care until he can find a safe place to let the kid go. To find him a place to grow up away from this life, away from all the bloodshed of being nothing more than a pay day for the galaxy at large.

Din glances up to the sky, it's darkened considerably, but he's nearly done. He's looking forward to practicing shifting, though they'll be sleeping in hyper space tonight.

He'll need to seek guidance from the Armorer when he can reconvene with the covert, he desperately wants to be with them now, but with as much heat as he has he'll need to wait months at this point. 

Din sighs, that's a long time to withhold something he knew he craved when it felt like he was alone, when it felt like he was surrounded by droids.

It isn't just that either, now that he's been thinking on his kat he's come to the realization that he can be comfortable in other situations with the child present. One being their sleeping arrangement, sometimes he's so exhausted he sleeps in his armor, which isn't new, but it's never comfortable. He wouldn't need to change at all, simply brush his teeth and sleep. The idea makes him light headed, naps he could partake in, Maker he's getting old if the thought of a simple nap taken in comfort makes him excited.

If it comes down to it, all he can do is what's best for the foundling. He'll do whatever the Tribe task him with to return from his soulless state.

He cannot fault them for never teaching him a tenet they were not aware needed to be said. But he knows that this child deserves a time to heal from his past wounds, and given the insistent want for holding and closeness, physical contact will help the little one to be more comfortable.

He feels far too vulnerable to go without his armor even in the ship given the countless fobs that no doubt light the way to them at any given moment. To be without his armor is to be defenseless, to leave the child defenseless.

He slams the panel down, locking it down and moving onto the other side of the ship.

He's nearly ready to run through final diagnostics when he feels eyes on him, shifting his body slightly he takes in two disheveled humanoids sitting on a droid cart. 

Humming under his breath he goes about his final adjustments as they reach the small clearing, stepping up to him, clearly in need of help. In what capacity he's not sure, he can guess but it won't matter, as much as he'll probably sympathize with their plight, he promised the dropper he'd leave.

They approach him politely, but wearily. Extending the same curtesy he listens as they ask for help with raiders, implying that anyone not a Mandalorian would wear the armor irks Din, but it's a fair question considering their locale. 

It also makes him question himself again if he will still be a Mandalorian after he reveals his kat to the child, his affirmation comes out soft and as distracted as his thoughts.

He cannot help them and keep his word to the dropper, though the dropper may be able to help them instead of him. Krill farmers won't have nearly enough credits to interest him into staying, even considering they claim the entire village invested into this bid for help, he won't betray his word.

Turning them down he continues to his hatch controls, they follow him still insisting he can help, while annoying he can't be bothered to respond.

The villages stumble out of the way as he opens the Crest's hatchway, moving away from the panel so that he can start up the ramp and begin his final pre-flight checks. He can tell that it finally sinks in for them, he won't take the job, no matter their prodding.

Before he leaves, he'll pass on their offer to the dropper, he's nearly positive they'll accept the job in his stead. 

"Now we have to ride back with no protection, to the middle of nowhere."

That, that changes things, Din turns around asking them where they live. 

"On a farm. Weren't you listening? We're farmers."

This planet, the safety and forest density, it's perfect for what he needs.

But to be sure he iterates, "In the middle of nowhere?" 

He can see a spark of hope light in their eyes as they confirm his question again.

"You have lodging?" 

The hope and uncertainty flourish in equal measure across their faces, it's the shorter one that responds this time, "Yeah. Absolutely."

"Good. Come up and help." 

He's not all too sure what all he'll need, but for a job against bandits it will be an extended stay, who knows when the next time they'll attack is. If it's their next harvest it may not be long, but if it's not he will need to seek them out.

And for that he'll need a variety of things to come with him, they had said it was a days ride back so he doesn't want to leave them unprotected that long in case he misses something.

Once it's all packed up, and the child is sitting comfortably in the bed of the sled, he turns to the petulant one, "I'm going to need one more thing. Give me those credits."

Finding the dropper is as simple as he knew it would be, there's no thrill in a hunt this easy, but they have proven themselves as a expert combative. 

He tosses the coins at their feet, unwilling to test their reactive waking, the click of the gun's lever is confirmation enough. Not giving them time to threaten or divert in anyway, he asks them if they'd like another round in dry humour.

Introductions were made on the way to the sled ,the dropper introduces themselves as 'Just Cara.' If it bothers them that he doesn't offer his own name they don't show it. They make quick work of loading up the one bag they carry onto the sled before taking off. 

The villagers remind them of the length and then leave them be in the front of the sled, speaking lowly amongst themselves.

Cara leans back and raises an eyebrow at him.

"So, we're basically running of a band of raiders for lunch money?"

"They're quartering us in the middle of nowhere. Last I checked that's a pretty square deal for somebody in your position."

Cara looks down at the coin purse in their hands, giving it a small heft before looking at him again as he continues. 

"Worst case scenario you tune up your blaster. Best case, we're a deterrent. I can't imagine there's anything living in these trees that an ex-shock trooper couldn't handle."

