My entry for Clan of Two Week on Tumblr. Check out all the amazing fics and art on the blog!
Takes place some time after Season 1's finale and the start of Season 2.
Warning for some brief 'what-if' fears of child death (obviously doesn't happen but there is some momentary panic where Din imagines it)
Being a parent can be stressful, and Din isn't 100% perfect but he tries his best.
First part is told from an outsider's POV.
Enjoy :)
Mabrek jerks awake with a shout, hissing at the sharp pain that just hit his head.
He rubs at the soreness with a scowl, glaring at the innocent smile he gets from Zinra as she settles herself down in the shop stall across from his booth.
"Sleeping on the job, are you? I should tell your dad." She wiggles her eyebrows, and he groans.
"As if there's been any business in hours." He gestures around the marketplace where activity's slowed to a lazy crawl. The artisans and farmers in the area, including Mabrek's own parents, have taken to setting up stalls in this quiet little clearing every other day.
It's small, but another source of income, his dad always says when ushering Mabrek off to watch the stall after school.
"I don't get why we don't just sell all our stock to the main market in town. No one comes here!"
"Not true, I always tell travelers to stop by when I work the Visitor's Center." Zinra defends, skimming through the note her mother had left her before going home to make dinner.
"Yeah, we're a realll tourist attraction." Mabrek drawls out, kicking his feet up to lean against the ledge of the booth. Their planet is less than a blip on the galactic maps they study in school. Most business comes from local support and the occasional traveler unfortunate enough to pass by this boring town of theirs.
"Well, I'll have you know that we might be getting someone interesting passing by soon." Zinra sniffs, rearranging the embroidered leather straps her family sells by color.
"Hm?" He raises an eyebrow.
"A ship landed in town today."
"Like, a ship ship? A big one?" He sits up, some excitement creeping into his voice at the thought.
"Nah," Zinra waves her hand dismissively, "it's really small and old. I don't think I've ever seen that model before." Mabrek's face falls and he flops back in his chair. So it's either going to be someone broke or old. Exciting.
"It's a Mandalorian."
"A what?"
"Do you actually sleep through every class, 'Rek?"
"Maybe."
"They're ancient warriors that wear beskar metal. And helmets like—" she makes a 'T' with her hands, "like that y'know?"
He hums thoughtfully. It rings a vague bell in his head, but any mentions of helmets sat uncomfortably in his gut. Their planet had always been inconspicuous without any unique resources nor strategic value in the grand scale of things. The war won't touch us, his dad used to say.
That was until a ship of Imperials stopped by to resupply several years ago.
Food, water, and fuel were demanded as tribute for the Empire's cause rather than paid for.
Mabrek remembers hiding behind his father, staring up at white uniforms and impossibly dark visors. Their town had given up the goods without a fight; it wasn't worth it. It had almost been an interaction without conflict. Just a few more crates loaded onto the transport and they'd be gone.
Then, something happened that was never explained to Mabrek. It had all happened so fast; all he knew was the sudden piercing scream of blaster fire, the bitter smell of something burning, and fearful cries. The only person that died had been Cordi's uncle. But murder wasn't something common in their village. The Imps left, but their relative calm had been shaken up for months. It had taken even longer for Cordi to smile again.
It would be about a year before Mabrek could sleep without dreams of soulless black reflective eyes.
"He seems polite." Zinra's voice breaks through his thoughts, as if sensing him slipping away.
"Y-yeah?"
"He didn't talk much about himself, but he's here to fuel up and do some shopping. I told him to stop by our marketplace here after he fuels up. We're open to bargaining, and the town market isn't."
"You didn't offer him a tour guide?" Mabrek rubs the bridge of his nose with a grin, "Zin, he's going to get lost and fall into the swamp or something." The marketplace is some distance from the main town, with an entire marsh region in between. It makes for good hunting grounds, but difficult to navigate if you didn't know what you were doing. The main road is the easiest way to go, but time-consuming. He and his other friends have mapped out dozens of shortcuts through the forests.
"He's a Mandalorian, he'll be fine—" She stops mid-sentence, eyes widening as she flails her arms at Mabrek, "Rek Rek, look. "
Mabrek follows her gaze, turning to look at the main road as the market goes quiet at the sight of the new visitor. Seeing the actual armor helps refresh his memory of the faded images on the holotexts. The sun hits the Mandalorian from behind, casting a large silhouette as he walks into the market, helmeted head turning left and right to gauge all the products.
The other vendors get over their initial shock quickly, rushing into their scripts to advertise their products. The Mandalorian nods, listening patiently. He passes by most vendors offering tools and weapons, finally stopping at one.
