* Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcomed.
Warning: bullying
Short-Lived
As they maneuvered up and out of Trask's atmosphere, with a great deal of difficulty, his father spoke of what they needed to do next. "Hopefully Bo-Katan's intel is good, and we find a Jedi," he said with some positivity. "Next stop, Corvus." He looked back at the Child, who cooed at him. A soft sigh escaped him then, his shoulders sagging minutely. His words seemed to lose some of their enthusiasm in the process. "Yeah," he muttered. "Corvus."
An alarm blared on the console, and the Child's ears twitched sharply. Normally, these noises instantly grabbed his father's attention, but he only sighed again, this time aggravated. He took his time turning around, and proceeded to jab a few switches. The blaring stopped, and the Child knew that the purpose of the action was just to silence the noises, not solve it. He was aware of many problems happening at once.
There were his father's tumultuous emotions, most likely pertaining to the mission at hand. One minute he was determined, the next wavering, and with a hint of irritation every now and then.
And then there was the Razor Crest. The shipwrights were only capable of making it fly again, and that was putting it very lightly. The ship currently wasn't capable of high speeds, never mind entering hyperspace. It also couldn't run its own diagnostics. And its lights kept flickering ominously.
Suddenly, it jolted and listed for a few seconds.
"Dank farrik," his father snapped as he struggled to get it under control. He only managed to stop the turbulence. They were still on course, but the ship was struggling to steer forward. "Some of the electrical isn't responding," he muttered, standing up and walking past the Child, towards the back of the cockpit.
Looking out the windshield, the Child saw a piece of debris detach from the ship. It spun miserably through the sky, until disappearing as they drifted past it. The Child muttered despondently.
Their home was falling apart, piece by piece.
Standing up on the passenger seat, he peered around the backrest to watch what his father was doing. He was removing a small panel from the wall, and he set it aside to look inside a very tiny alcove. He swore again, a string of expletives that the Child didn't understand.
With not much else to do, and curiosity piqued, he climbed down from the chair to join him.
"This ship," his father muttered. "Whoever designed it, sometimes I-" He cut himself off, shaking his head.
The Child tilted his head at him, recognizing the blatant irritation. But there was also a hint of fondness. His father didn't view their ship as a burden. He saw it as something that needed to be mended. The Child saw that, too, clear as day.
From where he was on the floor, he tried to get a decent look at the alcove. He placed his hands on the wall and stood on his tiptoes. He saw that the little space was about his size, and that he could possibly crawl through it. His ears perked up dramatically at the realization. If he could help, then he wanted to. He dropped onto the flats of his feet, and pointed at the alcove.
His father looked down at him, and then saw where he was pointing. "Are you sure," he asked. "You don't have to."
The Child pointed again.
After a moment, his father nodded and picked him up. "Alright," he said, but didn't let him go just yet. He crouched down, so that they both could look inside. "You see that electrical board at the very end? I need you to remove the red and blue wires only, when I say. You got it?"
The Child supposed that seemed simple enough. He knew the difference between colors. With an eager coo, he gripped the edge of the alcove and started climbing in. Once he got to the electrical board, he sat down and instantly reached for it.
"And do exactly as I say," his father was saying. "Don't unplug them just yet-"
The Child yanked out one of the wires, specifically the blue one. He cooed and grinned, holding it up in the air for his father to see.
His father exhaled. "Never mind then," he muttered. "Well, I'll go see if that did anything." He walked away, for only a moment, before returning. "Yeah, I didn't think so. Alright, I think we need to switch the wires."
The Child reached for a different color, thinking that's what needed to be switched.
"No," his father said patiently. "That's yellow. Just red and blue. Start with the red. Can you switch them while I recalibrate the controls?"
The Child looked at all of the wires in front of him, and then at his father with a confirming squeak. His father nodded encouragingly and walked away again. The Child only unplugged one of the wires, putting the blue one back. However, he didn't exactly know what to switch them with or where to put them.
There was another alarm from the control console, but it was quickly silenced.
The Child stared at the electrical board in front of him, confusion growing.
His father returned, and unfortunately his added guidance didn't really help him. "Did you get the wire out," he asked. "The red wire."
He had already removed that. Maybe he needed the blue wire now.
"No, no," his father said, voice still patient and neutral. "No, the red one. Show me the red wire. The red one."
After a moment of hesitation, the Child held it up.