Cara looks as if they want to say something in response to that, but only raises their brows quickly in a facial shrug of agreement. 

They both fall silent, and as Din leans back to rest he sees the child do the same, squeaking as he lays back on the small clothes he's placed around the child for padding. He seems to be staring at the stars, and Din does the same.

With Cara having proven themselves as capable, a reliable back-up, even if he doubts he'll need it, he relaxes further as he star gazes. 

As much as he said it was a deal for the dropper, it's also one for himself, this planet is going to be perfect for reaquainting himself with his kat. The trees and water alone perfect for relearning a body he hasn't been in for decades, and applying tactics he'd never need as a once simple village child.

His eyes tighten in a small wince, thinking of his former life has never made him feel anything pleasant until recently. He knows that to never speak, to never think of his blood family, is to have them die a final death, a toll of being forgotten. 

To have the only one who knew them never tell others of them is to have them die forever, he says his parents names in his remembrance but he doesn't know his grandparents names, he wonders if he ever has known them.

Not for the first time Din wishes he had taken the time to look at the registry, the accounts of the people that died that day, people that could still be identified. To find his entire family there, in some long forgotten document and know what he came from.

And not what he was made into. He's never regretted taking the creed, being who he is, but sometimes he wonders who he would have been.

Slowly breathing out he closes his eyes, maybe after the heat dies down he will take that step, he's neglected his blood family long enough.

Chapter Text

They'd died human in the end, he'd seen his grandfather take on the droid in kat form, the droid had shot a massive piece of flesh from his grandfather's hide. He'd watched the shock set into his old limbs, he'd still tried to power through it for them, for them he'd pawed weakly as the droid held him down with a metal boot. The droid took aim, but all he could see was a flash of light, broken into tiny projections from his mother's robes for a moment.

The sound of the shot was lost to the screams around him; the sound of earth cracking and exploding everywhere, he caught a single glimpse of his grandfather's body.

His grandfather's shape had melted into his human one in his death. Still in his sleeping pants, dusty from the dirt that clung to him after he'd gather water from their well every morning, a well that'd been on the family property for as many generations as he was old at that time.

There was so much screaming, in his ear, around him; he thinks he was screaming too in that moment. The screaming grew louder, when they'd hit the main road, and his body shook with explosions around them—

Din's eyes snap open, and he realizes it wasn't the mortars from the memory, but the sled stopping that had rocked him into waking. The screams from his memory taking shape into the welcoming cheers of the village children as they run to greet the sled.

They both sit up, as does the child gripping the lid of the sled to look at the children who ignore the adults in his favor. 

"Well, looks like they're happy to see us."

The dropper looks mildly dubious before the child squeaks happily at all the attention, he can see a restrained smile on Cara's face.

"Looks like."

Unloading and speaking with the villagers to gather who and where they would be staying took some time. Having learned that he'd be staying in a barn really wasn't as big a deal as the villagers thought he'd take it, it meant he was closer to the outskirts and for his own selfish plans, that was a bonus for him.

Having slept or napped in far worse places it didn't register as a disservice to him in anyway, they didn't seem to understand he was being honest when he insisted it wasn't a problem.

One of the villagers had darted out of the gathering once the barn was mentioned, presumably to clear it out for him, he watched one of the children follow them.

After assuring the villagers that yes; this was completely fine, and yes; Cara could indeed have the pleasure of sleeping in an actual room, he and the child were eventually directed to their quarters. 

Stepping into the shack he was surprised at it's cleanliness, and space if he was honest. He sees the same villager that stepped out drawing the blinds as he enters with his small case, the child at his heels. 

"I hope this is comfortable for you. Sorry that all we have is the barn." 

Hoping to not come off as aggressive he sets his case down gently and keeps his vulnerable back to the villager, "This will do fine."

There is a small pause, "I stacked some blankets over here."

"Thank you. That's very kind."

The tread of someone clearly aiming for stealth makes Din's survival instincts forget where he is, that he is not on a job, that these are peaceful folk. But it all comes too slow for him to stop himself from lowering into a better stance and spinning, from his hand dropping to his holster.

The gasp of a scared child, and the villager looking at him in silent judgement as he drops out of his stance far too late makes him want to apologize but he's not given the chance.

The villager walks to the doorway and gently coaxes the child from the outer wall and under their arm, the kid who can't be older than 12, tucks themselves even deeper into the hold and hugs them around the waist.

"This is my daughter Winta. We don't get a lot of visitors around here. She's not used to strangers."

Most people know that Mandalorians are warriors, and that it is not a good idea to sneak up on a warrior race unless the intent is to kill said warrior. 

But his poor reaction is not the child's fault, merely his own keyed up demeanor. 

He misses whatever was said after that, but nods at the child when he is thanked. He's not sure what he just took credit for but the villager clearly sees his want for space and grabs Winta's hand, "Come on, Winta let's give our guest some room."

He stands where they left him for a moment, forcefully relaxing himself from his keyed up state. Finally he breathes out slowly and turns back to the bed and his case, glancing down at the child as he plays with the ends of the bed sheet at his feet.