"That's Auntie Bavaas' stall," Zinra whispers, just as nosey apparently.
"He wants clothes?" Mabrek whispers back, craning his neck and tilting his chair to get a better look. His elbow hits a box, and he scrambles to keep it from falling to the ground. ' Bavaas' stares back at him, written on the label slapped on top of the lid.
An idea starts to form.
"Zin, I'm going to get a closer look." He announces, vaulting over his booth with the box in hand. The old seamstress had put in an order from his dad the other day. Mabrek had meant to bring it over earlier today, but better now than never.
He swallows loudly, shuffling to Bavaas' stall with what he hopes is an innocent look.
The Mandalorian doesn't sound like how he'd imagined. His voice is low, but not gruff. He's rather soft-spoken. Mabrek stands off to the side, catching bits of the conversation.
"Would it be possible to make it custom and...small?"
"How small?" Bavaas rubs her chin.
"Maybe…" The Mandalorian pauses, holding his arms up and hands apart a certain distance. Mabrek looks around the Mandalorian's back. That is very small.
"That's tiny! What's it for, your pet?" Bavaas laughs loudly, and the Mandalorian makes a noncommittal grunt.
"Yeah I could do a robe that size," Bavaas continues, rummaging through her stock of colorful fabrics, "ah! This one should make a good one. What do ya think?" She pulls out a dark red cloth, holding it up for the Mandalorian to appraise.
The Mandalorian goes quiet.
His gloved hands hover over the fabric for a moment, and Mabrek can't tell if its a trick of the light when the fingers shake as they lower to feel the cloth.
"That works," The Mandalorian finally says, barely audible, "how long would it take?"
"Hmm, something this small should be quick work. I could have it done by sundown if you can keep yourself occupied until then. We do payment first here though, kid."
"I can do that." They exchange a few more words about price before he drops a handful of credits into her waiting hands.
"What wildlife do you have here?" He asks after a moment.
"Bah! You can go ask Jof about that." She points a thumb towards old man Jof, who sits several stalls away, sharpening his butcher's knife against a wet stone.
"Thank you." And then the Mandalorian walks away.
"Mabrek, you finally got me my cakes, you lazy boy?" Bavaas barks with a toothy grin and Mabrek gives her a sheepish smile in return.
"Right here, ma'am." He places the box of sweets at the back of her shop, away from all her tools and fabrics.
They speak for a few moments longer, her asking about his parents and him asking her about what designs she's going to embroider into this new commission.
By the time he says his goodbyes, he sees the Mandalorian drop a couple of credits into Jof's hands before heading back for the marshlands.
"What did he want to know?" Mabrek asks the old man.
"If there are any restrictions or fees to hunt in the swamp."
"There aren't." Mabrek frowns.
"He didn't know that." Jof laughs loudly, showing Mabrek his palm proudly. It's pocket change, but Mabrek still rolls his eyes at the petty swindle.
Jof is basically their town butcher. And well, everyone can skin and gut their own frogs for dinner for sure. But the old man has it down to an art where he can prepare 4 frogs a minute cleanly and quickly. Sometimes, the few credits paid for the service are just worth it.
He returns to his stall, sinking back into his seat with a groan. He fills Zinra in quickly, and the excitement of a new customer dies down. The sun is warm against his face, and it's easy to doze off again.
The sun's just about to set when the Mandalorian returns from the main path. There's some mud caked on his vambraces and gloves; Mabrek can see the string of frogs hanging from one hand.
He gives the frogs to Jof, who makes quick work of the animals, packaging the meat up in a nice box. Mabrek watches the Mandalorian pay, nodding his thanks.
Bavaas holds up the little robe when the Mandalorian approaches her again. She forces a towel into his hands before she lets him near her finished product. Once his hands are clean, the Mandalorian holds the robe in a tight grip, unmoving for several seconds. The moment passes, and he hands it back to Bavaas to wrap.
He stops by several more stalls, purchasing small knick-knacks before reaching Mabrek and Zinra's stalls.
"Told you this market was worth it, yeah?" Zinra smiles, pushing her products forward for him to look through.
"Yes. Thank you for the recommendation." The Mandalorian responds easily, picking up a leather strap, turning it in his hand.
"Tell you what, why don't you buy one of our satchels? It can't be easy to carry all these things by hand. A bag would be easier. I'll throw in one of the straps for free. Just for ya." She smiles sweetly, giving Mabrek a look that he rolls his eyes at.