He nodded and pointed at it. "Yes, good. Now, you're going to plug that red wire where the blue wire goes in the board."
The Child made a questioning burble, looking down at the wires in his hands. It sounded like his father was repeating himself. The directions seemed both the same and different, but at least he knew he needed to put the wires into the board. He put the blue one back first. Only problem was that his father said that was actually wrong. The Child was a little frustrated now, but he was willing to bet that he just didn't understand the instructions.
And then his father mentioned something about the importance of the wires touching. Perhaps that was what he was misunderstanding, and that they were now done with the board. Yes, that made sense, in the moment.
He put the two wires together.
He felt a snap and a hiss that jolted his entire body.
The smell of burnt metal and smoke filled the alcove. It wasn't horribly painful, and he was unharmed, but it was still extremely jarring.
At the other end of the alcove, he could see that his father's palms were raised tensely and anxiously. Upon seeing the Child through the smoke, he dropped his hands and exhaled, a sound that was both relieved as well as defeated. "Are you okay," he asked.
Smoke stung the Child's noise and throat, and he coughed and whined apologetically at him.
He sighed again. "Well, it was worth a shot." He put his hand through the alcove, palm up. "Why don't you come out of there now?"
His father didn't sound mad, not that the Child expected him to. Still, he clearly hadn't been successful in his mission to help. He looked down at the wires still clutched in his claws.
"No, you can put those down," his father said. "We'll figure something else out." He paused. "I just…don't know what that is yet."
A little disappointed in himself, the Child did as he said. But first, he put the wires back in their original designated spots he had removed them from. Not really understanding the astonished huff his father emitted, he crawled through the narrow space.
His father picked him up with both hands and held him in front of his visor. "You sure you're okay," he asked. "Any burns?" He put him in the crook of his arm.
Looking around, the Child noticed that excess smoke was wisping around the cockpit.
Gently and meticulously, his father unfurled his tiny fingers and inspected each of his hands, calmly looking for any marks or signs of injury. As soon as he was done with that, the Child whined and pointed to the alcove. Perhaps there was something else he was capable of doing whilst inside.
"No," his father said. "You're not going back in there. If we were running at full power, that could've been worse." He shook his head, slowly, and mainly at himself for some reason. "Sorry about that, kid. I shouldn't have let you do that."
The Child whined in concern. His father had been apologizing a lot lately, and he wondered why.
They went down into the hull, and he was placed on top of a cargo box. His father went to a familiar storage container, dug around in it, and brought out two soup canisters. After he found two metal bowls, he poured the broth into them and sat down on the cargo box.
The Child drank his meal. The cool broth felt good against his throat, still scratchy from the smoke. He tipped the bowl away from his mouth, letting out a refreshed exhale. His father had yet to take a drink, and he looked up at him with anticipation.
Deep in thought, looking around the wrecked hull, his father fidgeted with his bowl. "There's no way we're making it to Corvus in this shape." He pushed beneath his chin.
Intently watching, the Child listened to the click and hiss that would release the helmet. As always, his father only pushed it up a fraction of the way, just allowing for him to eat or drink. He put the bowl down, exhaled slightly, and the beskar clicked back into place.
The Child blinked slowly. Disappointedly.
Why did his father never show his face? Why did some Mandalorians do this? Bo-Katan and her friends didn't. They would reveal their faces as if it were second nature. But his father? He clearly thought of removing it as something heinous, and it seemed to trigger anxiety for him.
It was possible he was hiding himself, though that didn't seem right. His father was far too brave for that. He didn't seem scared of anything. At the very least, it seemed like he was definitely protecting himself at all times, which made sense given how dangerous the universe was.
Danger had a habit of following the both of them everywhere.
His father continued fidgeting with the bowl. "You know, I think we need to visit some friends for repairs." He looked down at the Child. "So how would you like to go back to Nevarro?"
The Child hummed a little, unsure of what Nevarro could do for them, but happy to visit someplace familiar. He tipped the bowl back towards his face for another drink. At the exact same time, beside him, he heard another click and hiss, followed by a gulp.
If he chose to never remove his helmet, the Child would respect that, but it would also sadden him. Just as he wished he could tell his father his name, he also wished he could see his face.
Forgoing the satchel for some reason, his father picked him up and carried him out the main entrance. Once again, it was with difficulty, as the ramp wouldn't open the whole way. Greef and Cara were waiting at the star port.
