Chapter Text
It finally happened.
The moment Din Djarin had spent every waking second of his life trying to outrun.
The one second too slow.
The one angle missed.
The one breath taken at the wrong time.
It was almost absurd how small it looked afterward—how something so catastrophic could begin with something as simple as a shift in weight, a half-step forward, a trigger pulled a fraction too soon.
They had been boarding the ship when the ambush hit.
A bounty crew—supposedly contained, supposedly “handled.”
Supposedly.
Din heard the warning before he saw it. Boba’s voice cutting through comms, sharp with alarm. Fennec shouting coordinates. Bo-Katan calling for cover.
Then Grogu, just a few steps behind him—
A flash.
A shot.
And Grogu stumbled.
Din turned.
That was the second he lost.
Because Grogu was falling.
Small body collapsing too slowly, too unreal, like the galaxy itself had decided to stop making sense.
“No—”
Din moved.
But not fast enough.
Never fast enough.
Grogu hit the ground.
The sound Din made wasn’t language. It wasn’t Mandalorian. It wasn’t anything human at all.
It was pure rupture.
“GROGU!”
The helmet came off mid-run.
Metal clattered somewhere behind him—forgotten, abandoned, meaningless.
Din dropped to his knees so hard it should have broken bone. He didn’t feel it. Didn’t feel anything except the sight of Grogu’s eyes half-open, unfocused, already slipping.
“Hey—hey, no, no, no—stay with me, ad’ika—stay with me—”
His hands shook as they pressed against the wound. Too much red. Too much warmth. Too much wrong.
“I’m sorry,” Din choked out immediately, like the words could somehow reverse time. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
Grogu made a small sound. Not a cry. Just... confusion.
That broke something deeper.
“Don’t you do this,” Din whispered, voice cracking apart. “Don’t you leave me here. Don’t you—please—”
Boba was suddenly there, crouched beside him.
“We’re moving,” he said sharply. “Now.”
Din didn’t respond.
Didn’t look at him.
Just gathered Grogu up like the universe might still allow him to fix this by holding tighter.
“I’ve got you,” Din kept saying, over and over. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you—” Grogu’s head lolled against his chest.
Din activated the jetpack with shaking hands.
The flight was chaos.
Wind screamed past them as Din rocketed across the skyline, too fast, too desperate, too everything.
Grogu was limp in his arms.
“Open your eyes,” Din begged into the wind. “Please. Please, just—look at me. I’m here. I’m right here.”
His voice broke completely on the last word.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t faster.”
The city blurred beneath them.
He didn’t see it.
Only Grogu.
Only Grogu.
The hospital doors didn’t open fast enough.
Din didn’t wait for them to.
He slammed through them anyway.
“HELP HIM!”
The entire ER froze.
A Mandalorian—shaking, soaked in blood that wasn’t his—storming into a sterile room, carrying something small and dying in his arms.
“HELP MY SON!”
A doctor rushed forward instinctively, then stopped at the sight of Grogu.
“Oh—oh stars—”
“DO SOMETHING!” Din shouted, voice cracking into something unrecognizable. “PLEASE—SAVE HIM—SAVE MY BABY—”
Security moved in automatically.
Bad idea.
Din didn’t even register them until someone tried to pull him back.
“I’m not letting go,” he snarled, feral.
“Sir, we need him NOW—”
“NO.”
It wasn’t a word.
It was a vow.
Then Grogu made another small sound—pain, faint and fragile—and Din shattered completely. “Please,” he whispered, suddenly quiet. “Please don’t take him from me.”
The doctors saw it then.
Not a warrior.
Not a threat.
A man already losing everything. “Bring a gurney!” someone shouted. Hands reached in carefully.
Din fought it at first—instinct, terror, refusal. But Grogu’s breathing was shallow.
Too shallow.
“Dad...” Grogu whispered.
That broke him.
“Hey—hey, I’m here,” Din said instantly, voice shaking apart. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. I swear. I swear I’m not leaving you.”
They finally managed to lift Grogu away.
Din grabbed for him—
“I’ve got him,” a nurse said firmly. “We’ve got him.”
“No—no, I do—I need—”
“Sir. We need space.”
“THAT’S MY SON!”
Security moved closer again.
Bo-Katan’s voice cut through from behind him, sharp and steady.
“Let them work.”
Din froze.
His hands were still outstretched, empty now.
Blood smeared across his palms.
Grogu disappearing through double doors.
And then—
Gone.
The waiting room was too bright.
Too clean.
Too quiet.
Din didn’t remember walking there.
He just remembered collapsing into a chair like his body had finally decided it no longer needed to function.
His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Red stained his gloves.
Grogu’s blood.
His chest rose too fast.
Too shallow.
A nurse approached with wipes.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t exist.
He just stared at his hands like they belonged to someone else.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered suddenly.
No one responded.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, louder this time, breaking. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I’m sorry—”
A nurse gently tried to clean his hands.
He jerked back.
“No. Don’t.”
His voice cracked.
“I need to—he needs—he’s—”
He couldn’t finish.
His head dropped into his hands.
And then came the prayer.
Not religious.
Not structured.
Just desperate.
“Take me instead,” Din whispered into his palms. “Please. Please take me instead. Let him live. Let him—he’s just a child. He’s just—”
His breath hitched.
“My baby,” he choked out. “Please.”
Time passed incorrectly in waiting rooms.
Minutes felt like years.
Years felt like nothing at all.
He didn’t notice when the others arrived.
Boba first, silent as always.
Fennec, immediately taking stock of exits and threats out of instinct.
Cara, who stopped dead when she saw him.
Bo-Katan, who said nothing at all.
Mayfeld, who for once didn’t have anything to say.
No one spoke for a while.
Because there was nothing to say.
Only waiting.
Only blood on Din’s hands.
Only silence where Grogu should be.
Din didn’t look up.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe right.
And the only thing left in the room was the unbearable truth:
He had been fast.
He had been everything he was supposed to be.
A Mandalorian.
A protector.
A father.
And still—
It hadn’t been enough.