#tailswritesmando

[tails89]

Small talk

I’m going to write fluff until we get the next season of The Mandalorian... it’s the only way I’m going to cope.

“What about this one?” There is a projected image of a planet in front of them, with a number of large cities identified with blinking lights.

The kid points, reaching out to touch the glowing image.

“Hmm, too many people,” Din says, pressing a button to rotate the map. “We need to lay low a little longer, just until we hear back from Greef about those trackers.”

“Ba.”

Looking down at the kid in his lap, Din raises an eyebrow beneath his helmet. “Huh.”

It’s the closest the kid has come to an actual word in the months they have been travelling together. Most of his vocalisations are coos or laughter or shrieks and Din had wondered more than once just how much the kid understood when he spoke.

The comms burst to life has they near the planet and Din returns his attention to the task of piloting the ship. He can figure out what ‘ba’ means later.

Ba as it turns out, is everything.

“Ba.” The loth cat bounds away before the kid can pull its tail.

“Ba.” The kid bangs his spoon against the counter while Din waits for his dinner to cool.

“Ba.” The insistent tugging on his pant leg draws Din’s attention down.

It’s not any easier to understand than his previous cooing, but it’s a start.

***

“They want our help dealing with a couple of raiders.” Din says, taking a seat beside the fire. “They can’t pay a lot, but we’re heading out that way anyway. What do you think kid?”

“No.” Din snatches the frog out of Grogu’s hands before the kid can put it in his mouth. “No, we don’t eat frogs.”

The kid looks down at his empty hands and then up at Din. “No.”

“That’s right, kiddo. Here,” Din hands over the cup of soup he’d mixed together from a ration bar and some water. “Eat.”

Looking at the soup and then up at Din, Grogu sits very suddenly in the dirt, his small hands balled into fists.

“No.”

“It’s good.” Pushing the cup closer to Grogu, Din makes a show of lifting the edge of his helmet and taking a long sip of his own soup. “See. Yum.”

“No.” The kid turns his head away, his long ears going flat—a sure sign of an impending tantrum if Din doesn’t get this under control soon.

With a long sigh, Din lets his head tip back against the tree he’s sitting against, his helmet thunking softly against the bark. He’s never felt more out of his depth than when he’s trying to get Grogu to eat something he just doesn’t want to eat. He is a bounty hunter; he has fought dangerous creatures but so far nothing has compared to a grumpy child.

Another frog jumps into their little campsite—the whole swampy planet is teaming with them—and Grogu perks up.

“Fine, eat your frogs,” Din says, making a shooing motion with his hand. “Just don’t come crying to me if they make you sick.”

***

“Dada.” The kid clambers up onto the Mandalorian’s knee, reaching for the container in his hands. Din fumbles, snatching it up before it drops, but spilling half the contents all over the floor.

“What did you say?”

“Dada.” The kid tugs on his sleeves, smiling his happy gummy smile. “Dadadada.”

“Who taught you that?” They’d stopped on Nevarro a few days ago, to deliver the latest bounties Din had captured. The kid was learning new words at an exponential rate and Din wouldn’t put it past Cara to teach Grogu that specific one.

It’s not the one Din would have taught him, not that he has any plans to teaching Grogu the other word anyway. His attachment to the kid is already… problematic, especially when he knows eventually, he’ll have to give the kid up. There’s no other choice, he needs to be with his people.

Din reaches for an old rag, dropping it on the floor and using his foot to sweep it through the puddle, holding the container out of reach from the kid who is staring at it with hungry eyes.

“This isn’t for eating,” he warns, scooping the kid up and standing so he can finish putting everything away one-handed before taking the kid to the galley. “Here.”

He hands the kid a stick of dried meat and puts him down on the counter. For a while there is silence but for the soft hum of the engines and the kid’s happy munching noises.

They’ve been travelling together for almost a year with no sign of any Jedi’s. No sign that there is anyone else out there to take the kid, to train him, raise him… love him. Din’s not going to stop searching, but perhaps, for the meantime, the word is okay.

“You know,” he says, slowly, testing out each word as it passes his lips. “You can call me buir, if- if you want. It, uh- mean’s the same thing.”

Grogu watches him, still gnawing on the treat, but his eyes are bright with curiosity.

“Can you say-”

“Buir!”

The word is mangled around the half-eaten stick, but it’s unmistakable.

“Yeah.” Din let’s out a breath. “Good job kiddo.”

[tails89]

He can’t sleep.

Every time he closes his eyes he’s back on the bridge, Moff Gideon at his feet and the masked Jedi standing before him, arms outreached and beckoning for the child.

Every time he hands the kid over— just tells him it’s okay and lets him go. The kid’s large dark eyes don’t leave his face until they disappear into the turbolift.

Blinking up at the hull above his head, Din can’t shake the look of utter abandonment or the distressed droop of the kids ears as he was carried away.

The ship is quiet but for the hum of the engines.

Bo-katan and Koska had split off once the fighting had ended, offering Cara a lift to hand Moff Gideon over to the New Republic.

Din had waited with Fennec for Boba Fett to return. He’s not sure where they’re heading now, not sure what the next day would bring. Din was without his ship, without his covert. He has almost nothing left.