Greef spoke up. "Looks like someone could use some repairs."
They all greeted each other, talking, grinning, and jesting for the next few minutes. Greef beckoned for some nearby mechanics to work on the Razor Crest. The Child made a grateful sort of noise, hoping that they could fix it.
Greef heard that, and looked at him with a warm smile. "And you. Come here, little one." He chuckled as he picked him up. "Has Mando been taking good care of you, huh?" Greef looked over the Child's head with a stern look. "Have you been taking good care of him?"
Wanting to continue being fussed over, the Child chattered to get his attention, causing Greef to smile and chuckle again.
He was held in Greef's arms as they walked the streets of the town. Everything had changed here, for the better. A vibrant marketplace on either side of the main street, colorful sun shades above their heads, and peaceful conversations. The seedy and shady atmosphere was gone, thanks to Greef and Cara, who were now titled Magistrate and Marshal.
Even the cantina had been saved, and improved. The Child was awkwardly facing Greef's shoulder, but he could see most of it if he turned his head a certain way.
Inside the cantina, bright sunlight easily filtered in, illuminating little dioramas of planets sitting on what used to be the bar counter. At the far end of the room was a droid, standing in front of a clear board with markings etched on it. Sitting behind little tables, taking up the majority of the room, were children. Like the ones from Sorgan.
The Child's ears perked up enthusiastically.
"A school," he heard his father muse.
"Things have changed a lot around here," Cara said.
Greef pointed at something. "We're gonna leave the little one here so we can talk business."
"Wait," his father sounded anxious. "Wherever I go, he goes."
"Mando, please," Greef said seriously. "Where we're going, you don't wanna take a child. Trust me."
"He'll be fine here," Cara reassured, equally serious. "You have my word."
On that note, Greef carried the Child to one of the tables, and placed him in the seat in front of it, and walked away. The Child did notice how this seat seemed to fit perfectly for small ones like him, but he wasn't really focused on that. He cooed a little and looked around the room at the other children.
They also seemed to take an interest in him. They whispered and muttered and giggled to each other, almost secretively. It was normal for other children to often be fascinated by him, which he was used to, but he never really understood why. They caused so much commotion that the droid had to stop her teachings to hush everyone. They did as she asked and settled down.
The Child's ears twitched a little at the sudden quiet, and he looked around in speculation.
He heard a crunching noise.
A silver cylinder flashed in the sunlight, catching his attention. It was sitting on another desk nearby, right beside him. Around it were a bunch of blue crumbs. A boy sat at this desk, and he was eating what looked to be some sort of blue biscuit.
Whatever it was it looked sugary, and absolutely delicious. He cooed questioningly, just to get the other boy's attention.
The boy looked out the corner of his eye.
The Child purposefully glanced down at the packet of biscuits.
At first, the boy didn't exactly respond to him. He muttered a little louder, but still nothing. So he held his hand out, waiting patiently.
The boy turned towards him. "No," he whispered bluntly.
The Child lowered his hand and whined.
Of course, this didn't quite deter him. Even though breakfast had already come and gone today, he was yet again hungry. Clearly, asking politely had done nothing, and it was doubtful that the boy was going to eat all of those biscuits in one sitting. On the Razor Crest, the Child and his father always ate any food they opened, lest it went stale or bad. The Child, well, simply wanted to prevent that.
He raised his hand, and squinted his eyes in concentration. He didn't want the boy to know he was taking them, afraid he would be stopped, so he made sure to do this as quietly as possible.
The biscuits rasped across the desk. Until they flew through the air, into the Child's hand. He set the packet on his desk, took out a biscuit, and tried it. His suspicions were confirmed; these tasted amazing. Much better than the sweet ration biscuits, though those certainly weren't bad. Perhaps he could somehow convince his father to find more of these for their travels.
From beside him at the other desk, the boy looked at him with astonishment, and maybe even a glare.
Noticing this, the Child looked at him, unfazed and munching away. Then, he faced the direction of the droid, wondering what she was teaching. It seemed to be something geographical, and of points of interest around the planet of Nevarro, as well as the Outer Rim in general. It was interesting, he supposed, but he was already well-versed in a lot of it, having travelled so often in the last year. So, he quickly found himself to be quite bored.
While he ate, he looked around at the other children again. They were all sitting in chairs like the one he was in. Instead of running around and talking to each other, they sat attentively and quietly, all of their attention on the droid.
