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marisferasiop · 2 years

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Pairing: Din Djarin/ Cobb Vanth

Eating: Explicit, minors DNI

Summary: Cobb accompanies Din on a bounty, they travel and talk and get close. They flirt and Din teaches Cobb and Grogu how to swim. They f*ck.

Warnings: None. Slight canon-typical danger (hypothermia) but Din boyscouts them safe.

"You what?" Cobb sets his glass down and lifts an eyebrow at the man in beskar beside him at their usual table inside Freetown’s little cantina. The kid- he’s got a name now, Grogu, the still-nameless Mando tells him - coos at him and trains his huge eyes on a small group of miners talking animatedly across the bar. Mando pushes a second (his own) bowl of bone broth and legumes at him and tips his helmet toward Cobb.

"I'm asking if you want to come off-planet with me. Be my second on a bounty. It's a big job- big payout. There are four males to bring in. Two humans, a Shistavarian, and a Togruta. And the client wants them all alive. Carbonite is acceptable, thankfully," Mando grouses, resettling his weight on the stool.

"And where exactly would we--?" Cobb waves a hand vaguely upward and Din cocks his head a bit. "Go?"

"Luckily they’re not too bright and stole an Imperial cruiser. It can be tracked fairly easily. Fett has told me they were last tracked fleeing across the Hoth system. Last seen seeking lodging on Bespin but it was overheard that they planned to split up and hide out in the abandoned bunkers on Hoth or hire a ship and jump across to Takodana. It's a jungle planet," Din supplies, noting Cobb's confused frown. "You might see some rain. Greenery. Snow."

Cobb snorts into his glass and knocks it back. "I know about Hoth, nerfherder. Damn near everyone does by now. How long?"

"I'd prefer to leave tonight. And it's hard to say. Maybe two standard weeks?" Din isn't sure Cobb will leave his beloved town and folk for that long. The last deputy is dead, after all. "It could be longer. I can't guarantee it."

"Can you guarantee I will come back?" Cobb levels a gimlet eye at him and arches a neat, white eyebrow when Din shakes his head after a slight hesitation. "Hmm. Let me think on it. 's a lot to ask a man to leave the planet he's never left and a people he's lost an arm to protect."

“I understand.” Mando nods and goes silent after a crackling hum through the vocoder at the kid, ever the shiny statue at the other end of the table during his increasingly- frequent visits. The Marshal watches him push a small pale bread roll at the kid’s grasping claws, who peers at it with a questioning sound.

“Patu! Ooah?” Grogu waves the roll in one tiny fist. He waves his other tiny claw at him and Mando nods and repeats the sign language. Cobb’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead.

“It’s bread, ad’ika. Different grains grow here from others you’ve had, these are bleached by the two Suns. They’re paler,” Mando explains to the kid, who seems to take this as a suitable answer and sinks his teeth into the roll.

“Are you Patoo?”

Mando shrugs. “The jetti told me he is saying Papa.”

“Well if that ain't the cutest thing I've ever heard. And now you can understand him?”

The Mandalorian shifts back to Cobb, hesitating the way he does. Choosing his words. “Yes and no. Since he came back from training, it’s easier. I’m teaching him some common signs. Food, Papa, hurt, water, tired, scared. I’m not sure if he figured something out about the language barrier or I did.” He pauses another moment and seems to deflate. “Probably him, knowing what he can do.”

Cobb nods and watches them while he finishes his drink. He knows he's gonna damn well say yes- the man killed a dragon for him and his town, increased the trade by mending strained relations with the Tuskens, educated both sides on communication, and therefore enhanced the economy for Cobb’s struggling people. Even if he took the armor and a bounty hunter traced him to Freetown and Cobb lost an arm, he still feels an inexplicably planet-sized pull toward the other man.

“I have a gift for you, should you join me.”

“Ah, a bribe aside from credits and spending time with your handsome self. This I gotta see.” Cobb smirks when Mando hesitates.

Well then. Least he can do is ride along and shoot things. Even if it scares the shit out of him to think about going offworld.

Cobb knocks back his drink and cashes in, waves at Mando and they sidle off to his house. When they're in, Cobb pours a dram of fresh water and another two, passes the second and third to Mando who hands the smallest one to the kid. He drops onto his sofa and asks about the job. Mando follows and leans in the doorway like he does, stoic and patient.

