#ahsoka: if i see that little frog man it is on SIGHT

[moonlit-imagines]

Heirloom (Part 2)

Din Djarin x Fett!reader

warnings:

a/n: lmk if you’re interested in a part 3!

prompt:

part 1

It’d been five years since you’d seen anything but sand, but you did pretty well out there, all things considered. Bounty hunting was in your blood, but this Mandalorian bounty hunter wasn’t interested in anything of the sort at the moment.

So you went from planet to planet, doing favors and tracking down people to assist Mando and the Child on your journey. You couldn’t complain much, he did save you from a lifetime of boredom and despair.

So you helped a frog woman, met more Mandalorians, clashed with a Jedi, and were finally led somewhere useful to conclude the Child’s journey.

“That’s the place, right?” You asked Din as the Razorcrest approached a planet said to have a Jedi “seeing stone.” Grogu sat on your lap, curiously peering up at you and grabbing your thumb.

“Yeah,” he answered with a hint of disappointment in his voice, you couldn’t ignore that, “this is where Ahsoka told us to go. And it might be where our journey with Grogu ends.” You frowned and looked down at the young creature, who was now hugging your arm.

“Don’t worry, little buddy. I could never forget about you.” You scratched the top of his head and kept him steady during the landing. It was a beautiful planet, you admired the scenery as soon as you stepped off the ship. “I could stay here forever, Mando. How about you?”

“Hand him over.” Din instructed with his arms out, waiting for you to give him his pride and joy. You honestly didn’t want to, the kid was growing on you.

“Fine. I should probably get my armor on anyways. Never know what we might run into.” Grogu reached out for Mando as you handed him off, but he decided to walk ahead of you as you got ready. “Hey, come on! At least let me get the breastplate on!” You called out, carefully running up behind him.

“You seem to have it under control.” He shrugged as the two of you began to climb the mountain.

“At least try to be courteous.” You groaned, straightening out your beaten Beskar armor. “Right, Grogu?” The child cooed at the sound of his name. “See? He agrees with me.”

“He just likes hearing his name, we’ve been over this.” Mando told you, watching your helmet envelop your head.

“Feels good to be in my element.” You told him, nearing the final destination. “Not that it ever was, it was just supposed to be.”

“Yeah, well, after Grogu finds his people, I’ll teach you what your father couldn’t. Deal?” Mando offered officially, leaving your beaming smile hidden by your helmet.

“Deal.” You reached your hand out to shake on it, and although it was brief, it did happen. Now you’d reached the stone, which didn’t seem like much. “I guess just,” Mando set Grogu onto the center platform, “yeah, that.”

After a few empty moments, the stone had activated like something you’d never seen before. It was Forcefield protecting the child from any sudden danger.

“Wasn’t expecting that, were you?” You asked Mando while crossing your arms.

“I don’t know what I was expecting.” He admitted, intently supervising his little one. That is, until a ship entered the atmosphere. One unfamiliar to him, but a distant memory to you.

“Holy banthas.” You muttered, removing your helmet in disbelief as Mando began to panic.

“Stay here and protect Grogu.” He instructed as you ran off to the ship’s landing site. “Y/N?! Hey, stop!” You couldn’t stop if you tried. There were two possibilities here. You thought it was too good to be true, but maybe you’d score a ship that was rightfully yours. To be discovered. “Fett, get back over here!”

“I have to get to that ship! This is personal!” You shouted back to him, picking up the pace. It wasn’t long before he discovered he couldn’t do anything at the stone, he might as well help you, the other kid he decided to take under his wing. Mando was really trying to keep up with you, but you were too eager to quit.

The glare of the sun blocked your view of who stepped off the platform, but you’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“If it isn’t my only child, I knew we’d meet again someday.” Boba greeted, causing you to drop your guard and run straight for him.

“I thought you were dead,” you told him as he engulfed you in a hug, but things took a slight turn when you smacked him in the chest, leaving him puzzled, “where the hell did you go?! I was stranded on Tatooine for five kriffing years!”

“Don’t use that tone with me, kiddo.” Your father warned you while Mando awkwardly stood to the side to watch your family drama play out. “I got into some trouble on that sand planet, I couldn’t rope you into it.”

“So you thought that it’d be better for me to become an orphan at ten?” You argued, in a heated rage over the sudden realization that you didn’t have to be scrounging for food and shelter for years on your own.

“I managed just fine when the Jedi killed my father.” Boba and you stood off face-to-face, practically growling at each other.

“Circumstances were different, bounty hunters had your back.” What kind of father would leave his kid to fend for themself when he’d gone through the same thing before?

“What do you call that guy over there?” Your father pointed to Din.

“Just met him a few days back, that doesn’t change the fact that I was alone.” You were about to go on, but a less familiar face came from Slave I to warn you of something, you cut her off just before she could start. “And who the hell is that?”

“Fennec Shand, I owe your dad my life.” She introduced herself with nothing but that, “and I’d cool it for a minute. We’ve got Imps incoming.” The woman pointed skyward at Imperial ships.

“The kid!” Mando gasped, taking off before you tried to do the same.

“Fennec, help the Mandalorian.” Boba instructed, gripping onto his formerly owned armor. “I believe this belongs to me.”

“You’re joking, right?” He sternly stared you down, to which you loudly groaned and tossed him the helmet before removing the various other pieces. “Guess you just don’t care if I get shot, huh?”

“You’re a Fett, you’ll manage.” He assured while finally being able to put his armor back on after all these years. You dismissed yourself promptly to back up Mando against the swarming stormtroopers that you couldn’t wait to knock down. You were never too fond of the Empire.

