A.N. Thank you all so much for sharing your thoughts! I'm so thrilled you are intrigued by the story and enjoying it.

A point of clarification, (which I have retroactively added to the author's note on the first chapter), this takes place post series/season 1 - thank you SmileSimplify for asking :)

As promised, this chapter steps back in time a bit and we learn what happened to poor Din and the Kid.

I hope you enjoy!

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A short time ago...

Every hair on the back of Din's neck stood on end. And frankly, he was a little ticked off about it. This was supposed to be a simple resupply trip: stop in the local market, pick up some necessities, splurge on a blanket and a few baubles for the kid, and be out in less than thirty minutes.

He'd deliberately and carefully picked a remote planet. And everything had been going fine; he'd found what they needed quickly, let the kid grab a few things—literally—from a few stalls (he paid for them, of course) and began making their way out of the market. But the more the crowd thinned as he got farther from the hub, the more something felt wrong.

When his footsteps started to echo unnaturally along the main alley he walked along, pursuers trying to mask their stalking steps, he swore silently, and adjusted his grip on the happily burbling kid so that he held the little gremlin in his right arm, freeing his left to draw his blaster. He'd considered leaving the kid on the ship, but had decided not to, and was now furious at himself for that decision. He'd chosen to bring the kid because he'd shown how much trouble he could cause when left to his own devices, and since they were on such a remote planet, he'd thought that no one would recognize them.

Apparently, he'd been wrong. And now, instead of the kid being safe back in the ship, he was here, in danger, where Din was once again about to be faced with the task of fighting his way out with only one hand.

He kept his steps even, unchanged, giving no outward sign that he knew something was wrong, but he murmured softly to the little one, "Listen up, kid. Something's about to happen, and if it goes badly and you get the chance, I want you to scamper away or hide, okay?" He glanced down at the baby, who had immediately fallen silent, and saw his great big eyes staring back at him questioningly. Din had no idea if the kid understood, but he hoped so. "Got it?" he asked, squeezing the child slightly both as an act of comfort, and to press home the seriousness of his point.

The kid cooed and reached out a hand, patting his chest plate, as if returning the comforting gesture.

"Stop right there!" a gravelly voice called out from a side ally. The harsh sound was quickly followed by the owner of the voice stepping into the main alley.

And with that, any bystanders who had been around, suddenly conveniently disappeared. Because of course.

The figure now standing before them was a copper-colored tiss'shar. And if there was one tiss'shar, that meant there had to be six others lurking around here somewhere, because he'd seen a pack of seven of them in the market.

He stopped as commanded, blaster held down along his side, not out of site exactly, but not directly aggressive. Yet. Maybe he could talk their way out of this.

Three more tiss'shars exited the side alley behind their leader, all with dark gray coloration, and the two that he'd heard and felt following him took a step closer. He could tell, though, that the pair was still a little distance behind him and not an immediate threat. But that still left the seventh's position unknown…

"Drop the snack and walk away, and we'll let you live," the lead tiss'shar commanded.

The snack? he wondered in confusion, until he saw four sets of reptilian eyes zero in on a single target, and he followed their hungry gaze: they were staring at the kid. They wanted to eat the kid. They weren't some band of hunters working for the Imps, no, they'd just spotted what might be a delicacy in the market and wanted to try it. If the situation weren't so serious, Din might have chuckled at the absurdity of it. Instead, he clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the kid. Over my dead body.

Aloud, he called out, "You don't want to do this. This is barely a mouthful for one, let alone all of you. Is it really worth dying for?"

A harsh, grating sound that Din realized was probably a laugh exited the lead tiss'shar's throat. "Dying for? The only one dying here today will be you. And the snack, of course."

Well, that went well. At least you tried. Negotiations over, Din stepped to the side and raised his blaster, firing at the two tiss'shars to the left of the leader and taking them down instantly, just as the missing seventh tiss'shar landed hard on the ground where he'd been standing a second ago, having leapt from the building above in an attempt to surprise and crush him.

He was forced to turn his back on the lead tiss'shar and her remaining companion still in the mouth of the side alley, as they were farther from him than the one who had just landed and the two who'd been creeping up behind and were now almost on top of him. It was a risk, but a calculated one; tiss'shars preferred close combat, he therefore hoped that he could take care of the three closest to him before the leader and her companion reached him, without getting a blaster shot in the back.

Pivoting, he took out the tiss'shar still on its knees from its fall with a point-blank shot to its head, and kept turning to face the two who'd closed from behind.