He replays the meeting with the Jedi. It had been short—the hooded figure a man of little words. One thing had stuck with Din though— “He will not be safe until he masters his abilities.”

Time and time again that has proven to be true.

Din tried to protect the child, but he failed and Grogu was taken from him.

There’s a soft cry as the warm weight in his arms buries itself deeper into his hold.

“Shhh.” Din rubs circles on the kids back until he settles down and the sniffling dies back down into the steady, even breaths of sleep.

The dreams that haunt him will not come to pass. Din won’t let Grogu be taken again, by the Imps or by the Jedi. He will find a way to stay in the kid’s life and still make sure he gets his training.

This is the way.

[tails89]

Aliit ori'shya tal'din

Family is more than blood

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Word count: 3700

No pairings

Summary: Din didn’t usually spare much through for annual holidays, Life Day included. There wasn’t much point when one spent most of their time travelling through the vast void of space where days were a monotonous streak of pitch black and starlight.

This year, there is a reason to celebrate.

Read it on AO3

***

It’s the insistent warning from the fuel gauge that forces Din to find somewhere to land. They’ve been traveling for a week, jumping from one quadrant to the next, never coming out of hyperspeed long enough to do much more than input the next set of coordinates and jump again.

Taking out Moff Gideon was supposed to solve their problems but they were yet to reap the rewards. Din can only hope that as word of the Moff’s demise continues to circulate, the hunters who still hold trackers will come to realise there is no longer any payout at the end. Until then, Din and the kid will need to keep moving—until they can be safe.

There’s also the matter of the Jedi.

He’d almost let the Jedi take Grogu after defeating Moff Gideon. The kid needs training. That much is certain, but Din isn’t ready to hand the little womp rat over to someone who may not have the kid’s best interests at heart. The Jedi, Luke, had given Din the coordinates to his school and an invitation to see it for himself. Din plans to take him up on that offer, but not yet.

The alarm whines again, the shrill sound set’s Din’s teeth on edge as he silences it. He misses that about Razor Crest. It had been old, but reliable and he’d known exactly how far he could stretch a full tank of fuel. There are too many things about this new ship that just don’t feel right. The galley is set up in a similar configuration as the old one, but the shelves are just a half step across, and Din has not yet learned to duck.

There’s a noise behind him in the cockpit—the soft patter of tiny feet and a high-pitched coo before a tug on his cloak draws Din’s attention down.

Grogu stares up at him with his large, expressive eyes.

“You want to help me find a place to refuel?”

He lifts the kid up to sit on his lap and drops them out of hyperspace. The kid watches with wide eyes as the long streaks of starlight condense into pinpricks of light.

“Alright.” Flicking up the map, Din presses a button on the console and their location blinks back at them. “This is us.”

The kid reaches for the hologram, one three-fingered hand stretching towards the flashing lights. The other clutches his newest toy—Din hasn’t worked it where it came from, but it’s definitely part of the ship.

Search the nearby planets, Din finds one that meets their requirements.

“Mirador,” he says out loud for the kid’s benefit. “It’s only a few hours away. Quiet, no known Imperial bases. What do you think?”

Grogu coos in agreement, at least, Din decides to take it is agreement. The kid understands more that it seems and is generally pretty good at getting his point across despite the language barrier. He plugs in the coordinates and stands, scooping the child out of his lap. If all goes smoothly and with out fuss, there’s enough time to feed his kid and catch up on a few hours sleep before Din needs to pilot the ship down the to the planet’s surface.

***

“Let’s see what we’ve got in here.”

Din set’s Grogu down on the bench and moves through the narrow space of the galley. They’re completely out of fresh food and Din makes a mental note to restock while they’re down on the planet, before looking at their dry rations. Before finding the child, Din had never been too fussed about eating. It was a necessity for survival, but he’d never taken any particular pleasure from the act. With another mouth to feed—a surprisingly picky mouth considering the things Din had seen swallowed whole—he’d had to expand his options.

Pulling one of the ration bars from the cupboard, Din tears open the packaging and starts breaking it down into smaller chunks, dividing the bar between two cups. Without anything to add to it, the soup will be rather bland, but it has all the nutrients and will be filling.

Carefully adding hot water, Din stirs until the chunks have dissolved, then adds cold water to the smaller cup to bring the temperature down.

“Sorry kiddo,” he says, pushing the cup towards Grogu. “It’s just for one meal. I’ll resupply when we land.”

The kid clutches at the cup, but makes no move to drink, his ears drooping in disappointment at the brown liquid.

“Come on,” Din reasons. “It’s not that bad.” He picks up his soup, lifting his helmet just high enough the raise the cup to his lips. “See?” He says, moving around the end of the bench. “Your turn.”

He passes the end of the shelving, just narrowly remembering to duck his head this time.

The kid giggles and finally drinks.

***

The new ship doesn’t have a sleeping compartment. The Razor Crest hadn’t had one either when Din had first come into possession of it— he’d repurposed a storage cupboard, fitting it out with a mattress and eventually turning it into something almost comfortable.

The new ship has an alcove. It’s not much more than a deep corner where two walls meet, but it’s out of the way, directly under the cockpit and half shielded by the ladder. It can’t be closed off the way the old compartment could, but until Din starts collecting bounties again, it’ll do.