“Where’s your armor, y/n?” Mando asked, throwing himself in front of you before the blasterfire hit. He saved your life is what he did.

“My old man just robbed me, let’s hope that what you taught me stuck or else I’m not making it off this planet!��� You explained, ducking under his arm to take down a few troopers.

“I won’t let that happen, y/n. Not on my watch.” Mando and you continued to fight side by side, providing each other with all the assistance you needed as it rained blasterfire.

“Think the Child is okay?” You questioned while activating a grenade and chucking it towards a horde of hostiles.

“As long as he’s in that Forcefield, he should be safe!” Mando told you as he thinned out the crowd. It wasn’t long before Boba launched a rocket at the airborne cruisers, taking down two birds with one stone. “Nice shot.”

“I was aiming for the other one.” Your father admitted, a triumphant moment swiftly crushed as the Razorcrest was blown to pieces. You yelped at the sight, covering your mouth as you looked to Din.

“Grogu!” You exclaimed while backtracking to the Child, Boba took to his ship while the rest of you went to retrieve him. Just a few seconds too late, dark troopers had kidnapped him and stripped Din of everything he had within the minute. Now, your father tried his best to help, but what could he do when he wasn’t allowed to shoot?

Boba returned to the ground and watched as Mando sorted through the wreckage of his ship.

“I was ashamed.” He said while the two of you were aside.

“Huh?” You gave your father an odd look as you cocked your brow.

“You watched me suffer defeat in such a humiliating way. A malfunctioning jetpack was not the way I imagined I’d go.” Boba admitted, removing his helmet to give you a heartfelt look. “But I knew you could handle yourself out there because you’re a Fett. That doesn’t make it right, but I hope that I can.”

“Oh...I guess we’ll see.” You looked over to Mando, who just found the Beskar spear in the rubble. “At least you can try and one-up your last death, right?” You and your dad chuckled as Mando approached.

It was here that your father explained that he owed the Mandalorian a debt for caring for you, one he’d repay by getting the Child back.

Now, all was not forgiven. Deep down, you would always feel abandoned and betrayed by your father, but maybe the future held something better for you. Just take it one step at a time.

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @lotsoffandomrecs // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @gabile18 // @sweetjedi //

[fanfoolishness]

five denials and a truth (The Mandalorian)

Written for @fake-starwars-fan, who suggested this idea.  Five times Din Djarin denies he is a father, and one time he doesn’t.  Canon-compliant, spoilers for seasons 1 and 2, and gets angsty as hell. I’m so sorry, Din.  Featuring Din, Grogu, Omera, the Armorer, Peli Motto, Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, and Cara Dune.  3800 words.

***

i.

The sun fell beneath the crowns of the trees, leaving them awash in blues and golds, and the insects sang their chorus in the growing shadows.  Din Djarin sat at the edge of the fire, watching the child play with the other children.  Wariness hummed in the back of his mind, long years of training deeply entrenched despite the seeming peace of Sorgan.  Still, though, it was hard to remain battle-ready here, as the children laughed and played their silly games.

Omera sat on the log beside him, waving a hand to her daughter.  The girl took off eagerly to join the others.  Pinpoint flashes of light sparkled around the children as they played, the evening lightning-beetles taking wing.

“The children love your son,” she said, turning back to Din, her eyes aglow in the firelight.  “I’ve never seen a youngling like him, but they’ve truly taken to him.  My daughter’s quite envious of his frog-catching skills.”  She chuckled, voice sweet and warm.

“He’s not my son,” said Din in polite, careful tones.  He shifted slightly on the log.

Omera tilted her head.  He found her direct eye contact discomfiting, but he did not look away.  “Because he isn’t human?”

He shook his head slightly.  “No.  That has nothing to do with it.”

“Then what?  I see the way you watch out for him.  You’re watching him now, making sure he isn’t getting into trouble,” she said lightly.  “Every parent does it.”

“There are terrible people after him,” said Din, feeling uneasy in a way he couldn’t pin down.  Imps, bounty hunters, who knew what else?  The less said about it, the better.  “I’m just trying to protect him until I can find a safe place for him, that’s all.”

She arched an eyebrow as the child toddled over to them, holding a squirming lightning-beetle in his small hands, its green-gold light pulsing between his fingertips.  “Looks like he has something to show you.”

Din bent down, reaching out to take the child’s hands.  “You, uh, you caught this?” he asked gruffly.  “Huh.”  He’d seen the other children trying to do the same and failing, the agile beetles getting the better of them.  Despite himself, he was impressed.  

“Good for you.  Just don’t  -- no!  Drop it!”  He pulled the squirming beetle out of the child’s mouth and tossed it aside, watching it flash up into the sky.  The child looked at him with big eyes, ears sinking down to his shoulders.

“Oh, they’re perfectly safe to eat,” said Omera, laughing.  “We eat them now and then if things are lean.”

“Oh,” said Din.  He felt his mouth form into a smile, a reflexive action beneath the helmet.  “Uh, sorry,” he said to the child.  “Maybe next time.”

The child took another step forward, then leaned against Din’s leg, small arms curling around his shin.  Then he was off again, toddling back to the children and the waiting lightning-beetles.

“If you aren’t his father,” asked Omera, “what’s stopping you?”  She gazed at him, her face kind, her eyes questioning.  

“I’m not what he needs,” Din said.  He turned away from her, staring off into the forest, where the bandits waited.  “That’s all.”

***

ii.

The Armorer watched Din Djarin carefully, grateful that another member of the Tribe had survived.  Of course, he and his actions were the reason so many had fallen, but the Creed was unflinchingly clear.  Death in the service of protecting another Mandalorian or a foundling was the noblest end to a warrior’s life.  The price had been paid, and paid again, and she bore him no anger for it.

