Din and Mayfeld scuttled from building to building, seeking cover behind stacks of twisted metal wreckage and shattered brick walls. After the tie fighters had destroyed the transport, they had seen no sign of any other prisoners. They were probably cowed into hiding, and Din didn't blame them.

At last they reached the bare wall where the tunnel entrance was supposed to be.

"This is it?" whispered Mayfeld.

"Yes. There's a keypad." It took a long time to search—too long for comfort. At last Din found it cleverly built into a crack in the mud brick. He remembered the code from Kino Loy, at least. A disguised panel directly on the ground opened to reveal a staircase leading into darkness.

"After you," muttered Mayfeld.

Once in Din found the interior controls and shut the door behind them. Now they were in complete darkness. Through the filters of his helmet, Din could detect a faint musty smell, as if there was water underneath. It made sense—this looked like a desert region but whoever built this ruined town had needed a water supply. Din risked a light from his helmet. Nothing but packed earth walls and floors. He gestured in the direction of the safe room, and they began to walk.

Afterwards, Din remembered little of the journey. Everything was catching up to him. Everything hurt and he struggled to think clearly. Mayfeld was not much better. He stumbled and blinked and had to pause from time to time to catch his breath. Belatedly Din wondered if he had been hurt in the Game Room worse than he let on, or maybe like Din he was just at the end of both his physical and mental strength.

The whole time Grogu snored quietly in the sling fashioned from Din's cloak. His weight and warmth, even though clothing and beskar, was the only thing Din could focus on. He patted the boy on and off as they marched through an endless twisting maze. It was all catching up to Grogu too, he thought with sorrow and guilt. Why should he be surprised? It wasn't simply the act of healing Din. It was days of hiding, being on his own in that terrible Imp-run hive, being frightened and sad despite his cheerful, plucky attitude. The poor kid must have been badly scared to find Din so close to death.

After a seeming eternity they came to a final door. Din entered the familiar code and they stood at the base of the stairs that led up to the safe room. Along the tunnel Din could make out a white bundle—Kino Loy's final resting place.

"The hell is that?"

"A friend. He's dead."

A final, agonizing climb brought them to the room itself. Automated lights switched on as they moved into the absurdly overdecorated living area and Din secured the second door behind them. The viewscreen was dark—outside night had fallen. After being in the prison, Din's sense of day and night were completely skewed. Moving quickly from planet to planet as a hunter meant being able to adapt to the changing cycles of whatever planet he found himself on, but he already missed living in a more settled way on Nevarro, with its predictable solar night and day.

Mayfeld surveyed the full bar before collapsing onto the large sofa. "Oh man," he said. "This is more like it. You weren't kidding."

"There's a medical kit there, lots of bacta, plus a lot of food and water," said Din. "My kid and I are taking the bedroom." But Mayfeld's eyes were already shutting. Din opened the door to the separate sleeping chamber—they had not used it before but Din welcomed some privacy at last for him and his son.

After shutting the door Din took Grogu from the sling and placed him on the big, round bed covered with a shiny silken coverlet. He took off his helmet and knelt close. Removing the helmet with his son already felt so natural, when it had been agony as a prisoner. How could the same action feel so different? This simple insight had taken him too long.

"Hey," he murmured, taking his glove off to touch the little boy's head. "We're safe. We're okay. I'm okay. You did it. You did it."

In answer Grogu blinked. He smiled.

"Boo," he said.

Then he shut his eyes again and curled up, lines on his face softening.

Oh, he was all right. He was all right.

Din's relief was almost painful. His eyes blurred with tears. The aftereffects of tension, worry, exhaustion, and adrenaline made him shake. He rose unsteadily, and found some water, used the separate 'fresher, in the bedroom, found some bacta patches to apply to the worst areas on his healing injuries.

Then he collapsed on the bed next to Grogu, helmet off, and lost consciousness.

###

When Din opened his eyes it was still dark outside. He was feeling maybe a little better and even sensed some hunger pangs. That was a good sign. Grogu slept on, but Din could not drop back off. He felt restless, hungry, and jittery. It was safe here for now, but who knew how long that would last?

