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Din Djarin had once faced down a krayt dragon.
He had fought pirates.
Imperials.
Bounty hunters.
Dark troopers.
He had crashed ships, survived explosions, stitched his own wounds together more times than he cared to count.
None of that compared to keeping up with a five-year-old.
By the end of the month, Din was convinced parenting was the most dangerous profession in the galaxy.
His days started before sunrise.
Breakfast.
Packing Grogu’s little satchel.
Convincing him that, no, cookies were not a breakfast food.
“Fruit first.”
“But cookies have flour!”
“They’re still cookies.”
“…Half cookie?”
“No.”
Then work.
Patrols with the New Republic.
Meetings with Greef that somehow always lasted twice as long as promised.
“We’re almost done.”
“You said that forty minutes ago.”
“I meant it this time.”
He never meant it.
Then bounty contracts.
Only the easier ones now.
Nothing that kept him away overnight if he could help it.
But Grogu’s tonsil surgery last month had emptied what little savings he’d managed to build.
Medical care wasn’t cheap.
Neither was replacing the heater that had chosen the coldest week of the year to die.
Or repairing the N-1 after a fuel injector exploded.
Again.
He was beginning to suspect the ship simply enjoyed inconveniencing him.
And then there was the simple reality of how he made a living.
People shot at him.
People stabbed him.
People punched him.
People seemed personally offended by the idea of him leaving a bounty hunt without at least one new injury.
His beskar stopped the worst of it.
The rest…
The rest accumulated.
Bruises blooming beneath armor.
Deep aches that settled into old fractures.
Knife cuts that left thin silver scars across his arms.
Muscles pulled one too many times.
Ribs that had been cracked so often they never quite stopped reminding him they were there.
Shoulders that clicked.
A knee that complained every time the weather changed.
A wrist that had never healed exactly the way it should have after a particularly unpleasant run-in with a Trandoshan.
Every morning something new twinged.
Every evening something else hurt.
He patched himself up because that’s what Mandalorians did.
Wrapped bruises.
Stitched cuts.
Reset fingers.
Swallowed painkillers only when he absolutely had to.
Then got up the next morning and did it all again.
He’d accepted long ago that this was simply the price of the life he’d chosen.
Normally, he could carry it.
Lately…
The injuries seemed slower to disappear.
The bruises lingered longer.
The exhaustion settled deeper into his bones.
And healing was a lot harder when the moment he got home, a giggling five-year-old launched himself into his aching arms shouting—
“Daddy!”
Somehow…
Din always found the strength to catch him anyway.
When he wasn’t working—
He was grocery shopping.
Cooking.
Doing laundry.
There was somehow always laundry.
Tiny socks.
Tiny shirts.
Tiny pajamas.
How could someone so small produce this much laundry?
He honestly wanted an answer.
He paid bills.
Balanced budgets.
Crossed things off lists.
Added twice as many new things to those same lists.
The kitchen faucet leaked.
The bathroom light quit working.
One of the cabinet doors fell off.
The fence needed repairing after Grogu accidentally Force-pushed a nuna into it.
“It’s okay, Daddy.”
“It was an accident.”
“I know it was.”
“…The nuna said sorry.”
“I don’t think it did.”
“It looked sorry.”
Din had sighed.
Then fixed the fence.
Again.
Grogu scraped his knee.
Din kissed it.
Grogu broke his favorite toy.
Din spent an hour rebuilding it with microscopic screws that seemed personally offended by his existence.
Grogu cried because the sunset ended.
Din explained that sunsets always ended.
“But I liked that one.”
“I know.”
“So make it come back.”
“…I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“…Because I don’t control the sun.”
Grogu considered this.
“Hmm.”
“…Maybe later.”
Then bedtime.
Bath.
Jammies.
Story.
Lullaby.
Water.
One more hug.
One more kiss.
“I forgot something.”
“What?”
“I love you.”
Din smiled every single time.
“I love you too.”
Then—
Sometimes—
The nightmares came.
Tiny frightened cries over the monitor.
Din out of bed before he was fully awake.
Scooping up a trembling little body.
Rocking.
Shushing.
“I’m here.”
“Daddy’s here.”
“I’ve got you.”
Other nights…
Grogu simply refused sleep on principle.
“I’m not tired.”
“You’ve yawned nine times.”
“I yawn because…”
Tiny pause.
“…practice.”
“Practice?”
“So I know how.”
Din had laughed despite himself.
Eventually.
Always eventually.
Grogu slept.
And then…
Din couldn’t.
He lay awake.
Staring at the ceiling.
Thinking.
Tomorrow’s appointments.
Grogu’s next dentist visit.
The transmission that needed replacing.
Whether there was enough money left after utilities to buy Grogu the backpack he’d been excited about.
The grocery list.
The fuel bill.
Whether he’d remembered to send that message to Greef.
Whether Grogu seemed quieter than usual today.
Whether he was eating enough vegetables.
Whether—
Whether—
Whether—
By the time sleep finally came…
The alarm rang.
Again.
—
Weeks became months.
Months blurred together.
One afternoon Din found himself standing in the kitchen.
Completely still.
Holding a spoon.
Unable to remember why he’d walked in there.