She asked to see the child, to see the one whose protection had merited the fragmentation and destruction of the Tribe.  The creature stared up at her, clearly tired and frail, but its eyes held a spirit she understood.  This one had seen suffering.  It was always written in the eyes of those who did not hide their faces.

She saw, too, the way Djarin angled himself toward the child.  She had heard of how he had protected it, blaster, body and beskar, against the storm that drove him from the planet.  And she remembered the tale of the enemy that had helped him defeat the mudhorn.  She began to understand.

She explained to Djarin what he must do, what the Creed demanded.  No matter that the child was linked to the Jedi, nor that Djarin knew not where to find them.  He was a resourceful man.  She had faith that he would fulfill the Creed.

The others pressed him to leave, their urgency clear.  The Imperials were coming, as they had come upon them before in the night, and she understood their fear.  They knew not the Way of the Mandalore, the honor of a warrior’s death.

Djarin dissented.  “I’m staying.  I need to help her, and I need to heal.”

His desire to assist was welcome, but she knew that this was not his path.  His path was clear. It lay in the child’s wide eyes, in his small hands, in the way Djarin spoke of the foundling with a measured distance she knew he did not keep.  The truth could not be hidden.  A Mandalorian could fool an outsider, but she was the Armorer, and the depth of his feelings toward the child was laid bare in voice and stance.

“You must go,” she said firmly.  “A foundling is in your care.  By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.”

You already are, she wished to say, but she did not.  He was not ready.  Not yet.  Denial showed plain in the set of his shoulders.

“This is the Way,” she said instead, voice brisk.  “You have earned your Signet.”  Her hands were swift and precise upon his pauldron, affixing the gleaming mudhorn to its rightful place.  

There it was, the emotion she knew lay deep within him.  “Thank you,” he said, and she saw the warrior’s heart within him gentled, humbled, made vulnerable.  “I will wear it with honor.”  

There were certain truths she had long known.  The best warriors did not harden their hearts.  Too hard, and they found their deaths too quickly, the potential glory of their sacrifice fading into a meaningless waste.  Yet those that succumbed to the pain of the world could be too soft, losing the will to fight and turning to the follies of pacifism.  

The finest warriors, the truest, walked wounded through the world.  It was their battles that burned brightest in the minds of their people, their struggles that most honored the Way of the Mandalore.  

She watched Djarin and the child leave with the others, and she waited, her hammer at the ready.  She would protect the beskar and buy time for those of her Tribe to escape.  She knew she would not fall this day.  

Beneath her helmet, she smiled.  For she believed Clan Mudhorn would earn their place in legend.

***

iii.

Din returned to Peli Motto’s shop, laden with supplies from the market.  Ammunition, food and water for himself and the kid, a few more packs of bacta patches.  Wouldn’t do to head out into the deep desert unprepared, and he wasn’t sure this mining town Peli was talking about really still existed.  He unloaded the supplies onto the ramp into the Crest, and turned to look for the kid.  He’s fine, he reminded himself, but he still hated how hard it was to leave the kid sometimes, how he always felt like something was missing when the kid wasn’t in his sight.

As expected, Peli was in her office, the kid in her lap.  She was having an animated discussion with him, judging by the way his ears quivered.  As Din drew near he picked up some of their conversation.

“So there I was, fighting an infestation of womp rats the size of banthas, and this no-good nerfherder shows up wanting to know why his ship’s not ready.  I tried telling him the droids were overrun and that I’d already busted one blaster trying to shoot the damn things, and he had the nerve to -- Mando!  Back from the market, huh?” Peli asked, looking up at him.  

The kid let out an excited squeal and reached towards him.  Reluctantly, Peli lifted him up, and Din took him into his arms.  The kid settled down in the crook of his elbow like he’d been there all his life, and Din finally relaxed.

“Not the best selection I’ve ever seen, but I got what we needed,” he said.  “Thanks for watching the kid.  He’s gotten me into trouble with more than one vendor.  Sticky fingers.”  And having the ability to move things with his mind, while impressive, wasn’t exactly a good recipe when combined with a youngling who was hungry all the time.  Din tilted his helmet down to look at the kid, his mouth tugging invisibly into a grin beneath the beskar.

“This angel?” Peli scoffed.  “I don’t believe it.”  Din simply looked at her, and she relented, “Okay, okay, he ate half my lunch when I wasn’t looking, and tried to eat a sand roach when I was.  I get your point.”

“I told you to be good for Peli,” scolded Din.  The kid let out a small, sad burble, and he sighed.  “I know, I know.  You didn’t mean it.”  He reached up, fingers cuffing gently against the kid’s cheek.

“You guys should do more business on Tatooine,” said Peli, leaning back in her chair and taking a long drink of caf.  “Always a pleasure.  It warms my sandblasted heart, seeing you two.”

Din nearly choked.  “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean!” she said, waving her hands.  “Mos Eisley’s got some pretty nasty dealings in the back alleys.  Orphaned younglings, drunks, slavers looking for easy marks…   It’s just nice to see a dad actually taking care of his kid for once.”

Din was still.  The kid grabbed his thumb with one small hand, holding it tight, and reflexively he curled his hand closer to the little one.  He didn’t speak.

Peli raised her brows, looking concerned.  “Did I say something wrong?”

“I…”  He swallowed.  “I’m not his father.”

“Well, I don’t know what exactly you look like under that armor, but no shit, Mando,” she said.  “But dads aren’t just a blood thing.  I thought -- I mean, the way you take care of him, and all.  You’d do anything for this kid, or I don’t know a damn thing.”