Sitting on the warn mattress, Din starts pulling off his boots. He doesn’t remove all of his armour, just enough to sleep comfortably—the pauldrons, belt, and chest plate— and programs his vambrace to wake him just before they leave hyperspace.

The kid watches him throughout this little ritual, tucked away in his own little nest-bed, his large dark eyes blinking drowsily.

Finally ready to sleep, Din hesitates, his fingers flexing beside his head. After defeating Gideon and rescuing the child, Din had shown Grogu his face. After coming so close the losing the kid, he’d wanted to look at him with his own two eyes, to reassure himself that this was real.

He’d taken to sleeping without his helmet once they’d gone off on their own. Each time he removes it, it gets a little easier, but he’s still learning to reconcile his childhood lessons of the creed and the Re’solnare, and what he’s seen and learned in the last few weeks.

The helmet comes of with a soft hiss and Din sets in on the floor beside his boots. He lies back and closes his eyes, silently counting down in his head. Like clockwork, just as he reaches zero there is a shuffling as Grogu abandons his bed for Din’s.

He shouldn’t encourage it, but the separation had been hard on them both, so instead of sending him back to bed, Din lifts his arm so his kid can burrow in closer.

***

The vibration of his vambrace wakes Din a few hours later.

Careful not to wake the child, he sits up, tugging on his boots and reattaching his armour.

With his helmet tucked under one arm, he climbs the ladder to the cockpit, taking his seat in the pilot’s chair just as the bright streaks of starlight wink out as they leave hyperspace.

Up in the distance, the planet Mirador looms.

The beeping of fuel gauge is insistent now, Din shuts it off with the flick of a switch—he doesn’t need the reminder. The planet is in range and there’s just enough fuel to land—though it will be close.

He disengages the autopilot and locks in on the refueling station he’d scanned earlier. As he approaches the planet, his comms burst to life and he is assigned a bay to land in.

Grogu is awake when Din steps off the ladder. No doubt the loud clanking of the fuel line being attached woke him. He stares up from Din’s bed and voices his disapproval.

“Time to get up, we need to get moving.” Din scoops him up, ignoring the way the child goes limp in an effort to avoid being picked up. Grogu is a fairly easy-going child, despite everything that has happened to him, but he is a child and like some of the younger children back at the covert, prone to the occasional tantrum. Din can only hope this sour mood isn’t building to that.

“You know you can’t stay here,” Din says, carrying Grogu over to the weapons locker to grab his blaster. The kid whines, cranky and still half-asleep. “I know kiddo, but it’s not going to happen.”

He punches in the code to open the locker, ignoring the weapon that hangs beside the blaster—that was another problem Din wasn’t ready to deal with—and holsters the gun before resecuring the locker.

The next challenge is deciding how to carry Grogu.

Mirador’s distance from the nearby sun means that it is covered in snow and ice for the majority of its solar year. The days are short and frigid and Din’s usual method of carrying Grogu in his arms or in a satchel are not going to cut it in this weather.

He fashions a sling by cutting strips from a spare blanket and tying it around his waist. He has to take his cloak off to secure the sling, but once he’s done, he can pull the heavy material of his cloak around them both to stay warm.

When he’s ready, he hits the release for the ramp.

The kid burrows down further into the sling at the first blast of icy air that blows through the hold. Din wraps the cloak tighter around them and steps out into the snow. The heater in his suit helps to keep the frigid air at bay as they make their way towards the market town.

The child settles down after a few minutes, the slow rise and fall of his back against the cloak suggesting he’s asleep.

Good, Din thinks. He can’t imagine anything worse than shopping in the cold with a fussy child and in all honesty, the kid could use the extra sleep. They both could. Between the frequent resetting of their course and the constant vigilance since leaving Moff Gideon’s light cruiser, decent sleep has been few and far between.

The town, when they reach it, is brightly lit against the gloomy weather. The stalls are all outside, but they are each set up with large glowing heaters to keep people, and the wares, from freezing.

Din starts at one of the larger shopfronts, purchasing what he needs to restock the ship. They’re low on most things, the ship having been little more than a shell when it came into his possession, but in a town this small he’ll only be able to find the basic necessities. Fruit and vegetables are almost prohibitively expensive on a planet of Mirador’s type, but the meat seems reasonable.

Once he’s handed over an outrageous number of credits, Din gives instructions for delivery and moves on. He wanders from stall to stall with no real intention of purchasing anything else, just enjoying the opportunity to stretch his legs after a week on a cramped spaceship.

At some point, Din’s going to need to resume work. He’s got enough credits coming in from Dune and Karga to keep him and the kid fed, but he can’t live on their generosity forever. His conscience alone won’t let him. He needs to get back to what he knows, what he’s good at and earn money for the covert… once he finds them.

In the meantime, he’s happy enough to meander through the market. Many of the stalls are decorated and Din wonders if the planet has some local holiday approaching. He’s lost all sense of time in the last few weeks. It’s hard to measure the passage of days when speeding through the endless night of space.

As a Mandalorian he draws many stares as he walks, but the lump under his cloak goes unnoticed in the cold. He feels the child squirm against his chest just as his own stomach starts to rumble. He remembers passing a stall some time back selling hot food, so he doubles back to find it.

