The Desert

In the end, killing the krayt dragon had gone according to plan. Just not exactly the original plan. Din didn't start this mission with the intention of being swallowed whole by a gigantic beast. But in doing so, he took it down from the inside with detonators. And not a scratch on him. Just some bruising, and covered in a layer of saliva.

The Tuskens began the butchering process on the dragon, while the citizens of Mos Pelgo respectfully stayed back to let them work. Din couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a peaceful alliance like this. Before leaving the area, the Tuskens rewarded Din with a sizeable block of meat from the carcass. And Cobb handed over the beskar armor with no complaints. The Tuskens, and Cobb's town, had their tranquility back. Both sides had gotten everything they'd wanted out of this.

Despite the meat, the recovered armor, and being assured of each other's safety, Din and the Child walked away empty-handed. Just as suspected, there were no Mandalorians on Tatooine. Not even the Tuskens had seen another. Only thing left to do was head back to the Razor Crest, which would be a few days travel. Din started up the bike, and the engine whirred loudly in his ears. He used the orientation of the suns to find his way back to Mos Eisley.

During their trek, they woke up one morning to an overcast day, making the air feel deceptively cool while the bike was in motion. Din maneuvered through a series of ravines. He idly glanced around, ever alert, but also relaxed. He didn't exactly expect trouble to find them this far out in the desert. Normally, these narrow lanes only held animals and predators, which he could handle.

He never saw the trip wire that sprang up from the sand, but he definitely felt it.

The bike snapped forward, launching him high into the air.

The metal brackets holding the wire clanged and groaned. Startled grunts ripped from Din's lungs. His jetpack screeched as he used it to right himself. Their supplies tumbled through the sand. Above the cacophony and chaos, Din could hear something above it all, and his heart seized.

It was the sound of the Child crying out as he hit the ground. Hard.

When Din landed, sand sprayed against his visor. The bike was out of control, careening past and barely missing him. Before it could tumble to a stop, it went up in flames and exploded.

For a few seconds, Din was disoriented, not knowing what the situation was or which direction to even look in. The Child had gone silent, and his anxiety threatened to take over.

The very moment he could focus again was when the fighting started. Blasts were fired at his armor at close range. He shielded himself with his gauntlets, choosing defense until he got his bearings. There were four enemies, possible bandits, from what he could tell. They closed in on him, backing him against a wall.

"Get the child," one of them shouted.

Din's jaw clenched, and a snarl nearly passed through his teeth. One of his hands flew to his holster.

Another bandit spoke in affirmation, and Din zeroed in on him. This bandit was short, was wearing metal goggles, and held a small blaster in both hands. He was looking out towards the desert.

The Child was lying in the sand. He was amongst the supplies, and had obviously tumbled a long distance away. He whimpered as he struggled to stand.

Din fired a shot at the bandit before he could even get close to the Child. Due to a large blade coming down on his gauntlet and knocking his blaster away, he didn't hit a vital. It was now hand-to-hand as the bandits did everything to physically pin him against the wall. The fight came to a halt when Din used his whipcord to slam a rifle into their heads, leaving just one enemy left to deal with. With a grunt, Din shoved away from the wall. When he looked up, the remaining bandit was standing in front of him.

In one hand, he held a knife. In the other arm was the Child, with the blade hovering inches away from his chest.

The Child glanced down at the knife and muttered with uncertainty. When his large eyes settled on Din, he tilted his head at him.

"Wait," Din snarled at the bandit, and he had to will his voice to remain steady. He raised his hands, almost placating. "Don't hurt the Child."

The bandit was holding the Child tightly, with one of his small arms pinned down. As a result, the Child was forced to remain absolutely still, and his grunts almost sounded pained.

Anger burned in Din's throat. He made sure his tone sounded neutral, but he wasn't going to waste any words that he said. "If you put one mark on him, there's no place you will be able to hide from me."

Unmoving, the bandit stared at him.