"...Alright." The Mandalorian agrees, choosing one of the leather bags and straps.
"Thank you, thank you." Zinra hums happily, accepting the payment and wrapping the leather strap in a small package. She spares Mabrek a glance, mouthing 'business'.
"You like sweets? Should check out the stall behind you. His dads make the best cakes and candy on the planet. I can vouch." Zinra adds on smoothly, and Mabrek jolts up to attention when the Mandalorian turns to regard him for the first time. The visor gleams against the setting sun, and Mabrek has to tell himself to breathe. He's not a stormtrooper. He's not.
"I'll take a box of those then." The Mandalorian points at the row of sweetmeats besides the pastries.
"O-oh, uh yeah sure. Thank you." Mabrek murmurs, rushing to package the goods. He accepts the Mandalorian's credits with a nod. The armored man gently places all his purchases into the leather bag.
"Thank you." He says to both of them, turning to leave.
"Thanks for visiting!" Zinra calls after him. When the man is gone, Zinra turns to Mabrek with a smirk.
"What?"
"You should thank me, I got you a sale."
"I...I could've done that on my own!" He crosses his arms while she cackles, razor-sharp teeth glinting.
"I think it's time to pack it up anyways. Sun's setting."
"Yeah yeah." He stands with a stretch. Clean-up is relatively simple now that they had purchased a cart to hold all their goods.
Mabrek's about halfway done with closing shop when he hears a chirp near his feet.
"GaH—" He squeaks, jumping away from the...the...
"Rek, what's wrong?" Zinra pops up from where she's packing away her products, a concerned frown on her face.
"Zin, check this thing out!" He whispers, squatting down to take a closer look at the small creature standing before him.
"Oh what," Zinra kneels down, picking up the thing without a care in the galaxy, "it's so cute!"
"Zin put it down. What if it has rabies?" He makes a face.
"What, this little guy?" She turns the creature around to show him. Looking closer, Mabrek supposes it could possibly be a child. Its eyes are impossibly big, little clawed hands reaching out for him. Zinra passes it over to him, despite his protests. It blinks at him, green with long ears tinted pink. Mabrek's never seen this species before.
"Is it a pet?" He finally asks, holding it at arm's length.
"A pet? Rek, it's wearing clothes."
"You never know. Don't Coruscantis put their pets in clothes?"
"Why would there be a Coruscanti here? You're not a pet, are you?" She coos back at the kid, who chirps in response, "See? I think it's a baby. Baby...boy? You a baby boy? Yes?" She continues chattering, and the baby perks up with his own responses.
"Okay, cool we've established that he's a baby and not a pet wearing a shirt. But now what? He's clearly lost."
"He must've wandered from town. It could be another traveler's kid."
"All the way from town, and he didn't get eaten by the swamp man?"
"Rek, I still haven't forgiven you for lying to Udi about that." She scowls, "He still won't walk home alone to this day, you know how annoying that is?"
Mabrek snickers, looking down at the kid. His robes are muddy, sleeves and bottom edges soaked. He reaches into a pocket, pulling out a frog with his little hand.
"I don't think we have to worry about the swamp man anyways, Zin. Think the kid might have eaten it." They both make a face when the child swallows the frog whole without so much as a struggle.
They both jump when something rushes out of the side bushes, snapping several branches in their hurry. Mabrek pulls the kid closer without much thought.
It's Razhru. The other teen works at his mother's office in town after school and usually heads home around this time.
Mabrek frees an arm to give a wave, a greeting ready on his lips—
"That! That's the kid!" Razhru shouts, pointing straight at the child in Mabrek's arms.
The marketplace goes quiet once again.
"What are you talking about Raz?" Zinra demands, and Razhru jogs closer, tail swinging back and forth.
"I was on my way home, and I saw this guy at the swamp. A...a Mandalorian I think that's what they're called?"
The Mandalorian? Wasn't he heading back towards his ship?
"What was he doing?"
"I don't know. He was literally taking a swim in there, splashing around and yelling about a kid or something. I went up to him, and he said he's looking for a small green child with big ears." Razhru looks down at the kid, "I think this is the one."
Things start to click in place.
The little robe. The frogs. The candy.
Mabrek exchanges a glance with Zinra, before turning back to Razhru in unison.
"Raz, you gotta go get him." "He's probably worried sick." They both say at the same time with enough intensity to make Razhru flinch back.
"Uh, okay. I'll do that," Razhru nods, already breaking into a sprint back through the shortcut, "I'll be back!"
With that, Razhru is gone.
"Rek, he probably thinks the baby…" Zinra whispers, a frown on her face.
