* Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcomed.

Warning: the Empire mistreating Grogu

Split Decisions

Cold.

Everything in the room was cold. The lights, the table, the lab equipment, the inactive pram, and the emotionless expressions on the doctors' faces.

Grogu watched everyone milling about, talking amongst themselves, but never to him. Why couldn't they just tell him what was going on? Why was he here? He shifted a little, a feeble attempt to get comfortable. But the table beneath him offered no padding or cushion. He muttered loudly in protest, his face scrunching.

"Hey," one of the doctors scolded him, not even looking up from his work. "Knock it off. I can't concentrate."

His ears swiveled, not really understanding what the problem was. After all, the doctor wasn't the one being told to stay on top of a flat and barren metal surface. Well, not completely barren. In the center, close to the monitors, was a sort of box, and it had a screen on the top of it. Size-wise, it was big enough to fit him, but not his head. What was that even for?

The doctors in the room were sitting behind their desks. Or at least they looked like doctors, but he didn't feel ill. Scientists then, maybe? Some were prepping microscopes, and others were wiping down surfaces with a rag. There were also a few that seemed to enjoy talking to themselves.

"Day one of research. We are about to begin. The room is undergoing standard preparations for laboratory work and testing. As far as when the experimentation starts, we await the Moff's word, and then we will commence. Subject is compliant, if not talkative-"

A small box of microscope slides shattered as they fell across the top of a desk, causing every doctor to look up.

While Grogu hadn't been the one to make the mess, he still flinched. The mess wasn't very big, but everyone's reactions still startled him.

"Damn it, Pershing!"

"I-I'm sorry, sir-"

"You're not a kid anymore. You're an apprentice. Act like it. This is the big leagues. You want Gideon's ire?"

"Well, no, o-obviously not-"

"Just clean it up. We need to use this desk."

The doctor that had dropped the slides was named Pershing, it seemed, and he was younger than the other adults. He was scrawny, an adolescent, and a bit mousy in demeanor. He made eye contact with Grogu. "Is…that our subject?"

"Yes," one of the doctors replied without looking up from his work.

Pershing's brows came together. "But...It looks like a child."

"It's of no concern to us. We're here to do our job." The doctor stared harshly at Pershing. "But it's of great concern to Gideon, the Imperial in charge of this operation." He paused for emphasis. "You hear what I'm saying, boy?"

A few more dubious mutters later, and Pershing exited the room for cleaning supplies.

Grogu watched him leave, tilting his head confusedly from side to side. And also disappointed. Pershing's eyes were not cold like everyone else's. They were fearful and submissive, clearly yielding to the superiors that scolded him, but Grogu also saw consideration in them. He might even be capable of kindness.

It had been quite a while since anyone had shown him kindness. Perhaps on Coruscant, but those memories were becoming very hazy now. At this point, he barely remembered what had happened there. Why were things so dark and muddled within his mind? Why did things never make sense?

Either or, kindness was rare these days, not to mention consideration. And he wondered when that doctor would return. He looked at the shattered slides. Pershing hadn't meant to break them, so why did everyone get so upset with him? He then looked down at his claws, and flexed the joints of his fingers. Perhaps…

Perhaps he could help.

He didn't always like using his abilities. Aside from the fact that they made him so dreadfully tired, they also seemed to attract unwanted attention. Hence why he was here, or at least he assumed that was the reason. Also, people often responded with fear to his abilities. Or sometimes anger. Especially from the Empire.

His fingers tensed, and he almost shivered. But the people in this room didn't look like Imperials. And there were no troopers nearby. Plus, Pershing might not mind. So, he raised his hand.

He faced his palm towards the desk. He could push all the glass splinters back into the box. Yes, that would be helpful. And it might've even been fun, if not for the expected wave of drowsiness. Frustrated, because he only just got started, he squinted his eyes against the feeling. The glass clattered like broken chimes against the desk's surface.

A vicious slam shook the table, causing him to stumble and falter.

"Hey!"

Grogu squeaked fearfully, instantly stopping, and bringing his hands close to his chest. Eyes wide, he shrunk backwards, trying to lean away from the angry doctor. What did he do wrong?

The doctor jabbed a finger towards his face. "You use your magic again, and we'll get the troopers in here. Understand?"

"We told it the same thing yesterday," another doctor said from the other side of the room, sounding exasperated. "I don't think it understands anything." There was a pause. "Does anyone even know what species it is? I still need to put that in my log."