“Four males, ex-spice runners turned slave trade syndicate for the Hutts. Two of them did the hunting, two did… conditioning during transports. They skipped on their last delivery which would have netted the Hutts an estimated two million credits. So they're paying me to bring them in, and Boba is paying me to kill them and the Hutts upon delivery. If I can't coerce them to leave, which we know from experience they will not.” He pauses for a moment. “Maybe a bit more death and destruction than you were anticipating.”

Cobb shrugs. “You know me well enough by now. I have no love for the slavers on this planet.”

“Yes. But ensuring their destruction is much more than keeping them out of your town, which you have historically preferred over eradicating them.”

Cobb glares at him and goes stiff all over. Mando interrupts before he can lash out, putting a placating hand up between them. “I’m not implying that you don't want it done, just that you maybe haven't had the means before. Come with me,” he says, softer this time. More of a request than a favor.

The Marshal softens a bit and stares at his own mismatched hands for a minute of silence. “Fine. I’ve been persuaded by your effusive natural charm. Lemme go hire a deputy.” He gets up with a groan and saunters out the door, leaving Mando and his kid to wait.

An hour and a half later, the three moons illuminate the Mandalorian’s reflective armor as they walk out to the Crest. Cobb has very little (clothes are hard to come by outside of a big city, especially new, and making the trip is rarely worth it) so he has a soft kit bag thrown over his shoulder and his extra blaster on his left hip. Mando is talking about stopping in the Core for clothes- Cobb’s gonna need a winter setup if they go to Hoth.

He drops his bag next to the bunk compartment Mando points out and turns to him.

“So what's my big surprise?” Cobb plants his hands on his hips and lofts a skeptical eyebrow while Mando raises the door shut. The other eyebrow joins the first soon enough, out of genuine surprise.

Mando gestures to a black plastisteel crate. Cobb angles toward it, curiosity piqued. He kneels and unlatches it and inside, carefully nestled in layers of padding is a set of Mando-style armor gleaming up at him, complete with a stylized HUD helmet and z-6 jetpack.

“Kriff, Mando! I can't accept this!” Cobb can't even bring himself to touch it, though it was clearly made for him. But the Mandalorian just cocks his head at him and stands there.

“Well that would be quite a pity; it was commissioned for you by the Mand’alor ruler themself.” Cobb has to be imagining the odd lilt to Mando’s voice- surely the vocoder is stressing something.

“Yeah, I can see that it was made for me! What the hell’d I do to earn this?” he whips his head back at Mando and squints. “Who’s your ruler? ‘N how’d they know about me?”

Din ignores the question. They can dredge that up later. “Well. You lost an arm to a bounty hunter I inadvertently led directly to you after I reclaimed the armor you’d been using to rather selflessly protect yourself and your people from exactly that sort of danger. My neglect in the Pyke situation very nearly got you killed. Seemed appropriate to rebalance the scales.”

“But– isn't this like, sacred? Do I gotta swear a creed? Isn't it– offensive? To your people?”

“Fett’s armor was offensive because you were wearing a fallen Mandalorian's armor who had presumably died wearing it in battle. It had to be returned. And Fett isn’t dead, so. But this is yours, crafted new. It’s not beskar. But it is the best quality durasteel; I've been reassured of that. Beskar’s just hard to come by, and. Sacred. And to answer your question- I’ve learned since seeing you last that there are... many Creeds among my kin. I myself am relearning many things about my people. I won't make you swear the creed for this gift, just honor the implications of the armor when you wear it. Though I should probably teach you the tenets of resol’nare at some point.” Din watches Cobb carefully lift the breastplate and examine it, swallowing. “I can have you swear something if you’d like.” He’s pleasantly surprised at how pleased he feels with Cobb’s reaction.

Din helps, eventually, setting his ad’ika down and watching Grogu toddle off to get into something. Mando kneels and helps lift out the pieces, hands Cobb his dark oxblood-red flight suit, which has a zip-off arm on the right side. He shows him how to attach the various plates to each network of wires and sensors and chips embedded in the fabric. Fett’s kit had been so ragged by the time Cobb had gotten it off the Jawas- it had been vastly different to this brand new set.

The plates are painted a pale, flat grey with white accents on the ridges and a thin red pinstripe outlining the white. The vambraces are striped diagonally with the same rich, blood-dark scarlet. The belt buckle that keeps the belly and hip padding in place is painted to look exactly like his Marshal’s buckle. The belly and hip guards are that same deep red, as is the soft vest that goes under the chest and back plate. His cowl and cape are the same rich scarlet, the precise shade as his old kerchief. Cobb thumbs the fabric and smirks. Mando must have made that request pretty specifically to nail the color just right.