It gives him an idea, a perfect place to hide, in a barn far from other homes, in the darkness of the beds shadow.

Bending to kneel beside the child he clears his throat lightly so as not to the startle the child, big eyes turn to him, "Can you try to fit beneath the bed?"

He's not sure the kid understands him, but he tilts his little head before scuttling forward on all fours disappearing beneath the bed like he's being chased. 

Din spares a prayer for himself from the Manda, that the child does not do that aboard the Crest, he's never seen the child move so quickly.

Leaning down onto his arm he bends to look underneath the bed, glad to see that it's as dark as he hoped, enough he cannot even make out the child's form.

"That's great kid; if I tell you to hide, I want you to go here, understand?" 

There's a happy chirp from the far corner of the bed, turning his visor that way he still cannot see him. Slapping on his night vision, he can see the kid has bunched himself into the far corner, happily wiggling his ears, Din laughs under his breath.

"Ok, now I'd like you to come here please?"

The kid bounces on his bum, giggling but he does not move otherwise. Holding back his fond sigh he tries again, "Please kid?" 

The kid bounces again but uses one of his bounces to get himself on his knees before crawling at Din so quickly that his eyes widen behind his helmet slightly. 'That is going to give me a heart attack, no baby should be able to move that fast.'

As soon as the kid is close he scoops him up gently, "Thank you, mid meal should be here soon okay? We need to be patient, we are guests."

Din places him near the head of the bed before opening the munitions case he brought, pulling out the rolled hammock from the Crest, and placing it neatly into the crib as an extra pillow.

Once he's placed the things he wants within arms reach of his bed, he puts the metal case in front of the corner the child hide in, it will act as a buffer in case he needs the child to hide there.

Sighing he lightly touches the child's foot before reaching forward and lifting him from the bed, he places him into the crib away from the guns he plans to clean and reassemble.

Din is eager to test his kat, test himself really, but after their meal he and Cara are set to scout out what they are up against.

This day is taking it's toll on his social jar, it's a near certainty in his life for people to ask about his helmet, he's just so tired of being pitied over the pride he carries for the creed that saved his life. He wishes he could find the apathy he used to have in his youth, the villagers keep asking him invasive questions at every opportunity, but he makes do with with learned patience in the face of such ignorant personal invasion.

He does not hold anything against his host, she has proven herself as generous and kind, giving him space again to eat in solitude while the children play with his charge. 

He's looking forward to something old, and yet new to focus his attention on once they figure out how to end this villages pest problem.

He's thankful he didn't need to ask Omera to look after the child, it was obvious that he shouldn't come with them to scout, and she'd offered to look after him long before she decided to offer her barn too.

Crunching stones and the squelching of boots on wet mud alert him to Cara's approach, Din pushes off from his shoulder from his lean against the barns side.

They turn to Hohl, a young boy of the village, who waited sullenly on the steps with him. The boy's arm was broken in the last attack, and his other arm dislocated, it'd been reset, but his fingers on the same arm had also been broken. With no way of helping harvest, the job of hosting was given to him. Cara nodded to him, "Alright, let's see what we got."

The young pre-teen nods to Cara, "This way, they came from an old path, not really sure what it used to lead to, but it's not in use anymore." 

They walk on the slopped path between ponds towards the tree line, one needn't be a hunter to see the overlapping foot prints heading into the village. They didn't all take the same path either, but the teen leads them to a particular section of trees and stops.

"When they left, most left right here." 

Cara gives a sharp nod, "We'll take it from here." 

"Thank you." Din adds quietly.

The teen nods to them, takes one more glance into the thicket, then heads back into the village proper.

"Even I can see this is a large party," they gesture down at the tracks and then the crooked limbs, "a girl can hope they at least fall into a drunken stupor. Villagers said they mostly took their krill haul. Might give us an advantage to catch them unawares, since we lack their numbers and all."

She kicks a tree limb over to another section of tracks that converge into the main set they stand over. 

"Just might, we'll see how they settle in first, if they are tightly ran we'll deal with them covertly. Weed out their numbers enough for the advantage, hopefully before being noticed."

Din gestures for Cara to take the lead, shrugging and activating his heat vision as she passes, "I agree; If they do partake in their haul, it will be simple enough to pick them off when inebriated, silent or not." 

They cut deeper into the forest as they follow the heaviest set of tracks, but soon all the parties meet into one coalescing heat trail. Din slows, turning to count separate treads, they are still muddled over top one another to have a clear number. A best guess and a glance at his read-outs indication of differing body heat is all he can supply. It's the debris that is beginning to confound him.

"About 15 or 20 of them came through here on foot. And something big sheared off those branches." 

On his inspection of this planet, he had read nothing of life forms big enough to be the cause of such damage to trees so tall. Cara says nothing as she looks around herself at bark and limbs scattered about the unnaturally made clearing.

Stalking past the dropper he spots a massive heat blot just past a mossed rock and thicket of bushes, kneeling down to inspect it closer he hears Cara do the same beside him.

"AT-ST." She says in a hush. 