In the end, he follows his nose to the vendor roasting some sort of meat.

The Teltior woman looks up warily as he approaches, but Din is used to the stares his armour draws and just gestures for two of the skewers. Inside his cloak, Grogu shifts again, his clawed fingers skittering against the beskar.

“Don’t often see your kind on this planet, Mando,” she says conversationally as she turns the roasting meat on the grill. “Not here to cause trouble I hope.”

At the sound of another voice, Grogu coo’s something in response. Din tightens his hold on the edges of the cloak and shakes his head. “No trouble,” he says, raising his voice to cover the kid’s mumbling.

The Teltior’s eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t say anything else as she cooks. The scent of the roasting meat fills the air and kid makes a loud noise.

“Patience,” Din mutters under his breath, pressing one hand against the kid’s back in an effort to soothe him. He glances up, nervous, hoping the keep the child hidden but the noises from within his cloak become more insistent so Din lets the edges drop before his kid does something drastic, like use those Jedi powers of his.

The kid has his hands planted against the Mandalorian’s chest, twisting away to catch a glimpse of what’s going on behind him. With a silent sigh behind his mask, Din loosens the sling so that he can turn Grogu around and then refastens it.

The stallholder’s eyes go wide at the sight of the small green child, her eyes flicking from the kid up to Din’s helmet as she hands over the sticks of roasted meat and accepts the coins.

“Mine were like that,” she says, the suspicion gone from her tone, replaced with fond amusement. Her eyes are trained on the small green hand that’s come up, reaching for his lunch. “Like a nekarr cat the moment food was served. You’d think I never fed them.”

“Yeah, he uh- eats.” Din takes a half step back, ready to end the conversation and get back to the safety of their ship.

“He’s a cutie,” she continues blithely, leaning forward against the counter. “So, will this be your first Life Day with the little one?”

“Life Day?” His head jerks up, suddenly the decorations make sense. “Uh- yes?” He turns his attention down to the kid who is staring at the food, arms outstretched and grasping.  He hands over one of the skewers and the kid immediately chomps down, babbling happily to himself.

“Cherish this moment,” she says. “They don’t stay this size forever. Next thing you know they’re grown and leaving home.”

***

After escaping the marketplace, Din wanders around looking for a secluded place the eat. He finds a sheltered spot behind a snowy outcrop and sits on the gnarled and folded trunk of a stunted tree.

While they eat, his thought’s drift back to the conversation with the stallholder.

Din didn’t usually spare much through for annual holidays, Life Day included. There wasn’t much point when one spent most of their time travelling through the vast void of space where days were a monotonous streak of pitch black and starlight.

He remembers celebrating the holiday as a child. The memories of his parents are faint and fleeting, the good times overshadowed by the grief of losing them.

Much more vivid, and welcome, are the memories with his buir and the clan—his aliit. It was a time for everyone to come together for good food and good cheer. The children would be given gifts and the adults would tell stories.

Din wants that for his kid.

He sits up sharply, eliciting a squeak from Grogu.

No, not his kid, he corrects silently, wondering when he started referring to Grogu as his in his head. He can’t afford to let himself think like that. As right as the word might feel, Din’s main priority needs to be returning Grogu to his kind—the Jedi.

He glances down at the kid, gnawing on the on the skewer. He’s a mess, his face and smock stained with meat juices. Wiping the worst of it from Grogu’s face, Din decides there’s not much else that can be done for it. They’ll just have to wait until they get back to the ship and he can find the kid a change of clothes.

But first—there’s something he needs to do.

Grogu doesn’t complain to much about being rugged back up. The wind had picked up while they sat, and the cloak offers an extra layer of protection from the icy blast.

They detour through the market on their way back to the ship so Din can pick up a few more things.

***

The light is fading by the time they return to the ship. It’s been refuelled so Din hands over the credits then takes the kid inside out of the cold. All of his earlier purchases have been delivered too, sitting just inside the hold.

Din’s anxious to get moving again, uncomfortable with spending so much time in one spot, but he needs to change Grogu into something clean and put everything away first.

He starts with the kid, unwrapping him from the sling and setting him down on the bed. He takes in the mess with a soft sigh beneath the helmet and collects a clean robe from their meagre box of possessions. Between the two of them they don’t own a lot of clothing. Still—the new outfit will be clean and keep the kid warm until Din can get the heating going again.

“Okay,” he says, holding up the robe. “I’ll make this quick.”

He manages to strip the kid one handed, keeping him still with the other, but the kid wriggles, making a game of the task.

“You’re going to get cold,” Din warns him, struggling to pull the new robe over the long green ears. “Just sit still.” He manages to pull the outfit over Grogu’s head and slip his arms through the sleeves. “I don’t know why you make that so hard every time,” he sighs, exasperated but fond. “I know you understand me.” He digs out one of the toys from their blankets and hands it over to keep Grogu entertained while he moves everything from the hold to the galley. It also gives him the opportunity to hide the gift he’d bought.

Once he’s done, he takes Grogu up to the cockpit—the sealed room will heat faster than the rest of the ship once the life support is engaged. He buckles in the kid and starts flicking the switches the power the engines.

