Hi out there! Sorry this took a bit longer for me to post as I was trying to do a final sweep of editing, but I finally decided I had enough done to upload at least the first chapter…there will be maybe three or four chapters? We'll see where the breaks end up falling. Things to know: (1) this is my first angsty fic so go easy on me, (2) this takes place after Season 2 and I imagine Grogu gets to spend time with Din while not away at Jedi School and Din replaced the Crest with a similar version, (3) all credit for how Grogu and Din communicate through the Force goes to YourGuardianAngel08…check out her awesome stuff, (4) my career is farthest from anything medical so don't judge too harshly on that, and (5) my OC doctor originated in my other story where Grogu gets sick but you don't really need to read that one beforehand. Oh, and I don't own any of this…just for pleasure!
Now that I have spoken, on with the story…
Grogu hummed contentedly to himself as he Force-pushed his little silver ball up the floor of the cargo hold of the Razor Crest II. He waited until it got all the way to the end of the other side of the floor before releasing his hold through the Force. Gravity, with the help of the incline of the floor (as the Crest was currently parked on a slight hill), responded in kind to Grogu's little game and rolled the ball back to him. He had to scurry a little bit to the left to catch the ball, but he never missed. Force-push up, roll back, and catch. Force-push up, roll back, and catch.
Usually, his buir would play this game with him, but he was currently working. Left an hour ago to head into town to catch his next bounty. Grogu would have liked to have come along, but Din had said no. "Not this time," Grogu recalled his father's words, the rough timbre emanating through the stoic helmet's moderator. "The locals here are pretty primitive and rough, not much known on them. I'd rather you stay safe locked in the ship until I know what I'm walking into." Grogu hadn't been too happy about that at first, but as usual, he soon found ways to amuse himself. The silver ball hurried back to his fingers, a "clink" noise sounding when it hit his little claws.
The unexpected loud hiss of the Crest's ramp releasing behind him made Grogu jump, and he squeaked in surprise. His buir must have gotten done early! Eager to greet his father home, Grogu emerged from between the crates on the floor and toddled to the open area at the edge of the ship. The sight and sounds that met him as the ramp lowered further were not at all what he expected. Din was running as fast as Grogu had ever seen him, dodging the underbrush through the sparsely wooded area. Not too far behind him raced about a hundred angry locals with inky black wings and thick natural body armor, flying barely a foot above the ground—Grogu thought they looked ugly even without being angry. The cacophony of noisy buzzing wings only grew louder, accompanied by the whop of hurled spears and the whiz of massive arrows. The Mandalorian didn't bother wasting time in firing his blaster or flame thrower at his pursuers and pushed hard to close the last thirty feet. Grogu's eyes widened as he watched one of the enormous spears sail through the air, straight for his father's head. Without a second thought, the small infant quickly raised his tiny hand and let a significant push in the Force divert the course of the deadly weapon. He managed to protect his dad from two more spears and one arrow that would have sliced straight through the back of his knee by the time his father reached the ship. Din didn't even wait for the ramp to finish lowering and leapt the final gap as he pressed the command on his vambrace to close it back up again. He stumbled a little on the landing but quickly found his footing as he rushed into the belly of the Crest. Grogu thought for sure his father was going to sprint over the top of him, but the man swept his left arm down to scoop him up and hurriedly deposited him into his little hammock before bolting straight up for the cockpit without a word.
Grogu knew better than to disobey the implied command of staying put and worriedly watched the ramp close. It finished within the next few seconds but not before a stray spear managed to rush through the crack, piercing through the steel crate at the top of a nearby stack. Grogu gulped in fear as he watched the dangerous, ancient weapon quiver from the impact. His own body began to vibrate as the Crest began its cycle to take-off—none too soon as he heard the pelt of arrows and more spears clang and bang against the outside of the hull. Din's desperation to get out of there in a hurry was further evidenced by his less-than-gentle piloting. Grogu clung to the worn weave of the hammock to maintain his balance as the ship swerved rather violently for a couple of seconds. But soon the ride smoothed out as the Crest exited the planet's atmosphere, and Grogu sighed in relief. Out of danger's harm once again.
The infant waited patiently in his little hammock—a bit winded from helping protect his dad if he was honest with himself—for his buir to return from the cockpit. He was quite sure there would be an intriguing story this time and he was eager to hear it.
Minutes ticked by.
