Chapter Text
The mission was supposed to last four days.
By day eleven, nobody believed the schedule anymore.
The bounty had crossed three systems, switched ships twice, bribed local officials on two worlds, and somehow managed to disappear every time they thought they had him cornered. The ship had become equal parts war room and home.
Maps covered the holotable.
Weapons needed cleaning.
Coffee had become its own food group.
Everyone was tired.
Even Mayfeld had stopped complaining.
Which, according to Cara, was how you knew things had gotten serious.
Din noticed something was wrong with Grogu long before anyone else did.
It was small.
Too small for anyone unfamiliar with him to catch.
Grogu wasn't humming.
He almost always hummed to himself while playing.
Now...
Nothing.
He sat quietly in the copilot's chair, watching the stars with heavy eyelids.
Din reached over during a lull in the conversation and rested the back of one gloved finger against Grogu's forehead.
Warm.
Too warm.
His stomach tightened.
"You okay, ad'ika?"
Grogu leaned into the touch immediately.
"...Sleepy."
Din exchanged a glance with Cara.
She saw it too.
By evening...
The fever had arrived in earnest.
Grogu lay curled against Din's chest beneath a blanket, cheeks flushed, ears drooping.
He barely touched dinner.
Din was officially worried.
The next morning...
The strategy meeting continued despite the circumstances.
The bounty had finally been spotted entering an asteroid field.
Bo-Katan stood over the navigation table.
"If we split here—"
"We cut him off," Boba finished.
Mayfeld pointed at another route.
"Unless he doubles back—"
"He won't," Fennec replied.
Across the room...
Din sat in one of the cockpit chairs.
Grogu rested against his chest.
Half asleep.
Din rocked him slowly.
Absentmindedly.
The motion never stopped.
Back.
Forth.
Back.
Forth.
He listened to every tactical detail while quietly rubbing circles over Grogu's back.
"...Din?"
Bo looked over.
"What do you think?"
Din blinked.
"Hm?"
"The left approach?"
He glanced once at the map.
"Too exposed."
Then immediately looked back down at Grogu, adjusting the blanket where it had slipped off one tiny shoulder.
Bo smiled faintly.
"Right."
"Too exposed."
Meeting continued.
Rocking continued.
An hour later...
Everything went sideways.
"BANK LEFT!"
The ship lurched violently.
Warning alarms screamed.
Mayfeld swore creatively.
Boba wrestled the controls.
A laser blast clipped one engine.
Din tightened one arm around Grogu automatically.
"It's okay."
Another explosion.
"It's okay."
Grogu whimpered weakly into his shoulder.
Then—
Without warning—
Vomited.
All over Din.
All over the blanket.
All over the cockpit floor.
Nobody said a word.
Din didn't even flinch.
He simply shifted Grogu upright.
Rubbed his back.
"It's okay."
Another small cough.
"I'm sorry," Grogu whispered miserably.
Din's heart broke.
"Oh, buddy."
"No."
"You never apologize for being sick."
He kissed the top of Grogu's head.
"You hear me?"
Tiny nod.
Another laser blast shook the ship.
Cara shouted something from behind them.
Din was already pulling wipes from the emergency medical kit. Cleaning Grogu's little face first.
Then his hands.
Only afterward did he wipe himself off.
Priorities.
Always.
"He's getting worse."
Fennec glanced toward the medical scanner.
Din already knew.
"I know."
"You should probably sit this one out."
Din looked toward the tactical display.
Then down at Grogu.
There wasn't really a decision.
"I'm sitting it out."
Nobody argued.
Medicine proved...
Difficult.
Grogu eyed the spoon suspiciously.
"No."
Din sighed patiently.
"I know."
"It tastes bad."
"No."
"I agree."
"No."
Din looked around desperately.
"Anybody got ideas?"
Mayfeld wandered over.
"Have you tried lying?"
Cara smacked him lightly.
Boba produced a tiny packet.
"Honey."
Everyone stared.
"What?"
Boba shrugged.
"It works."
Din mixed the medicine carefully.
Added just enough.
Held out the spoon.
"There."
Grogu sniffed it.
Still looked doubtful.
Just then—
The ship jolted violently.
Incoming fire.
Bo shouted from the cockpit.