The Child found this to be…quite unnatural. When were they going to get up and play? It had been ages since he'd had fun with others like him.
It was about half an hour later when the boy suddenly tried to steal the biscuits back. His hand shot out.
With a startled grunt, the Child flinched, his claws clenching shut. Suddenly, the packet of biscuits flew off the desk and landed on a high shelf. The boy didn't see where they'd landed, but the Child had. He hadn't meant for that to happen, but at least his food was safe. He would get them down from there later.
"Alright then, class," the droid said. "Let us take a short break. You may now talk amongst yourselves."
The boy raised his hand, and then pointed to the Child. "He stole my snacks."
The droid stared blankly at him. "Our guest has never left his seat. How would he have taken them?"
"I…don't know," he said. "I didn't exactly see how he did it."
"And where are they now?"
The other children snickered a little, and the boy hissed at them to shut up.
"Perhaps you've simply misplaced them," the droid said. "Now, settle down, class. This is the second time today I've asked you to do so." She looked at the Child. "Please excuse your classmate, little one." She turned around to rearrange some things on the board.
While she did this, the students got up out of their desks, or turned to face each other. At the droid's permission, everyone abruptly became livelier, chatting freely with each other. The Child's spirits brightened. His ears swiveled, trying to hear some of their conversations, and hoping one of the other children might include him.
Over the chatter and laughter, he heard near-silent boot steps approaching the entrance of the room.
He stood up on his seat and looked towards the door. His father entered the room, causing the children to quiet their conversations to suspicious whispers.
If his father noticed this, he took no heed to it. He simply walked the perimeter of the room, his strides purposeful. He stopped to address the droid. "I need to interrupt for a moment," he said.
"Of course you may," she nodded once. "We're taking a break right now."
His father then crouched down in front of the Child. "Something's come up," he explained to him. "Cara and Greef need me." He glanced at the other children, and his voice dropped to a tense whisper. "It's an Imperial problem. And I don't want you in the crossfire. Stay here, and stay out of trouble. Okay?"
The Child tilted his head and muttered.
His father stood up, and went over to the droid, strides yet again purposeful, but less quiet. The Child noticed that his back was straighter, rising to his full imposing height. The other children saw this, too. It was a subtle and intimidating change that caused the entire room to go silent. The Child simply cooed, not the least bit afraid, and more concerned than anything.
His father explained to the droid what was happening. "I'm joining the Marshal and Magistrate on a mission." He gestured towards the Child. "I trust that he'll be safe in your care." There was no question in his voice. He said it as fact, as something that needed to be adhered to.
"Oh, yes, of course," the droid reassured instantly. "Our school has multiple security measures."
"Good," his father replied curtly. "I'll pick him up later." He spun around. When he walked past the Child, his voice dropped to a softer cadence. "I'll be back soon. A few hours tops."
The Child gripped the back of his seat, watching his father leave, until the door closed. His ears drooped. He understood the word 'Imperial', unfortunately. The Empire had caused them problems in the past. What could they possibly want with them now? Why couldn't they leave them alone?
The droid spoke up, letting everyone know it was time to rejoin the lesson. "You, too, little one," she said to the Child. "Please turn around, and we can begin our next lesson. The Theories of Hyperspace. Let's start with the theories on purrgil."
Some lessons were fascinating enough, but he was all too happy when lunchtime rolled around. All the children had their own lunches, except for the Child. This wasn't a problem, as Greef always made sure that spare lunches could be provided to anyone who needed it. The food was the same as what was always supplied on the Razor Crest, in addition to fresh fruits and vegetables.
Pushing the latter aside, he ate the majority of his meal, in solitude. The other children kept their distance for whatever reason. He was confused, because they certainly seemed fascinated by him, looking his way and laughing amongst themselves.
The last half of lunchtime was filled with play. Just outside the school, by the large window, the other children ran around, laughing loudly and playing games. The Child cooed enthusiastically. This was more like it. This made sense. This felt just like Sorgan. As fast as his legs could carry him, he pattered after them.
One of the children put their hand down in order to stop him.
"Sorry. You can't play. You're too small."
Another said, "I don't even think he talks."
And they ran ahead to join the others, leaving the Child confused once more. Why did they stop him like that? He shook his head a little, and persisted forward, until he was standing directly in the middle of a game of tag. Here in town, the ground was made of stony ash. Some soot got kicked up in his face. He blinked rapidly against the stinging it brought, but that wouldn't deter him. He couldn't exactly run like they could, but he was happy to be at the center of it, even if simply to watch. It made him feel included.