He adjusted his armor and clothing—he thought about the sonic shower but didn't want to wake up his son. Then, helmet on, he left the bedroom.

"Ah. There he is," said Mayfeld in a slightly slurring voice. "The man, the Mando, the legend." He sat upright on the couch with his legs propped up on a small table. In front of him were scattered food containers, bacta patch wrappers, and four bottles from the bar. He held an elegant crystal class and studied its bright blue contents. "Gotta hand it to Merrix. This is all top-shelf stuff. Especially the spotchka collection."

Din sighed audibly.

"Oh, don't give me that," said Mayfeld. "How's the kid?"

"Better, I think. But still sleeping."

"Drink with me." Din did not reply but turned away and went to the food preparation area and looked for something beyond krill bars. "Fine, don't. Guess we're back to that helmet shit, huh? Gonna pretend like it all never happened. Like I haven't been looking at your big brown eyes for days."

There was some mean edge in his voice and face, like a dark thing underneath was getting a little too close to the surface. Din had heard it on his ship, when Mayfeld joined the others in needling him, and on Morak, having a drink with that Imp.

Din opened a cabinet under the bar and found crispy worm packs and ready-made chowder. No wriggling tentacles but it would have to do. Behind him, Din heard a clatter of bottles. "Hey, I can make a spotchka rainbow. I think I have all the ingredients for that right here. Always heard about it but never got to try it." As Mayfeld focused on his concoction, Din studied the bar itself.

There, right in front of him, was a small bottle of spotchka that looked exactly like the one Omera had given him. Same size, shape, and color.

The bottle that was destroyed before he ever tasted it.

Some impulse he did not understand drove him to pick it up.

He opened the stopper and took a sniff of its contents. Powerful, even though the helmet filters. He glanced at Mayfeld but he was occupied trying to carefully layer three different spotchka varieties in a single glass. Din tipped up his helmet and took a long drink.

Probably too long.

He set down the bottle before Mayfeld could notice. Well, it was good, all right. Some strange mix of salty, sweet, and fermented, and unbelievably it smelled like Sorgan. It smelled like the fresh, fragrant air in the woods around Omera's village.

And it was quite, quite strong.

Or perhaps Din was a lightweight, that was also possible. Impairing substances were frowned upon in Mandalorian culture. (At least in the culture that raised him, which apparently was a fundamentalist sect of primitives, but no one had bothered to tell Din that.) You had to keep a clear mind at all times. He had been in many, many drinking establishments over the years but had hardly ever partaken even in private. Too risky.

The nearly immediate buzz was disorienting—maybe he should have eaten first. But it was also pleasant. His aches and pains were definitely receding now and immediate worries didn't quite seem so…worrisome. So this was why people imbibed.

"I'm a pretty good judge of spotchka by now," said Mayfeld. "Omera is a master of her craft, you know?" He sipped his artfully layered drink. "This is great. I got a career as a barkeep if we get out of here alive. But yeah." He took another sip and when he spoke next his voice changed back to that needling tone. "Those brown eyes of yours. Too bad you never show 'em. Drive the ladies nuts. But I guess the helmet stays on at all times, right? What did Xi'an say? A lady never tells."

Din was going to return to Grogu, but instead he turned slowly to face Mayfeld. The man was smiling, but his eyes were flat and hostile.

"Xi'an's not here, is she?" asked Mayfeld. "Along with Burg? What a nice reunion that would be."

"It's only males here it seems," Din said quietly. "Like at the Panopticon." Mayfeld was goading him for reasons he couldn't fathom. He wanted this conversation to end, and yet he couldn't seem to rouse himself to go.

"Ah, what a shame." Mayfeld grinned humorlessly. "What a charming pair the two of you make."

Xi'an…

Unwelcome memories flooded back. Furtive, shameful memories. A bad decision in the heat of the moment, immediately regretted. And Din knew he had handled it badly afterwards. Xi'an was younger then and still had feelings that could be hurt. Maybe that whole job on the prison ship would not have turned out so badly if he hadn't been so cold afterwards, if they hadn't parted on such bad terms…

"I bet you did leave the helmet on for Xi'an," Mayfeld went on.