Din has never seen one still working himself, his training in the Corps had provided hypothetical ways of sabotaging one, but he's never had occasion to try for them. 

"Imperial Walker. What's it doing here?" 

The path of the Walker is clear, and they both rise to look down the ravaged path in consideration. A Walker is far more than the two of them can handle, negating the entire party of raiders themselves, they are under equipped and far more out numbered than they thought.

"I don't know, but this is more than I signed up for."

Din fights down frustration at this turn of events, were he to be brash and bold like Paz, he can say with confidence they could take down a Walker given a excellent plan. But to even attempt that may require more time than they have, and less man power than he would want.

Cara wordlessly turns around, heading back to the village without waiting on him.

He bows his head, placing his hands along his belt, another village that will be lost to a violence misplaced. They had not said there were any imperials, only Klatooinian. But then, they hadn't mentioned the Walker either, and while it never made it into the village they would have heard it none the less.

This is more than he wants to deal with, can deal with, he will need to take the child and find another planet for respite. 

Finding this one was a stroke of luck, and he's not looking forward to having to find another, more likely less hospitapal planet.

Sighing he finally turns to head back to the trail they'd followed, but stops when he sees that Cara had waited for him two dozen paces ahead.

He nods to her, not entirely sure how long he's made her wait while he was lost in thought. Tilting her head slightly she leads them back in silence, when they are nearly clear of the tree line she pauses though to turn to him.

"Just so we're clear, I'm not sticking around long enough for that thing to come back for 'round two.'"

"I gathered as much, I won't be either." 

She nods, but neither move before she gestures him to take the lead. Huffing under his breath Din strides past her.

Since Cara has elected him their voice in the forest, he tells Hohl to gather the entire village for what they've found.

It doesn't take long for them all to pause in their tasks to gather before the barn he's staying in. Were he in their position, he would want the news to be short and direct, time may be of the essence in their case. Once the hush falls over the folk he steps forward.

"Bad news. You can't live here anymore."

The outcry and disbelief from those gathered swells, beside him Cara leans slightly towards him.

"Nice bedside manner."

"You think you can do better?" 

With a small tsk and head bob Cara looks at the his profile, and declares "Can't do much worse."

Din nonchalantly steps back, leaning against the barns wall as Cara takes a deep breathe and steps forward to ease their concerns. 

"I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options."

"You took the job!" murmurs of agreement follow the indignant villager's statement. 

"That was before we knew about the AT-ST."

"What is that?" 

He really should learn this ones names, considering how outspoken he is. 

The villagers do look genuinely confused, and it pangs him to to realize that these people are so far removed from the wars fought, that they have no idea of the machines created to destroy. Can look upon a Walker and not know if for what it is, ignorant to it's purpose, only seeing it and knowing it's more than they can handle. 

"The armored walker with the two enormous guns that you knew about and didn't tell us."

"Help us, you're supposed to help us, but we hired you, please. Please!"

Omera breaks through the pleas with a steady voice, "We have no where to go."

Cara is quick to deny her though, using a forced lightness, "Sure you do. This is a big planet. I mean, I've seen a lot smaller."

"My grandparents seeded these pods."

Din wonders if his own people had asked for assistance. Did they reach out for mercenaries? Did they make pleas to their government? Did they even know the attack was coming?

"It took generations."

He cannot remember discourse in his household before the attack, or outside of it, but he also has enormous gaps of the time before being found. He can't trust his memory, or lack thereof, to know either way.

If they sought help, were in turn given help, would Din be where he is today? Who he is today?

"I understand. I do. But there are only two of us." Cara says solemnly.

There is nothing to say that whoever they asked would be successful in the venture to ensure his peoples survival, but if given a chance he thinks most people would fight for their homes.

"No there's not. There's at least 20 here!" 

"I mean fighters. Be realistic!" 

Omera is staring at him, frustrated, seemingly waiting for him to rejoin and stand with them, with her. He does not move his helm from it's skyward cant, but looks upon her as she grips Winta's shoulders.

Around her, her people cry for help. Beg for a chance to fight, a chance to learn, to keep their meager possessions and generational lands. Peaceful and far removed from the wound the rest of the galaxy suffers from, they want the simple life they've always known, willing to try their hands at what most people on the Outter Rim learned from cribs.

Cara sways in a restrained way any fighter would recognize as held back anger, a movement to release tension instead of fists. They won't listen to her gentle warnings.

"I've seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes." 

Her impassioned speech holds the tongues of the older folk, folk who can see a raw memory for what it gave, perspective. Cara is not trying to talk down to them, she is trying to save them from a fate she has witnessed befall people far better equipped for the fight these villagers are looking to take on.

While the others look upon each other, or continue to argue quietly, Omera remains steady. She looks down to her daughter, and her resolve is a near tangible thing.

"We're not leaving."

In another life, Din thinks he would befriend her, were he capable of it. But that isn't how it is, this is the hand they were both dealt. She demands a chance to fight for their future, whereas Din has already lost that opportunity. 

"You cannot fight that thing."