Mabrek tightens his grip on the child, listening to his confused coos.
"Raz is fast, he'll get there and let him know soon."
"...Yeah…"
Eventually Razhru returns, breaths labored and whistling out of his mouth through the gap between his teeth.
Mabrek holds the child close, leaning forward in his booth. He can see Zinra doing the same from her stall across the path. They're not the only ones; the entire market seems to have gone still with anticipation.
"Well?" Old man Jof finally demands, squinting at the road behind Razhru. Mabrek follows his gaze; the road leading to the swamplands looks vacant.
Razhru finally catches his breath, looking up at the crowd before him. He lifts an arm, giving a thumbs up with a smile.
"I found him! He's on his way."
There's a collective sigh that travels through the market like a wave.
"You hear that, little guy? He's on his way." Mabrek pokes the child's round cheeks, grinning when the kid coos, grabbing at his finger. He quickly loses interest in Mabrek's hand, large eyes turning to stare down the path, a curious tilt to his little head. Razhru had always been the fastest in the class, using his tail to swing around trees for extra momentum. It would definitely take a while for the Mandalorian to catch up.
Except it doesn't. Not at all.
The Mandalorian bursts out from the side foliage, away from the main path. Seems like he had found the shortcut afterall. He's breathing hard; Mabrek can see the way his shoulders hitch up and down in time with his heaving chestplate. Green tinted water drips from the sharp edges of his helmet, his pauldrons, and the ragged ends of his cloak. He looks around wildly, dark visor scanning through all the faces peering from the stalls.
The earlier intimidation that kept Mabrek at a distance is gone. All he sees is a desperate man.
He steps out from behind his stall with the kid. Immediately the helmet swivels to follow his movement, the setting sun reflecting off the shiny metal and straight into his eyes.
"He's right here!" Mabrek calls out, squinting away the spots in his vision. The Mandalorian moves towards them, gait stilted like a droid's and Mabrek rushes to meet him halfway.
The kid lets out a happy giggle, wriggling in Mabrek's hold. They're close enough for the Mandalorian to reach his arms out, gloved fingers hovering in front of him, the smallest tremble apparently in the way the back platings shake.
Then, they shoot down to his sides, clenched tightly—
"I told you to stay on the ship!" The Mandalorian shouts , voice loud and cracked. It lashes out like a whip, forcing a hush to fall over the marketplace. The shock is thick and palpable in the air.
Mabrek himself flinches back, his heart pounding in his ears and eyes wide. He's heard that tone before. Once, he had gone exploring the outer forests with Zinra and the others until the skies were darker than ink, making it impossible to navigate home. They hadn't told anyone where they had gone. The easy-going laughs had slowly morphed into a tense hurry to get back to the village before the shadows became something more tangible than their imagination. He had ended up falling behind, tripping over some vines and tumbling into some ditch.
It had taken until morning for Zinra to return with rope and his parents. He had never seen that expression on his father's face before. His yell, booming and harsh, still rings in Mabrek's ears. It had made him flush red with shame, eyes hot. Before he could utter a word of apology, his father had pulled him in for a tight hug that made it hard to breathe. Once the tears started to fall, Mabrek had been shuddering too hard to try anyways.
The Mandalorian takes a step back, as if shocked by his own outburst. His voice had pitched high, deviating far from the low rumble Mabrek had heard earlier. Just like with his father, Mabrek figures that it isn't a tone the Mandalorian uses often.
A soft whimper in his arms reminds Mabrek that he hadn't been the subject of the admonishment this time. He looks down at the child. He's staring at the Mandalorian so Mabrek can't see the expression, but judging from the way the armored man flinches, it couldn't be anything positive.
"Kid, I—"
The child goes into a full-blown meltdown.
Mabrek cringes at the screams coming from his arms. Dear maker, he is not ready to deal with this. He holds the kid out, and the Mandalorian stiffens, reaching out again to take his child back.
Except the kid really doesn't want to go.
"Ow ow-" Mabrek hisses under his breath when claws dig into his chest through the thin fabric. A wet face presses itself against his shirt, muffling the cries.
"Kid, let go of them—"
The child wails, holding on even tighter much to Mabrek's chagrin.
"Kid." The Mandalorian closes the distance between them, hands wrapping around the child's torso and tugging gently.
"Come on, buddy. Your dad's here." Mabrek murmurs, pulling at the kid's grip. Green ears smack him across the lips as the child shakes his head with an even louder cry. He looks up helplessly, hoping he's staring at the right part of the visor. The Mandalorian ducks his head with a soft sigh.
