Work Text:
Din Djarin had survived worse.
Objectively.
Factually.
There was no argument.
He had been shot.
Stabbed.
Blown up.
Thrown across rooms by creatures twice his size.
He had crawled through deserts, fought armies, gone days without sleep, and once stitched his own wound closed with shaking hands because there was nobody else around to do it.
Pain was familiar.
Pain was manageable.
Pain was something he understood.
A shoulder dislocation during a friendly family game of kickball, however?
Apparently that was where his body decided to betray him.
Because stars above…
It hurt.
⸻
The entire thing had been stupid.
Completely stupid.
They weren’t fighting.
They weren’t hunting.
There wasn’t some terrifying creature or criminal involved.
No.
The great Din Djarin, legendary Mandalorian warrior, had been defeated by a ball.
A ball.
They’d all been at Greef’s house for a family afternoon.
Grogu had been thrilled.
There had been snacks.
Games.
Running around.
Laughter.
And somehow Cara had convinced everyone that a grown-up game of kickball was a good idea.
Din should have known better.
He should have known that anything involving Mayfeld, Boba, and competitive spirits was a terrible idea.
But Grogu had been watching.
And Grogu had asked.
“Daddy play?”
And that was it.
That was always it.
Din could never say no when Grogu looked at him like that.
So he played.
And he ran.
And he slid.
And then—
Something went horribly wrong.
His foot caught.
His body twisted.
He hit the ground hard.
And immediately knew.
Something was wrong.
His shoulder was wrong.
Pain exploded through him so violently that for a second he couldn’t breathe.
He stayed still.
Because Grogu was watching.
Because his baby was standing there with wide eyes.
“Daddy?”
Din forced himself to look up.
“I’m okay, kiddo.”
The lie came automatically.
Everyone knew it was a lie.
Especially Cara.
“Din.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your arm is hanging weird.”
Din looked down.
Yeah.
That was a problem.
“Okay.”
A pause.
“Maybe I’m less fine.”
⸻
The next several minutes were a blur.
Everyone crowded around.
Grogu was immediately brought over by Peli, but he fought until she let him sit beside Din.
“Daddy hurt?”
Din swallowed.
His face was probably pale beneath the helmet.
“Yeah, buddy. Just a little.”
Grogu frowned.
Not believing him.
Because apparently four-year-olds had somehow developed the ability to see through Mandalorian armor.
Cara crouched beside him.
“I can fix it.”
Din looked at her.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Din.”
“Cara.”
“You need it put back.”
“I know.”
“So?”
Din stared.
“…I hate you.”
She smiled.
“No, you don’t.”
No.
He didn’t.
Unfortunately.
⸻
“Ready?”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
“Fantastic.”
Grogu grabbed onto his good hand.
“Daddy.”
Din looked at him.
“I’m okay.”
Grogu’s little eyebrows pulled together.
“Daddy hurt.”
“Yeah.”
“Need fix.”
Din almost laughed.
“Yeah. Need fix.”
Cara positioned herself.
“On three.”
Din braced.
“One.”
Grogu squeezed his hand.
“Two.”
Din prepared himself.
“Three.”
And then—
Pain.
Pure.
Absolute.
Agonizing.
Pain.
And Din Djarin screamed.
Not a warrior cry.
Not a battle shout.
Not something intimidating.
No.
It was a very human sound.
Followed by words that had no business being spoken in front of a child.
A lot of words.
Creative words.
Words that even Mayfeld looked impressed by.
“Dank farrik—”
A string of curses followed that made Cara’s eyebrows climb.
Boba looked away.
Peli covered her mouth.
Greef just stared.
And Mayfeld?
Mayfeld was losing his mind.
He was laughing so hard he had to sit down.
⸻
Eventually…
Eventually…
The world stopped spinning.
The black spots faded.
Din blinked.
His shoulder was back where it belonged.
His pride, however, was dead.
Completely dead.
Then he noticed something.
Silence.
Everyone was staring at him.
No.
Not everyone.
Grogu was staring at him.
Not scared.
Not upset.
Curious.
Very curious.
Din’s stomach dropped.
Oh no.
No.
No, no, no.
Grogu tilted his head.
“Daddy?”
Din immediately knew.
“Buddy.”
“Fuck.”
The world stopped.
Everyone froze.
Din slowly closed his eyes.
“Grogu.”
The little boy smiled.
“Fuck.”
“No.”
“Fucking shit.”
“Okay.”
Din looked around desperately.
“Okay, baby, let’s not use those words.”
Grogu blinked.
“Goddammit.”
Mayfeld made a choking noise.
Din pointed at him.
“Don’t.”
Mayfeld was crying.
Actually crying.
“Damn Djarin…”
He could barely get the words out.
“You cannot blame this one on me.”
A wheeze.
“That was all you.”
Another laugh.
“That was all your very impressive potty mouth.”
Din stared at him.
“I am going to hurt you.”
Mayfeld wiped his eyes.
“Sure you are, Dad.”
⸻
The problem was…
Grogu had discovered something fascinating.
Words.
Specifically…
Forbidden words.
And forbidden words were apparently the most interesting words.
For the next hour, Din sat on the couch with an ice pack on his shoulder while his son wandered around repeating his new vocabulary.
“Fuck.”
“Grogu.”
“Shit.”
“Grogu.”
“Damn.”
“Buddy.”
“Fuck shit damn.”
“Please stop.”
Grogu looked thoughtful.
“Fuck shit damn if fuck.”
Din covered his face with his good hand.
Stars.
He had fought the Empire.
He had fought bounty hunters.
He had fought monsters.
But nothing had prepared him for parenting.
Nothing.
⸻
That evening, after everyone had gone home, Din sat on the floor with Grogu.
They had a serious discussion.
A very serious discussion.
Again.
He had finally gotten Grogu to stop saying that word after Migs introduced it back when he had first started talking.
He thought it was over.
But now they were having this conversation again.
And this time, he couldn’t blame Migs.
It was his own damn- dang, fault.
“Okay, buddy.”
Grogu looked up.
“Those words?”
“Bad?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Because explaining profanity to a four-year-old was somehow harder than explaining intergalactic politics.
“They’re just words we don’t use.”
“Why daddy use?”
Din froze.
Because of course.
Because Grogu was observant.
Because Grogu remembered everything.
Din sighed.
“Because Daddy made a mistake.”
Grogu considered this.
Then nodded.
“Daddy mistake.”
“Yep.”
A pause.
“Big mistake.”
Din closed his eyes.
“Yep.”
Grogu reached up and patted his cheek.
“It’s okay daddy.”
And somehow…
That made everything worse.
Because this tiny child who had just spent the afternoon accidentally ruining his reputation was now comforting him.
Din picked him up carefully.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Grogu grinned.
“I cute.”
“Very.”
“Very cute.”
“Unfortunately.”
Grogu giggled.
And Din sighed.
Because his shoulder hurt.
His head hurt.
His dignity was gone.
And tomorrow he was going to have to explain to everyone why his four-year-old was suddenly greeting people with words he definitely had not taught him.
But as Grogu curled against him, safe and warm…
Din decided he could survive it.
He had survived worse.
Besides…
One day Grogu would grow up.
One day he wouldn’t repeat everything Daddy said.
One day he wouldn’t need him for every little thing.
So if, for a little while…
His son copied his every move…
Even the embarrassing ones…
Din supposed he could handle it.
Even if he was absolutely never living down the day he taught Din Grogu Djarin his new lists of swear words.