The worst part was that Mayfeld was right. He had left the helmet on.

And it was good the helmet was on now. Who knew what his so-called "dumb face" was doing.

"The ladies actually must really dig the helmet. All that mystery." Mayfeld stood up, drink in hand, and gestured at the helmet. "It's like a fantasy come true."

The buzz was already becoming unpleasant. "I don't know what you're getting at," Din said, even though he very clearly understood. "But you need to stop. Now."

"It's just funny Omera never mentioned a Mandalorian," said Mayfeld. He gazed contemplatively at his cocktail. The blue layers he had carefully poured had all mixed together. "But you know, can't blame her. Lonely widow, quiet village in danger, and then this perfect hero in armor comes along to save her. With his adorable moppet. Because you're a perfect father on top of a perfect warrior. Complete fucking package."

Din was starting to feel sluggish, fuzzy. Truly a lightweight. But then he remembered something Mayfeld had said back in the prison. "Why did you say you had to apologize to her?" he asked.

"That, my buckethead friend, is none of your fucking business." Mayfeld came close. Too close.

"You're not thinking straight." And I'm not either. His head was pounding.

"Oh, I'm thinking real straight, Mando."

"Back off, Mayfeld," said Din.

"Because you fucked her didn't you? You left your helmet on and you fucked my wife. Treated her just that you treated that lunatic Xi'an."

Pure unthinking rage filled Din and his vision went red. His fist went back and he aimed a punch that would have shattered everybone in Mayfeld's face.

"No," said a small voice.

Din's fist never landed. Not through any self-restraint but because he was being held.

Why did he feel so strange?...oh.

He was suspended about a half meter off the floor in mid-air.

Din kicked a little, moved his arms a little, but nothing happened. The same was happening to Mayfeld, except he was head down.

Grogu stood at the bedroom door. His hands were raised and he frowned at them both with deep disappointment.

"What the FUCK?" Mayfeld yelled.

"Grogu," said Din. He kept his voice very calm. This must be how the mudhorn felt. "Put us down."

Nothing happened. Grogu still frowned. "No."

"Mando, is this your kid doing this? You better tell him to put me the fuck down."

"Watch your language," said Din.

"This is your big concern now?!"

"I'm sorry, Grogu," said Din. "I lost control. I got mad at some stuff this…at what Mr. Mayfeld said."

Grogu looked unconvinced. His expression clearly said, don't apologize to ME.

Din exhaled. "Mayfeld. I'm…sorry," he forced out. For nearly ripping your head off your shoulders. He felt the floor under his feet again. Dizzy and queasy, he sat heavily on the floor next to Grogu.

Mayfeld too was making an effort to stay calm. "Yeah, uh, I'm sorry too. I drank too much too fast. Not thinking too clearly. Just let my thoughts run away with me. Once I get started I can't stop. You know me. That was a truly shitty thing I said. I just miss her so much and I am such a piece of shit for getting myself into this whole fucking situation."

"Language," said Din.

"Grogu," said Mayfeld. "That's your name, right pal? I'm sorry for giving your old man a hard time. Just…I think I'm about to puke. Can I get down?"

Grogu lowered his hand, and Mayfeld fell to the floor in a heap. "Ow," he muttered.

"Hey, c'mere," said Din, holding out his arm to Grogu. "I know you hate to see friends fight. I'm real sorry you had to see us act like that." Grogu moved to Din and sat comfortably in his lap. He curled up contentedly against Din's chestplate, and Din, forgiven, held him close. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

Mayfeld sat up and groaned. "I'm fine," he said, rubbing his head. "Don't worry about me."

The three of them sat on the floor in awkward silence. "Mayfeld, Omera was kind to me and my kid. And that's all." It wasn't that any explanation was owed, but Din still felt compelled to say this much.

"I know. I know. It's just…oh, hell. Me and Omera fought, right before I left for town and got arrested. And I don't know if I should even be telling you this but this is why my head is so messed up. Maybe I owe you an explanation." He absently picked up the glass that he had dropped. "She wanted another kid. Like, with ME. I mean, ME! I am not father material in any way, shape, or form."

This was terrible. Din wanted to flee, but his head hurt. "Winta thinks differently," he said at last, not knowing what else to say.