“I would,” he said slowly.  “Do anything for him.”  The kid brushed his hand against his cuirass, his claws making tiny ting noises against the beskar.  

“But you’re not his dad.”

If you aren’t his father, what’s stopping you?

You are as its father.

“He’s a foundling,” said Din, and he fought to keep his voice steady.  “I would die for him.  This is the Way.”

Peli held out her hands skeptically, face shifting into clear confusion.  “And again, you’re not his dad?  I’m not getting the distinction here.”

He looked down at the kid, whose ears quivered with curiosity, his mouth slightly open as if asking a question.  

Red robes, blaster fire, the smell of smoke, the sound of screams --

Until it is reunited with its own kind --

“It’s complicated,” he said, turning away from her.  “Thanks again for watching him.  We’d better get a move on before it starts getting dark.”  

He headed back out toward the ship and the speeder, her indignant voice following him.  “It’s noon, but whatever you say, Mando!”

***

iv.

Mist lay heavy in the secluded forest, muffling the sounds of the grazing beasts in the distance, the township far away.  Din stared out at the falling darkness, his stomach twisting.  It was nearly time.  Time to fulfill his quest, to deliver the child.

Time to say goodbye to Grogu.

His feet felt heavy, so heavy, though the distance to the little sleeping area from the hold was only a few steps away.  He stood in the doorway, watching the child sleep in the small hammock.  He’d picked up the cloth in a small market on a forgotten world.  He remembered asking the shopkeeper if it was soft enough for a youngling, remembered taking his glove off to make sure the fabric wasn’t itchy.  He remembered the kid -- Grogu -- cooing to himself that first night in the hammock, remembered how well the kid had slept.  

He remembered how he’d laid awake half the night, missing the kid curled up on his chest.

Din raised his hands.  They trembled.  

This is what I came to do.  This is for him.

“Wake up, buddy,” he said, voice breaking.  “It’s time to say goodbye.”  He reached a hand into the hammock, brushing against Grogu’s chest.  The kid made a small, sleepy sigh, a sigh he’d heard dozens, hundreds of times now, a sigh that had become as familiar and homey as the engine’s hum.  He lifted him carefully out of the hammock, but Grogu just yawned, smacking his lips, and closed his eyes again.

Din sat down, leaning against the wall with Grogu on his knee.  He looked at him.  Really looked, though his vision blurred.  I have… I have to remember.    

He drank in the sight of those long, delicate ears, soft with thin white fuzz on the edges, the inner skin shell-pink rimmed with mossy green.  He memorized the curious ridges and bumps on his forehead, between his eyes, remembering how they crinkled when the kid was happy and flattened when the kid was being obstinate.  He looked at the mouth that had eaten a horrifying number of frogs and spiders, and nearly laughed despite himself.

Grogu’s hand twitched, curling over Din’s fingertip.  Din shifted his thumb to cover the back of his small hand, and the kid blinked sleepy eyes at him.  Those eyes, so wide, so curious, so expressive.  He would never forget them.  

“You’re gonna love being a Jedi,” Din whispered.  “You’ll learn how to use your powers.  You’ll get even stronger.  You’ll see.”  You won’t need me.

Grogu’s weight on his knee was so light.  

Funny, then, that Din felt so crushed.  

He bowed over the kid, arms curling around his small body.  Grogu leaned into him, and Din held him, and he told himself that it was time.

He was never sure, looking back, how he piloted the ship safely back to the town and landed it without a hitch.  He only remembered walking down the ramp, seeing the Jedi Ahsoka waiting for them, and going cold, cold, cold.

They regarded each other for a moment.  The Jedi’s eyes were sad and distant.  She gazed down at Grogu, nestled in Din’s arms.  

“You’re like a father to him,” she said finally.  “I cannot train him.”

His legs felt fuzzy and weak.  He straightened up, forcing himself to stand firm.  He had to try again, for the kid’s sake.  “You made me a promise, and I held up my end,” he accused.

The Jedi spoke.  Part of him held onto her words, kept them safe, directions to a planet, another option to find more Jedi.  He could do this.

The other part of him was dizzy, punchdrunk, even as he held the kid safely in his arms.  You’re like a father to him echoed, and somehow the words struck deeper than they ever had before.  He ached with them, ached for them to be real -- weren’t Jedi supposed to be noble?  Weren’t they supposed to tell the truth?

But he knew he couldn’t be that lucky.  

He thanked her politely for the information, and set a course for Tython.

***    

v.      

“We’re coming up on Nevarro,” came Fett’s voice in his ear, and Din jerked awake.

It took him a moment to get his bearings.  This wasn’t the Crest.  This was Slave I.  This was Boba Fett.  Fennec Shand was down below.  And Grogu was… gone.

His head reeled. Gone.  Not safe in the arms of a Jedi, no future secured and sheltered.  He’d been stolen, been lost.  Under his watch.

“You still asleep?” Fett asked, glancing back.  His helmet rested beside him, half-cleaned of its scorch marks and scars.  Fett had been busy while he was sleeping.

“No,” said Din, trying to clear his head.  He lapsed into silence.

“It’s a fair plan,” said Fett.  “I hope it works.  For the sake of the child.”

“You didn’t have to --” Din started.  They’d been through this already, though, and he knew it would be insulting to keep up his protests.  “I��m… grateful for the help.  Thank you.”

Fett shrugged. “We tracked you for a while, you know.  Before Tython.”

Din stared straight ahead.  He didn’t care about that.  But he realized in the waiting quiet that Fett expected an answer.  “I didn’t know.”  

There; the man should take it as a compliment.  Din knew he wasn’t easy to track.