"Hey, what the hell," one of the children suddenly snapped.
The droid was overlooking everyone, almost sentinel-like. "Language," she scolded sharply.
"But he coulda tripped me!"
"I do not want to have another discussion with your parents, young lady."
The girl huffed, told her friends to follow her, and they went to the other end of the square to resume their game.
Leaving the Child alone again.
He muttered under his breath. He hadn't meant for that to almost happen. But he had no way of really conveying an apology to her. Or keeping up with them, for that matter. Well, there wasn't much he could do. So perhaps he could join another group, to see if they would include him.
One of the kids approached him with his group of friends. "So what are you anyway? Never seen a thing like you."
"And was that a Mandalorian," another one asked.
"Mandalorians aren't real!"
"They're definitely real! My mom's a smith. She showed me holo-images of beskar armor."
"Beskar ain't real either."
"Aren't Mandalorians evil?"
"Maybe we'll learn about Mandalore in class!"
"What's a Mandalorian want with you anyway," one of them pointed to the Child, almost poking his ear, causing his shoulders to hunch apprehensively.
"Maybe you're his pet or something."
Some of the children laughed at that. And the Child was thankful that all of this was short-lived. They got distracted easily, as they started an odd sort of game where they mimicked each other. A game that…he wasn't invited to join.
…None of them wanted to include him.
This wasn't like being in the village on Sorgan. These children weren't like them at all.
Unfortunately, the Child had understood most of what they had said. He looked down at his hands, at the claws on the ends of his fingers. He then looked upwards and twitched an ear, which were much larger than everyone else's.
…He wasn't like them. At all.
The Child exhaled silently.
He slowly turned around, and went back to the school. He pointed to the panel that controlled the door, asking for the droid to let him back inside the classroom.
"Are you sure, little one," she asked. "We still have plenty of time before class resumes."
His pointing didn't falter, not until the door opened. He slowly walked inside, listening to it close behind him. The sunlight that filtered in reflected off the dust in the air. It was eerily quiet without anyone else inside.
He climbed up onto his chair and sat in front of his desk. Then, he stared up at the shelf. He raised his hand while his eyes squinted. He heard the packet of biscuits shuffle and crinkle loudly. Instead of catching them in his hand, he allowed the packet to crash down on top of the desk.
Inside it, some of the biscuits crumbled from the impact. He took a piece out and ate it, chewing slowly, and barely tasting it. His ears had drooped many minutes ago, almost covering his shoulders completely.
For the first time in a long time, he felt very lonely.
The early evening sun reflected off of the ashy clouds in the air.
With adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Din flew at breakneck speed into the town. When the school was in sight, he turned off his jetpack and dropped directly in front of the door. A lot of the citizens gasped and yelped at the sudden landing, but he paid them no mind. He jabbed the button panel to open the door and enter the classroom.
"Oh my," the protocol droid said as she and the students snapped their attention to him.
Din hurriedly glanced around, searching, and his heart still hammering at the information he'd learned today.
The Child was right where he left him at his desk. He was standing up, gripping the back of the chair, and facing the door. The moment he saw Din, his ears went straight up, a smile lit up his face, and an exuberant coo echoed through the room.
For a moment, Din's heart not only calmed, but it also warmed. But only for a moment, because he had to brutally remind himself of the current situation. He looked at the droid. "I've come to pick him up."
"Yes, of course," she said. "I have a report on how his first day went, if you'd like to see it."
"No time," Din said, all but jogging towards the Child's desk. Long before he even got there, the Child was reaching out towards him, all but demanding to be picked up. Another loud coo resounded as Din immediately did so. "Our friends are in a tough spot, and we need to go. Thanks for watching him."
As soon as he and the Child were out the door, he activated the jetpack and kicked off the ground, heading straight for the star port.
He held the Child securely in one arm. Over the howling wind, he could hear his laughter. Normally, he didn't fly this fast when holding him, but desperate times. Now that the Child was in his sights again, he needed to make sure their friends were okay. It helped that the kid had an affinity for chaos, and that he wasn't bothered by literally flying through the air.