One of them launched itself forward, aiming to bite his arm just above the vambrace in a move that would make him unable to block, and would undoubtedly crush the bones due to the force of its bite. He managed to jerk back just enough such that the tiss'shar's jaws closed around his blaster instead. Its momentum carried it past him, ripping the weapon from his hands, but sparing him the use of his arm. He did not manage to step back far enough to completely avoid injury, however, as the large claw on the tiss'shar's foot sliced his outer left leg as the creature tumbled to the ground behind him. He ignored the brief flare of pain, turning his attention to the more pressing danger of the other tiss'shar attacking. He saw two flashes of silver, one in each of its hands as it lunged forward, aiming for his midsection, just below the protection of the Beskar plate. He managed to block one with his left arm, deflecting it past his body and seizing the tiss'shar's elbow, but the other blade was headed for his right side, where he held the kid. He had a split second to decide whether to drop the kid in order to defend them both and risk the kid getting snatched by the tiss'shar he'd just thrown to the ground, let the kid take the hit—which was not actually an option—or take the hit himself.

He acted without a second though, twisting slightly to the left and pulling the kid higher on his chest, raising him out of harm's way. He inhaled sharply as the blade sank into his unprotected lower right side, searing through him. He clenched his teeth against the pain and continued his twisting motion, pulling on the tiss'shar's arm he still had in the grasp of his left hand, forcing it to pivot with him and throwing it off balance, allowing him to hook a foot behind its leg and shove it into the one he'd already knocked down. The agony as the dagger was ripped from his side when the creature went to the ground in a tangle with the other was almost worse than when it sank in; it wrenched his breath away and nearly stole the strength from his knees, but he locked them, attempting to shut out the pain which rippled through him, knowing that if he fell, he would not be getting back up again. And the kid… he could not fail his kid.

The lead tiss'shar and her remaining companion finally reached the two on the ground and bent to help them to their feet, eyeing the Mandalorian with calculating, predatory gazes. Their first assault had cost them three of their companions within seconds; clearly a reassessment was in order.

Din took the opportunity of their pause to take a few steps back and, without taking his eyes off of the four remaining enemies, slowly knelt to the ground and placed the kid behind him—now that all of their adversaries were in front of him, it would be safer for the kid… and he had a feeling he'd need both hands for what would come next. The kid squeaked in surprise and distress as he was placed on the ground, but did not protest.

Din rose to his feet again and slung his rifle from his back, setting his stance, unaware that just behind him and between his legs, the kid had also braced himself, a formidable frown on his small face, arms raised in preparation.

Neither party moved for a moment, both deciding their next step. The tiss'shars' goal was to incapacitate or kill him in order to get past him and get the kid. His own goal was to take down every single one of them, or die trying. He had a strong preference for the former. Matters were complicated, however, by the fact that he needed to do so quickly, as the coolness that seeped down his side, soaking the fabric of his clothes, spoke of a silent clock that ticked ever faster. But, though time was not on his side, he waited.

The tiss'shar's moved first.

The gray tiss'shar who'd approached with the leader drew a long blade and stepped forward to engage, swinging it in a wide arc towards Din's neck. Din easily blocked with the shaft of his rifle while simultaneously stepping forward and inside of the reptile's reach, and thrust the knife he'd kept hidden in his right hand up through its jaw, killing it. He immediately shoved it aside and turned to meet the assault that was already on its way, but he was not quite fast enough.

The lead tiss'shar slammed into him and pushed him against the wall of the main alley, knocking his rifle from his grasp and pinning his left arm to his side with her clawed right hand, which dug into his side between the gaps of the Beskar. In an instant, her left hand came up, targeting his weakened right side, and he only just managed to grab her wrist with his own right hand—dropping the dagger he'd held in order to do so—and halting her deadly claws' approach a mere inch from his skin.

Her reptilian eyes gleamed as she pressed forward, claws creeping ever so slightly closer as she tried to sink them into his wound. His strength ebbed as the flow of blood from his wounds did not; it ran rapidly down his side, propelled by the exertion of trying to hold the tiss'shar's hand at bay. And she was slowly overpowering Din's ability to hold her off, and they both knew it. But, what was worse, was Din knew he'd just failed his mission; he was no longer between the two remaining tiss'shars and the kid.