"Come on, kid." He reaches around, wet gloves brushing against Mabrek's to pull at each of the kid's fingers individually until one hand is loosened, and then the other. Mabrek is nearly free.
The child continues sobbing, curling his feet to desperately hold on to Mabrek's shirt but the Mandalorian has him completely in his hold now. The kid squirms, little hands slamming down and pushing against the helmet with dull thuds.
"Let's go home, kid." The Mandalorian says, letting his head move with each hit. He holds the kid close, turning to give a final look at the market of people that are still watching silently.
He inclines his head with a small bow.
"Thank you for taking care of him. We'll be leaving now." His voice is quiet, only carrying far enough for Mabrek to hear.
He turns back towards the main path.
Everyone watches the pair walk away, the sounds of the child's cries growing fainter and fainter until they are drowned out by the sound of the wild nightlife.
"So...that was...something." Zinra whistles, sidling up besides Mabrek to look at the empty road.
"I don't know what that was." Mabrek rubs the soreness from his chest with a grimace.
"Oh come on, it was the classic 'I lost my kid at the market'," Zinra claps Mabrek on the shoulder with a laugh, "you have no idea how many freaked out parents I have to help when I work at the Visitor's Center."
"Well, maybe you could've handled that better than I did." Mabrek scowls.
"Nah, you did fine. They were just...new to it...both of them. He's a good person, that Mando." Zinra hums thoughtfully, eyes bright and smile soft as she continues looking down the path. Mabrek remembers the gentle hands that caressed the red fabric, the quiet politeness in his voice with each question he asked the other shopkeepers, the relief in his body language when he saw the kid safe in Mabrek's arms.
Thank you for taking care of him.
"Zin?"
"Hm?"
"You think they'll be alright?"
"...yeah, I think they will."
There is finally a lull in the cries coming from the Razor Crest.
Din's shoulders slump; a subtle but persevering ache washes over his back and lingers there uncomfortably. It trails down to meet the tender prick of pain on his unprotected side, and he resists the urge to reach back and rub at it. It would probably become a bruise anyways. The kid hadn't exactly been gentle when shoving Din straight into the corner of a supply crate in his frenzy to be released.
In the smaller moments, where urgency and danger fade into the background in favor of calm and mundanity, it's incredibly easy to forget the kid can do things like that with a wave of his tiny hand. Din doesn't get to see the kid use it much these days, but his invisible powers really aren't something to underestimate. The reason for their travels always looms over his head, quietly poisoning those smaller moments with the sense that he's stalling. Selfish.
At least Din hadn't dropped him— pure instinct had driven him to tighten his grip instead and set the kid down slowly afterward.
His ankles are starting to lose sensation from the way he's sitting cross-legged on the cold floor of the cargo hold. He's also still sopping wet. Each shift makes him squeak against the ground, rubbing the damp fabric against his skin irritably. The stench is no better, smelling just as bad as the murky waters had looked when he jumped in. He's already increased the filter settings in his buy'ce, and even then it's concentrated in his helm enough to make him nauseous.
The kid's robes are also damp at the edges of his sleeves and at the bottom. Dried mud caked the feet peeking out from the tattered ends. They'd both need a thorough cleanse in the sonic, but Din knows that won't happen until he fixes this properly.
He isn't sure how.
A sniff followed by a soft cough forces Din to truly look at the child lying across from him. The tears have finally stopped but large brown eyes shine wetly as they stare up at him, squinted with wariness.
Even now, when Din's more than halved his own height by sitting, the kid still looks so so small.
He shifts slowly, reaching for the lid of the supply crate. Several chips of wood fall free, loosened from his earlier fall against it. He pulls a small pouch of water from within the box, testing its weight against his hand.
He feels the child's gaze follow his movements as he untangles his legs, twitching at the numbing static that hums through his thighs and calves. Din doesn't stand, choosing to stay as close to eye level with the kid as possible. He crawls forward on his knees until he's right beside the kid.
The little one looks up with the same unimpressed stare, bottom lip jutted out and tiny body unmoved. Din swallows.
"Here," He unseals the pouch, letting it hover between them, "I know you're thirsty."
The kid narrows his eyes, lips quivering with the beginnings of a wail as he starts shaking his head.
"You'll feel better." Din cuts in quickly and just a touch desperate, interrupting before the tears could start again. It's been a long time since he himself had cried. But he does vaguely remember a stuffy nose, a pounding head, eyes that hurt every time he blinked, and a general blanket feeling of shittiness. He's sure the kid isn't feeling anything too different from that.