Din wanted nothing more than to allow his patience to run out, to lose his composure and get rid of the threat. But the knife was dangerously close, and he currently had no useful weapons within reach. He had to think of something smarter.

"We can strike a bargain," he offered, and gestured to the scattered supplies. "There's a lot of value in this wreckage. Take your pick."

The bandit finally looked away to give it some thought, while the Child whimpered uncomfortably, and fearfully. Din winced, noting how unnatural the sounds were, coming from him.

"But leave the Child," Din concluded.

Suddenly, the bandit started waving the knife. He spoke in a language that was unfamiliar, but Din could understand a few words. Din looked to where he was specifically pointing. Then, he nodded, reaching behind himself to disconnect his jetpack. He took a few cautious steps forward and placed it on the ground. They were getting somewhere now. And an idea came to mind.

The bandit knelt in front of the jetpack, and put the Child on the ground. Din silently exhaled as the knife was slowly taken away.

The Child stared up at him, holding one of his arms awkwardly outward, the same one that had been pinned down. All of his focus was on Din, not the bandit whatsoever. He stayed put, not yet moving as the jetpack was inspected. Subtly, Din nodded approvingly at him. The kid had a habit of holding his ground, but he was proud nonetheless that he was reading the situation correctly. These bandits were greedy and trigger-happy. If the Child moved too abruptly…Din didn't even want to think about that.

As the bandit took his time, Din felt his hands curling into fists, anxiety close to coming back. The Child was standing right there. In two strides, he could easily scoop him up. The fact that he couldn't move yet, had to play along and wait it out, was almost unbearable.

Then, the bandit picked up the jetpack and started jogging away, but not before pointing his knife warningly at Din. Almost pandering, Din looked at him and raised one of his hands higher in response, in a sort of half-assed wave of acknowledgment.

The Child chose that moment to run for Din, as fast as he could, arms raised towards him in a combination of distress and relief. As soon as Din saw this, he knelt down and caught him. The Child ran into his hands without stopping, huffing from exertion even as he was lifted off the ground.

The constricting in Din's chest didn't lessen as he listened to the sharp coos and whimpers. At least the danger was over, and that he was safe. "You okay," he asked him.

In response, the Child's coos lowered, and he blinked his eyes slowly. He didn't seem wounded, but Din could feel how tense he was.

In the distance, the bandit was running and chattering, sounding far too full of himself. Din turned to face his direction. He had to finish this nonsense. He held the Child against his chest, securely yet gently, and he pressed a button on his gauntlet.

He had told the bandit to take the jetpack. He didn't say that he could keep it.

With a startled wail, the jetpack launched the bandit up into the sky.

Din pressed button after button, watching that damned idiot fly and dip and corkscrew through the air. In his arms, the Child was tightly gripping one of his thumbs, almost as a way of grounding himself after the frightening ordeal. But he gradually relaxed as he watched the spectacle happening.

The bandit clung desperately to the jetpack, but he had to let go eventually.

If Din were being honest, this was a mix of a few things. He was not only keeping to his end of the deal, but also blowing off steam, and with a small amount of personal satisfaction. Vengeance was not something he often turned to, given that he had better things to do with his time, but when he did, he always made sure the death would be swift.

When the bandit's grip slipped, he plummeted to the ground. Upon impact, he was lifeless. Knocked out or dead, it made no difference to Din. Today, his foundling's life had been threatened. His clan had been threatened. That was not something he could be lenient on.

The Child was okay, all things considered. His arm and shoulder were stiff, but nothing a little rest wouldn't help. He had some mild friction burns on his ears and head, most likely caused from tumbling across the sand, so Din had brought out some bacta spray.

While the Child rested in the shade being cast by a boulder, Din started taking inventory. Everything was scattered, but most of it was still in decent shape, including the weapons, food, and medical. The bike was totaled, almost nothing left of it, but perhaps he could still make use of it.