And he had no idea if the kid was dead already or not, as his field of vision was blocked almost entirely by the lead tiss'shar. For a moment, fear overtook him—not fear for himself, but for his charge, for the little one who had somehow effortlessly wormed his way past Din's Beskar steel, wriggled over the walls he'd so carefully constructed around his heart, and sat there with a pleased chirp. The fear was practically overwhelming as he imagined the worst—the brown robes of the young one stained with blood—and he felt his heart racing at the thought of the kid being ripped from him… until he saw the two remaining tiss'shars appear off to the left, floating. The fear vanished, and he couldn't keep a grin of pride from slipping across his face. He should have known the kid would be fine—he'd lifted an entire mudhorn after all—but there was no reasoning with the concern that he'd felt about the child's well-being almost from the first moment they met. The concern would flare up even when he knew rationally it shouldn't, and he had not learned to squash it; he doubted he ever would.

With the fear for the little one gone, for a moment all he felt was immense relief, because he thought that even if he didn't make it, the kid would.

And then, the lead tiss'shar pressed forward once more.

He didn't make a sound when he felt one of the ribs on his left side crack from the pressure of her grasp.

He didn't moan when he felt another break all together.

But he screamed when one single, outstretched claw sank slowly, inexorably into his already open wound.

Agony roared through his body, a cacophonous symphony that crashed along every nerve and thrummed within his bones.

And he knew he was about to lose.

His arm trembled. Only by sheer force of will was he able to keep the muscles engaged at all, and he was certain that within moments, his strength would fail, and there would be nothing stopping her from digging her entire clawed hand into his skin, shredding his side. He could not beat her with strength. Knowing he'd already lost that battle, that hanging on would be fruitless, he did the only thing he could think of: he let go.

The tiss'shar's gaze widened in satisfied surprise as her claws sank fully into his now exposed right side, never realizing that it became her gaze in death. For, when Din had let go, he'd raised and twisted his right hand, activating the blaster on his vambrace and shooting her straight through the heart.

The pair collapsed to the ground, and it took every remaining shred of Din's strength to stagger to his feet, aware that there were still two enemies remaining.

Except there weren't.

The two remaining tiss'shars lay crumpled against the far alley wall, necks bent at unnatural angles.

His mind was slow to process this turn of events, blood loss and pain already taking its roll, and it took him a moment to realize what must have happened. Because while he'd seen them floating as he struggled with the lead tiss'shar, he'd seen nothing after that. He did not know that the child had floated them happily, content to wait for him to finish his scuffle and then take care of the remaining two. He did not know that after a few moments, the kid had frowned, realizing that something was wrong. He did not know that that was when the kid had heard him scream.

A gentle but insistent tug low on his right pant leg brought his gaze down to stare at the culprit, whose bright eyes began to close in concentration, hand reaching upwards.

"Hang on, no." He bent over to grab the kid's hand to stop him, and almost ended up falling all the way to the ground as the movement set his injured torso singing once more with pain. Just managing to stay on his feet, he explained, "Not here, I don't want you to strain yourself and… and I can't carry you back to the ship if you pass out." Of course, if they kid managed to completely heal him, he would be able to carry the kid no problem. But, realistically, he didn't think the child would be able to manage it; his eyelids were already drooping a little, a testament to how much energy the little gremlin had spent taking care of the other two tiss'shars. And Din knew his wounds were grave, he could feel the wrongness seeping through him, and he was certain it would be more than the kid could handle at present. If the kid tried, they would both pass out in the middle of the street, unable to protect themselves from whatever threat came next. It was safer, therefore, to try to get back to the ship. He could make it.

The wrinkle between the kid's eyes deepened when Din told him no—an impressive feat, considering how wrinkled the child's forehead already was—and he 'hmphed', but dropped his hand.

After carefully scooping up the rifle, they set out at a slow pace, and for once it was not the child who was the limiting factor on their speed. But the kid walked patiently by Din's side, stopping to pat his shin whenever he had to pause and brace himself against a wall when the world spun and the ground was not where he expected it to be beneath his steps.

When the Razor Crest finally came into view, Din couldn't help a sigh of relief, which turned to a muffled groan as he climbed the ramp. But if he thought climbing the steep incline was difficult with broken ribs and a shredded side leaking blood, it was nothing compared to climbing the ladder.

The kid chirped in protest when he saw Din take a step onto the first rung.

"We have to get out of here," he explained patiently. "That brought too much attention. Just a short jump, just enough to get some distance."

The kid squeaked again, still clearly not happy about it, but he moved to Din's side and stood there as he climbed up, as if watching to make sure he didn't fall.

It was slow progress; he had to go one rung at a time, due to the fact that he kept his left hand glued to his right side in a futile attempt to staunch the flow of blood. Gritting his teeth, he finally managed to push through it and eventually rolled ungracefully onto the floor of the cockpit. Groaning, he crawled forward and grasped the arm of the pilot's seat, pulling himself upright and slumping into the chair. He grabbed a bacta patch from the emergency stash he kept beneath the controls and placed it over the wounds on his side. It was probably futile—he knew they would require more than bacta—but it was all he could do for now. Turning to face the controls, he quickly took off and flew them a short distance away, out of sight of the civilization, then jumped.