"Please?" He whispers, tilting the pouch closer.
The kid sits up, searching his visor for something, and Din hopes he's holding whatever it is to be found.
A little green hand reaches forward and one claw latches onto his thumb.
A shy tug against his hand, and Din yields. It's a bit easier to breathe again.
He moves to sit with his legs folded under him, letting the kid guide his hand and the water towards his face.
"Slowly." He murmurs softly, moving his free hand to rub at the kid's back in little circles. Soft gulps fill the silence of the power-downed ship.
The child makes a small noise, and Din moves the water back just as he gives a little post-cry shuddering inhale. The kid yanks at his hand again and Din feeds him the drink accordingly.
Eventually, the child leans back and Din reseals the pouch, setting it aside on the floor beside them. He lets his hands fall to clasp at his knees in a tight grip.
The kid copies his motions, a small hiccup shaking his shoulders as he does so.
Neither of them moves for a moment. It's quiet enough to hear the faint cries of wildlife waking for their nightly hunts in the swamps.
Words fail to materialize for Din to use and the silence grows louder with each passing second. And he has to break it. He knows it. The kid sure as hell isn't going to be the one to do so.
"I shouldn't have yelled." Din eventually says levelly and clearly, watching the kid for any sign of grasping his words. To this day, he's still not completely certain about whether the child understands Basic at all. Sometimes, he makes a questioning sound whenever Din slips a word or two of Mando'a into a sentence, so he at least knows there's a difference. Din never felt the need to simplify his language when speaking with the kid either.
Bounty hunting had never been a group activity for him unless it was absolutely necessary. His hunting days used to be quiet, just him in the pilot seat and the vast expanse of the universe to keep him company. Quarries were often thrown in carbonite or knocked out to avoid small talk and noisy pleads of bribery.
Nowadays, every journey is filled with calm chatter. From both the kid's incoherent babble and Din's own ramblings to keep him engaged and a part of things. Explaining what each button on the dashboard is for (and which one's the kid should stop trying to press otherwise they'd both be dead within minutes), what planet they are on course for, what tonight's dinner is, and when it's time to sleep. All these things that Din used to do without thought nor explanation, he now speaks through every process for the kid to understand.
And a big part of him hopes the kid has been listening and comprehending. But after what just happened...
"It wasn't okay for me to yell. I'm sorry."
Din really needs him to understand right now.
Being yelled at isn't something new for Din. People of all species and occupations have gotten up in his visor before, spitting mad about one thing or another. He's dealt with impatient clients, unhappy bounties, disgruntled vode, and people that simply wanted to pick a fight over his beskar.
This is different, and you know it.
He controls his flinch at the internal chiding. He does know it. Like crying, being yelled at by his buir is something of a distant memory. Even then, he doesn't remember if it ever occurred. Din's rescuer had been soft-spoken but steady — present but never coddling. He let Din know that helping hands were always nearby to keep him up if he were to ever stumble.
And Din did stumble. He stumbled a lot during his early years with the Mandalorians, both mentally and physically. A lot of the other young vode were bigger and stronger, leaving him struggling to keep up. He lost count of all the times he ran off to hide, too overwhelmed by the loss and changes that were still too raw.
It still hurt, even after being a foundling for at least two years at this point.
And when his buir eventually found him, he didn't yell. He just sat outside the hole Din had jigsawed his way into, and talked. Talked about what planet he had just come home from, talked about what was for dinner in the main hall tonight, talked about how tired and ready he was to just sleep. He talked until Din was curious enough to respond and ask questions of his own. Then, he'd reach a hand out. Most of the time, it was a clean crisp glove. Sometimes, it would be covered in dirt and oil, maybe even damp with something red. He always came straight for Din after a mission.
And just like the first time he was offered this lifeline, Din grabbed it all the same.
His buir had never yelled at him, so why did— why did he— he knew better.
"I'm sorry." He whispers. He didn't know what had come over him. Seeing the kid safe in the alien teen's arms...the storm of emotion in his brain reached a climax and he couldn't decide whether he wanted to sob in relief, scream in catharsis, or laugh out of sheer incredulity.
And he had chosen to yell, scaring the child and causing a scene.
The kid sniffs again, claws picking at the hem of his robe without looking up.
Din couldn't excuse what he had done, but he could at least try to explain.
"When I came back to the ship and saw the door open…" He had nearly dropped everything, stalking back inside to look through every nook and cranny. Maybe the kid had just decided to mess with the controls and was still hiding inside the Crest. Please still be in the Crest.
But he hadn't been.