He stared at it.
Blinking.
“…What was I…”
“Daddy?”
Grogu appeared in the doorway.
“You makin’ soup?”
Din looked down.
Apparently he was holding a can.
“…I think so.”
Grogu tilted his head.
“You okay?”
Din forced a smile.
“Yeah, buddy.”
Just tired.
Always tired.
—
Cara noticed.
Of course she did.
She noticed everything.
She stopped by one evening after dinner.
Grogu immediately tackled her legs.
“Aunt Cara!”
“There he is.”
She scooped him up.
“My favorite little menace.”
“I’m not menace.”
“Oh?”
“You stole three cookies before dinner.”
“…Maybe little menace.”
Cara laughed.
She looked over Grogu’s shoulder.
At Din.
He was leaning against the counter.
Helmet off.
Eyes half-lidded.
He looked…
Not injured.
Not sick.
Just…
Empty.
Like someone had scooped every ounce of energy out of him.
“You look awful.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“You sleeping?”
“When he lets me.”
“You eating?”
“When I remember.”
She folded her arms.
“Djarin.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve said ‘fine’ three times.”
“Because I am.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He sighed.
“…Mostly.”
Later, after Grogu had wandered outside to inspect a particularly interesting bug…
Cara spoke quietly.
“How long since you’ve had a break?”
Din frowned.
“I don’t need one.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He actually thought about it.
A real break.
Not grocery shopping without Grogu.
Not paperwork.
Not fixing something.
Not hunting.
Not cleaning.
Not sleeping with one ear open.
Just…
Nothing.
“…I don’t know.”
Cara stared at him.
“Dank farrik.”
“What?”
“You actually don’t know.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll be alright.”
“No.”
She said it so simply.
“So matter-of-factly.”
“No, Din.”
“You’re running yourself into the ground.”
He looked away.
“I can manage.”
“I know you can.”
“That’s the problem.”
Silence.
Then—
“I’ll take him tonight.”
Din blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“He can stay at my place.”
“Play with the others.”
Eat junk food.”
Watch holos.”
Sleep over.”
“You.”
She pointed at him.
“Will sleep.”
Din almost laughed.
“I can’t ask you to—”
“You didn’t.”
“I offered.”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
The thought entered his mind before he could stop it.
A whole night.
Sleep.
Actual uninterrupted sleep.
Maybe even…
Reading a book.
Sitting outside.
Not listening for tiny footsteps.
Not worrying about bedtime.
Just…
Quiet.
His shoulders sagged.
For just a second.
“…Really?”
Cara smiled softly.
“Really.”
He looked down.
“…Thank you.”
It came out almost as a whisper.
She’d never heard him sound quite so relieved.
—
The next evening arrived.
Grogu’s tiny overnight bag sat by the front door.
Extra pajamas.
Favorite stuffed tooka.
Toothbrush.
His silver ball.
Three emergency snacks because Din packed like they were preparing for an expedition instead of one night away.
Grogu bounced excitedly.
“I’m gonna have a sleepover!”
“You are.”
“We’re gonna build a pillow fort!”
“I believe it.”
“And watch movies!”
“I’m sure.”
“And maybe stay awake ALL NIGHT.”
Din snorted.
“Not if Cara has anything to say about it.”
A knock.
Cara.
“Ready?”
“Yep!”
Grogu grabbed his bag.
Then stopped.
Turned.
Looked up at Din.
Those enormous eyes.
“So…”
“You won’t be lonely?”
The question hit harder than Din expected.
He crouched.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Grogu stepped closer.
Wrapped tiny arms around his neck.
“I’ll come home tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“So don’t miss me too much.”
Din laughed softly.
“I’ll do my best.”
“…Okay.”
Grogu smiled.
Then reached up with both hands.
Held Din’s face.
“I love you, Daddy.”
Din’s heart cracked.
“I love you too.”
“So much.”
He hugged him.
Just a little tighter than usual.
Just a little longer.
When he finally stood…
His hands didn’t want to let go.
Cara noticed.
She gently took Grogu’s hand.
“We’ll bring him back tomorrow.”
Din nodded.
“I know.”
The door opened.
Grogu waved enthusiastically.
“Bye Daddy!”
“Bye, buddy.”
“I love you!”
“I love you too.”
The door closed.
Silence.
Real silence.
No chatter.
No little feet.
No toys rattling.
No humming.
Din stood in the middle of the living room.
Listening.
The house had never felt so empty.
He looked toward Grogu’s room.
The little bed.
The scattered toys.
The blanket folded neatly.
His chest tightened painfully.
He had wanted a break.
Had needed one.
So why did every instinct in his body suddenly scream to go after his son, scoop him back up, and bring him home?
He laughed once.
Quietly.
At himself.
“…You’re impossible, Djarin.”
He had spent weeks begging the universe for one uninterrupted night.
Now that he’d gotten it…
All he could think about was how much he already missed the tiny whirlwind who had exhausted him in the first place.
Because that was the strange thing about love.
The weight of it could leave your bones aching.
It could wear you to the point of collapse.
And yet the moment it was absent…
The burden wasn’t what you noticed.
It was the emptiness where it had been.