"I was just about to win at arm wrestling too!" Cara Dune said with a mock glare directed at Djarin. "And that's when Mando's kid did it. Just like I was saying- pressure on my neck like someone's hands were wrapping around and squeezing. He coulda killed me."

On the other side of the round saloon table, Djarin was resting his helmeted head in one hand. "First of all, you were not about to win-"

"Easy for you to say now!" The former shock trooper's words were only slightly slurred. "So, what I'm saying, Ordo, is watch yourself. Cute kid, but he can be a downright menace."

Grix looked to where the absurdly innocent-looking 'menace' was sleeping in the open pram and then directed his attention back to the other Mandalorian. "So, when where you going to tell about the little one choking Cara?"

"I'm- I think I'm still wrapping my head around it."

The old man laughed and took another drink of local beer. Nevarro was all right for some things. "Fair enough. It was enough of a shock the first time I saw him lift something up into the air. Though it did explain why you asked me questions about sorcerers and and mystical powers when we first met." He'd since learned that that's who Djarin was seeking out in order to help the child. He had some opinions on the wisdom of that strategy, but it wasn't his place to comment, and he knew he certainly shouldn't raise the issue when he was bordering on drunk.

"You need a refill?" Dune said, indicating the pitcher in front of her. She was grinning at him. He'd liked the former soldier as soon as Djarin had introduced them a few months back.

"Yeah, think I do. Hey kid, you're missing out. This stuff's pretty good."

Djarin made a sound that Grix thought probably accompanied an eye-roll. "Neither of you have a healthy relationship with alcohol. Someone has to be responsible."

"Oh sure, Mando," the shock trooper said with a scoff. "Anyway, Ordo, I've been meaning to ask…" Dune's words trailed off.

"Ask away."

"So, this foundling thing. Do all Mandalorians do that? Not just-" She waved her hand toward Din.

Grix laughed. "Yes, all Mandalorians believe in taking in children in need, and it's always been common for warriors to adopt children they encountered during battle, especially if the child impressed them with their fighting spirit."

"Huh." Dune looked over at Djarin who nodded.

"My younger daughter, Isali, for example."

Djarin leaned forward. "Yeah? You never mentioned that before."

"Originally she was from a family of Mandalorian pacifists- the New Mandalorians, they called themselves." He saw Djarin stiffen in the corner of his eye. There was a reason Grix hadn't brought that part of his past up. He had some suspicions, after all, and some things were better left uninterrogated, but the alcohol in his veins was making him less cautious. Besides, he wanted to keep working with Din. Secrets would make things worse in the end.

"Oh, I think I have heard of them," the former Rebel was saying.

"Right, well, anyway. Her family lived in a settlement on a small world in the Mandalore sector, but the planet came under attack. My late wife, Nesrine, was there afterward with a small unit of fighters and when she came into one of the ruined houses, she got hit right in the helmet with a metal cannister. That was Isali, all right. Despite her early upbringing, she never did stop fighting. After she got the girl to safety, my wife commed and told me I was going to be a father again."

"Wow, that's-" Dune managed, with a side-eye glance toward the younger of the two Mandalorians. "It explains a lot, actually."

"Hey, you know the circumstances of me ending up with the kid. I couldn't just-"

"That's not what I'm talking about." She turned her head toward Grix, grinning again, but before either of the men found a way to break through the awkwardness, she'd started talking again. "So, the attack on that planet, that would have been before the Empire, right? Who was it? Separatists?"

Shit, Grix thought. They'd almost avoided it. "No," he began. "It was-"

"Kyr'tsad," Din finished for him.

Well, there was no going back. "That's right. The name translates to Death Watch in Basic," he added for Dune's benefit.

Cara Dune blinked. "Charming. They were terrorists?"

"Yes," Grix said at the same time as Din's "No."

"They went after our own people, Djarin. Look, you know I'm no pacifist, but they were killing Mando'ade."

Din fist hit the table, just forcefully enough to draw the attention of some of the other customers. The child too, opened his eyes and looked around, confused. "They- they weren't- Those people cast away the parts of our culture that makes us who we are. They exiled their own people. They were in the wrong."

"I agree, kid, but that doesn't excuse extremism and violence toward innocents."

"They betrayed us. They weren't Mandalorian. They were-"

Finally, anger boiled over inside Ordo. "Go ahead, say it." He wasn't really angry at Din. He knew that. It was the residual anger from all those years of watching horrible things happen to his people combined with the present-day anguish of having something he wanted so close but being afraid to reach out and grasp it. Instead of confronting that, however, he focused on the word that they were very carefully not saying. "You can apply it to me, too. I'm sure you've thought it."