Grogu frowned in confusion and leaned out of the hammock to peer around the edge of the sleeping cubby. He stared at the vacant cockpit ladder for a solid ten minutes, waiting for his father to appear, before huffing in defeat, ears tilting downward. Where was he? He had clearly set the Crest on course for somewhere new and Grogu was confident that his buir would want to check on him to make sure he was okay—he always did. The boy was just about to call out when he heard his father's heavy boots make the short trek from the pilot's chair to the ladder and was pleased to see him soon emerge slowly down to the cargo hold.
Grogu expected Din to immediately come over to the sleeping cubby and say something like "Whew! That was a close one, huh, kid?" Or maybe "Well, that didn't go as well as I'd hoped." But the Mandalorian said neither and instead slowly trudged over to the side of the hull in silence. Grogu frowned as he watched the sluggish gate, the way his shoulders and helmet slumped as he leaned slightly against the wall, and how he was holding his right arm against his midsection with his left. He could also hear that his breathing hadn't quite evened out yet. Worried at the unusual feel of the atmosphere, Grogu hesitantly reached out in the Force toward his father—not so much that Din would know but enough to get a read on what his father was unknowingly projecting.
The sensations of exhaustion and disappointment/frustration were readily prevalent and expected, but the onslaught of PAIN surprised him. It pulsed strongly and drowned out nearly any other sensation, causing the little one to revile backward in the Force. Worried now, Grogu blinked and tried to scrutinize his father to figure out what he had missed. Sure, his dad got into loads of scuffles before; this one must have hit him harder somehow. But he didn't look that badly injured, with the exception maybe of the strange way he was holding his arm. As if the warrior could sense the attention, Din's helmet turned in Grogu's direction.
"Thanks for helping me back there. Are you okay?" Din asked, his voice weary but steady. Despite the concerning chaos going on inside, the selfless man's outward demeanor was ever quiet and calm, betraying nothing of what he was feeling at the moment. Grogu cooed in the affirmative and warily watched his buir from the hammock, unsure what to do.
Clasping his tiny hands in front of him in worry, Grogu watched as Din very slowly began to remove the beskar. He noted his father only used his left hand, his right arm hanging loosely at his side. The helmet came off first, unveiling a more visual cue in his facial expression that he was indeed hurting. Grogu noticed his father's eyes were somewhat glassy and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were pinched permanently in pain. As he set the helmet carefully down on the side table against the wall, Grogu spotted the blood stain on the lip of the shiny beskar. The boy cooed in worry as he noticed the coarse material wrapped around his father's neck was darker and more wet looking than usual, as well as a bit torn.
"It's okay, it's just a scratch," placated Din, hearing Grogu's fretting. He reached up to unwind the fabric protecting his throat. "An arrow cut me across the side of the neck, but it's not deep." Grogu begged to differ after looking at the wound from his angle—definitely not life threatening but not shallow either. He chirped an offer of help, knowing it was something he could heal, but Din very subtly shook his head. "I need you at full health, buddy—that would help me more. I can tell you're already tired from helping me back there. A bacta patch should take care of this."
The vambraces and pauldrons were next off of the right arm which still hung useless beside him. Grogu watched Din's face twitch in pain whenever he accidentally jostled it, sometimes a grunt escaping his throat. The man slowly walked over and angled himself to sit solidly on the edge of the sleeping cot, giving himself a minute to breathe. The closer proximity gave Grogu a better view of the man's shoulder. The bulge of his muscle and bone looked off, farther back and downward from where it should have been. The wrongness of it made Grogu a little sick, and he could still sense the terrible pulsing pain of it from Din's projections. He watched his father hesitantly reach up to very gently prod and inspect the area with his left hand before hissing in pain and stopping. With a sigh Din tilted his head against the edge of the sleeping quarters and closed his tired eyes. He began to rhythmically steady his breaths: in through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Grogu could sense his father was steeling himself for something, but he wasn't sure what exactly. Nervously, he waited and kept a close eye on his buir whose eyes were still closed in concentration on his rhythm—in…out…in…out…in…out—when suddenly Din's breathing began to grow more forced and quick…right before he rapidly grabbed his right wrist and forcefully yanked his arm straight and forward.
The immediate flash of AGONY rippling from his buir swept over Grogu at the same time a loud SNAP resounded. A single loud, guttural moan originating from deep within escaped out Din's mouth as he clutched his injured right shoulder and his body crumpled inward. He then twisted and fell backward onto the cot, curling into the fetal position. Deep brown eyes clenched shut, thin lips forming a tight line. Grogu heard his buir suck in a very shaky, long breath through his nose before sobbing it back out. Feeling utterly helpless and afraid, the shocked child peered over the edge of his hammock at his father who was tremoring from the residual ache. Figuring he had to do something, Grogu scurried to the edge of the hammock and swung his little feet over the edge. Carefully he dropped down to the cot below, making sure he didn't accidentally land on top of his buir. He quickly crept over to Din's face, resting one little hand against the chest plate so he could lean in closer. He rose up on his tiptoes to try to inspect the offending shoulder. Din's left hand still clutched the injury, blocking his view, but the appendage looked more normal now at least.
