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Din opens his eyes to a tinted blue sky, stalks of green swaying in and out of his vision.
His darker, duller vision.
Blinking slowly, Din willed his hand to rise to his face. It felt heavier and bigger than he was used to for his eight-year-old body. When it came into his limited field of vision, Din saw that his hand was gloved. Black leather with orange fingertips. It was encased in a gauntlet with a blue triangle.
The glove touched his face. Or rather, where it should have been. Instead it brushed against smooth, angular beskar. His helmet.
He set the hand over his chest, the soft thud of his chest plate a familiar barrier.
Din tapped his iron heart, watching as the breeze pulled the clouds across the sky, reorienting himself to the larger, aching body of a warrior he was so used to.
He knew this sky, these plants.
He was home.
But he knew he was alone. He did not hear his child or his partner. He did not hear the R2-D2 droid or the wind chimes singing from their front door. He came back home, but it was not as he had left it.
His HUD read the time and date. He wasn't entirely sure, but it seemed to be the day after he had fallen asleep and drifted into the past.
The Force had brought him back to the moment it had taken him. But it was changed. Everything was changed.
Din had done this.
Now, it seemed, he was alone.
Din needed to know if it was worth it.
Sore and tired, Din forced himself into an upright position and, sure enough, he was in the field outside of his house.
There was no house, of course, but in the time Before, there had been.
Din was on his feet quicker than he probably should have, his gaze catching on the glint of the Razor Crest parked at the treeline. He moved in a haze, lowering the ramp and scavenging for the first holopad he could find.
He delved into the holonet.
Luke Skywalker. Alive and thriving. Traveling to the Jedi Temples and studying under the apprenticeship of Obi-Wan Kenobi. No longer a hero of the Rebellion. No longer a General or last of his name. He had still lost his hand in a freak accident, and opted for darker, more dramatic fashions, but he was happy, healthy, and had grown up with both of his parents and his twin.
There was less information on Grogu. He was a child after all, and protected by the Jedi Order, but there were records Din tapped into (the legality of such was no one's business). He was 52, strong with the Force, and seemed to be content with his crechmates at the Coruscant Temple.
Din released a heavy breath as he slumped back against the closest crate he had found, complex emotions drifting like a storm in his head. He was relieved, of course. It had worked. All of those months stuck in the past, killing the would-be Emperor, befriending and learning from the clones, and putting up with Anakin Skywalker's banthashit. His clan was happy. It was worth it.
Din would need to catch up on this new timeline eventually, but right now he was too drained to care how the galaxy was affected without the Empire. Grief consumed him like a sudden void pulling his ship out of orbit - dark and terrifying, but ultimately inevitable.
Once again, Din Djarin was alone.
And so, alone on his ship, stuck on a lonely planet, with no memorabilia of his life Before or his clan, Din sat on the floor, removed his helmet, and glared at himself in its back visor.
He figured it was only fitting, after all, to blame the man that had left him so alone.
(He did not know how to take revenge on a cosmic entity just yet. He'd only just surpassed the stage of the Sith Lord.)
It's not until he lets his head fall back on the wall behind him harshly, his eyes gliding to his right, that he sees his right pauldron. The mudhorn his gone, the beskar empty but for a blaster mark he doesn't remember.
It was gone. The mark of his family, his clan, his son, was gone.
Din really was alone.
Alone as the first tear fell. Alone with the second and third and all that followed. Alone with weeping wails that echoed off of the walls and the screams that he deafened himself with over time. Alone with his agony and hurt and relief that they were alive and happy, but they were all of those things without him.
Din Djarin was alone, and it was all his own fault.
The worst part was, he couldn't even be mad. Not really. This was meant to be.
This was the Way.
⋆.˚
Luke Skywalker woke up planets away in a cold sweat, on Coruscant, a young voice calling to him in the Force.
He's back! He's back! The Man of Dreams is back!
"Oh Force." Luke swore as he scoured blindly for his cloak, sleep still blurring his vision.
I'm coming, Grogu.
Clipping his lightsaber to his belt, Luke slipped on his boots and tied them in record time. Years of strange visions, dreams, and memories that did not belong to him circled in his mind, the silver Mandalorian of different times never explained haunting him boldly.
Here we come, Mandalorian. Luke thought with curiosity and trepidation, stalking rapidly towards the crèche to gather his Force-dream counterpart. You have the answers I need.
⋆.˚
The meeting was even stranger than Luke expected.
The moment he and Grogu tracked the Mandalorian down, it was to a beautiful, abandoned planet in a beat-up gunship Luke winced in sympathy for.
The man that met them with a gun was even more surprising. He stood on top of the ramp in full armor, blaster pointed straight at Luke's chest without wavering.
Until it did.
Without any influence from Luke, the blaster dropped. With shaking, desperate hands, the Mandalorian reached up and ripped off his helmet, revealing a disheveled, red-faced brunette with dark circles and tear tracks under his eyes.
"Luke?" He croaked, voice broken and hoarse from what sounded like hours of screaming. Grogu whined, reaching out for the man. Inexplicably, the man reached forward, and Luke let him.
Flashes of a blonde man that looked like Luke, but most certainly was not, entered like a whirlwind through the Mandalorians mind. He had scars Luke did not have, and a deep, haunted look Luke had never held. His clothes were simpler, but more dramatic. His power was just a bit Darker, toeing the line at given moments that even Luke could feeling through the memories.
Suddenly, a lot more made sense.
Suddenly, Luke wasn't so sure the man had the answers he wanted after all.
"I'm not who you remember." Luke murmured, almost regretful, somehow certain in his deduction. The man shook his head.
"I know." He said. And he meant it. He knew he would be different. He loved the Luke from Before, and he always would, but the Force had taken him back for a reason. He had changed everything for a reason.
And that reason was staring at him now. His posture lighter, his smile easier, his eyes brighter. Luke was happier here, surrounded by loved ones and community and safety. He had not been hunted and preyed upon and left in the lonely pits of despair.
(Din had given up everything for this Luke to survive, and now he would get to know what that meant.)
"I know." He repeated. "And I would like to know you, Luke Skywalker-Amidala." He tilted his down to the child in his arms, eyes bright with new tears. "And you, Grogu."
"Good." Luke choked out tearfully, feelings real, new, and remembered bursting forth. "Good. We want to know you too."
This is the Way.