"We've got company!"
Din instinctively steadied Grogu.
"It's okay."
Another impact.
Lights flickered.
Grogu looked frightened.
Din smiled reassuringly beneath the helmet.
"One sip."
"I'll hold you."
Grogu finally accepted the medicine.
Made the most dramatic face imaginable afterward. Mayfeld laughed.
"Oh, that's definitely awful."
Din couldn't help chuckling.
"It really is."
That night...
Voices carried from the cockpit.
"You lost him!"
"I did not lose him!"
"You absolutely—"
"It wasn't my fault!"
The argument escalated.
Din barely heard it.
He sat in the back of the ship.
Lights dimmed.
Grogu lay against his chest.
Still feverish.
Still miserable.
Din hummed quietly.
One gloved hand stroked soft circles between Grogu's shoulders. Another rested gently across his back.
"Shh."
"I know."
"You don't feel good."
Grogu whimpered.
"Dad..."
"I'm here."
"Tummy hurts."
"I know."
He rubbed his belly gently.
"Wish I could take it for you."
Grogu blinked sleepily.
"You would."
Without hesitation—
"In a heartbeat."
Grogu reached up.
Touched Din's helmet.
"I know."
Outside the room...
Someone yelled,
"We almost had him!"
Another voice answered,
"Tell that to the asteroid!"
Din smiled tiredly.
Completely unconcerned.
The bounty could wait.
This couldn't.
Around midnight...
Cara quietly stepped into the room.
"How is he?"
Din looked exhausted.
"Still running a fever."
"You eaten?"
He blinked.
"...No."
She handed him a bowl.
"You need to."
"I'm fine."
She gave him a look.
"The kid needs his dad standing upright."
Din reluctantly accepted it.
Grogu stirred immediately.
Tiny arms tightening.
Din set the bowl aside.
"It's okay."
"I'm not going anywhere."
Only after Grogu settled again did he finally take a few bites. Cara watched quietly.
"You know..."
She smiled softly.
"I've watched you fight entire platoons without blinking."
Din grunted.
"But one sick toddler?"
He looked down at Grogu.
"...Terrifying."
Cara laughed under her breath.
"I figured."
By the third day...
The fever finally began breaking.
Grogu managed half a bowl of broth.
A victory worthy of celebration.
Everyone applauded.
Grogu looked confused.
Din laughed.
"You earned it."
Late that afternoon...
The proximity alarm blared.
"They're back!"
Everyone rushed into motion.
Bo took command.
"Boba!"
"Already on it!"
"Mayfeld!"
"Guns!"
"Fennec!"
"Port sensors!"
Din instinctively started toward the cockpit.
Then—
Grogu coughed.
One tiny, miserable little cough.
Din stopped.
Looked toward the cockpit.
Looked back toward the bunk.
Bo caught his eye.
"Go."
Din hesitated.
"The bounty—"
"We'll manage."
"But—"
Cara pointed firmly toward the sleeping child.
"Go be Dad."
That settled it.
He disappeared into the back.
Without another word.
The chase lasted almost an hour.
When it finally ended...
The bounty escaped.
Again.
Everyone stumbled into the common area.
Defeated.
Exhausted.
Mayfeld groaned dramatically.
"Eleven days."
"For nothing."
Before anyone could answer...
Din emerged quietly from the back.
Grogu slept peacefully against his shoulder.
Fever finally gone.
Little face relaxed.
One tiny hand wrapped securely around Din's collar.
Din looked almost apologetic.
"...How'd it go?"
Mayfeld stared at him.
Then laughed.
"We lost him."
Din sighed.
"We'll find him."
"Tomorrow."
Bo nodded.
"Tomorrow."
Nobody complained.
Nobody blamed him for missing the chase.
Because as they watched him gently adjust the blanket around Grogu without waking him, every one of them understood something that had long since become obvious.
Din Djarin was one of the finest bounty hunters in the Outer Rim.
A formidable Mandalorian.
A warrior who could change the course of a battle.
But if the galaxy ever forced him to choose between completing a mission and sitting beside a sick child...
There would never be a choice.
Not for a second.
The bounty could always be found another day.
Grogu only had one father.
And every person on that ship knew exactly where Din believed he belonged.