Chapter Text
The bathroom in the cabin was small by most standards, but for a Mandalorian who’d spent the last few months living out of an N-1 Starfighter, the tiny room with a shower, bench and toilet was a luxury. The shower’s door slid open with a metallic hiss, letting out a cloud of steam, followed by the Mandalorian. He grabbed a towel from the bench that doubled as a changing table, unfolding it with a single flick. He scrubbed it through his hair, his eyes rolling back in his head at the feeling of clean, sweat-free hair. Living in a helmet 99% of the time wasn’t exactly good for one’s hair hygiene.
Finished with his hair, Din wrapped the towel around his waist and was just unpacking his razor when a suspicious squeal penetrated the bathroom door. Din paused. What was that kid up to?
A metallic clank echoed from the other side of the door. Din sighed and approached the door.
‘Grogu,’ he said, voice just on the precipice of sternness. ‘What’s going on out there?’
Another clank, followed by a surprised trill. Another sigh from Din. He put down the razor and reached for his helmet…
…which wasn’t on the bench where he’d left it.
Din froze.
His pile of clothes and armour was still there, but the helmet which had crowned the pile was gone. He stared at the empty space where it should be, mind reeling.
Another metallic clank filtered in from outside, accompanied by a squeal of delight. Slowly, Din turned his head towards the door. And his eyes narrowed as he beheld the green light beside the locking mechanism; the door was unlocked.
‘Grogu,’ he said, approaching the door. ‘I want you to put the helmet right outside the door. When I count to three, I expect it to be there.’ A noise suspiciously like a raspberry met Din’s ears.
‘One.’ Din let his voice tip into sternness.
‘Two.’ He knelt and put his hand on the door. All was silent outside.
‘Three.’ Din turned his face away and opened the door wide enough to reach his hand out. It landed on empty air. He fumbled around for a bit, reaching out up to his elbow but no helmet.
Din slid his hand back in and closed the door.
‘Grogu,’ he said. ‘You know that helmet’s not a toy.’ The only response was another round of clanking and delighted squawks. What was the kid doing with it? Bowling?
Din sighed. This called for drastic measures. There was a first aid pack on a shelf under the bench. He grabbed it and tore it open.
Minutes later, the bathroom door slid open and Din stepped out. He looked more like a mummy than a man, his head wrapped entirely in bandages with tiny holes poked through for his eyes.
He scanned the living area, his eyes instantly landing on the helmet scuttling backwards across the kitchen floor. It collided with a kitchen cupboard with a clunk followed by an echoing squeal.
Din shook his head and approached the helmet. He knelt and lifted it off the floor, uncovering a very surprised Grogu. The kid tilted his head at Din and opened his mouth at the mummy-like visage. He let out a confused burble and the angry words on Din’s tongue died.
‘You had it on backwards, kiddo,’ he said as he tucked the helmet under his arm. ‘No wonder you couldn’t hear me.’
Grogu tilted his head the other way and squeaked.
Din stood with a sigh and returned to the bathroom. Moments later, he emerged wearing the helmet and the rest of his armour.
‘I think it’s time for a refresher on the difference between a tool and a toy,’ he said. Grogu just squawked.