“I saw how you were with the child.”  Fett’s scarred face was thoughtful.  There was something complicated there behind the older man’s eyes, but Din couldn’t read it, unsettled and numb as he was.

“I was to return him to the Jedi,” Din forced out.  “I failed him.”

“You took care of him,” Fett pointed out.  “I saw it.  That’s not nothing.”  

“He was a foundling,” he said mechanically.  “Any Mandalorian would have done the same.  The Creed demands --”

Fett sighed.  “You can keep your Creed.”  The words still sounded so wrong -- to view the Creed as a myth, it was sacrilege.  Still, though, he’d seen the chain code, and he knew Fett’s claim was valid.

Din watched the other man cautiously, but was taken aback by the next words Fett spoke.  “You were a father to him.  That much was clear.”

Din chuckled, a brittle, awful sound.  It hurt his throat.  “People keep telling me that.”

“Are they wrong?”

He thought of Grogu taken, held captive by droids’ arms harsh and cold.  He thought of him in a cell, thought of tests and needles and experiments, thought of the little youngling toddling after him and laughing sweetly about cookies.  He thought of standing there helplessly on the rocky slopes of Tython, watching the world end.

He was grateful, not for the first time, for the helmet shielding his face.  “Does it matter?” he gritted, and Nevarro loomed before them.

***

vi.

Cara Dune caught up to him, about six months later.

He’d been half-expecting her for some time.  Knew that rumors of his doings would reach certain ears.  Knew that she’d put two and two together.  Even if he no longer wore beskar, he knew the patterns would be noticed.

She found him in a scuzzy bar on an ocean moon, where the damp seeped into everything and the cold never faded.  She sat beside him, tossing a few credits onto the bar, and was rewarded with a sea-brewed ale.  She drank about half before she finally turned to face him.

“Hey, Mando.”

He didn’t look at her.  Didn’t want to see the pity in her face.  He could hear it well enough in her voice.

“I knew I’d see you again,” he said quietly.  “Galaxy’s never as big as it seems.”

“No,” she said.  “I guess it isn’t.”

In the silence, water dripped, dripped, dripped behind the bar, a constant rhythm.

“I know it was you,” she said presently.  “The Imperial bases on Corux and Raethe.  Two cruisers downed, the troops dead long before the ships crashed.  Imps dead in the streets of a dozen backwaters.  And a lot of high-ranking officers found in pieces.”

“A lot of people hate the Empire,” he said.  He took a drink of his ale.  He hated the taste, and hated the burn more.

“Not a lot of people hate them like you do.”  Lightning-fast, she twitched aside the cloak hanging over his hip, revealing the Darksaber hanging like an anchor at his side.  He ignored her, covering it again with his cloak.  “Let’s just say you have a signature style these days.”

Din glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.  She looked different, hair a little shorter, upgraded armor, a new insignia on her shoulder.  And sympathy etched in every line of her face.  He looked away, shaken.

“So what?” he asked.  “Don’t tell me the New Republic has a problem with fewer Imps running around.”

“They don’t.  They’d probably give you a medal, if they knew who was behind it,” said Cara.  She finished her drink.  “I have a problem with it.”

He nearly snorted into his foul ale.  “Really.  You’re worried about the Imps.”

“I’m worried about you, Din Djarin.”

He froze.  She’d never used his name before.  Slowly, he turned to stare at her, fully aware that his naked face was on display.  “Stop.”

Cara flushed.  “I was on the ground at that Maelstrom-class cruiser.  I saw what you did to them.  It wasn’t…”  Her mouth twisted.  “Killing Imps doesn’t bother me.  You know that.  But that was… brutal.”

“Again,” he said defensively, “you’re worried about them?”

“About what it’s doing to you,” she said, her voice flat.  “Mandalorians… I thought you were known for noble kills --”

“I’m not a Mandalorian,” he spat.

She pounded a fist into the table, a sharp crack that left a mark on the flimsy surface.  “You’re torturing yourself about letting him go.  This isn’t you, Mando.  And I think a part of you knows it.”

The weight of the last several months loomed.  It pressed.  It shattered, a shield failing, a dam breaking.  He saw the Darksaber flaring, scorching, searing, amputating, saw his bare hands on the hilt, saw the bodies piled.  He remembered enjoying it in a way that felt sick, felt dirty, an insult to the Way of the Mandalore, but he’d already burned that bridge, hadn’t he?  Already bared his face to the child, to the Jedi, to all of them; already desecrated his beskar; already severed his clan of two into one, alone --

“I know,” he said hoarsely, ashamed.  “I know it’s wrong.  I -- I broke the Creed --”

She reached up slowly, rested her hand on his shoulder.  She waited, her eyes soft.  

He bowed his head, shaking.  “And I gave him up,” he whispered, burying his damp face in his hands.  “I lost my son.”

My son.

The truth he’d hid from so long flared white-hot, burning through him.  Denial had done nothing for him; all it had done was rob him of the chance to tell Grogu how much he loved him before it was too late.  It hadn’t saved him from this agony at all.  The pain roared, a howling void opening up within him, a darkness he could never hope to see through.

“I was his father,” he choked.  “What am I now?”

Cara’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steady, kind; but she had no answers for him.  In the end, the only sounds were his broken breathing and the drip, drip, drip behind the bar.

[headfulloffantasies]

Search and Find

Part 5 of Clones and Kings

Read on Ao3

Three hours pass and Rex still hadn't heard from Mando. He scooped up Mini-Yoda and decided that if Mando couldn't find his own way home then Rex would go bring him home. 