"I saw your footprints leading back to the swamp." Din squeezes his knees, swallowing hard. He had broken into a full run, beskar clanking loudly against his body in a way that it never does. That he's never allowed for.
The tracking filter flashed bright red on his HUD, highlighting the tiny prints in the muddy soil for him to chase. Branches from the low hanging vegetation bounced against him harmlessly, and he had pushed forward without looking up once. The readings on his visor told him the kid had passed by long enough for the tracks to dry and gain a cracked surface film. Din had just come this way, how- how - had he missed the kid?
"And when I didn't see any more of them after they led to the water, I…" The words are stolen from his lips along with his breath as the memories rush back to him, "I —," the recalled emotions invade every sense, forcing Din's conscious thoughts to a halt. He remembers the way his stomach had dropped hard at the sight of muddy tracks stopping at the edge of the swamp water, so sudden and jarring enough for it to hurt.
The panic had been bitter in his throat, intangible fingers curling around his stomach and threatening to make him sick. Combined with the current stench of swamp in his buy'ce, Din wonders if he'll actually vomit at the memory.
Could he have—there's no way—
No.
Nonono—
Could he even swim —
The water had been warm and slimy. He knew this from his earlier frog hunting, but being submerged from waist down only intensified the feeling. Din waded out gingerly, careful not to step down too hard just in case —
He remembers shouting out, "kid?", "are you there?", over and over, heart hammering fast enough for him to feel it in his throat. He hated how his usual cadence had pitched into something so utterly foreign. Din had been scared. He doesn't remember the last time he'd felt this way; all logic and pretenses of calm tossed away in favor of digging through the swamp for what he hoped to be nothing. He had to hope it was nothing, that he was just being paranoid. That the kid only dipped his toes in the water before wandering off. That he hadn't slipped in or been dragged in by some unseen wildlife. Because the alternative —
The thought of wading through the dark waters and his hands bumping into something that felt familiar. The thought of seeing a lump floating, wrapped in those little robes — the alternative was unthinkable.
He couldn't have lost the child this way. Through absolute carelessness caused by nothing but his own neglect. If he had, then he would, would —
Six pinpricks of pressure draw Din out of the spiraling void, forcing a gasping breath into his lungs. He's looking at the silver walls of the Razor Crest, not his own reflection in rippling water. The sound of insects is outside and distant rather than echoing in his own mind. But it had been okay in the end. The kid hadn't fallen into the swamp, he had wandered into the marketplace. Din had gotten the kid back. He's home and safe. The kid is saf —
He tilts his head down, eyes blinking away the burn from his prolonged staring contest with empty space. The kid had moved closer without him noticing, leaning against his thigh. Both his hands are pressed against the pants fabric of his flight suit, claws digging in.
The kid's eyes are wide, lips turned downward and slightly parted to show a row of tiny sharp teeth. He coos softly, blinking up at Din.
He forgets how intuitive the child could be.
He loosens the iron grip he has on his knees, letting one hand hover over the kid's before lowering it. It looks comically small held in his own.
"I thought you drowned." He whispers, the solemn statement hangs deathly still in the air.
When the alien teen had told Din that the kid was fine, the relief had been strong enough for the adrenaline to leave his body all at once. His knees had gone weak, causing him to nearly sink down to the bottom of the marsh at the revelation. It's okay. Everything was okay. The kid's alive. It's all okay. Din hadn't fucked up.
"Please don't do that again," the firm tone he was going for falls short, and it sounds like a strangled plea instead, "if I ask you to stay on the ship, please listen ."
The kid makes another sound, a bit softer and closer to a whimper. He tilts his head, long ears drooping as he presses a cheek against Din's thigh, eyes looking down.
"Sometimes, it's quicker and safer if I go alone."
He gets a mopey whine in return.
"I'll always come back, I'm not leaving you."
Another dejected huff.
"...Where would I go without the ship? Of course I'll come back." Din tries logic, letting out an exasperated breath when the kid turns to press his forehead against his leg and babbles soft vibrations into it.
"Don't believe me, I take it." He sighs, lips curling up fondly when the kid turns his head left and right. Maybe logical reasoning isn't the play with a toddler.
"Kid…" He runs a finger over an ear, watching the child perk up and gaze up at his visor. "Sometimes, I just need to go places that might not be safe...and I don't want you to get hurt...You understand?"
The kid coos again, dipping his head with a pout.
"I...I know you don't like to be left alone." That much is apparent to Din. It makes him wonder about the other fifty years of the kid's existence that he hadn't been a part of. And what the implications of those fears of abandonment meant.