"Yeah, but this is different. Winta was a nice kid before I even showed up. See, Omera actually did get pregnant, with me, not exactly on purpose, you know? But then she, uh, lost it early on. She wanted to try again a couple months later. The midwife in the next town over thought a supplement might help."

"Don't tell me any more," said Din. Grogu looked at Mayfeld intently, ears drooping.

"But I said…shit. I said maybe we should take it as a sign it wasn't meant to be. I said this shitty thing to this wonderful woman. You should have seen her face. And then I stormed off to town and look what the fuck happened. What an asshole I am."

Din wanted to agree. That probably wouldn't help. He stayed silent. Omera had not said anything about this, but why should she? This was intensely private. Din briefly considered punching Mayfeld again, but knew Grogu would frown upon this.

"I don't deserve her. She deserves some normal guy who wants to be a father. I just don't know how you do it Mando. Because I am scared shitless at the very idea. And when I think about my own father…what a fucking piece of work he was." Mayfeld buried his face in his hands. "I don't know how you do it."

"I'm making it up as I go along," said Din softly.

"Oh good, what a huge comfort you are," said Mayfeld. "Ah, my head. That was way too much spotchka in a short time. What an idiot." Mayfeld looked up and exhaled loudly. His face was blotchy and red, contrasting with the purples of his black eye. "Hey kid? Grogu?" he tried to smile at Grogu, who gave him a skeptical look. "We got off on the wrong foot before. Buddies, okay?"

Grogu gave him one big blink. His ears raised in a friendlier way. "That's him saying okay," said Din. He looked at Mayfeld. "We need to get ready for what happens next."

"Yeah, I know. I think there's a metabolic aid in the med kit, it'll help me sober up."

"You need it."

"Watch it, Mando."

###

Back in the sleeping chamber Din pulled off his helmet and just sat for a moment.

No more spotchka. Ever.

Grogu was very awake now and looked at Din expectantly.

"Okay," said Din. "I don't care if every Imp in the sector is coming. Neither of us smell good. You and I need to get clean."

First it was Din's turn. It was a luxurious sonic shower model and there was even a garment sterilizer bin. It was a relief not to be in that cold, humiliating water with the other prisoners. Grogu explored the bedroom and stacked up pillows to occupy himself, but stole surreptitious glances at his father while he showered. Din was past caring. He leaned against the shower wall and shut his eyes. When he caught a glimpse of his battered, scruffy face in a mirror, he looked away.

"All right, buddy," he said when he emerged draped in a baggy robe. He hoped it didn't belong to Merrix. Usually he was dressed and armored for Grogu's bath time but it was pointless now. "Your turn."

Grogu always preferred water baths to sonic, but those could be hard to come by. As usual he fussed and squawked while Din stripped off his grubby, smelly robe, then the rondel, amulet, and mail shirt. Din inspected its tiny rings carefully while Grogu bounced on the bed. Mail could be tricky to maintain, and one bad ring could undermine the integrity of the entire piece, but the Armorer's beautiful work held up. Then, after a short chase, he thrust the squirming green body under the shower while his robe was sterilized.

Finally Grogu was clean and dressed, back to his pillow fort. Din lay back, spent. I don't know how I do it, either.

When he opened his eyes, Grogu was sitting cross legged on the bed, studying him. He raised one hand. Obediently Din sat up and sat crossed legged across from the boy, still in the baggy robe. He welcomed the feel of Grogu's thoughts meeting his.

Buir! You were very brave and strong and defeated our enemies. Din briefly saw an image of himself in the Game Room, club in hand, bare-chested, covered with blood, face distorted with animal-like fury. It was a profoundly ugly sight and Grogu should have been terrified.

But Grogu had only been frightened when he found Din's still, near-lifeless body.

"And you saved me. Again. I wish you didn't have to go through that."

It was very hard. Grogu's ears drooped. You were very sad. Many paths I had to follow inside of you to find the broken things.

"But you did it. You were brave and strong too, much more than me." Din paused. "I had a dream. Something—someone—spoke to me. I've never experienced anything like that before. It spoke to me about the Creed."