Night has well and truly fallen across the snowy planet as the propulsion engines kick in. The ship rises steadily into the air and Din pilots them up out of the atmosphere. As soon as they’re clear of the planet, Din makes the jump to hyperspace hoping to put some distance between themselves and their last location, then sets the ship to autopilot.

***

Din wakes to the not unfamiliar sensation of something poking his face. It’s how he’s woken most mornings when he is not wearing his helmet—the kid was better than any alarm clock.

It comes again- the gentle pinching of his cheek- and he grabs the kid before the little womp rat can do it a third time. The kid giggles at the manhandling, wiggling against the hand holding him at bay. It’s a favoured game, but one that tends to be played too early. Din himself is an early riser, but somehow his kid just seems to have a knack for knowing when he’s in the deepest cycle of sleep and chooses that moment to wake him.

Today though, he doesn’t mind.

Rising from the bed, Din searches his hiding spot for the little cloth wrapped bundle.

“This is for you,” he says, returning to sit, legs crossed in front of the bed and setting down the gift. “Happy Life Day kid.”

It isn’t much— a couple of small toys so the kid will stop stealing ship parts and a new tunic. Grogu takes his time picking up each toy and holding them up to show Din, chattering away in excitement.

Din wonders if he understands the significance of this day, if anyone else has celebrated with him in the last fifty years or if, as far as Grogu’s concerned, today is just another day.

For Din, Life Day has always been day for family.

Is that what they are?

Family. A clan of two.

After everything they have gone through together, everything Din has done for the sake of the child. Everything he would do—are they not family?

Din’s entire worldview has shifted in the scant few months since he’d taken on a bounty and found a child. He’d removed his helmet—an act he swore he would never do in the presence of another living thing. He’d broken his creed for Grogu, yet somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Everything he’d done in his desperation to rescue Grogu had been worth it.

Grogu needs the Jedi, he needs to be trained… but as a child surely he needs more than that? Din wants him to have more than that.

“Grogu, hey.” He pulls the kids attention away from the toys he’s gleefully smashing together. “I-” he licks his lips against the sudden dryness in his mouth. It shouldn’t be this hard. He is a Mandalorian, the beroya for the tribe, master of the darksabre, the weapon of the Mandalor.

As though he can sense Din’s internal struggle, Grogu stands, reaching up for Din.

Taking one little green hand in his, Din steady’s his thoughts with a breath, and speaks the words that will make them family.

“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad.”

[tails89]

Words: 1634

No pairings

The bounty was non-violent, Karga had promised him, handing over the puck for a bail-jumper. Easy money— not a huge payout, but enough to keep the kid fed for a few more weeks.

The bounty was non-violent, Karga had promised him, handing over the puck for a bail-jumper. Easy money— not a huge payout, but enough to keep the kid fed for a few more weeks.  

But Din knows better than to take a job at face value, so he’s ready when the so-called ‘non-violent’ Nikto pulls a blaster on him. He’s less ready for the two additional thugs that jump him from behind, but he’s taken on larger numbers and come out on top before.

His assailants are hot-headed and persistent, though they lack any true fighting skill—the swinging of their fists are wild, uncoordinated and desperate. Din's main concern though, is the child hidden in his carry-bag beneath his cloak.

There was an initial squeal of surprise from Grogu when the first thug had landed on Din from behind, but he’s been silent since, whether out of fear or for… another reason, Din doesn’t have the capacity to stop and check, too caught up in keeping any of his attackers’ blows from landing.

In his efforts to keep the kid as far as possible from the action, he takes an unlucky hit from the blaster. The bolt sears across the bottom edge of his armour, the beskar protecting him from the worst of it, but the shot still packs a punch.

It sends Din sprawling, curling protectively around the kid to shield him from the fall. There’s another squeak from within his cloak as he goes down.

The thugs are on him before he can regain his breath.

Din flings out his left arm, activating the flame thrower, driving back the Niktos and giving himself space to stand—his ribs protesting fiercely. The flames die down and Din uses the confusion to subdue the first Nikto, then the second.

The third scrambles for the blaster that had been dropped in the fray. Din kicks the weapon away, unholstering his own before the Nikto can straighten.

“Don’t move.” The blaster stays trained on the fugitive as he stiffens, hands coming up in surrender.

With his free hand, Din tosses over a pair of cuffs. They land in the dirt at the thugs feet.

“Put them on.” He orders, nodding towards the cuffs. When the Nikto makes no move to collect them, Din shrugs. “They never specified how to bring you in,” he says, priming the blaster.

“Wait.” The Nikto reaches for the cuffs, snapping them on over his own wrists. “I'll come quietly.”

Stepping back, Din gestures for his bounty to move ahead of him and they start the walk back to the ship. His ribs ache with each step, but until he gets the bounty on the ship, and preferably frozen in carbonite, they’ll have to wait.

As they walk, Din chances a glance down at the kid who is now peaking up out of the carry-bag. With his free hand, Din reaches down to stroke one of the kid’s fuzzy green ears and murmurs soft reassurances.

Once on board the ship, the bail-jumper balks at the sight of the carbonite freezer, but a good hard shove sends him tumbling into the receptacle and moments later the Nikto is no longer an issue.

Letting out a long sigh that jars his throbbing ribs, Din heads for the sleeping compartment and deposits Grogu on the bed.