"...Next time, wherever I go, you go...alright?" He offers. If shutting the doors isn't a guarantee of the kid's safety...then maybe it would be better if Din just kept him by his side after all.
The kid immediately perks up, an amendable chirp leaving his smiling lips.
"That doesn't mean it was okay for you to do what you did today." Din sighs, poking a finger at the kid's forehead, a grin on his face at the indignant squawk it elicited.
"I was wrong for yelling, but you were also wrong for running off." He shifts, wincing at the bruise again.
"And for using your powers on me."
The kid hides his face against his leg again. Din reaches down to gather the kid in his arms, lifting him up until their eyes meet.
"I know you didn't mean it. But let's try not to do that again. Okay?"
A nod.
"Good." Din nods back, rising to his feet with a groan at the way his knees crack.
"I think it's time for someone to get a bath."
The kid sniffs, wrinkling his nose with an accusing stare.
"Alright, two someones."
The kid takes only a minute to get cleaned in the sonic. The swamp water had done its damage, and not even a sonic could fix the discoloration and smell of their clothes. He'd have to find another planet with a freshwater source to wash the dirtied fabrics.
Din's in the process of hanging out the little robe to dry when the child patters off naked without a care in the galaxy.
"You'll get sick." Din calls out after him, shaking his helm at the shriek of excitement he gets as a response. He takes the moment to shed his own armor and damp clothes for a quick turn in the sonic.
Once in a fresh set of underclothes and a newly aired-out buy'ce, Din chases down the kid who squeals when he finally caught.
"I left you on the ship today for a reason." He explains, setting the child down on a stack of boxes.
The kid tilts his head, a furrow on his brow.
"These were supposed to be a surprise." Din lifts the satchel off the ground, tugging the bag open.
The kid zeroes in on the sweetmeats immediately, tearing at the wrapper and adhesive sticker.
"I'd say save the sweets until after dinner," Din waves the container of prepared frog meat, watching the kid gnaw on the hard candy, "but I have a feeling you've already had your share of frogs today." These would last a few days in the small conservator at least. He reaches in for the carved wooden toy, placing it beside the preoccupied child.
He freezes when ungloved fingers graze against soft fabric. He takes the new robe out of the bag, vivid red filling his vision.
Tiny gold threads are woven into the seams in elaborate patterns, glimmering elegantly when he angles it just right. It's extremely well-made, the seamstress had outdone herself.
The kid makes an appraising noise, reaching out to touch the cloth.
"Hold still." Din whispers, tightening his grip on the fabric briefly before helping the kid into it.
It fits perfectly, and the kid is definitely interested, judging by the way he starts to move his limbs up and down, staring at the vivid new colors.
There's also a hood, but the seamstress hadn't taken the kid's large ears into account. It couldn't really be used without sandwiching the kid's ears uncomfortably. Din is somewhat relieved that he couldn't pull the hood up. He doesn't think he's ready for that image.
The kid looks...small, but satisfied with his new clothes, sweets, and toy.
"You like it?" Din asks softly after several minutes of watching.
The kid burps around the candy, sticky drool on his chin. Din reaches out to wipe it away with his thumb.
"I haven't really been keeping track of the days." He says out loud, not to anyone in particular but the kid's ears twitch regardless.
"It's hard when we're in space most of the time." He continues, rubbing the kid's sleeve between his fingers. The texture is calming; it's been a while since he's had his gloves off.
"But I think it's been about a standard year since...since I found you."
The passage of time doesn't feel real. It's so easy to forget when your entire life is dictated by the most recent job, the latest danger, and the current fight to continue providing and surviving. It's been a while since they've had a chance to step back and breathe. And even then, this fiasco had left Din with more grey hairs than before.
"We're really been through a lot, huh kid?" He tilts his head sadly, reaching for that tiny hand and squeezing gently.
The child blinks up, expression unreadable but eyes clear with a sharp focus. Din holds his breath, body going still.
It's silly, but for a moment he almost expected a reply.
The kid reaches up, pressing the sticky side of the candy's adhesive to the hollowed cheek of his buy'ce. He pats it once, tilting his head at Din.
"You won't have to live like this for much longer. We'll find the Jedi soon." Din laughs hoarsely, leaning forward.
"They'll know what to do for you. Teach you...give you better clothes and better food...Keep you safe too."
His helmet bumps against the kid's forehead and he hears the soft scratches of claws as the kid holds onto the sides of his helm. They share a collective breath.
"We'll find the place you belong, ad'ika. I promise."
Din...that place is with you…
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