Oh, yes, it must have been the Creature. Grogu's tone was matter of fact.

"Wait, what?"

And the Bald Man too, Grogu continued. He is very sad. Grogu shared with Din, as much as he could, what he could sense from Mayfeld. Waves of regret, self-loathing, and sorrow poured out of the man, tinged with jealousy. Which was ridiculous. He wanted me to hurt him, Din realized with dismay. That's why he was goading me on. He wished he didn't know so much about private matters between Mayfeld and Omera, but he understood Mayfeld a little better now.

"But, Grogu, the Creature…?"

Its mind touched mine, as mine touches yours. Grogu seemed puzzled. I do not understand it. Is it a bad thing?

"No," Din said, not wanting to press Grogu any further. "It was a good dream. It gave me courage. I understand some things a little better now."

But Grogu was eager to move on. I have a very important question!

"What is it, ad'ika?"

Grogu stroked his upper lip. Can I have one?

"Oh, you mean a mustache?" Din smiled. "Maybe when you're older, if you want. Once it starts to grow, you let it alone. Easy."

When is older?

"In a few years," said Din evasively. This seemed to satisfy Grogu. But Din had no idea about when or if Grogu would hit puberty, or what it would even look like. Why had he not thought about this until now? And then, to his infinite horror, Din realized that one day he was going to have to talk to Grogu about hormones…and sex.

The blind leading the blind, he thought with a sinking heart.

He'd rather fight without armor again.

Mandalorian sex education was heavy on technical specifications and short on everything else. Once you understood the basic mechanics, you were expected to figure the rest out on your own, as long you adhered to the Creed. It was a peculiar mix of earthy forthrightness about bodily functions and frosty prudishness about anything even coming close to sex.

This worked about as well as one might expect.

Din was going to have to do better for Grogu, that was for sure.

He also tried very, very hard not to think about Xi'an.

And then another worry: Did Grogu's species have…females at all? Or other genders? Did they even think gender was important? Did they pair with other species at all? Did they have lifelong mates, short encounters, families?

Yet another troubling thought: Were there any more of Grogu's people even left? Ahsoka Tano had mentioned one was a great Jedi master, but clearly he was gone. Did they all have the same powers?

What would Grogu's future really look like?

Well, add that to the pile of things to think about once they got out of here. Maybe he should invest in another bottle of spotchka when this was over.

He smiled at the little upturned face. "Buddy, can you help me clean my armor before I put it back on?"

###

Din had dozed off again, now in full armor in preparation for anything that might happen next. He could feel himself healing, feel the spotchka leave his system, but he needed as much rest as he could get while they were relatively safe. Grogu had eaten a lot of chowder and was quietly busy with his pillow fort while his father slept.

"Mando…" said Mayfeld from the living area.

Din came to full wakefulness and rose from the silken bed, scattering tasseled cushions. He found Mayfeld looking out of the viewscreen. It was now midday, a clear hard sky above. Clouds gathered beyond the distant mountain range where the prison was buried. Was a change in the weather coming?

Three ships soared in the distance, coming in their direction.

"We got company," said Mayfeld. He glanced sidelong at Din. "What the hell do I call you, anyway? Mando, Jaah-rin?" They had both apparently decided to pretend the awkward encounter had never happened, which suited Din just fine.

"My name is Din Djarin."

"Wow. Was that so hard?"

"Din is my family name, Djarin is my personal name. I was born on Aq Vetina before the Mandalorians took me in as a Foundling, so Grogu and I follow their naming custom. But I answer to Mando too." Din shrugged. "Mandalorians try to keep our names private outside of our community."

"Wow," said Mayfeld again. "Now with the detailed explanations. Feast or famine. No in-between with you people."

"I am not calling you Mica."

"Fine."

Grogu came to look out with them, climbing onto a chair to get a better look. Din increased the magnification on the viewscreen controls. "That's Merrix's personal transport," he said.

"Aw shit." Mayfeld glanced at Grogu. "Sorry. Something tells me this safe room is now an unsafe room."

"Time to go," said Din. He rested a hand on Grogu's back. "Ready?"

And to the surprise of both men, Grogu firmly replied "Esss."