A few moments later, the Child's laughter died. He suddenly gripped Din's shoulder, tightly, burying his face against his pauldron. Din could just barely hear his babble of contentment. It almost sounded like relief. It was such an arresting noise, and Din brought up his other arm to grip him tightly against his chest.
Din wondered what brought this on. He doubted that anything bad had happened at the school. But he couldn't exactly stop to speculate. He landed on the ground of the star port. One of the mechanics had disappeared, leaving the other to buff out the remainder of the damage. Din also couldn't stop to thank them for the incredible job. Although his ship would never be mint condition like in its heyday, no matter how much work it would ever need, it still looked worlds better than just a few hours ago. Din tossed the mechanic a tip and ran up the ramp.
He climbed up into the cockpit and strapped the Child into the passenger seat, knowing that an aerial fight could ensue. He sat down in front of the console. "Alright," he grunted, swiftly starting the takeoff sequence. "Let's see if these mechanics know their stuff."
It didn't start out smooth, the landing skids creaking against their joints. A few preliminary alarms sounded, and Din reset them, hoping they wouldn't blare again. Then, the engines roared, and it was as if his ship had finally woken up.
The Razor Crest lifted off the ground, just as it always did. Intimidating, formidable, and downright tenacious. Without a hitch.
"Yes," Din hissed triumphantly. "Alright," he muttered, gripping the controls, and steering his ship forward, as fast as it could go. "I think Greef and Cara are still in trouble. The Imperial base is not too…far from…" He trailed off, a crunching sound meeting his ears.
When he turned towards the Child, he noticed he'd found something to snack on. Din stared at the silver package filled with blue biscuits. "…Where did you get those," he asked.
The Child paused eating for a second, and then he offered a partially chewed biscuit to Din.
He huffed in amusement. "Uh, no, I'm good. But thanks."
The Child made a casual jolting motion, similar to a shrug, and continued eating.
Alarms shrieked on the console. These instantly grabbed Din's attention, as it wasn't a mechanical failure. These alarms signaled nearby enemies. Din sped forward, towards the edge of the lava flats. TIE fighters were firing at a Maurauder, and Din presumed his friends were inside it being pursued.
Din flexed his fingers on the controls. "Let's see what our ammo situation looks like." He flicked the necessary switches, aimed, and fired.
With ever-deadly accuracy, one of the TIE fighters was destroyed, leaving the remaining two to abandon their pursuit against the Marauder. These were Imperials, getting away, and Din couldn't allow that.
He looked back at the Child. "Hang on, kid."
With his hands full of food, he raised his arms enthusiastically. As Din chased the Imperials through the sky, he could hear the Child giggling and laughing between eating.
The next TIE fighter was easy, flying in a straight line and making himself an easy target. The third and final one was giving him a run for his money. It faced off against the Razor Crest. Din steered into a nosedive and a barrel-roll, careening straight towards it while avoiding incoming blasts. Din pulled the trigger.
A few blasts later, the TIE fighter blew up. And the Imperials were no longer a problem on this planet.
Din exhaled, letting the adrenaline gradually dissipate. From beneath his helmet, he was almost grinning. He heard what sounded like a small coo, and turned towards the Child. "Not too bad, huh, kid?"
The Child was hunched over in his seat, ears out sideways and eyes squinting uncomfortably. Biscuit still in hand, one of his arms was curled against his stomach.
Promptly, he got sick, a line of blue vomit dripping down his face and tunic. He looked up at Din with watery eyes.
"Oh boy," Din muttered sympathetically, as the Child whimpered.
He was about to throw the Razor Crest on autopilot in order to grab some rags from the hull, until an incoming transmission beeped rapidly. Moving quickly, knowing the poor kid shouldn't be covered in that stuff for any longer than he had to, he pressed a button to answer the transmission. Forgoing the rags, he grasped a section of his cape.
"That was some pretty impressive flying, Mando," Greef was saying. "What do I owe you?"
Kind of distracted, with one hand on the controls and another using his cape to clean the Child's face, not to mention looking out the windshield to make sure he was steering safely, he was barely able to answer. "With the repairs," he managed. "Let's call it even."
When the Child's face was cleaned, he moved onto the tunic, which only resulted in smearing it everywhere. Dank farrik. He dropped his cape and cringed to himself, knowing this situation needed more of his attention.
There was a chuckle. "Can I at least buy you a drink?"
