Restoration

Summary: *Spoilers for season 1* Plot link for episode 8, between IG-11 patching up Djarin and when they catch up with the rest of their team in the sewer's tunnels on Nevarro. Hurt/comfort. Oneshot.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Star Wars or The Mandalorian… Darn.

"You have suffered damage to your central processing unit…"

"You mean my brain?"

"That was a joke. It was meant to put you at ease."

The Mandalorian without a helmet puffed air-part laughter, part exasperation at the situation. Coldness from the bacta spray tingled across the back of his head and neck, contrasting with the heat from the encroaching flames, mingling with his sweat and blood.

"We must go," the IG-11 unit ordered, its elongated torso spinning like clockworks to analyze the precarious and eroding safety of their location.

Din Djarin was tired. Half of him felt like he had betrayed the Mandalorian Creed by allowing the droid to see his true face, and half of him felt guilty for wanting to give up and die a "warrior's death."

He'd put up the fight, but he was so tired.

"R...rest," he mumbled and felt his eyes close.

Something tapped him in the chest. When his eyes snapped open, the droid's head was spinning as if the Mandalorian had slapped it, and Djarin thought he heard a hint of reproach in his voice. "We have no time for leisure."

Smoke from the fire burned his sinuses and settled in his chest. He began coughing, which aggravated his injuries, causing spasms of pain to radiate down his spine. It seemed that he would get no rest after all. The droid braced him, its joints awkwardly careful and caring.

"Helmet," Din rasped.

In response, the IG-11 slid his silver protector back on, locking it in place with a hiss. A burst of filtered air from the armored suit's system stopped his coughing, but there was still the fiery inferno to deal with.

"We must go," the droid repeated again, persistent yet patient.

"I...can't."

He wasn't lying. Djarin felt the back of his head throb despite the soothing medicine. White rings of light spiraled in his vision. He was likely concussed, too weak to move and too afraid to move in case it caused more pain. Would leaving hurt worse than staying? The Mandalorian did not relish the idea of cooking in his own Beskar.

Then he felt a metallic hand curl over his arm, the pressure firm. Din focused on the droid's nonexistent face and couldn't look away.

"The Child needs you."

The Mandalorian placed his palms on the floor as the IG-11 stabilized his waist, then Din pushed. Agony shot up his tailbone and rang like bells in his ears. Before he was even completely upright, Djarin felt his vision darken and slant. But the droid's skinny arms were surprisingly strong, and the IG-11 held him even when his knees knocked together. The Mandalorian could feel the heat of the fire brush his heels when both he and the droid reached the entrance to the sewers.

"I will go down first."

The IG unit propped Din against the side of the entrance and jumped through the hole. Djarin peered into the darkness, sweat running down his back from the flames, so close, roaring as if hungry. Once more, he faced the heat and thought that the droid would not be coming back for him, that he was going to be left behind to fry. This time, the thought evoked a shiver of fear.

A wiry claw thrust out of the pitch black and grabbed the Mandalorian's wrist. Circular red lights from the droid blinked below, as if demonstrating alarm.

"Jump!" it commanded.

Djarin fell. For a brief moment after crashing down, everything was awash in white hot pain, so intense and blinding that Din couldn't tell if his body just hurt or if he was being burned alive. Through the pain, he could hear gasping, like a man who had narrowly escaped drowning and was struggling to breathe. It took the Mandalorian several moments to realize that the sound came from himself.

Soon after, an emotionless voice said, "It is all right."

Din blinked and saw the IG-11 unit kneeling beside him on the ground, metal hand lightly pressing into his hand, glove removed and flesh exposed. He was aware of his own ragged breathing, Beskar heaving up and down.

"What are… you doing?" the Mandalorian gasped, pain beginning to ebb.

"Checking your vitals," it said matter-of-factly. "I am a nurse droid."

Djarin huffed with amusement. "Yes. I know."

"Your heart stopped for approximately forty seven seconds."

"What?" Din coughed out.

The droid said, "That was a joke. It was meant-"

"-to put me at ease. I get it." Djarin groaned and slid his glove back on. "I'm not an expert on comedy… but you might need some better programming in that area."

Once his breathing was even again, the droid helped him stand. This time, Djarin grabbed onto the droid for support when he felt his legs buckle. However, it didn't phase the IG-11 unit; it barely moved with his added weight.

"Thank you," Din said. The words left his mouth before he even thought them through, but he immediately turned to the droid, squaring his shoulders, serious and sincere. Then he said, "For saving me, and for saving the Child."

The droid paused then bobbed its head, as if nodding. "You are welcome."

Djarin examined their surroundings-the sewer was a complex maze of tunnels, but it was dark and cool and not on fire.

"They can't have gone far," he said to the droid and nodded to his right. "Let's go."

As he felt his shaking body lean heavily on the nurse droid's slender metal frame, the Mandalorian had a profound shift in thinking. From that moment on, Djarin resigned to never distrust a living or mechanical creature based on its past, background, or appearance; he would judge them on action alone. And he would never again be a bounty hunter, finding petty criminals and reeling them in for a price. If the IG-11 could be reprogrammed from an assassin into a caretaker, the Mandalorian would reprogram himself to do what was honorable, to uphold the Mandalorian way of life.

At a crossroads in the tunnels, the droid's head ricocheted from one direction to another, its metallic legs stomping as if restless. "Where do we go?"

Din became very still and listened, hearing faint footsteps in the distance. He knew the bacta was helping, but the sound of the others made him feel stronger too. The Mandalorian tilted his head to indicate the path and couldn't suppress a small smile.

He thought to himself: This is the way.

A/N: I'm a little late to The Mandalorian love fest. Just started watching this show, and I haven't finished season two yet, but I'm so excited to read some of its fanfiction here once I've finished. Lots of feels, great western tropes. P.S. Did anyone else really hope that IG-11 would become a regular on the show, and that the Mandalorian and droid would basically be the Child's dads? Well, that dream was dashed. But let the fanfiction commence!

Thanks for reading!

~Ista ^_^