Chapter Text
The first morning after Grogu came home…
found Din waking slowly.
Completely exhausted.
It had been…
a rough night.
He’d expected that.
He’d expected nightmares.
Crying.
Fear.
He just hadn’t expected quite so many.
Four times.
Four separate times Grogu had bolted awake screaming.
Four times Din had awakened instantly with him already tucked safely in his arms.
Four times he’d simply curled tighter around his little boy, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other rubbed slow circles across his tiny back.
Four times he’d whispered the words he’d spent one hundred and seventy-three days dying to say.
“I’m here, baby…”
A kiss against trembling ears.
“I’m here.”
Another.
“You’re safe now.”
Pulling him impossibly closer.
“I’ve got you.”
One more kiss.
“I love you.”
His voice breaking every single time.
“I’m never letting go.”
And he hadn’t.
Not once.
Almost twenty-four hours after his baby had jumped into his arms crying Daddy…
Grogu still hadn’t let him go.
Not even once.
So…
Din hadn’t let go either.
⸻
Din blinked sleep from tired eyes.
The room was quiet now.
Morning sunlight spilled softly through the palace windows.
Golden.
Warm.
Peaceful.
He looked down instinctively.
There he was.
Still sleeping.
One little green cheek pressed against Din’s chest.
One tiny hand curled around the front of his sleep shirt.
His ear resting exactly where it always belonged.
Over Daddy’s heart.
Din’s breath caught.
Maker…
He was still here.
Still real.
⸻
A small pang of worry tugged at his chest.
Was this okay?
Grogu wanting to be held to this degree?
Him being this…
clingy?
Should he be encouraging Grogu to sleep on his own?
To spend time in his own room?
Should he—
The thought disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
No.
Absolutely not.
He wasn’t about to complain that his son wanted to be held…
after aching to hold him for five and a half months.
Not after one hundred and seventy-three days of empty arms.
Not after one hundred and seventy-three nights curled around pillows because there had been no child to protect.
No.
As long as Grogu reached for him…
Din would hold him.
Without question.
Without hesitation.
Without limit.
It wasn’t simply a decision anymore.
It was a vow.
⸻
His eyes drifted around the room.
The same room.
The same bed.
The same walls that had watched him unravel.
This bed had held him alone for one hundred and seventy-two nights.
It had witnessed every collapse.
Every prayer.
Every nightmare of his own.
Every morning he had awakened reaching instinctively for a child who wasn’t there.
Every night he’d wrapped his arms around pillows because his body had forgotten there was nothing left to hold.
Now…
those same arms were full.
Not of pillows.
Not of memories.
Of Grogu.
Warm.
Breathing.
Alive.
Home.
The tears came immediately.
There was no stopping them.
No reason to.
He had waited so long.
So impossibly long.
And now…
his baby was here.
Safe against his heart.
Exactly where he’d begged the Maker to let him be again.
⸻
He reached up carefully.
Brushed two fingers across one soft green ear.
Grogu sighed in his sleep.
Nestled just a fraction closer.
As though even asleep…
he knew where safety lived.
Din smiled through fresh tears.
He got to love him again.
Finally.
Not through glass.
Not through twenty-minute supervised visits.
Not through whispered promises no little boy could hear.
Really love him.
Hold him.
Comfort him.
Wake beside him.
Be his father again.
The thought almost overwhelmed him.
⸻
He had prayed for this.
Every day.
Every night.
Sometimes with words.
Sometimes with nothing but broken sobs into an empty pillow.
Sometimes too exhausted to pray at all.
Only hoping…
that somehow…
someone was listening anyway.
And now…
his prayer had been answered.
Not perfectly.
Grogu wasn’t healed.
Not yet.
There would still be nightmares.
Panic.
Trauma.
Fear.
There would be doctors.
Therapy.
Long nights.
Hard days.
The battle wasn’t over.
It had simply changed shape.
Din welcomed it.
Because this battle…
he got to fight with Grogu in his arms.
Safe.
Loved.
Home.
There wasn’t another place in the galaxy he’d rather be.
⸻
He looked down again.
Really looked.
At the tiny face resting peacefully against him.
The faint rise and fall of each sleepy breath.
The tiny hand still holding his shirt.
The little body trusting him enough…
to finally rest.
“This…”
Din whispered to the quiet room.
His voice thick with emotion.
“This is the greatest thing I’ll ever do.”
Not becoming Mand’alor.
Not reclaiming Mandalore.
Not defeating Moff Gideon.
None of it.
This.
Holding his son while he learned…
slowly…
patiently…
that the galaxy could be safe again.
Teaching one frightened little heart…
that love had come back for him.
That Daddy always came.
Din lowered his head.
Pressed the gentlest kiss against Grogu’s forehead.
He lingered there.
Eyes closed.
“I love you…”
A shaky breath.
“So much more than you’ll ever possibly know.”
Another kiss.
“My precious one.”
Grogu made the tiniest sleepy sound.
His fingers tightened once against Din’s shirt.
Without waking.
Without fear.
Only trust.
Din smiled.
And for the first time in one hundred and seventy-three days…
he didn’t spend the morning surviving.
He didn’t spend it grieving.
He didn’t spend it wondering how he would make it through another day.
He simply lay there.
Holding his son.
Listening to the little breaths beneath his chin and the steady beat of his own heart beneath Grogu’s ear.
The world outside could wait.
The kingdom could wait.
The war could wait.
For this one perfect morning…
there was only a father…
and the little boy he had been given back.
And for the first time in one hundred and seventy-three days…
Din didn’t merely endure being alive.
He was profoundly, overwhelmingly grateful for it.
Because after everything…
after all the waiting…
after all the empty nights…
he got to love his son again.