Djarin stood up abruptly. When he spoke, his voice was calmer, quiet even. "I haven't- thought that about you." He started to turn and then stopped. "Kyr'tsad saved me. It's because of them I'm alive. It's because of them I'm a Mandalorian." Then he turned and walked out of the bar, the baby's pram following close behind.

"Damn it," Grix said, once they were alone. "I screwed up."

Dune was staring at him. "Yeah, you did. You better go fix it."

She was right, of course, though Grix wasn't sure it could be fixed. He got out of the bar as quickly as he could, though. Din had said they would leave early the next morning for a job, but maybe his plans had changed, and he'd already left? Grix was worrying about that and trying to think about what he'd say if he did catch up with the younger man, when he caught sight of the Razor Crest just where it had landed earlier, right outside of town.

What was surprising was that the hatch was open, and at the top of the ramp sat Din, the baby next to him and apparently asleep once again.

"You didn't leave."

"Nope."

Grix sighed and climbed the ramp. Din scooted over to one side, making room between him and the pram. "You know I have my ship here. You could've left."

"That ship's barely in one piece. You'd be better off selling it for parts."

The old man raised an eyebrow before he remembered that he was wearing his helmet. Well, the kid wasn't wrong. "Yeah, but then what would I do? Move in with you?" He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. It was way too soon to make a joke like that, and sure enough, Djarin didn't laugh. "Er, well, anyway. I was a shabuir and out of line, and I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

"It really isn't," Grix said with a sigh. "There are so few of us left now. We have to stop fighting." Din turned his head toward him slightly. "Each other, I mean. We have to keep fighting our enemies and stop fighting each other. And by 'we,' I mean Mandalorians as a whole."

Now the younger man did laugh. "That's an inspiring speech. It's shocking you didn't end up as Mand'alor."

"Hey mir'sheb, I'd like to see you do better." He thought the kid would actually make a pretty good leader for what was left of their people, but he knew better than to say that out loud. Instead, he laughed too and then they were laughing together, which was enough to wake up the child who cooed and giggled along with them. "I know I get more out of this than you do. You could easily find a partner for jobs who's younger and able to help more when it comes to fighting. That said, I don't want to stop working together and not just because I need the money." There was silence for a long moment, and he began to wonder if Din would reply at all.

"Neither do I."

"Ah. Well, good." Grix wasn't sure what else to say, so he leaned over and checked on the child instead.

"I think you should sleep here tonight so we can leave early tomorrow. The guy who contacted me is expecting us."

"You know I'm not that drunk, right?" He asked, but secretly he was relieved.

Din sighed. "Just come in."

So he did.

Djarin had said it would be a simple job, and for once it was. The object demanded by the client was easy enough to obtain, and if the kid didn't have any qualms about stealing from one minor gang for another, then neither did he. They handed over the requested data chip, they got paid and they went on their way. Of course, nothing could be that easy, could it?

It happened quickly. The ambush and the fight itself. The five henchmen who attacked them had numbers and the element of surprise, but those were the only advantages they had. The whole lot was sloppy and unprepared, and Din was able to pick them off while Grix gave him cover and took shots when he could. It wasn't until the younger Mandalorian was dealing with the last of the attackers that Grix noticed the activated grenade near one of the fallen fighters.

It wasn't a thermal detonator, he decided in the split second he had to consider, but it would still cause damage, so there was only one thing to do. What other choice was there? He could die in battle. He could die trying to save Din Djarin, a man who deserved to be saved. A man who had a child, a clan and a future. During the last six months the old man had been the most content he'd been in decades.

He dived for the grenade.

There was brightness and pain and then nothing but black.

And then there was sound and light again and through his blurry vision, a familiar unpainted helmet. "Why would you do that? What were you thinking?" Din asked in a strained voice. If it really was him and not some hallucination.

"I…" He tried to form the words, but his throat hurt. Everything hurt.

"No, don't try to speak. I need to get you out of here."

No, that wouldn't do. "Don't… you di'kut… when I'm… gone… just leave."

"I can't. I won't." Then hands were supporting his head and Din was leaning closer until their helmeted foreheads touched lightly. "Hold on, okay? You have to hold on."

"This is…it for me. Let… me go. But… first…" Every word was a struggle, but he had to force his voice to work. He had to. At least he found that the words of his native tongue were easier to form than Basic. "Ni kyr'tayl… gai sa'ad- Din Djarin."