"I'll b-be okay, pal," assured Din through gritted teeth and squinted open one eye to look at his son. Grogu couldn't help but notice the tear that involuntarily escaped down his father's cheek. "Just had to pop it back in. Honestly feels b-better now."
Grogu cooed in sympathy and stayed close by for company as Din continued to breathe through the remaining tendrils of pain. The tremors and shaking eventually subsided after a while and Din's body seemed to calm more. The Mandalorian pushed himself up to sit and gingerly flexed his fingers, making a fist periodically. His arm seemed to be working as normal again. Grogu watched him grab a tether strap from the cot's shelf and fashioned a makeshift sling to rest his right arm in it. The boy cocked his head in curiosity.
"I won't be able to use it much until the nerves heal," explained Din tiredly as he tested out the sling. Wincing at the way it cut across his neck, he reached again for the stashed med-kit in the cot. He managed to pop open the kit with one hand and rifled through the basic supplies for a bacta patch. After finding one large enough and slapping it on the wound on his neck, Din also fished out a stabilizer injection and thrust it forcefully into his leg, causing Grogu to chirp in surprise. The infant watched his buir wince briefly at the sting before letting the used injector fall from his hand onto the bed. Sighing tiredly, Din rested his head against the wall in the sleeping cubby and closed his eyes again.
Grogu sneakily reached out in the Force once more to check on his dad, just to make sure he was truly better, and was thankful to find that the pain he had felt before had lessened…but there was still something very wrong. Grogu cocked his head in surprise and delved a little deeper into the Force's warning. Din still seemed to be struggling to breathe normally. His gasps were very shallow and each one fought for. Unsure and worried, Grogu squinted his eyes in concentration and reached out through the Force, asking for guidance. Following the energy's finger-like tendrils, Grogu felt his way through his father's body. He could sense the stilted rhythm of the rise and fall of his lungs which seemed strained but unharmed in structure. Diving deeper to his heart, he could feel the lob-lob of its beat—thankfully strong. But the blood it was pumping seemed…sour? Angry? Wrong? Frowning at not understanding, Grogu followed the blood through Din's bloodstream until he could track down its source just below his lungs—a foreign object of some kind. The wrongness pulsed angrily here and was the source of the sourness. Confused, Grogu drew back from Din's body in the Force and blinked his eyes open wider. He noticed now that a bead of sweat trickled down Din's forehead, but the cuirass blocked his vision from finding the wrongness.
Grogu crawled closer and up onto Din's lap. Pausing to make sure his movements hadn't hurt his father whose eyes were still closed, the boy tried to peek underneath the bottom edge of the cuirass. No luck. He tried to peek around the plate on Din's right side—nothing there. But when he checked on the left side, his claw came back bloody. Grogu whimpered at the sight of the shiny liquid and took a second, closer look. It was hard to see with the dark material and the darker blood, but it was evident that something had pierced through his side between the protective beskar plates, just barely below the rib cage. Reaching out a shaky finger, Grogu very gently tapped at the wound's hole—easily an inch and a half in diameter—and found a jagged piece of wood stuck in it. The boy whimpered again, his own breathing speeding up in fear. He then suddenly felt his father's comforting hand encircle his back and he peered up into his buir's exhausted face.
"It's a spear head," explained Din between breaths, eyelids drooping heavily. He wasn't going to keep the truth from his son. It wasn't really like he could easily explain it away anyway. "Got run through when my hands were full. I managed to break off the rest of the spear's handle during the fight so I could keep going but…the end of it is still stuck in there." Din winced painfully as his breathing hitched. "Right now, the chest plate is helping keep it in place. I think it's holding off the blood from leaking." Grogu's ears drooped down instantly, his eyes widening. Realizing it would probably be better if his father didn't waste his breath with talking, he reached out to fully connect to him in the Force.
Fix?
Din barely nodded before responding mentally. I just took a stabilizer…should help keep me going for a few hours. I set the Crest's course for Tolmon…where Dr. Micah is.
Grogu's ears perked up hopefully. Heal?
Yes, he should be able to help and take care of everything. It's kind of far but…I'll make it.
Help? Grogu stretched out both hands to emphasize his offer, but Din shook his head.