“You okay?” He asks, carefully checking the kid over for any sign of injury after the fight.

Grogu sits through the assessment without fuss. Somehow, he managed to escape without a single bruise or scrape, but he’s quiet and withdrawn. Din swallows down the guilt of putting the kid into this situation. It never should have happened.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he says quietly, stripping off his gloves. The kid wraps one of his clawed hands around Din’s finger, tugging insistently. His other hand reaches for the scorchmarked armour. “I’m okay,” Din is quick to reassure him. “Let’s get out of here, then we’ll take a look, okay?”

He doesn’t want to linger in the one spot in case the Nikto’s friends come looking for them.

Picking Grogu up, Din tucks him, out of habit, into the crook of his left arm. The kid’s not heavy, but the added pressure against his side has Din grimacing beneath the helmet. He quickly switches the kid across to his right arm and carries him towards the cockpit.

By the time he’s climbed up the ladder to the cockpit and buckled the kid into his chair, Din’s whole left side is on fire. The kid squirms in his chair, reaching for Din and managing to snag a handful of fabric near the injury.

“Cut it out,” Din warns, but there’s no heat in it— the kid just wants to help. He gently pries Grogu’s fingers open. “I’m fine, nothing a bacta patch or two won’t fix.”

He moves to the pilot chair and starts flicking switches to warm up the thrusters. The ship hums to life beneath him and a weight lifts from his shoulders as they take off, getting lighter and lighter the further they get from the planet. Finally, Din programs the nav system to take them back to Nevarro.

Engaging the autopilot, he turns to Grogu.

“Okay kid, let’s do this.”

“Ba.”

The trip back down the ladder is harder than the one up. Din’s stiffened up in the thirty minutes it’s taken to pilot the ship and his whole left side protests as he climbs down the ladder one slow rung at a time.  

The ship has a small galley. It’s not much more than a sink, a conservator and a nanowave but the bench is nice and high, and Din can set Grogu down without bending over. With the kid watching over the proceedings, Din starts unbuckling clasps and removing his armour.

There is a streak of carbon scoring across the bottom of his chest plate that follows the trajectory of the blaster strike. It’ll clean off easy enough, so Din sets that piece to the side to wipe down later. Next, he removes his vambraces and pauldrons, handing one of the pauldrons over to the kid to keep him occupied and distract him from his attempts to heal Din.

It works. The kid catches his reflection in the shiny surface and holds the beskar up, laughing at the distorted shapes his face makes across the curved metal.

With the kid’s attention elsewhere, Din turns his to the long, ragged hole singed into the side of his coveralls. The sink underneath is red and inflamed, but overall, the burn doesn’t look too bad. The armour had taken the brunt of the shot, saving Din from having a hole blown in his side.

Stripping out of the top half of his suit is the hardest part as he twists to free his left arm from its sleeve. From the way the movement jars and steals his breath, Din suspects at the very least he has a cracked rib, though whether it’s from the initial shot or from the awkward landing, he couldn’t say.

His left side is a patchwork of mottled bruising. It’s darkest around the bruise and fades out towards his stomach.

“Ba.” Grogu looks up from his makeshift toy, reaching out to press his hand against the bruise.

“None of that,” Din tells him, wincing under his helmet. “It’s not that bad.” He gently moves the kid’s hand and rummages around in one of the cupboards looking for the medikit. There should be a couple of bacta patches left over from the run in he’d had with a couple of Klantoonian’s on Tatooine a few months back.

“Ba!”

“Not happening, kid.” Retrieving the medikit, Din drops it on the counter. “Remember the last time you tried to heal someone?”

The kid tilts his head to the side.

“You slept an entire day.”

Opening the medikit, Din checks the contents. He doesn’t bother with the medisensor, knowing whether or not his ribs are cracked isn’t going to make a difference to the treatment. All he really needs is something to cover the burn and keep it from getting infected while it heals.

The bacta patches are a little expired, but even expired they’re better than nothing, so Din carefully applies two across the length of the burn and closes the medikit.

Throughout the entire process, Grogu watches him carefully, filling the silence with some of the new sounds he’s started using.

“See, all better,” Din says, carefully slipping his arms back into his sleeves and refastening his suit. He doesn’t reattach his armour, it’ll take at least twenty-four hours to return to Nevarro to collect the reward on the bounty and sleeping later is going to be hard enough without the extra weight sitting on his chest.

Grogu waddles up to the edge of the bench, reaching out to be picked up. Din obliges, scooping the kid up in his right arm and walking around to the conservator to find them something to eat.

The kid’s perked up a bit since returning to the ship, smiling and reaching for the food Din sets down on the counter. He munches happily on a strip of dried meat Din hands him to keep him busy while he throws together something that might resemble a proper meal.

Din’s own appetite is gone. He can’t stomach the thought of food while still stewing in the guilt of what might have happened.

He shouldn’t have taken the kid on a hunt, but until Grogu moves past the separation anxiety, what choice does Din have? They need the credits. They need to eat. It’s been almost a month since the moff’s defeat. Grogu needs to learn that Din won’t always be around, but that’s okay because he will always come back for him.

Always.