"No, stop!" Din's voice was angry. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, Grix thought through the haziness he was fighting, a battle he was rapidly losing. Though surely it couldn't matter too much now if the other Mandalorian did consider him to be dar'manda, despite his earlier protestations. He was dying, after all, and it would be a good death. An honorable death.

"I know… your… name as-" My child.

"NO."

And then, once again, darkness.

Grix Ordo opened his eyes and then shut them against the unwelcome flood of light. His head throbbed with pain and his throat was dry, but otherwise he felt okay. Huh. I really thought that was going to be the end.

"Oh, you're awake. How do you feel?" A soft voice asked. He opened his eyes again, slower this time. A middle-aged woman in a blue doctor's uniform was looking down at him.

He blinked a few times until the room came into better focus. They were alone in the room except for a couple of medical droids. He was under a blanket and wearing a thin hospital robe. His armor was carefully stacked on a chair in the corner and his helmet was sitting on a table nearby. That was something at least. And yet, he was alone. If Djarin had dropped him at a med center and left, well, there would be no misconstruing that.

"You are no longer my father," is all Asta says in the holo message, her skin unnaturally pale and stark against the grey Imperial uniform. Everyone knows what it means. They're words that cut. He knows they'll never stop cutting. None of the other Mandalorians on the base make eye contact him for days, and he can't blame them. How did everything go so wrong?

And yet, even that would be better than the possibility that Grix had been found and brought in by a stranger because he's sure Din wouldn't leave him alone if he were alive and injured, so that would mean... "I'm all right, I think. Head hurts."

She nodded. "That's to be expected. We took you out of the bacta tank a couple of hours ago, but you've still a way to go. I'll give you another dose of pain meds, if you'll consent."

"Yeah, sure." He watched her prepare the medication while he tried to gather the courage to ask that had been plaguing him since he'd opened his eyes. "Hey Doc, I was wondering if…" He struggled to finish the sentence. She turned back to him.

"You're asking about the young man and the small alien child?" As he nodded, she handed him the meds and a glass of water and sighed. "They're both fine. They're the ones who brought you in."

Grix felt relief flood through his body. "Ah, that's good then. So, did they-"

"Unfortunately, I had to ask that they wait outside." The doctor turned her attention toward the closest computer console but kept speaking. "I'm sorry but pulling a knife on one of my droid assistants is obviously unacceptable. It only wanted to ask if his child needed a checkup."

He laughed even though it made his headache worse. "That does sound like Din." Cara had filled him in about what had happened with the reprogrammed IG unit, and the younger man did seem to be loosening up a bit with regards to droids, but he clearly still had limits.

"I'm not sure why you find it so amusing," she said as she turned back toward him with an annoyed expression. "It's at least partially your fault."

"My fault?" Grix couldn't help but be confused by that. Surely the blame lay with the CIS. Din was far from the only member of his generation with a deep-seated distrust of droids.

She frowned. "Well, you raised him, didn't you? I'm not fluent in Mando'a, but I do know that word." He opened his mouth without knowing exactly what he wanted to say, but the doctor was already walking toward the door. "I'll go get your family, but your son will need to behave himself or he's out."

Grix closed his eyes. It felt good to block out the light. He must still be delirious. That had to be it. That, or the medicine. He was imagining things. Be rational, Ordo. Focus and be rational. But he couldn't think straight, so he let himself let himself drift off for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes.

It was Din's voice that drew him out of it. "You're sure he'll be all right? He'll recover completely?"

"Yes, just as I told you. He'll need to be careful due to his age and his many past injuries, but you can expect a full recovery."

He forced his eyes open, ignoring the pain. "Hear that, kid? You won't be rid of me so easily."

"You're the one who threw yourself on that grenade."

"He did what?" The doctor asked.

Grix ignored her, instead focusing on Djarin's tone of voice. Was he reading too much into it? When was the last time someone was happy that he was alive? "Yeah, yeah. I'll try not to make a habit of it."

"Good," the helmeted Mandalorian said as he lifted the baby up and sat him next to the old man.

The doctor insisted that he stay another night in the clinic and Djarin had agreed without so much as consulting the patient himself. Grix found he couldn't be annoyed, though, and it was clear his body needed the rest. When he woke the next morning, Din and child had already returned.

"Yes, I'm satisfied." The doctor sat down her medical scanner. "The test results are excellent, considering," she said with narrowed eyes and a slight emphasis on the last word. Apparently she was still annoyed about Din's revelation concerning the nature of her patient's injuries.