"It doesn't matter," the doctor in front of him growled. "I hate being here. And I already hate working with this thing. Whatever it is, it's not natural. I'm going to put it in the scanner. When Gideon gives the word, we start immediately."

This doctor was impatient and angry, and he seized the nape of Grogu's tunic. Roughly. Careless fingers jabbed into his shoulder, clenching the joint.

Grogu cried out, a shriek of pain that echoed around the room. He squirmed for only a second, before flicking his wrist. He didn't care if he passed out, or of any other consequences that could follow. He had to protect himself.

He dropped to the table as the doctor was thrown to the other end of the room. The wall shook upon impact.

Breathing heavily from exertion, Grogu placed his palms against the table, struggling to push himself upright. He noticed that the doctor was lying on the floor. Unconscious and unmoving.

His ears slowly fell. Though it was a split-second decision, he had been fully aware of what he had just done. He didn't regret protecting himself, but he certainly didn't want to hurt anyone.

He was so confused.

The other doctors called out into the hallway, hollering that the subject was being hostile. Stormtroopers jogged into the room, and set their cold visors on Grogu. They slowly advanced towards the table. They exchanged some words, with one of them saying, "Set to stun. The Moff needs it alive for now."

Grogu was still shaking on the table, from exhaustion and from the throbbing in his shoulder, but mostly from sheer terror. Unable to keep himself upright any longer, he dropped to the table onto his side. He still faced the troopers, readying himself. He flexed his claws, but the familiar rush that seemed to fuel his abilities wasn't able to be utilized right now, too exhausted.

The troopers kept coming closer, cautiously. The barrels of their weapons were aimed at his stomach.

He curled tighter in on himself. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, to treat all of it like a bad dream. But he kept them open, staring quietly and stubbornly at each trooper with terrified eyes. Although, he couldn't help the feeble coo that escaped him.

He had only wanted to help. Why did no one understand that?

A trigger was pulled.

The pain in his shoulder became a mere footnote.

A burning zap erupted all over his body. He couldn't cry out, and he was forced to close his eyes against the onslaught. It lasted for moments only, until he sagged against the table, breathing haggardly.

"The Moff gave the all-clear for you to get started," a trooper said. "He'll be here shortly."

A doctor said, "We best get to work, then. Come on, gentlemen. Get organized. Let's get the subject in the scanner."

"If it gives you anymore trouble, let us know."

"So, what precisely does Gideon want us to extract? He has yet to say."

"He wants us to start simple. Needs us to take samples of everything. We see what his DNA looks like, and then we go from there."

"Y-You know. If we start with the potential M-count, and then we-"

"Don't you have a mess to clean, Pershing? We'll worry about M-count later. As soon as you're done with that glass, come over here and shadow me."

Darkness clouded in Grogu's vision, he felt rough hands grab at his sore shoulder – he was hurting everywhere – and he was shoved into the box in the center of the table. Perhaps…

Perhaps he ought to use his abilities sparingly from now on.

That was many years ago, when he first encountered the Empire on Nevarro, before the Niktos managed to get him out of there. He never learned what the Niktos wanted from him. They had seemed to be working for someone, someone who wanted him to remain away from the Empire. Although, that was only a theory.

Many years after, he never would've guessed he'd end up in that same room again, strapped to the same table, locked within the same scanner. A lone doctor had put him on that table. Though his touch was considerate, that was the only good thing about the situation. The doctor might've even looked familiar, but Grogu was too busy trying to make himself appear as small as possible. Cold rooms and tables never held anything good.

The doctor whispered an apology, a tone that almost sounded genuine, before Grogu blacked out.

Hours later, the scanner and the table fell away, until he was swaddled in a blanket. The fabric was very scratchy, but he was no longer freezing. After being disconnected from those machines, the sedatives coursing through his veins were slowly relenting.

He heard blasters firing.

He looked up, eyes bleary, and he could just barely see Nevarro's night sky. The shiny helmet was clear as day, though.

Silvery armor stood over him. Not looming, though. Protective and careful, shielding him from every single blast. The man's black visor stared down at him, his focus and attention solely on him. He said nothing. Grogu was still waking, yet he understood exactly what was happening.

Someone kind had returned for him, and was saving him.

Ignoring the groggy rasp in his throat, Grogu cooed at the Mandalorian.