Cara has been a boon so far, she has been soft when she's needed to, and stern when demanded. It is exceedingly clear that she has fought Walkers, and is fighting her fear of them, but she has not abandoned them yet. She wears her empathy on her sleeve, even if he were to leave, she seems the type to stay even after saying she'd leave.

The decision was made some time ago for Din, were he in their place, he would demand the same thing Omera's people do. If Aq Vetina's people were given the chance he will give this village, maybe he wouldn't be here to help them. But he would try, as he will try here.

"Unless we show them how."

It's been over a week since they'd taken on the task of training civilians to be soldiers. Cara had offered up the idea of staff training after they spoke about the easiest and safest weapons for them to acquire, and learn. 

The length gave the people some distance, and it happened to be something that Cara had said she was proficient in training with. She didn't offer why, but the way she had first picked up a staff and looked down at it had told him it wasn't from her time in the rebellion.

Though he had to show them all how to craft one themselves from the surrounding trees, taking care to emphasize the balance and thickness needed for them. All he can hope is that they succeed, and knowing how to build their own weapons will at least empower them to take up arms for any future threats.

Assuming there will be a village that is.

Din had to admit he was rusty with a long hand, but any manner of blaster training he was extremely proficient at. Having trained many of the young ones during droughts on his bounty work, he's extremely comfortable stepping into their space to show them proper handling on the few rifle blasters he'd brought.

After the weeks ends, he can say with confidence, they are barely acceptable. Better shots than Stormtroopers, but Mandalorians they are not.

As busy as Cara and he have been, it's still been more of a respite than Din has had in he cannot remember how long. Every miniscule moment of down time he's sought the child, not wanting to let the kid think he was left again.

Tomorrow they will strike the Raiders, but today the villagers rest. 

For him, today he will try shifting. 

He's not needed his kat skin in decades, but he wants to stretch forgotten muscles all the same. Should he need to use height he would prefer some practice jumping and climbing before a real situation is forced onto him.

He's truly wanted a jet pack for some time now, damn Paz and his parting salute reminding him he's never passed his lessons. It hadn't been because he was a poor flier, only that before he could take the finial test his mentor had died. He'd had no choice but to step fully in the role that he wasn't wholly trained for, were he honest with himself.

His mentor had gone on that mission alone because of it's sheer haul, more credits than anyone had seen this side of the Outer Rim in ages, which had made it far to dangerous for a novice such as Din. And such a sum as that would set the covert up for some time, especially considering they were barely scrapping by as it was.

Since he was still in an apprentice, he was never introduced to the guild head, their secrecy held them from any outside announcement for his position as novice. Until he met the full muster decreed by his mentor, he was to remain unknown to the local guild, and upon his status of a fully fledge hunter, he'd have taken a post in a completely different sector. 

That had never come to pass. The bounty the hunter had taken that ended his life, had also ended their time on the planet that'd taken solace on, it had been a Pyke operation. The Syndicate's men that had killed his best friend taunted the armorer with the very helmet Din had always looked up to in admiration on planet side, they'd killed the local guild leader to learn their location. 

Hoping to frighten what they thought was merely guild members with their kill into instead joining their organization. None of them had made it off the planet, the covert had descended on them in the night, never seen or heard while they slaughtered the Pyke garrison to both avenge their hunter and collect his helmet.

The helmet hide his tears of mourning for a mentor; a friend and a brother, as it hide his fear— fear that he would never live up to the legacy he now had to fill alone.

At the time, he'd needed to make credits desperately and with no reference to vouch for him to enter the guild, he'd had to take side jobs. Jobs with people who held no honor or standard. Countless jobs where he was too far, too often, to finish the tests and measurements for a pack.

He'd wished for it then as he does now. Working with mercs who wanted to knock him down in any way possible for being Mandalorian, and upon hearing and guessing how young he was when he finally spoke, try their hand at killing him for the beskar helm he'd inherited. It would have been extremely useful, but he'd had to get over not having it then or now, like he'd had to do with many harder wants.

Would his mentor; Revoir, be excited for him? To see him take back a heritage he'd ignored for ages? Mandalorians did not force one to be of a single creed, Revoir had been Tusken. He had many rituals he performed for his first creed one of the few he didn't care to hide was giving thanks before he drank, the other he would never turned down any offer of a beverage, though he'd never drink from them until he was alone.

He can admit he'd almost laughed in a bounties face when they'd try to get the older hunter drunk with offers of free alcohol. As soon as the pint had landed in front of him, he'd produced a leather flask from the large hip bag Din had never seen him use til then, dumping the entire pint neatly into his flask; capping it closed and dropping it back into his bag to stare at the target. All without a word, the bounties face had been an open book, honest in a way only someone truly stupefied could be.

He'd taught Din both the Tusken sign and word for dumbass that night, his rusty laugh echoed in Din's mind as his eyes opened to waking. He thinks Revoir would be proud of him to at least try.

Sitting up in bed he looks to the crib, the child is awake and watching him quietly, laughing through his nose he asks the kid, "Breakfast?"