[tails89]

Fanfiction masterpost

AO3 - Tails89

Teen Wolf Fanfic - #teenwolffanfic (search my blog or click tag below)

Mandalorian Fanfic - #tailswritesmando (search my blog or click tag below)

[tails89]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Mandalorian (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Din Djarin, Grogu | Baby Yoda Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Din Djarin Whump, Canon-Typical Violence, Injury, Good Parent Din Djarin, ManDadlorian, Helmet comes off around the child, Accidental Grogu | Baby Yoda Acquisition, Picking and choosing bits of canon, Takes place well after Chapter 16, Grogu's first words, But also ignores a lot of Chapter 16 Summary:

Din has the kid to think about now, so he’s been taking smaller jobs, earning just enough money to keep them fed and the ship fueled for the jump to the next planet.

It’s not sustainable, not in the long run— and the money from this one job would be enough to keep them fed for weeks, plus extra to finally carry out some much needed repairs on the ship—there is more than one component being held together with mesh tape.

But if Din has learned anything in his years as a bounty hunter, it's that a reward this large always means trouble.

[tails89]

“Are you going to finish that?” Din looks pointedly at the bowl the kid is currently ignoring in favour of smearing something that was once fruit across the counter. The stare loses its power under the helmet, and the kid grins up at him, drawing a clawed finger through the mess.

“Muh!”

The kid leans forward to grab the bowl as Din pulls it away.

“You’re just playing with it,” he says, holding the bowl out of reach. He picks out one of the green berries and slips it up under the lip of his helmet.

It’s sweet and juicy, bursting in his mouth.

One of the benefits of travelling with the kid is all the fresh fruit they eat now. The kid loves it—eating it and playing with it—and turns his nose up at the dry ration Din usually eats. Though nutritionally sound, the rations tend to lack any sort of flavour.

Finishing off the fruit—no point letting it go to waste—Din dumps the empty container beside the sink.

“Eh.” The kid sucks pulp off his fingers, shoving them all into his mouth at once before examining them with a critical eye. “Eh!”

“You’re a mess kid,” Din sighs, surveying the damage. Grogu’s face, hands and sleeves are dripping with the remains of dinner. “Stay there, I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

He turns to leave the galley, but Grogu whines and reaches for him.

“I’ll be back in just a moment,” Din reassures the kid, giving him and his sticky fingers a wide berth.

“Ba.” The kid's lip starts to wobble dangerously. Ever since Din rescued him from Moff Gideon, Grogu has struggled with being separated from him. The sleeping compartment is only a few steps away, but it’s out of sight around the corner and thus too far away.

Din knows he needs to get the kid used to being away from him, especially once he gets to this so-called Jedi Academy, but for now he gives in and reaches over to pick him up.

He holds the kid at arms-length and carries him over to the sink. With the kid sitting beside the shallow basin, Din starts the water running, stripping off his gloves to check the temperature. While the sink fills, he removes the rest of his armour, his cowl and flak vest, and undoes the fasteners to his flight suit.

Din had quickly learned that bath time is a shared experience and if he didn’t want something to get wet, he needed to take it off.

He ties the sleeves of his coveralls around his waist to keep them out of the way, then checks on the progress of the water. It’s a few inches deep so he shuts off the water, quickly strips the kid out of his stained robe and deposits him in the sink.

Grogu squeals his hands splashing in the warm water. He lifts his arms, watching the water trickle through his clawed fingers and looks up at Din in surprise.

There’s a big blue streak across his mouth, and another on one of his ears that Din has no idea how the kid managed. He grabs a cloth-- he's learned to keep squares of rags or old worn-out clothing around for this very reason. A damp cloth goes a long way for cleaning up some of the mess.

“Nuh.” The kid protests through the clean-up, twisting his head away from the rag, and scooting back against the edges of the basin.

“Just-" Din holds him still to get the streak on his ear. “One second.”

“Eh.”

“Alright, done.” He drops the rag in the water and lets the kid play while he retrieves his cloak from where he’d left it on the floor. It’s close and it’s clean—ish. Clean enough to dry the kid off with.

Din scoops Grogu out of the water and wraps him up. They’ve been docked on Bournda-3 for two days to refuel, restock and chase a bounty. It’s a temperate planet and the ship is much warmer than it would be flying through the void of space, still— Din dries the kid quickly and carries him around to their sleeping compartment to find a clean tunic.

Once Grogu is dressed, Din replaces his damp shirt and refastens his coveralls. By the time he has reattached his armour and tucked Grogu into his carry bag, most of the morning has gone. Fortunately, the tracking fob Din holds indicates that his bounty isn’t too far away.

After months or running and hiding it feels good to have things return to normal—albeit a new kind of normal with set meal and bed times and baths—but Din would not give this up for all the beskar in the galaxy.

“Okay buddy.” He looks down through his visor at the large dark eyes that peak back up at him from the depths of his cloak. “Let’s go.”

If you have a prompt for a ‘lil slice of life ficlet, send it though :)

[tails89]

Off Kilter

AO3

Words: 1077

No pairings

“The kid’s sick,” Din tells the holographic figure. “What do I do?”

“Aw, poor little guy.” Cara’s image wavers for a second, but then she’s back. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Just do what you do when you get sick.”

Din stares at the image.