Rex needed to have words with Ahsoka. When he’d finally managed to contact her on Wolffe’s behalf, she’d practically squealed with glee at the sight of the other clone. And then she’d scooped Wolffe up and dragged him away to do undercover work in a distant sector. But Ahsoka had left Rex with Mando and Yoda Model 2.0. Ahsoka told Rex it was important. Ahsoka claimed the child had incredible powers that could not be left untended until Skywalker finished his quest. Ahsoka promised Rex was doing the will of the Force.

Why pray tell, did the Force want Rex covered in drool and run ragged keeping a toddler from eating jumper cables? No one would tell Rex. So Rex continued to shadow the Mand’alor’s steps.

Mando had a lead on his elusive beskar dealers. Not just the thieves, but the big dogs involved in melting down stolen armour and selling it on the black market. The lead led them to Coruscant.

Rex hated Coruscant. The towering spires twisting up into infinity and the platforms raised higher and higher into the sky gave Rex a sense of vertigo. The ground never felt stable on the top levels and the lower levels were always shrouded in dark.

Only the old Jedi Temple sat free of the dizzying influence of modern architecture. Still, Rex wouldn’t go back there in a million years if someone paid him a million credits. That was a haunted place.

Mando landed his ship on a platform somewhere in the middle of the levels just after sunset.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Rex asked for the umpteenth time.

Mando gave him a flat stare through the helmet. “I won’t risk taking Grogu with me,” he explained again. “And this has to be done tonight before the dealers get wind of me. I need you to watch Grogu until I come back.”

The tyke slept in his hammock in Mando’s bunk. His massive ears twitched every now and then as he dreamed. Rex imagined Little Yoda dreamed of frogs of lightsabers.

Mando strapped his pulse rifle over his shoulder. He checked his whistling birds and re-loaded his blaster twice. If Rex was a braver man, he’d guess Mando was nervous.

Finally, Mando approached his son. Rex turned his head to give them a bit of privacy. Out of the corner of his eye, Rex watched Mando caress Un-Yoda’s fat cheeks. Rex averted his eyes.

Mando’s boots thudded down the ramp. Rex followed to close the door behind him. Mando turned on the last step.

“If I’m not back in three hours, take Grogu to Luke Skywalker’s Jedi school,” Mando instructed.

“What?” Rex squawked. “But-.”

Mando swept off into the night, ignoring Rex’s protests.

Rex shuffled in the doorway. Mando hadn’t said anything about leaving him to die in a Coruscant gutter. The mission hadn’t seemed that dangerous to Rex when they’d discussed it. Had Mando lied to Rex about the severity of the danger?

Rex had half a mind to grab his guns and go after the kriffer. But Master Yoda’s Copy still slept in his hammock. Rex kicked himself. He should have known if Mando refused to bring the kid that this mission was too much for Mando to handle alone. The buir and ad’ika normally could not be separated on pain of death.

A chirp drew Rex’s attention. He looked down. The New Yoda blinked sleep from his huge eyes. He babbled and waved his hands to be lifted. Rex reached down and picked him up.

“Well, kid?” Rex asked. “I think your buir may have stepped in the bantha’s mess this time. So, do we wait him out, or do we go after him?”

The child snuggled into Rex’s elbow and fell back asleep. Rex decided that meant one vote for giving Mando the benefit of the doubt. Rex rocked the kid gently and made his way up to the cockpit. He sat in the pilot’s chair and watched the dark streets through the windscreen. Rex’s stomach rolled with every passing second. He was a soldier. He wasn’t used to laying low and sitting around when someone else faced the fire.

Every moment that went by was a moment Mando might have a bullet in the back of a knife between his ribs. Rex couldn’t stand this. He checked the chronometer. Only an hour had passed.

Rex didn’t mean to fall asleep. Honestly, he had worked himself up so much he didn’t know he could sleep. But the kid had made a nice warm lump on his chest and the night dragged on.

Rex bolted awake alone and cold.

The tiny Jedi was gone. Rex lurched out of the pilot’s seat.

“Hey kid?” Rex called out. He didn’t see any green ears or hear any pattering feet. Rex had left the door to the cockpit open. He cursed himself as he hurried down the ladder.

“Kid?” Rex scanned the interior of the main hold. Mando’s bunk stood open. Yoda the Younger had not returned to his hammock.

“Kid?” Kriff, what was his name? Googoo? Grog? Gremlin?

“Little Grub?” Rex tried.

A babble caught Rex’s attention. The pantry door hung open. Master Yoda’s Double sat on the highest shelf, his clawed feet waving. Wrappers littered the floor along with crumbs and rations bars deemed unacceptable to the toddler’s unknowable sense of taste.

Rex scooped up the child. “How many of those did you eat?”

The child only burped. He took another huge bite of the ration bar in his hands. Those new teeth growing in didn’t seem to bother him so much right now.

Rex brushed crumbs off Not-Yoda’s face. The kid caught hold of Rex’s finger and waved it around.

“Yes, you’re very cute and very naughty,” Rex grumbled. He extracted his finger before The Progeny of Master Yoda tried taking a bite out of it.

Rex glanced up at the closed ship’s ramp. “So your buir still hasn’t come home, has he Little Grub?” Rex shifted the child to settle against his hip. Rex pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why can’t anything ever go according to plan?”

The baby cooed. Rex looked down at him. Those huge eyes implored Rex.

“Kriff,” Rex cursed. “We all knew I wasn’t going to leave him to die here. Are you ready to go drag him out of whatever mess he’s gotten himself into?”

Hardly-Yoda dropped his ration bar and smacked his sticky hands against Rex’s chest, a string of gurgles flowing between his teeth.