The moment the blue light of hyperspace shrouded the cockpit, he felt the kid crawling up his leg towards his lap. He winced when the little one grazed the gash he had on his left leg, causing the kid to pause and chirp what sounded like an apology.

"It's okay," he reassured. "It's hard to see."

The kid continued clambering up until he was all the way in Din's lap, whereupon he sat and reached out towards the wounds hidden beneath Din's hand. The child's eyes closed, and Din felt the pain around the punctures vanish immediately. The kid had never healed him before, he'd never felt what it was like, and the sudden absence of agony took his breath away. For a moment, it was incredible, and he thought that he'd been an idiot and should have just let the kid do this earlier, because maybe everything was going to be okay… Until the pain roared back and the kid's hand dropped and he almost toppled over backwards off of Din's lap; only Din's quick reflexes prevented it.

The kid growled in frustration, eyes blinking sleepily.

"Hey, you did what you could. You helped, I promise." While the kid was clearly drained from taking down the two tiss'shars earlier, he'd definitely healed Din's wounds at least a little, as they didn't feel quite so wrong to him anymore, though they still bled. "You did good, kid, let me take care of the rest, okay? Everything's going to be okay."

The kid blinked at him sleepily, so Din reached over and unscrewed the metal end of the control the little one liked to play with and handed it to the three fingered grasp.

The kid stared at the piece of metal a moment, then tossed it over his shoulder and crawled closer to Din's chest, curling up tucked on his left side and promptly falling asleep. If Din's breath hitched slightly when the kid accidentally pressed against his injured ribs, he didn't care, because the contentedness on the kid's face was enough for him to deal with the small discomfort.

Glancing around for the now likely lost metal ball, he sighed. "Finding that thing later is going to be… difficult."

If there is a later, a small part of him whispered.

He was glad the kid had fallen asleep after believing his lie, because Din was pretty sure everything was not going to be okay. In a last ditch effort, he sent out an emergency signal for help, because he was not too proud to admit he probably wouldn't be able to deal with this on his own. But, he had no idea if the person on the other end would get it, let alone be able to respond to it in time.

When the ship dropped out of hyperspace a few moments later, it was immediately clear to him that he'd miscalculated slightly. Instead of dropping out just above atmosphere and gliding down to land on the planet gently, they dropped out no more than a few hundred feet off of the surface.

He lunged for the controls and pulled up in order to prevent a collision, but his focus was fading fast and he needed a spot to land, now. And he didn't want to be smack out in the open. A little bit of luck was on his side, however, because just then he spotted a canyon that looked wide enough, with a large flat area to land.

Touching down less than gently, he shut off the controls and looked down to the bundle in his arms and discovered that the kid slumbered on. Which was just as well, because what needed to happen next wasn't going to be pretty; he needed to get to his more extensive med pack in the lower area. Which meant he'd need to traverse the ladder again, and he'd have to do it holding the kid this time. Din didn't relish the idea, but he'd have to manage it; considering what the little tyke had gotten up to when left alone in the cockpit the last time, he couldn't leave him up there.

When he knelt to the floor with the kid clutched safely in his left arm, and blood dripped past the bacta patch he was pressing tightly against his side with his right hand, he thought he might have a problem.

When he swung his legs through the hole, found a rung to stand on with one foot, stepped down with the other, and had to remove his right hand from his side in order to grasp the rung with a now bloody, slippery hand, he knew he had a problem.

When he took a step down with one foot, then the other, and his vision blacked out for a moment, he knew he was running out of time.

When he came to the moment where he let go with his right hand—leaving him with nothing holding him to the ladder—in order to quickly grab the next rung below it, and his hand slipped and could not latch on, he knew his time was up.

As his body fell backwards, he cradled the kid in both hands, making sure that when they landed, the kid would not be hurt.

He did not feel his body make contact with the ground. He did not see the kid slip off of his chest, startled awake by the abrupt drop. He did not feel the kid gently shake his body, trying to wake him. He did not hear the kid's cries of fear when he did not react. He sensed nothing, knew nothing.

But the child did. The child felt the Mandalorian's body shudder on impact. The child saw the blood still slipping onto the floor even as he reached towards his protector's face. The child felt the slack muscles and lack of response when he gently shook his guardian's helmeted head. The child heard the heartbeat of his clanmate growing fainter. The child sensed his father's soul weakening, and knew that he was dying.