The little one grips the ribs of the crib huffing and puffing in excitement as he bounces. Din begins the process of fastening his boots, "I'll take that as a yes."

After first meal he collects the child from Winta's table of friends, he takes them in a wide circuit of the outside of the village. Making sure to stop them far away from the village, and opposite of the bandit camp they'd found.

Coming into a smaller clearing with a heavily mossed rock Din places the child on it and steps away.

He begins pacing, he's not sure how much the child understands if he's honest. He knows the little one displays some survival instinct, he knew they were both in danger from the mudhorn, but it was an animal. 

He's not sure the child will understand he and his kat are the same, the idea that the kid will be frightened of Din's kat feels like a failure on Din's part. He should have thought of that possibility a week ago, but a Kat's form has always been something of undeniable safety to him.

Tiny frustrated grunts pull him from his self admonishment, the kid has stood on the rock while he was distracted, little arms raised in the age old gesture to be held.

"Sorry kid," he said softly, taking a small claw into one hand he continues, "I want to show you something I'm not sure you will understand."

Large dark eyes stare at him, full of a child's trust he doesn't want to lose. He's watching Din, the kid looks at their hands before giving the only finger he can fully grip a light squeeze, looking back up at Din.

Din bites his lip, full of hope and a warmth so deeply rooted in his ribs it's nearly painful as it restricts for this kid; only this kid.

He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly just as he would before squeezing the trigger on a complicated shot, he can feel his finger curl in a ghost of the action, the child giggles. He can't fight the smile, doesn't bother to anymore as he does it again, tickling the kids tiny palm with his finger.

"Ok kid, I want you to really listen to me." 

He leans forward slightly, gaining the kids attention, "I won't hurt you ok? The kat is me, I won't touch you, I just want you to see it just in case." 

The kid tilts his head as his wrinkles bunch for just a moment at Din, before he squeezes his finger tightly. 

"I hope you understood that, the thing is, I've not done this," he trails off guilty losing confidence, "I haven't done this in far too long."

Din stands and steps away some distance from the rock the kid is sitting on. 

"Ok remember, it's just me, I'll change back if I frighten you, I promise." 

The child settles, cooing at him, for once he doesn't seem to be distracted by the insects fluttering around them.

Din nods to the kid, then digs deep into memories he's locked away, searching for that coarse thread he can vaguely remember from his childhood. He knows it's diminished, he can remember shifting being easier than tying his boots, a thread thick and lively easily felt then.

Now though he feels himself start sweating, sifting through memories adjacent to the ones he's looking for- thick blood, a deep cry too close to his ear, that feeling of otherness. It's a ghost of a feeling but he grips it like a man drowning.

He sees the child lean forward suddenly, big ears perked, but he feels his ribs creak in white hot agony, striking along all his nerves—

He doesn't know how, but he's jerking up from his side on the forest floor, the child is on his chest wailing his lungs out, tugging uselessly at the collar of his kute. Everything sounds distorted, high pitched and crackling, like he's popped his ears from a pressure change. 

He's disoriented, but he cradles the child to his chest sitting up properly to look down at him. Still confused he whispers apologies and reassurances he's fine, lifting the little one from his chest to his neck to rest his head against the top of the child's, rocking the both of them gently as he keeps up his litany of reassurances. 

He hears sounds of underbrush cracking, Din tenses his hold on the kid, it sounds like it's coming right at them. He tries to stand, but his legs are twin blackholes. He can't get them under himself, so he curls them as much as he can behind the kid's back, pins and needles skate up both of them, he winces at the feeling as it rockets up to his hips. 

Fuck. 'Okay then' he thinks quickly; since he cannot stand he hunches himself and tucks the kid directly under the lip of his helm. It's a relief his arms work as he seamlessly yanks his blaster out of it's holster, he aims at the brush. The wait isn't long, but it's extremely nerve wrecking to know he's so vulnerable as the child gasps wetly into his adam's apple.

Cara rushes into their little clearing, her gun snapping to him and just as quickly lowering to the ground.

"You miserable mudscuffer! What happened?"

She's not panting, but he can see her chest rising and falling deeply, he doesn't even know how to respond. He doesn't know what happened. Passing out, blacking out, he's done it all countless times but never like this.

He has never felt something like that before, he untucks his legs; splaying them out and uncurling the child from his protective beskar hold.

He rubs the kid's back soothingly, he's no longer crying now only hiccupping miserably against his collar. He watches from the corner of his eyes as Cara holsters her blaster, his legs still feel like static, though they are slowly feeling more like his legs are simply asleep. 

Realizing he's been silent aside from quiet whispers he doubts she can hear from so far, Din finally looks to Cara. She's looking at the kid mostly, an open book with no helm to mask his obvious dwindling fear.

"It was nothing." he says mulishly, Cara's head tilts ever so slightly as she glances to his visor quickly before looking back down to the kid still clutching tightly to his kute, she raises an eyebrow.

"Want to try that again?" Her sarcasm only barely veils her worry, he sighs to himself.

Cara has proven to be both good company, and an excellent fighter, but she's never mentioned her stance on shifters; there has been no reason and he has given no clues to his other designation. 