Thanks, buddy. But let's wait…I'm still managing on my own right now. I don't want to tire us both out if I don't have to. Remember, it's emergency usage only.
Grogu's ears wilted a little further in disappointment at not being able to help. It sure seemed like an emergency to him, but he nodded in submission. He knew he couldn't help much with the spear head itself anyway. But the sourness…he maybe could have helped with whatever that was. But as long as the spear head was stuck in his father's side, there wasn't a whole lot he could do—the sourness would keep coming back. His head spinning with worry, Grogu took a step closer to Din and curled into his stomach, very careful not to hurt him.
"It's going to be okay, pal. I'll be all right," comforted Din as he softly patted his back to calm his son.
An alarm began to chime from the cockpit, causing both Din and Grogu to look up. "Oh no," muttered Din as he scooped Grogu into his good arm and managed to find his feet. Grogu felt him waver and watched him take a second to blink several times and breathe slowly before heading over to the ladder. Din eyed the slightly physically demanding object with disdain. "This is really the only thing about this ship I dislike when I'm not fully functional," he sighed to himself. The wounded Mandalorian managed to shove Grogu upward and into the cockpit. Creeping to the edge, Grogu watched Din deftly climb the ladder with one hand. When he reached the top though, the man took a few moments to breathe through the pain, doubled over on his knees with a hand resting on his chest. But the unforgiving alarm soon had him on his feet again and stumbling over to the controls.
Grogu toddled after, unsure what the angry noise meant.
"Dank ferrick!" cried Din and slammed his fist on the panel.
Grogu's ears tilted down in response. Must not be good then.
"Our fuel supply is leaking somewhere. Those locals must have punctured a hole some place," groaned Din as he began to flip switches to try to redirect and preserve the existing supply. He ran a calculation to see how far they could get on the remaining fuel they had. "We're now not going to make it to Tolmon. Sigh, figures."
Grogu climbed up into his safety seat so he could have a better view of what his father was looking at on the control board. A hologram of different planets popped up and back down as Din scrolled through his options.
"Doesn't look like we have great choices at all. We're pretty remote. There are practically no settlements out here and within range," commented Din flatly but Grogu understood the implication—no medical help. Sighing again, Din rubbed his face tiredly and rested his head in his hand to think. Grogu silently waited and watched his father, wishing some grand idea to help would come to mind that he could share. But none came.
Eventually Din apparently made a decision, and he leaned forward to press a couple buttons to send an outgoing communication. Grogu didn't miss the way his dad hissed as the awkward angle ignited the pain in his chest. Soon the line connected, and a holographic image of a very familiar shock trooper appeared. She looked to be in a cockpit herself. She smiled at her caller and brushed her dark locks out of the side of her face.
"Hey, Mando, long time no…" Cara paused mid-greeting and leaned forward to scrutinize the image before her. "Kriff, Din, you look like shit."
"I've had…better days," admitted Din as a drop of sweat escaped his temple. Grogu humphed at the understatement and crossed his arms.
"What's going on?" asked Cara, cutting straight to the chase as usual.
"Job went south…found myself in a nest of pissed off criminals…there were a lot more than I was expecting."
"Thought you could handle a couple dozen guys," smirked Cara as she alternated between keeping her eyes on her ship's viewscreen and her own hologram of Din.
"Was more like a couple hundred dozen guys."
"Ouch."
"Yeah…like stumbling into a literal hive of angry kheilwar wasps," stated Din, his eyebrows raising in emphasis and shook his head slightly. "Anyways, I'm in a bit of trouble."
"What's wrong? What do you need?" Cara frowned in concern, her focus now more on her friend than her flying.
"I'm…kind of in rough shape…" The rare admission earned him a strong eyebrow scrutinization. "…and the ship's got a fuel leak so I can't get much of any place to get…help," admitted Din shyly, trying to keep his breathing stable through the longer conversation. "Where are you located?" He watched Cara flick a switch and soon her coordinates popped up on his screen. He did the same to share his own.
"Not real close but not too far. Problem is I'm in a single seater…no room to haul you out," grimaced Cara. "I don't have a lot of fuel myself, too. If you can hold out, I can double back to Nevarro and head back out and meet you in a bigger ship and bring medical supplies and perhaps a doctor. Would take…one, maybe two days it looks like tops. Can you park somewhere and hold out that long?"
"Sure…," Din simply stated. Grogu knew his father was being modest; the way the sweat was now frequently trickling off of his face, the pace of his blinking was increasing, and the fact that his hand was shaking were all really beginning to worry the child.
"Okay, just send me your coordinates when you land some place, and I'll come get you. Hang in there, buddy," encouraged Cara, the concerned pinch to her eyes indicating that Din's visibly declining health was not lost on her.