"Great," Grix said as he began the process of putting on his armor.

The doctor watched with a furrowed brow. "Is it really necessary for you to wear all that right now?"

"It's necessary." he replied, sharper than he'd intended. Kriff, I sound like Din.

"All right then," she said, apparently unfazed. "Now, this is important. You're not to engage in combat for at least three weeks. Preferably longer, but that's the minimum. Honestly, you should really try to transition away from fighting of any kind. Also, no piloting until you're finished with the course of medicine that I'm sending with you." Grix frowned, but Djarin nodded.

"And, I cannot stress this enough, absolutely no jetpacks until you're fully recovered. Or ever, ideally."

"Okay, Doc. Got it."

"Good." She glanced down at the datapad in her hands. "I'll just finish up your discharge documentation. Now, I'll need your full name."

He hesitated.

"Look, if you have a legal concern, I can assure you that we do not share our records with any authorities unless specifically requested and-"

"Djarin," he said before he could change his mind. He ignored the other man's startled reaction. "It's Grix Djarin."

"Can you spell the surname for me?"

"Uh." He didn't think he'd ever seen it written down.

"D-j-a-r-i-n," Din spelled out, his voice sounding a little strange.

The doctor entered it into the datapad and asked a few more questions before turning to the younger Mandalorian. "I assume you're his next of kin. Can I have your name as well?"

There was only a slight hesitation. "Din Djarin. D-i-n."

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it? You're good to go."

"Thanks," Grix said, still carefully not looking at Din.

"And remember, no jetpacks!"

The other man made no comment as they left the clinic and wandered out into the streets, which Grix found to be both disappointing and a relief. It wasn't a conversation he knew how to start. The weather was pretty warm outside, so he pulled his helmet off and followed Din and the child. Your grandson, he reminded himself. And he'd already decided there was no way they'd be handing the child over to anyone else to raise. That was a hill he was prepared to die on, but he didn't think Din would actually need much in the way of convincing.

They stopped in a market to buy a few supplies and at that point the baby woke up and climbed out of the pram. The little one waddled around looking up with awe at the various wares on display. The old man stopped to watch him with a smile.

Finally, Din turned to him. "So, I was thinking about where we should go next. Somewhere peaceful, since the doctor said you need to take it easy."

Grix didn't answer. It was still a lot to take in. Instead he crouched down to get closer to eye level with the child.

"Ordo?"

At that, he looked up. "I'm not an Ordo anymore."

"Uh, right. Grix."

"Nope. Try again." Apparently it was Din's turn to stay silent so Grix turned his attention back to the child who was still entranced by all the goods for sale. Eventually the baby ended up in front of a display of candied fruit on sticks. He stretched his arms up and cooed softly.

"No," Din told his son. "Definitely not. You haven't had any real food yet."

Grix stood up carefully because his head still hurt a little and then grabbed the largest one he could find and tossed a credit chit to the vendor. "There you go, little one."

"Buir!"

Ah ha. "Wow, that's almost bigger than you. Don't eat it too fast." He told the baby, who was happily chomping on the treat.

"What are you doing? That's pure sugar." There was a frustrated sigh. "And you're undermining my authority."

Grix snorted. "Oh, come on, I'm 'undermining your authority?' You sound like a Coruscanti politician," he countered, managing to keep his face straight. "I'm part of your aliit now. I have a right to get involved."

"Yeah, but you're supposed to take my side."

The old man laughed. "I don't think an entitled attitude like that ever helped a clan leader stay in power."

"Oh yeah, and what? You're going to challenge me for my position?" Din stepped closer. His tone of voice was threatening, but Grix could easily recognize the thinly veiled amusement. That did not appear to be the case for the candy seller, who was starting to look nervous. Time to go then, before local law enforcement gets called.

"Maybe, haven't decided yet." Grix bent over and scooped up the baby. "We should get lunch first, though. Hey kiddo, what d'ya think? Your dad's cranky, huh? He probably needs to eat. Or maybe buy some new guns. That usually helps, right?"

"This is-" Din began, and then shrugged and sighed. "Fine, but if he's out of control later, you have to deal with him."

"So, we grab some lunch and take it back to the ship?"

"Weapons and then lunch."

Grix laughed. "Even better. I was thinking about getting a flamethrower like yours. Or maybe a jetpack."

"Did you listen to anything that doctor said?"

"Not really, why?"

His son made a strangled sound inside his helmet. "Buir…"

It's not the end after all, Grix Djarin thought as he put the squirming baby back into his pram, and for the first time in a long time, he was okay with that.