"Sorry. I have some…onboard maintenance I gotta take care of," he said. The Child whined, looking down at his tunic. Din continued, "Then we gotta hit the road before Gideon catches wise."
"Well, good luck flying, my friend."
"Thanks," Din said. "Take care of each other."
Cara's voice was heard. "Take care of that kid," she said. "And don't be a stranger."
Realizing that getting off the planet and piloting through hyperspace might be the best option, he started gliding out of the atmosphere. "I don't know when we'll be back next."
"Oh, please," Greef said. "If we don't hear from you, I'll just send my best bounty hunters again to find you."
Din glared blandly at the windshield, as if his friend was actually in front of him. "Not funny."
Greef only laughed jovially, and disconnected.
As soon as they were away from Nevarro, Din activated autopilot the moment they were in hyperspace. It would cost a decent amount of fuel, but he yet again found himself needing to put distance between them and Nevarro. This time, Greef and his hunters were certainly not the problem.
However, he was trying not to think about that, if only for a moment, burying himself in his tasks. Distraction was short-lived.
Down in the hull, Din sat in front of a bucket, of which was partially filled with water and was starting to turn a sickly blue color. Bunched in his hands was the soiled tunic. He was scrubbing it against the sides, and he brought it out of the water every few seconds to wring it out. He did this with the utmost care, knowing that it was the only piece of clothing the Child had. Din had often tried to find more for him, but it was difficult to find clothes for an infant post-war. Not to mention finding ones that fit him, what with how unique he was.
When there was no trace of a stain, he hung it up to dry, next to the satchel.
For a long moment, Din stared at both objects.
Of its own accord, the things he learned today started rising to the surface of his mind. On the Imperial base, they had come across a holo-journal entry. It had been made within the last three days, by the same scientist who had helped the client almost a year ago.
"…catastrophic failure…body rejected the blood. I highly doubt we'll find a donor with a higher M-count…suspend all experimentation…"
Din's eyes narrowed, unsure what an M-count was. He shook his head rapidly. He sat down in front of the bucket again, and started scrubbing out his cape. He was making quick work of it, too, given that it was a thinner material.
"…the same regrettable fate…transfusion…"
Transfusion for what? What the hell was the purpose of it all if everything was going wrong for them?
"…Unfortunately, we have exhausted our initial supply of blood. The Child…is small and I was only able to harvest a limited amount without killing him."
Even now, recalling this entry, Din's own blood still felt cold as ice. And his lungs felt like seizing. He had a single shred of restraint left, and it was the only thing preventing him from kicking the bucket clear across the ship in sheer rage. He stood up, almost too quickly, struggling to rein it in.
He wrung out the cape, hung it beside the tunic, and picked up the bucket. He walked past the sleeping quarters with it.
Above the bunk, the Child was lying in his hammock, swaddled in his blanket in case he got cold. His eyes were brighter than an hour ago, and he seemed to be feeling better. But his ears were still limp, and he still whimpered uncomfortably.
Din walked past him, and dumped the dirty water down the privy. After making sure the bucket was thoroughly cleaned out, he put it away.
There was a coo, getting his attention. The Child freed one of his arms and pointed to the storage container that held their food supply.
Din huffed amusedly and walked towards him. "No more biscuits for a while," he said, and he tucked his arm back beneath the covers. The Child murmured and his eyelids drooped. But he tried to stay awake, his lack of feeling well warring with his stubbornness.
Though it wasn't completely necessary, Din took his time making sure that the blanket was snug and comfortable around him.
"If these…experiments are to continue as requested, we would again require access to the donor. I will not disappoint you again, Moff Gideon."
He was still alive. The Moff was still alive.
How he had survived their battle, Din didn't have a damned clue. And by the sounds of it, the Empire still wanted to pursue the Child. For whatever insane reason that he couldn't fathom, it sounded like they needed his…blood? What the hell for?!
Realizing he'd been adjusting the blanket for far too long, he stopped. And he rested his hand over the Child's miniscule shoulder. If asked, he probably would've said he was checking for a temperature. But really…
It was to reassure himself that his foundling – his clan – was safe.
Din's voice was a whisper, a desperate sound that was almost directed at the universe itself. "What the hell do they want with you, kid? Why can't they just leave you alone?"
The Child could barely stay awake any longer. He curled himself into a ball, subsequently ducking his face beneath Din's palm. His soft snores filled the hull. Though he also needed to get some sleep, Din didn't move from that spot for a long time.