He's thought on telling her in the same way he thinks of giving information that one needs to let others know of in case it will become relevant, but he's stopped himself each time, it's a small part of himself he doesn't want to expose right before a fight that he's not sure with perfect certainty they can win. To give information that may distract or disrupt this near perfect flow they seem to have.

To have her look at him as some mongrel, something lesser than the human he is inside his armor; inside his kat's body. 

It's those thoughts and many others that keeps him again from telling her what he's attempted. 

'It was a spectacular failure wasn't it?' he thinks morosely.

Cara throws her hands up and scoffs so harshly he sees spit fly before she's resting her hands on her hips in a perfect example of being done with the entire universe, staring down at him in aggravated silence.

In a manner fitting someone thrice his age he stiffly jerks himself each step of the way up, keeping the kid tucked to his chest as he levers himself to standing. His knees wobble and his left nearly buckles, keeping the growl to himself he purses his lips and shifts his knee into a better position for his weight.

He looks up from his knee to see Cara right next to him, arm out and hands splayed in preparation to catch him. He should feel embarrassed but he cannot remember the last time anyone has attempted to help him when he's struggled. 

"Thank you." He says sincerely, not wanting to seem ungrateful or impolite when he's warmed at her gesture. 

Cara's smirk is salve on him, he's thankful to have found someone steady in this moment where he feels anything but. Whatever he did left the kid scared enough to make a racket, something the kid hasn't done before. He's not as quiet as he once was, but he's not reached anywhere near the pitch Din had woken to.

"Sorry—," he cuts himself off; looking down to the sniffling kid streaking his armor with snot, amending what he was going to say, "Sorry we have disturbed you." 

Cara makes the face he's still unsure how to place, one part confused, two parts amusing, her smile— her smile though, is always soft. Like she can't believe what's happening in the moment, but finds it both funny and genuinely pleasing.

"Yea well, thought you were dying with all the screaming." 

Din hums, rolling his shoulders lightly to help with the pin and needles he still feels, before jerking his head toward the village.

"I'm going to take the little one back." 

He hopes he doesn't sound as embarrassed as he feels as Cara trails behind him diligently.

He knows he doesn't owe her anything, but he can't help but sigh, "I may have tried something that scared him." 

Cara turned, looking him over from top to bottom slowly, before her gaze rested on the child clearly fighting sleep in his arms in contemplation. Eventually she looked back to the path as the light from the trees canopy brightened.

"You know," she started slowly, "If I hadn't seen you hover over him like a mother tooka, I'd be worried."

Lowering his helm in embarrassment, he focused on the child before too long though he couldn't help but to defend himself.

"I'm not that bad." he grumbled half-heartedly.

He knows he does tend to hover, but something about the kid attracts Din like gravity into his orbit. A sense of wholeness he's otherwise never felt, as though this need to care was what he was missing from his life, he can't help how he seeks out the little one.

He knows too he's grown very attached very quickly because of it.

He can't find it in himself to be bothered by that. His people live on through adoptions, he does find a small bit of pride that he can say he feels the same way now, whereas before the child he never thought to have one himself. 

To busy feeding his people to allow himself a spare thought for one. Counseling and training the foundlings has always brought a peace and steadiness to him, so in the end he should have expected it.

Cara looked him up and down again, before letting him know just how obvious he was about the child. 

"Sure," she drew out the word for several annoying seconds. He has an overwhelming want to knock her arm with his knuckles, as he would when Paz used to do this exact thing to him. 

It's the most relaxed conversation they've shared, he finds he likes this side of her. It may be because he's so clearly embarrassed, but he laughs at himself, too quiet to be heard but clearly seen in the shaking of his shoulders and the smug smile growing on Cara's face.

"Are you always so serious? It isn't wrong to laugh while you struggle through this bantha faced life."

His lips twist into a deep frown behind his helmet, he stops in front of her. He's been alone on hunts for more years than he hasn't, she is alone too he knows, whether she left with others he doesn't know.

He doesn't need to say why, when he was alone still, with only a recently acquired child for company now. 

He's already told her; and the elders when he admitted he needed a crash course is child care from the lot of them, that he came into his position as care taker by happenstance.

His silence as he looks at her answers for him. There's no pity just as he knew there wouldn't be, only understanding in her eyes.

Before she can say anything he adds dryly, "Conversing with my knives didn't help my hunting ventures."

Her faces twists in disbelief before she covers her face and feigns a sigh, more of a chuckle really.

"Force, of course you have have dad humour already."

His stomach tumbles with butterflies. It isn't the first time she's said something similar, as the week has passed it's felt more and more apt.

He doesn't think he deserves to feel this way after what he's done to the child, turning him over to Imps, it doesn't matter that he'd went back in the end. Convincing himself that he was merely a target, and the Warlord would bring unwanted attention to himself, and by extension his covert.

And he was proven right when the fob code was reactivated and the guild descended on them like strix in the night.