“Okay then,” Rex nodded. He grabbed his pistols and opened the ship’s ramp. A squall of rain lashed against his face. Rex tucked the child into the crook of his arm and slogged out into the storm. The wind nearly toppled Rex over. He staggered off the landing pad and into the relative shelter between two buildings.

“This way.” Rex headed down. Mando’s contact owned some kind of warehouse in the lower levels of Coruscant. Rex hustled past the denizens of people trying to escape the rain. Eventually, they wound up in a dark, wet alleyway that smelled like dead loth cat. The warehouse door hung open.

Rex unholstered a gun and carefully stepped from the dim street into the blackness of the warehouse. The empty space echoed the screech of the door falling shut. Rex froze. His heart pounded while he waited for someone to jump out from behind the scattered shadows. His eyes gradually adjusted to the dark.  The shadows coalesced. Rex drew a sharp breath. He covered the child’s eyes. Those weren’t crates or boxes. They were bodies.

Rex tread carefully, stepping over outstretched arms and crumpled legs. He recognised among the wounds the marks left behind by whistling birds.

“Your buir was here, Little Grub,” Rex whispered.

The child whined.

“He’s not here anymore,” Rex noted the lack of shining silver armour among the fallen. “So where did he go, Little Grub?”

Rex followed the trail of carnage. A disgusting smear of blood led out the back door. Rex prayed it didn’t belong to Mando. Rex stepped out into the rain again. He blinked water from his eyes. A body slumped against the alley wall.

Rex realised with a jolt that if the beskar thieves had won and left Mando’s body to drown in the storm without his armour, Rex would never recognise Mando. He knelt beside the cold corpse. It couldn’t be Mando, Rex decided. This man was too bulky in the shoulders and round in the middle to be Mando.

So, Mando had slaughtered an entire warehouse of armed men and followed this last straggler out to finish the job. And then what? Where had he gone?

Rex spun a circle. This alley was used by a dozen establishments as a garbage disposal. The mouth of the alley led to a main thoroughfare. If Mando had gone that way Rex would never catch up to him.

Yoda the Smallest cooed. Rex glanced down at him. The child stretched his hand out. Rex followed where he pointed. The door directly across the alley was smudged with blood.

“Good work, Little Grub,” Rex said even as his throat closed with worry. Someone had left this alley covered in gore. It had to be Mando. Rex just prayed the blood on the door handle didn’t belong to Mando.

Rex shoved the door open.

Pounding bass and flashing rainbow lights deafened and blinded Rex immediately.

Rex had heard this joke. A clone and a baby walk into a bar. What happens next may surprise you.

The music buzzed. Rex craned his neck to try and see above the crowd milling around the tables. Rex grabbed the first man walking his way.

“You seen a Mandalorian running around?” Rex asked.

“No,” the man said almost before Rex was finished speaking.

Rex frowned. “You sure?”

“Never seen a Mandalorian in my life. Now scram,” the man shooed Rex away.

Rex backed into a woman. “Sorry,” he apologised.

She put her manicured hand on his arm and leaned into his space. Rex got ready to tell her he didn’t want to dance. She put her red lips next to his ear.

“I heard you say something about a Mandalorian,” she said over the music. “Go ask Erl.” She nodded to the squat Didynon with white ridges on his face and bulging eyes minding the bar.

“Erl knows everything,” the woman promised.

Rex pushed his way to the bar. He had to wait for the Didynon to finish serving several customers before he could attract Erls’ attention. Tiny Yoda reached a clawed hand for the amber drink someone had abandoned on the bar top. Rex scooped him up and away. Yoda Junior wailed. One of the eyes on the sides of Erl’s head swiveled in Rex’s direction.

“Erl?” Rex asked.

The Didynon raised his head. Rex found he couldn’t look in both eyes at once. He tried his best to pick one and stay focused.

“I’m told you might have seen a Mandalorian around here?” Rex asked.

Erl’s gaze dropped to the child wriggling in Rex’s arms.

“That thing housebroken?” Erl demanded.

Rex honestly didn’t know. “I’m looking for a Mandalorian,” Rex repeated.

“I heard you,” Erl nodded. “I seen a Mando about an hour ago. Silver armour? Yeah, that was him. He came storming in here from the back room, covered in blood, and then left in a hurry.”

Rex perked up. “You see which way he went?”

“Might have,” Erl blinked both eyes one after the other.

Rex grumbled and dug into his pocket. He came up with a handful of credits and dumped them on the bar.

Erl leaned closer. “The Mando said he was going back to his ship.”

Great. Rex deflated. If Mando had left an hour ago, he would have run into Rex and Not-Yoda-Yet. Something had to have happened between the bar and the ship.

“Thanks,” Rex left the bar. He stood in the rain for a long moment. He had no idea where to look next. Underage-Yoda wailed again. Rex tried to calm him. The child only cried harder. Big fat tears mixed with the rain slapping down.

“Hush, it’s alright,” Rex tried bouncing the kid in his arms. “Your buir’s around here somewhere. We just have to find the kriffer. Nobody can kill that bucket-head. I swear he’s immortal. That’s why he keeps going on suicide missions. He’s proving his invincibility. And his ability to give me an ulcer.”

The child quieted from wailing to loud sniffles. He seemed to be listening, so Rex kept talking.

“That’s it, Little Grub. Someone up there is watching over your buir. Maybe even Master Yoda himself.” Rex let out a barking laugh. “Wouldn’t that be a sight? Old Master Yoda keeping an eye on you and the kriffing Mand’alor. I wonder what the old jetti thought of your buir claiming the Darksaber.”

Rex imagined Master Yoda swinging his cane and screeching. The thought brought another laugh.