“That doesn’t help me,” he says, voice rising. Grogu stirs in his arms, whining at the noise. “Sorry, kid,” Din tells him gently. He strokes his fingers through the soft fuzz between the kids ears until he settles back down.

When he looks back up at the hologram, Cara is watching him with an unreadable expression.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says with a shrug. A grin break out over her face. “It’s just, this is a good look for you.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Din demands, his voice a low hiss.

“Kids get sick all the time,” Cara says. “Make sure he eats, drinks, sleeps and he’ll probably be over it in a day or so. If not, take him to a doctor.”

Din rolls his eyes at the obvious. “Thanks Cara.”

“Hey, you asked.” She winks and cuts the transmission.

Looking down at the sleeping kid, Din tamps down on the worry that threatens to rise up his throat. He doesn’t know how to take care of a kid, let alone a sick kid. This whole time he’s been making it up as he goes.

“Okay, eating, sleeping and drinking,” Din tells the sleeping child. “I can manage that.”

*

Din paces with the kid, around and around the cargo hold—rocking, soothing, begging the kid to calm down. Nothing seems to work.

He’s stripped the top half of his flightsuit, tying the sleeves around his waist after Grogu had vomited on him. Again. The kid clutches at his sweatshirt, his breaths between sobs are wet and wheezy and Din doesn’t know what to do.

The kid is overtired and cranky, but every time Din tries to put Grogu down, the kid sinks in his claws and clings like a stone mite.

“Nuhoy jii ad'ika.” Din times the words with his rocking of the kid. “Gedet'ye.”

The kid goes quiet between one breath and the next, staring up at Din with his large, wet eyes.

“K’uur. K’uur ad’ika.” With the edges of his cloak, Din wipes Grogu’s face clean. “Cuyir gar kai'tomyc?” He repeats the question in Basic. “Hungry?”

The kid shakes his head then buries his face in Din’s shirt.

“You gotta eat,” Din tells him softly. “Come on.”

He makes tea, deciding that will be the easiest thing for Grogu to swallow and check off both the eating and drinking requirements.

Usually, Grogu would be happy to sit on the bench and watch, nibbling on whatever Din hands him to keep him occupied. Today he refuses to be put down so Din half tucks him under one arm to keep both hands free while he throws something together.

They sit on a crate to eat.

Grogu sits on Din’s knee, staring down into the cup he’s clutching. At the soft click of Din’s helmet releasing, Grogu twists to look up at him.

“One sip kid,” Din prompts, putting his hand under the cup to bring it to the kid’s mouth. The kid is still staring at him, but he opens his mouth to drink the tea and manages to get through most of it. “Jate.”

He’s never used Mando’a with anyone outside of the covert, but it feels right to use it with the kid, just like it had felt right the first time he had revealed his face and spoken the words that made them family. Besides, it’s the first thing that has stopped the tears in hours and Din will take that win.

“Right,” Din throws back his soup and puts down his cup. The kid has gone limp against him, blinking up at Din, his eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion. He’s still warmer than Din would prefer, but it’s nothing like the raging fever he’d had earlier.

Putting the kid to bed is an ordeal.

He fusses and cries when Din tries to put him down, so they resume their slow trek around the cargo hold. Din discovers the Mando’a only goes so far with a cranky kid, but still he continues to murmur the words as they walk.

Din ends up sitting on the edge of the bunk, pulling off his boots and armour one-handed so that he can crawl in and lie down with the kid. With Grogu draped across his chest, sobs softened to the occasional hiccup, Din let’s his eyes fall closed.

He doesn’t sleep for long.

Sleeping beside Grogu is like sleeping next to a heating unit, a heating unit that shifts and kicks in it’s sleep. There was a reason Din had enforced the separate sleeping areas.

Laying a palm across the kid’s forehead, Din can feel the heat radiating off him. It’s too hot, surely, for such a small body.

Heart pounding, Din picks up the child and carries him into the cooler air of the cargo hold.

“Grogu?” Wetting a rag in the refresher, Din wipes down the kid’s sweaty face. “Come on, ad’ika. You’re okay. Ni ganar gar.”

Scrunching up his face against the cold cloth, Grogu turns his face toward Din’s chest.

“Ni ganar gar, ad’ika.”

*

Din sets the ship down on Nevarro, landing a little rougher than his usual standard. After two of the worst days of his life, Din’s running on fumes, but the kid at least has finally turned a corner. His fever had broken twelve hours earlier and after a long nap, he’d started to perk up.

Din on the other hand, was exhausted from two sleepless nights and, desperate for a break, had programmed in the coordinates for the volcanic planet.

Cara and Greef are both waiting for him when he steps off the ramp. At the sight of two of his favourite people, Grogu squeals in delight and starts squirming to be put down.

“Hey Mando, what brings you to-”

Din presses the kid into Greef Karga’s arms. “Watch him for me?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just simply turns and walks back onto the ship.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, he tugs off his helmet and falls face first onto the bed with a groan. Eat, drink, sleep—that’s all he needs. The kid will be fine with the others for a few hours.

 Translations

Nuhoy jii ad'ika – sleep now little one Gedet'ye – please K’uur – hush Cuyir gar kai'tomyc – are you hungry? Jate – good Ni ganar gar – I have you