Cold and unfeeling hands snatched him off the seeing stone. As soon as he was held uncomfortably tight against a metal hip, he was soaring through the air. His feet dangled, and he dug his claws into the metal arm to avoid slipping out of its grasp. They moved at a vicious speed, wind buffeting them instead of soaring with them. This wasn't like flying with his father. He didn't feel safe. Stormtroopers never made him feel safe.

Why were they here? What did they want with him?

Where was his father? Grogu could've sworn he'd been there the whole time.

He kicked his heels against the trooper, trying to push his chin over the arm grasping him in order to look down at the ground.

A flash of beskar in the evening sun.

His father was standing next to the seeing stone, staring upwards. His visor, familiar and kind and comforting, made eye contact with him despite the distance.

Grogu stared down at him, fatigued and terrified, and bewildered. Something was very, very wrong. His father wouldn't have allowed for any of this to happen. And why could he not fly all of a sudden? Surely he would be in the air by now.

It was seconds later that his father's armor was only a small flash on the planet's surface. In even less time than that, clouds surrounded them, blotting out the rest of Tython and the evening sky.

The arm was tight around his chest, forcing his coo to sound even feebler than how he was feeling. He was unable to call out any louder than that, but it was doubtful he could even be heard at all over the wind. Or over the roaring of the troopers' boots.

Grogu looked up, trying to figure out where the troopers were taking him. It wasn't possible for them to break through the outer atmosphere without dying. Logically, that meant a ship was nearby. The cloud cover grew denser and denser, almost like a shadow was overhead. The clouds acted more like fog now, ominous and heavy.

Above their heads, a light cruiser dominated the sky. Grogu's hold on the arm went slack.

As they flew into the open hull, he tried to shrink backwards. He couldn't remember ever being inside an Imperial ship, but something instinctual screamed at him to be wary. To be fearful. The landing was heavy and careless, causing him to lurch forward. The movements wrenched some air, and a squeak, from his lungs.

A woman was waiting in the hull. She wore a grey-ish uniform instead of armor, and had a square hat with short black hair beneath it. Upon their arrival, and upon hearing Grogu's squeak, she stepped forward with slow but sure strides.

"That's enough," she said to him in a neutral tone. "The Moff won't tolerate those noises." She then looked up at the troopers. "Follow me to his cell."

There was a moment of hesitation from the troopers, as if unsure to be taking orders from her. But only a moment, until they were following her mechanically.

As they walked through the ship, Grogu wanted to flatten his ears back. But aside from the fact that almost any movement was nearly impossible right now, he also didn't want to be afraid. However, as the troopers transported him out of the cargo areas and into the main hallways, it was a struggle not to feel so.

A ship like this could only be described as a base, maybe even a fortress. It didn't feel like they were hovering or moving at all. They went past many different people, like standard stormtroopers in full or partial armor, pilots, and other crew members. Crew members like the woman they were following.

Tentatively, Grogu cooed at a few people along the way. He didn't expect them to help him, but it was now part of his nature to call out, to babble as he saw fit. The urge to go quiet would always be there, but not total silence. Not anymore. He'd had enough of that. He never wanted to go back to that again.

The woman's tone was still neutral, though she didn't look back at him. "Perhaps you didn't hear my warning from earlier."

Grogu felt the trooper's arm tighten threateningly, backing up the woman's words.

He had spent decades practicing self-preservation. He wasn't always good at it, but he knew when to play it safe. Choosing not to utter another sound for the time being, he glanced up at his captor. The other troopers had disappeared, leaving this one to carry him to another part of the ship.

He'd never seen troopers like these before. Instead of white shells and black visors, these ones were pitch dark and had glowing red eyes. Experimentally, he dug his claws into the gauntlet. This didn't feel like armor. It was more like casing, or like the body of a droid.

Grogu always knew that there were people beneath stormtrooper armor. But what exactly where these things? Were they even people at all?

They turned a corridor. Slowly, very slowly, Grogu's ears fell limp. This hall was lined with doors. Holding cells. One door had two average stormtroopers on either side of it. Almost growling stubbornly, Grogu started pushing and scrabbling against the trooper's grip. Doing so was a wasted effort, the arm as solid as a rock, but it didn't stop him from trying.

The stormtroopers chuckled and pointed at him.

"How feisty is that thing, huh," one of them remarked.

The other one humorously asked, "How much trouble did it give you on the way here?"

The woman only shrugged. "None. It'll be easy for you to guard."