The child had quieted. He gripped Rex’s gloved index finger between both hands.

Rex sighed. “I don’t have any more ideas, Little Grub. Let’s go back to the ship and try to get some sleep. Your buir might come back on his own. If not, we can try to find him in the morning.”

Rex slogged through the puddles back to the landing dock. A voice shouted as Rex approached. Rex spun with a hand on his blaster.

“Woah there,” a man with an impressive beard waved from the shelter of an overhang at the edge of the dock. “I mean you no harm, friend. My name is Teach.”

“Teach,” Rex held back a sigh. “I don’t really have time to chat.”

“You’re looking for the Mandalorian?” Teach asked. Rex went still.

“How do you know that?”

Teach shrugged. “The Mandalorain was looking for you.”

“What?” Rex squawked. “When?”

Teach scratched his beard while he thought. “Maybe twenty minutes ago.”

“Where did he go?” Rex demanded.

“That way,” Teach pointed a dirty finger in the direction Rex had originally left the ship.

“I am an idiot,” Rex hissed. Premature Yoda cooed. “You don’t have to agree, I already know it’s true.” Rex grumbled. “Come on Little Grub. If your buir was still upright twenty minutes ago, then he’ll loop back to the ship eventually.”

“Better hurry,” Teach advised. “Your friend wasn’t looking too good.”

Rex stopped in his tracks. “What does that mean?”

Teach spread his hands helplessly. “He was covered in blood. And sort of tipsy, you know?”

Kriff. It sounded like Mando hadn’t escaped the fight unscathed after all.

“Don’t worry,” Rex patted the child’s head. “We’ll find him.”

Rex was a soldier. Better than that, he was a Captain. He knew how to sweep a grid search. He started by heading in the direction the man had pointed. Rex followed the street to its end. He kept his eyes peeled for a kriffing Mandalorian just as idiotic as Rex himself.

Rex and the green bean in his possession weaved back and forth down the streets, alleys, and side streets all around the landing dock. Rex asked the people he found braving the rain about Mando. None of them had seen Rex’s lost bucket-head. If the ghost of Master Yoda really was looking down, now was a good time for the old gremlin to give Rex a divine signal.

Rex slammed into something solid as brick.

“Kark!” Rex spat. He checked over Yoda the Second. “Watch where you’re-.” Rex looked up at the silver chest plate he’d run into. He blinked. A familiar visor looked back. Mando and Rex stood frozen in tableau in the middle of the slick street. Rex’s mouth opened and closed. Mando stood still as a statue.

“Where have you been?” Rex exploded.

“Me? You were supposed to leave hours ago. I thought someone had got you.” Mando snapped.

“Well, I thought you’d been gutted and left for the birds,” Rex shot back. “And I’d never leave a brother behind.”

Mando fell silent. Rex realised his voice had risen to shout through the rain.

Mando swayed on the spot. Rex shot a hand out and grabbed Mando’s arm. The man looked ready to keel over.

“Come on,” Rex pulled Mando back to the ship. He waved his thanks to Teach still sitting under the dripping overhang. Rex tugged Mando up the ramp and out of the rain.

Rex shoved Mando to sit on the edge of his bunk. He plopped the shivering wet Sham Yoda into Mando’s arms.

“Are you hurt?” Rex demanded. “Do I need to leave you with the med kit?”

“No,” Mando shook his head.

“Are you sure?” Rex pressed. “You don’t seem stable, no offense.”

Mando said nothing. Rex knew better than to keep pushing. He pointed to Mando’s left shoulder. The armour sat askew. “What happened here?”

“They managed to rip my pauldron off,” Mando grumbled.

Rex’s blood went cold. “They tried to strip your armour before killing you?”

Mando nodded. “That’s the way they operate. They know it’s the ultimate dishonour for a Mandalorian to have their armour removed by another. They shame our people before they kill us.”

Yikes, yikes, yikes. Rex did not have the context to process that.

Mando stroked a gloved hand over the Little Jedi’s head. The tyke cooed. It seemed to calm Mando. His shoulders climbed down from around his helmet. Rex heard the sigh through Mando’s vocoder.

“You know the significance of armour,” Mando said. “I’ve seen you checking your paint.”

Rex nodded. The blue stripes and scores had just as much importance to Rex as his own limbs. To lose them would be devastating. Especially after so many clones had lost themselves to the Empire. Rex swallowed that thought down before it overwhelmed him.

“You’ve never asked me my name,” Mando said. “Not once in all this time.”

Rex straightened up. “It’s yours to give. Names are important.”

He thought of his brothers, who chose their names so carefully when no one bothered to give them one. He couldn’t help his mind straying to the first of many funerals he’d attended during the war. When the commanding Jedi had read the list of the dead, he’d read their CT numbers. The hiss of disapproval didn’t rise over the helmets bowed in grief. But no CT numbers were ever read at a funeral again.

“Din Djarin,” Mando said softly. Rex almost missed it. “My name is Din Djarin. When we’re alone, you may use it.”

Rex dipped his head. “I’m honoured, Din.”

Mando stood awkwardly and shuffled to the fresher.

Rex kept watch on him out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t convinced Din’s wobbly demeanour stemmed entirely from emotional upheaval. More likely the kriffer was hiding a blow to the head. Rex recalled a whole tribe of Jedis who would remain unnamed who used to conceal injuries like that.

Phony Yoda whined and waved his little claws.

Rex patted his green head. “We found him, Little Grub. Nothing else to worry about.”

Din came back out of the fresher and paused. “What the hell happened to the rations?”

Rex pointed a finger in Mini-Yoda’s face. “This is your mess and I’m not taking the fall for it.”