But he's had his moment of clarity in his cockpit, in a moment of confusion for a missing shift knob, and again when he'd looked down at the sleeping child with blaster fire overhead, cornered and likely doomed; he knew he wouldn't allow him to go back to the Imps. He would die before he did that again.

Even though his actions caused the covert to reveal themselves and he must wait for their message of a new location, he knows it was the right thing, when giving him up had felt like failure in the first place.

Din tries to move the child to the crook of his elbow as he would normally do when the kid falls asleep in his arms, but the little one grumbles into his chest piece and grips the outer flare tighter. He slows to look at the kid better, once he stops moving the kids grip loosens. Humming in confusion he bounces the kid, finally the kid peeks up at him with drying eyes. 

"Are you okay?" He asks softly, Cara gives them some space continuing on ahead after nodding to him.

The kid of course doesn't respond in words and splays his arms wider, it's as close to a hug as he can manage.

Din swallows, his throat feeling thick with emotions. Cupping the back of the babies head gently, Din curls his torso, hugging the kid back.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," he says lowly, "I'm fine, I promise."

Din trails his finger along the length of the kid's ear, petting him lightly between gentle pats on his back, swaying the both of them for minutes. 

He glances up once he remembers where they are, some villagers openly stare, but most are still working diligently. He cocks his head slightly at the group staring, he assumes the gesture conveys well enough in the slight tilt of his head, most slink off back to work looking chastised. Omera is among them, she stands for a moment before pointing off to his side. 

He follows her finger, looking out of the corner of his eye to see Winta; her back to him as she plays some sort of dice game with her friends. 

He inclines his head to her, before heading off to the little group; she's right, the kid's friends may both cheer and distract him from his left over fright.

Din sighs, rolling over to put his back to the crib the child sleeps in. Omera's suggestion had paid off...eventually. 

At first the kid wouldn't leave his lap but insisted on playing with the group. After several rounds of a game Din has never heard of involving the dice, they all had moved onto tag. The kid had finally let up and had wanted down to play in the reeds with the other's hiding. 

Unable to run, the kid hid; he was actually quite good at hiding too, he suspects he could have even won if he didn't keep revealing himself to look for Din.

Lunch had consisted of convincing the kid to stay with the others so that Din could eat, it had taken some time before he could actually sit and eat, dinner had went much better in comparison.

Flipping over in bed he focuses on the kids breathing, squinting his eyes as he concentrates further; straining his senses until there— the kids quick but even heartbeat.

Keeping his attention on the kids heart, he slowly lifts the lip of his helm to the bridge of his brows, resting his head back on the pillow to rub tiredly at his eyes.

Whatever Din had done, whatever the child had seen, it had scared the poor kid witless. He'd reacted like Din had died, crying over him while unconscious and refusing to leave him thereafter. 

All he can hope is that if he had succeeded and became a kat, that the kid wouldn't be traumatized by seeing the large predator again. He's not been able to try again with the little one glued to his hip, but as tired as he is he wants to.

Resealing his helmet he breathes deeply, forcefully relaxing himself in increments. Only when he feels heavy in his own body does he search for the chord again, this time he finds it quickly, almost like it was waiting. 

Slowly he feels along it's mental length, memories tinged with sepia and happiness, a family all his own he never got to be thankful to have.

This time instead of strangling the connection he lets himself feel the grief he's long since held, the love he's never been able to forget the feel of. 

The chord thrums and he feels a warmth he's forgotten as his body heat climbs to the normal temperature of his kat, he shrinks only slightly on his bed, staring in wonder at his large black paws.

His whiskers rub the pillow uncomfortably so he sits up, but a small delighted sounding gasp has him whipping around to the crib.

This time he doesn't have to focus near as hard to find the kid's heartbeat, it's still even in sleep but Din worries the kid may be slipping into a nightmare.

With uncoordinated steps he stands on his bed and slowly climbs down, he has a moment to marvel at the complete lack of sound before he walks slowly to the crib. He stands before it wondering how he can check, before shrugging to himself and gently placing one paw and then the other onto the cribs top railing.

He's only slightly shorter than his human skin as he peers over the rail to look at the child, he's glad to see the shift from leaning on it hasn't woken the kid.

Now that he can, he openly stares at him, watching him sleep with a tiny tooth caught on his lip, a small drool patch for company.

Din's throat vibrates a second before he starts purring, the kid gasps again and snuggles deeper into his pillow, a small smile on the little boys face. Unable to help himself he lowers his head into the kids space, slowly resting his forehead on the kid's.

How's he ever going to let him go? He doesn't deserve to feel this attachment to a kid he's already forsaken once. His head feels fuzzy with guilt, his face scrunches when he feels his eyes grow warm.

He presses his nose a little deeper into the bed, miserable in his love for this foundling the tribe will surely not let him keep for all the attention he draws.

His furred nose feels wet, and there is a barely there scent of salt that clings to the sheets below him.

He's heard his parents laugh as Kat's, nothing at all human in the noise, but unmistakable in what the vocalization meant. He remembers what a scolding noise sounds like, and even what an annoyed spit sounded like.

But for all that he can remember, he didn't know kat's could cry.