"Easier than what happened down on the ground, hopefully."

The other trooper stared at his colleague. "Nothing happened on Tython. The Moff's just trying to scare us."

The woman rolled her eyes at them. "Just put the creature in the cell, and keep an eye on it."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

The trooper holding Grogu walked past the woman – who disappeared down a hallway – bringing him closer to the tiny room.

"Hey," one of the stormtroopers was hesitantly asking. "Did you really have to fight a Mandalorian while you were down there?"

The stormtroopers attempted to make small talk to their comrade in darker armor, but Grogu only vaguely heard it. He struggled for a few seconds more, but as soon as he was inside the cell, he stopped. Unexpectedly, some of the fight been sapped out of him at having accomplished nothing. And he was still a little tired from the seeing stone. He panted despairingly, anxiety bubbling to the surface.

Where was his father? Why wasn't he here yet?

He was placed roughly on a ledge at the back of the cell. The trooper that captured him walked out the door with heavy strides. The stormtroopers tried to follow it, only for the door to close and lock.

"Wait, what the hell," one of the troopers exclaimed, banging a fist on the door.

"Damn it," the other grumbled. "I was hoping they wouldn't do this."

"You mean this is standard?!"

"Calm down. They do this with certain prisoners, assets especially."

He scoffed. "We guard doors. Not creepy green rats."

The other trooper shook his head. "You're a rookie. You wouldn't understand."

"You know this is probably Kane's doing, right?" He gestured vaguely to the door.

There was a pause. "Maybe."

"Gideon's given her a lot of work to do lately. And she's only an officer-"

"Just be happy they think we're competent enough for this job."

"I'll be happy if I get a raise." He sighed, and leaned against a wall. "Can you believe this? One minute we're on the frontlines, and now we gotta stare at…" He waved his hand in Grogu's direction. "…whatever that is."

The other one shrugged, crossing his arms and pacing a little. "'Least it's a simple job right now. It sounded like this thing was easy to capture."

"Well, it sounded like those darktroopers had all the fun." Another pause. "What do you think they are, anyway?"

"What?"

"The darktroopers. Are they humanoid, or…"

"Beats the hell outa me. Probably just droids. But with all the science that Gideon manipulates these days, I just…I try not to think too hard about it. And you shouldn't either."

Grogu tried to keep up with their conversation, but they kept moving on from one topic to the next. And there was nothing of interest to him. Besides, his ears picked up on something else. This ship was huge, with echoes and vibrations everywhere. It was all subtle, though. For as big as this ship was, everything was drowned out by the hustle and bustle of its inhabitants.

But he sensed it, nonetheless. The thrilling hum of hyperspace.

What was normally soothing to him now filled him to the brim with dread. He was on an Imperial ship, surrounded by troopers and people he didn't know, traveling through hyperspace to who-knows-where. Hyperspace meant that they would arrive anywhere in the galaxy faster than any other form of travel. That meant it would take longer for his father to get here. He still didn't know what caused his father to freeze like that. Where was the jetpack?

And where was the Razor Crest? Perhaps it had been his imagination, but while up in the air, Grogu only saw a gigantic charred crater where the Razor Crest had been. If there had been fighting in the area, it was possible that his father had relocated the ship to be out of the way of things. Although, that took time and fuel. But it would explain why he hadn't been by his side while on the seeing stone.

Grogu stared down at his claws. He had passed out while on the stone, in and out consciousness like a restless nap. The Force had flowed around him, power and energy exhilarating and suppressive at the same time. For a split second, Grogu clenched his fist before dropping his hand to his side. He looked down at the floor, at the stormtroopers' boots, watching them scuff lazily across the floor. The troopers paced, using movement to pass the time.

"The Force is what gives him his powers," Ahsoka had said. Perhaps right now, the Force could give him some time. Specifically, it could buy his father some time.

Grogu knew that his father would be here any minute. He not only knew it as fact, but he felt it in his very being. He had all the faith in the universe that the person who cared for him the most would come get him. The Empire must've gotten a head start. That's all. He didn't know what the Empire wanted, but…They'd captured him. Not his father.

It finally sunk in. Throughout this entire year, most of it was spent running or fighting. It was either bounty hunters, bandits, or Imperials. They didn't want him and his father.

They only wanted him. Hence why he was here, and why they left his father on Tython.