Din nodded before cutting the communication line. The minute Cara's image disappeared the man's entire countenance changed.
"Aargh," Din groaned as his face clenched tightly and he doubled over in his seat. His hand pressed against the pain in his chest as he gasped for deeper breaths. But each deeper breath cost him. Grogu whimpered as he watched sweat drip from his father's forehead and silently splash on the floor. Din continued to fight to breathe for a solid minute, his eyes shut in sole concentration of grasping for oxygen.
The child slipped down off of his seat and hurried over to one of the Mandalorian's scuffed boots. Without another thought, the boy reached out and grabbed a hold of Din's leg and closed his own eyes in concentration, forcing the healing power to travel up to the struggling lungs to help him breathe.
STOP!
Startled by the sharp command through the Force, Grogu suddenly broke the healing trance. Looking up with wide, frightened eyes, he found his father looking down at him. He was frowning but at least he seemed to already be breathing a little better. Grogu whimpered in question.
Couldn't breathe. Emergency…?
Din's eyes slipped closed, and he sighed before replying. I…was handling it. I'd rather you save it in case things get rough before Cara gets here.
Grogu lowered his head at the scolding and folded his hands innocently in front of him. Only trying to help, buir.
I know, ad'ika, Din thought back, his face softening. I didn't mean to be harsh, I'm sorry. And I can breathe a little better now, thank you. Grogu purred some after learning it had helped and stepped forward to hug his father's leg again, resting his head tiredly against his calf.
"Let's figure out where to land and hang tight until Cara gets back," stated Din as he rubbed Grogu's fuzzy head before turning back to the control board. "Not a lot of inhabitable planets out here…so it looks like we're camping out on…Moorhue."
Moorhue, as it turned out, was almost completely encased by water apart from a few island chains. The cloudy sky was reflected in the greyish hue of the water, almost creating the effect of being enclosed within a dismal marble as it was difficult to discern the horizon. The islands offered very tall and unforgiving, rocky white cliffs but compromised its harsh angles with soft, green moss and a few gentle sloping hills on the island's surface. Waves crashed far below at the base of the cliffs as the Razor Crest II landed on one of the larger islands—which wasn't really saying much as its circumference was only half the size of Mos Eisley. (And the next largest island wouldn't even be able to comfortably house the Crest's mass.) But the air was breathable, and the temperature was chilly but not uncomfortable, except for maybe the heavy humidity. Grogu could taste the sea salt as he wandered down the ramp after his father. Glancing around, it was further emphasized how remote this planet was as there were no life forms of any kind to be seen, and the ocean stretched on in every direction beyond the remote island.
Hearing a suppressed grunt, Grogu's gaze shifted from the isolated landscape up to his father. Din's bare face scanned their surroundings even as he gingerly held his chest with his good arm. He had removed the rest of his beskar before they landed…except for the cuirass in order to maintain pressure on the wound. "Well…looks like we won't be bothered by anybody," shrugged Din before wincing fiercely at the foolish movement. "I sent our coordinates to Cara…so I guess we now wait."
Grogu figured the waiting wouldn't have been so bad, as it was in a uniquely pretty corner of the universe, were it not for the state of his buir's health. Din was kind enough to play the ball rolling game on the soft mossy area just outside the Razor Crest a few times before he admitted he needed to lie down and rest. His eyes had roamed about in hazy confusion before they finally closed in a light sleep. The infant chewed on his bottom lip in worry as he quietly watched his dad's chest rise and fall ever so subtly with shallow breaths. He couldn't hear them anymore with the waves crashing far off in the background. Taking his post of standing guard, Grogu toddled closer to his father and curled into his neck very carefully. Sniffing back a tear or two, the child fervently wished before drifting off to sleep that Cara would come soon.
A sudden lurch in the Force startled Grogu awake. He blinked his eyes open quickly and guessed he'd only been asleep for a few minutes. Wondering what woke him, he glanced around but saw no one. Reaching out into the Force, he soon realized Din had unconsciously woken him—and was in trouble. Spinning around to face his buir, the little tike surveyed the man lying beside him. Din's face was turned towards him, eyes still shut asleep, but he now looked almost as grey as the sky and sea surrounding them. Very worried, Grogu leaned in closer towards Din's mouth to listen and feel for his breathing. It was very fragile and faint. Frighteningly so. Before it, for a moment, just stopped.
Dun dun dun…that's it for now! Thanks for reading! And Merry Christmas! :)
Mando'a Translations:
Buir = father
Ad'ika = affectionate term for child
