Understanding
It's a soft tap tap tap on the side of his helmet that yanks Din Djarin from his exhaustion-induced sleep.
"Huh? What the –?"
He is greeted by two big, black, shining eyes, as deep and dark and absorbing as space itself.
"Oh, hey buddy."
It takes him a moment to get his bearings, weariness still clinging to the edges of his mind.
On the Razor Crest. Headed to Tython.
He turns his head slightly to look at the child (Grogu, he reminds himself), who sits mere inches from his shielded face, still staring at him intently.
"What's wrong, kid?"
The child babbles in response.
Din sighs. He thinks of the Jedi, Ahsoka Tano, how she could feel Grogu's thoughts, how she knew who he was and where he'd come from and what he needed all within just hours of meeting him.
That's why I have to return you to your kind, he thinks, while actively not thinking about the dull ache that rises in his chest at the thought. They can understand you. They can help you, much better than I can. No matter how much I want to...
"You hungry?" he asks, another attempt at deducing the concern. Given the kid's appetite lately, he figures he's got a half-decent chance of being right.
The child coos. It sounds somewhat affirmative.
"Okay, come on," Din says. He scoops the child into his arms and climbs out of the cramped compartment the two of them sleep in. "I'll get you something to eat."
It doesn't take him long to prepare a small cup of soup. He waits until the steam dissipates before handing it to the child, who sits waiting patiently on a crate, then takes a seat beside him on a separate crate. He watches as the child grips the small metal cup in his tiny clawed hands. It's quite endearing, really. He can't help but smile at the sight.
The child considers the soup for a moment, before looking up wide-eyed at Din and extending his little arms and holding the cup back out to him, almost like... an offering.
"Oh." The unexpected kind gesture catches him off guard for a moment. "No, you drink it," he insists, a warmth filling his chest. "I'm okay. Thank you."
The child's attention returns to the soup and he begins to slurp the liquid down noisily. Within a couple of minutes, he extends his little arms towards Din once again, offering him the now drained cup.
"All finished?" Din asks. He takes the empty cup from the child's hands and puts it aside in the small but growing pile of stuff-to-clean-up-later.
"Now," he says, scooping the child up in his arms, "time to sleep. Let's go." He carries the child back to their makeshift sleeping quarters and places him gently back in his hammock, before crawling into the tight compartment and lying down himself.
He figures they have about two hours until they reach Tython.
May as well make the most of that time.
It's no more than five minutes later when Din finds himself pulled from sleep again, because apparently the galaxy, or the Force, or maybe just Grogu personally of his own accord, has something against him getting a scant hour of rest.
"Dank Farrik," he groans under his breath. The child is seated close by his side once again, though this time a more respectful distance from his face. "What is it, kid?"
The child babbles... well... something, then tugs at the edge of his cape.
"My cape?"
The child grabs hold of the fabric, bunching it up in his tiny, clawed fists.
"Hey, it's not a toy," Din says. "And this is not play time. This is nap time."
He watches as the child tugs on the cape again, this time pulling it up over his body.
Oh.
Suddenly, Din thinks he understands.
"Do you want to use it as a blanket?" he asks. "Are you cold?"
The child's ears perk up and he lifts his eyes to meet Din's gaze.
"Okay. It's okay. You can have it. Here." He picks up the child and places him back in the hammock, then detaches the cape from his armour and gently drapes it over the sleepy infant. The child snuggles beneath it, cooing softly.
"There," Din says. "Now, go to sleep, okay?"
He lies back down, his gaze still fixed on the hammock hanging above him.
For a fleeting moment, he considers the idea that, maybe, just maybe, he isn't so bad at this after all.
He's trying.
He's doing everything he can to protect the kid, to care for him, to keep him alive, to keep him safe.
A foundling is in your care. The creed: until it is of age, or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father. This is the way.
He cares about the kid.
A lot.
Perhaps more than anything.
Hell, he would lay down his life for the kid, no question.
"You're like a father to him," Ahsoka had said.
Maybe, if Grogu didn't choose the Jedi path, maybe...
No. He dismisses the thought.
Less than two hours to Tython.
He's not even sure if Grogu made a sound this time, but Din wakes anyway, somehow instinctively alerted to the child's presence.
Really, kid? The one time I want a nap you have zero interest in sleeping? Really?
He's considering just letting the child run loose on the ship while he rests (surely some alarms would go off and wake him if the kid started flipping switches), when the child lets out a high-pitched whine.
Din bolts upright.
The child is standing beside him, whimpering and sniffling, his eyes wide in distress.
Din's heart thumps hard against his beskar chest plate.
"What happened? What's wrong? Are you okay?"
The child sits, his eyes downcast, long ears turned down, tiny body shaking with every breath.
Din's heart lurches.