Grogu shook his head a little. He digressed, because he had to think quickly. He had to stall the Empire from…whatever it is they wanted to do with him. He looked down at his hand, and raised it. He had to use his abilities. He had to wait for his father to rescue him.

He almost closed his eyes completely. Though these stormtroopers weren't mudhorns, they were still sizable targets, in comparison to him, that is. This would take effort.

A familiar rush swiftly glided between his claws.

He flicked his wrist sideways.

The stormtrooper's scream echoed through the cell as his legs were swept out from underneath him. He crashed against the far wall. The other trooper swore loudly, but before he could take out his blaster, Grogu shoved an invisible blast against his abdomen, sending him flying as well.

This was all Grogu could do, tossing them around like ragdolls. It was neither satisfying nor regretful. He didn't know whether this was right or wrong. All he knew was that…he didn't want to be here, he couldn't stand being locked up again, and he didn't know when his father would arrive. All he knew was that he had to do something.

He felt like he had the galaxy at his fingertips, just as much as it felt like he was shattering it, like glass slides against a desk.

A shiver jolted through him. Images of an examination room flashed through his mind. A doctor being thrown against a wall.

His whimper was strained, but he knew he had to concentrate on what he was doing. As soon as one of the troopers would start to get up, he would throw them again.

They were going to hurt him. They were going to hurt his father.

He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be safe inside the satchel, he wanted to use his abilities to try more food, he wanted to be wrapped inside a blue blanket. He wanted his father to hold him while the Razor Crest was in flight.

He wanted to go home.

He didn't know what else to do.

Occasionally, the troopers tried to take out a weapon. So, Grogu had to figure out how to manipulate them both at the same time. He had pushed these troopers too far. Every time there was a lull, they were reaching for a blaster. He had to get quicker and quicker. He was tired. He had been tiring for many minutes now. But if he stopped, for even a second – he didn't want to think about that.

There was a beep, and a swish. It sounded like the cell door was opening. Grogu wanted to look and see what was going on, but he couldn't, afraid the troopers would get the upper hand. He was past exhaustion. If he could make them go unconscious…

He raised both hands, claws pointed towards each trooper. They grasped at their throats, groaning and gasping for air. Grogu's eyes were starting to droop. Any minute now, he could rest.

One of the troopers screamed in agony. And another jolt coursed through him. No…

No.

He had to stop what he was doing. Right now.

Abruptly, he flicked his wrists again, outward, spreading his arms to the sides. The stormtroopers collided, ricocheted into the walls, and fell to the floor.

And Grogu finally lowered his hands.

Fear, conflict, exhaustion, protective. So much fear. Cold…That was all he felt.

He collapsed sideways, lying on the ledge's surface. He breathed heavily, wheezing, his tiny whimpers silent with every exhale. He looked up at Moff Gideon, who was standing in the doorway.

The smirk on the Moff's face was chilling. A mix of prideful authority and amusement. He approached Grogu casually, in no hurry whatsoever. "You've gotten very good with that," he commented, as the injured stormtroopers climbed to their feet. "But it makes you oh-so sleepy."

Grogu glanced at the floor.

Gideon crouched down in front of him. With his grin still plastered to his face, he enthusiastically asked, "Have you ever seen one of these…?"

From the hilt in his hand, a light extended from it. It looked like one of Ahsoka's weapons, but darker. Much darker. Its outside shimmered with a hazy white glow, but its center was as dark as a black hole.

Gideon held it close to Grogu's face, just inches away. His grin never faltered. "…From years past?"

Grogu didn't know what to do with it, other than to disarm him. He'd never done that before, but it was just an object in his eyes, and he'd moved plenty of objects before. His limbs trembled as he raised one of his hands, his body still slumped sideways. His panting grew ragged.

The weapon shook slightly in Gideon's grasp, but nothing else happened. Grogu wasn't sure if he lost his remaining energy, or if Gideon really did wrench it from the invisible grip. He hunched sideways again, dropping his arm.

"Oh," Gideon placated mockingly, standing up. "Ah-ah-ah. You're not ready to play with such things." The weapon retracted. "Liable to put an eye out with one of these."

Exhaustion mingled with his stubbornness, and he kept wanting to raise his hand again.

"Looks like you could use…a nice long sleep," Gideon said. He nodded towards one of the stormtroopers that came in with him.

The trooper raised the blaster in their hands. And they pulled the trigger.

A burning zap coursed through him, for a split second only. He was unconscious almost instantly.