He got to work, lost in thought. The bandits who had conducted this ambush were still lying unconscious, or dead. At least, he was hoping they were simple bandits, and no one of importance. If they were hell-bent on taking the Child, then nothing else, not even a beskar jetpack, would've mattered. So, that ruled out the Child yet again having a target on his back. It was possible they might have been after Din. Depending on what star system they were from, he very well could have a bounty or a warrant. But once again, a jetpack was apparently higher value. Hell, maybe all they wanted was the beskar.

"Beskar's value continues to rise," Gor Koresh had said.

Whatever the case, this was all a friendly reminder for him to always be on his guard. He was only half-tempted to wait around for one of the bandits to wake up, to question them as to what they specifically wanted. Until his eyes fell on the Child, who was leaning his back against the rock, tired and almost completely silent as he munched on some jerky.

Din started tying the supplies together, opting for the chance to leave the area while the going was good. He was no coward, and if they ran into more unfriendlies he would deal with them accordingly. But his priority was the Child, and getting him safely back to the Razor Crest. Plus, Mandalorians made it a habit to always keep moving anyway.

Once he had everything gathered, it was time for them to go.

Using one of the handlebars from the destroyed bike, he hung the supplies off his shoulders. Draped around his chest was the satchel, with the Child now tucked inside of it. If Din kept a steady pace, they might make it to Mos Eisley close to sundown.

It was overcast until the afternoon, but even then the heat from the suns rippled oppressively over the surface of the sand. He could feel the extreme temperature through the bottom of his boots, and his sweat clung to the collar of his cape and cowl. This was one of the very few times where his armor didn't feel comfortable.

When he heard the Child snoring, and looked down to see him taking a nap, he carefully balanced the supplies on his shoulders in order to reach for the remaining waterskin with one hand. With only some difficulty, he deftly removed the seal, pushed his helmet up to expose his mouth only, and took two long swigs of water. When he was done drinking, he pulled his helmet downward, back into place.

He froze.

The Child was staring up at him, wide awake. He was tilting his head from side to side and cooing.

From beneath his helmet, Din's eyes widened, but his panic was short-lived as he really thought about it. He exhaled, allowing some of the apprehension to dissipate. He hadn't completely exposed his face. He definitely hadn't. So it was safe to say that he was still upholding the Creed. Which was a logical assumption, especially given current circumstances.

Right. It was fine.

He exhaled again, this time softer. He lowered the waterskin, until it was in front of the Child. The kid only spared it a glance. He continued to stare up at Din, eyes wide with curiosity.

Din shook his head. "You need to drink something," he said, leaving no room for argument.

The Child's ears twitched up and down, analyzing his tone. He soon looked away, sighing a little. His tiny claws reached for the waterskin, and Din tilted it for him. He wanted to allow him to drink as much as he wanted, but unfortunately they needed to ration it. Mos Eisley was only a small dot in the distance.

By nightfall, they arrived back at Mos Eisley. The cold night was a welcomed relief, in comparison to what the day had been.

As they walked through the town, Din let out a sigh. "What do you think, kid," he asked. "You think Peli will charge us extra for the bike?"

The Child hummed, and babbled wordlessly.

"Yeah," Din muttered. "Most likely."

He didn't actually know what the Child had said, but he responded either way. Now that he thought about, it seemed like the kid was getting even more vocal as time went on. He even continued to babble as they made their way to the cantina. A few of the locals glanced fleetingly at them, probably wondering what a baby was doing in this particular star port.

At the cantina, Peli was gambling. And who she was gambling against had a lead to finding other Mandalorians. The information came at a cost, though. The person who knew where they were would help Din, so long as he would agree to safely transport her and her eggs to the planet her husband was on.

Din was a lone bounty hunter, not a taxi service. Doing these types of deeds wasn't exactly his forte. He didn't exactly have a bleeding heart. But Peli insisted, expertly countering his arguments. He must be going insane, because for some reason he agreed to all of this.

After paying Peli in both credits and a portion of the krayt dragon meat, they left Tatooine.