"Are you hurt? Sick?" he asks, panic rising in his voice. "Did you fall out of your hammock?" Maybe I need to re-evaluate the safety of that thing.
The child lifts his head slightly to meet Din's concerned gaze and lets out another unsettled whimper that sends Din's panic skyrocketing.
Dank Farrik! He curses himself in frustration. How am I supposed to help you if I can't even figure out what's wrong?
The child cries.
Din breathes.
Focus on the task. Focus on the task.
The kid doesn't seem sick or hurt, not that Din is an expert on sick or hurt kids (because, really, he's not an expert on any of this. Should he have picked up a holobook on parenting? Probably). No, the kid doesn't seem to be in any physical pain or distress. He seems...
Scared.
Sad.
The realisation strikes Din out of nowhere.
Oh.
He can see it clearly now, the fear, the sorrow, the grief, swimming deep in the child's dark eyes.
Slowly, he reaches a hand out towards Grogu, stopping just before his gloved hand brushes the top of the child's head. He waits for a moment, judging the child's reaction to the gesture to determine whether the touch is welcomed or not. When the child doesn't shy away, he lowers his hand to touch the top of his fuzzy head and strokes it gently. The child closes his eyes and coos softly, seemingly comforted by the gesture.
After a while, Din retracts his hand, but two small, green hands instantly reach out towards him, tiny clawed fingers grasping at the air, reaching for something to hold on to, for someone to hold on to.
For someone to hold on to him.
"You want me to pick you up?" Din asks.
The child whimpers softly, his dark eyes pleading.
Din scoops Grogu into his arms and lies back down, holding the child against his chest. He rests a comforting hand on the child's back. The child's tiny body still trembles.
"It's okay, kid" Din reassures him in a hushed tone. "You're okay."
The words Ahsoka spoke of Grogu float into his mind.
"...raised at the Jedi temple on Coruscant."
"Many masters..."
"When the Empire rose to power, he was hidden..."
"His memory becomes... dark."
"He seemed lost."
"Alone."
"I sense much fear in you."
An ache swells inside Din's chest.
A child of war. Family and home ripped from him violently, unexpectedly. A trauma no child should have to hold within them, and yet so many throughout the galaxy do. Behind all that wide-eyed curiosity in the child's adoring eyes lie the haunting memories of a painful and lonely past, and perhaps, also, lingering fears of the present and future.
He knows.
He understands.
"My home was destroyed too," he says to the child nestled against him. "And my parents, they hid me under a hatch so I would be safe." It feels strange to speak the story aloud. He usually doesn't. Each word that escapes his mind and lips feels like a piece of armour removed, one by one, until the man behind the mask is bare-faced and unguarded.
Vulnerable.
But with the child, there's a strange sort of comfort in that vulnerability. A sense of connection. It feels safe. It feels right.
"A droid found me," he continues, gently running a comforting hand up and down the child's back. "It was ready to fire. But a Mandalorian came, destroyed the droid and rescued me." A tightness forms in his throat. He swallows, trying to force it away. "The Mandalorians they... they took me in as a foundling."
Blaster fire. Explosions. Screams of terror. Cries of pain and anguish. His father holding him as they run with only their lives through the settlement, their home, while it falls to ruins around them. His mother holding him close, his father kissing his forehead, tears streaming down their faces as they whisper goodbyes, as they tell him to be brave, promise him he'll be safe. His last memory of his parents, their figures bathed in the bright light of the world above as he looks up at them. He sees his mother's last "I love you" spoken through sobs, but does not hear it over the deafening sound of war. He sees his father's gaze, eyes filled with the pain and sorrow of letting go, but also the comforting hope that his child is safe.
The vivid flashes tear into Din's mind. The tightness that gripped his throat returns. His heart pounds in his eardrums. He tenses.
He hears the blaster fire, the explosions.
Sees the sparks.
Sees the droid towering above, programmed to destroy, prepared to fire.
He sees his life about to end.
He sees –
Two big black eyes.
The child coos.
Though his view is slightly obstructed by his helmet, Din can see the child, chin resting on his chest, two big black eyes peering at him. Eyes like galaxies. Deep. Full. Captivating. Endless. A little unsettling, in a way that makes him wonder, makes him question everything. Holding so much darkness while shining so bright with light, with all that innocent joy, curiosity, and awe. Big, adorable, galaxy-like eyes, staring right into his soul.
A blissful calm and warmth comes over him.
He smiles beneath his helmet.
Din knows the child can't see it, but for the first time he wonders whether, maybe, the child can feel it.
Can you? Can you hear what I'm thinking? Can you feel what I'm feeling?
Do you know that I –
The child settles against his chest.
Din sighs.
He lays still and quiet, holding the child close, mindlessly stroking behind his ears.
He doesn't think about Tython.