The helmet is grey to match with white in the sunken cheeks, but unlike Fett’s old busted helmet, the HUD actually works for far more than a targeting system for the jetpack. The seals will actually work under his jawline, the filter will let in fresh air and expel carbon dioxide. It fits perfectly. The Marshal’s red and white stripes curve upward over one eye ridge and back over the top left hemisphere, noting his role blatantly.

He’s absolutely floored at the detail put into his armor, and he's not even a Mandalorian. “Partner, I– I know how meaningful this is. Thank you.”

Mando looks up at him from his knees a beat too long, too still, like he tends to do, and Vanth looks down at himself all decked out, feeling a little out of place.

“It suits you,” Mando finally says, and means it. He smiles behind his helmet and holds Cobb’s up for him to take, complete the set. He obliges, donning the last piece. Mando whistles low at him, making them both snort a laugh.

“Alright, alright. Let's get this heap off the planet, shall we?”

“Did you call my ship a heap?” Cobb snorts again, taking his helmet off and setting it carefully back in the crate. He picks up Grogu, who had climbed inside and started playing with the layers of foam packing.

“Ain’t it? This thing’s pre-empire, practically a relic.” he hands the kid over.

Mando just shakes his head and grumbles so low it’s lost in the vocoder, disappearing up the ladder.

Cobb grins and follows the other man up to the cockpit, strapping in beside Grogu.

They coast up over the dunes for a while, closing in fast on Mos Espa before he knows it. When Mando hits the throttle and pulls back on the yoke, Cobb has to hold his breath as they rocket upward and then suddenly- he’s in the stars.

“Force,” he curses, catching his breath and watching the buffeting whorl of hyperspace pass them by. “And you just– do this all the time, partner? Like it’s nothin’.”

Mando turns- the ship’s on autopilot now that they’re in a hyperlane. He nods. “Sort of loses its luster after a few dozen times. But I am enjoying your reaction,” he adds, seeing Cobb’s face fall a bit. “And you're still a bit drunk. I’m a little surprised you didn't vomit,” he teases. It has the intended effect, even with his modulated voice. Cobb chuckles weakly and shakes his head.

“So now what?”

“Now, I put Grogu to bed and we float along the hyperlane til we get to Naboo. Hopefully my tip will come in by then regarding the crew’s last whereabouts. You can sleep too, if you like–”

“No chance. I’ve had a very exciting afternoon and I’m in space for the first time, I wanna see what I can.”

Mando nods and scoops the kid up and drops into the seat beside Vanth, who is still strapped in tight as can be and wide-eyed as a mooncalf while he stares out the transparisteel screen. Mando strokes Grogu’s back and soon enough the kid nods off, full and comfortable in a familiar environment. He waits another few moments and shifts Grogu to one arm, getting up to climb down and put him to bed.

“Don't touch any settings, I'll be back in a few minutes”

Cobb nods and stares wide-eyed at the console, no doubt imagining all the things that could go wrong. Din snorts, the sound smothered by his helmet, and clambers down the ladder one-handed.

He settles Grogu in the little nest the kid’s made out of Din’s old cape and a cushion in a cubby in the ship’s narrow bunk space. Once settled and still asleep, he drops down the door and goes back topside to sit with Vanth.

When he comes silently back into the cockpit, Vanth is straining forward in his seat a bit, looking upward, his mouth hanging open in awe. Din smiles behind his HUD and makes his presence known. “My name is Din,” he says, apropos of nothing. Cobb jumps slightly and half-turns to look up at him. “By the way. Din Djarin.”

“Two names in one day, a new set of Mandalorian armor from your monarch, and a trip to space. What kind of lotto did I win?” He grins up at Din and relaxes back into the seat.

“We’ll see if you feel the same when we get to a decent planet for some warm clothes. And then if we go to Hoth. You won't feel like much of a lotto winner there,” he chuckles.

“Stars, Din! Two names, armor, I'm in space, and a laugh?! Slow down! Gonna give an old man a heart attack,” Cobb throws his head back and laughs when Din sighs and shakes his head.

“You're barely older than me,” Din grouses. “We’ll be at Naboo in an hour or so.”

“Alright,” Cob says agreeably, though now he’s more curious than ever about the man under the helmet. He watches outside and asks questions about flying and space travel and Naboo and generally feels like a nuisance, though Din weathers the curiosity well.

He has a kid after all.

Cobb watches closely as Din drops them out of hyperspace and smoothly (though far too quickly in Cobb’s opinion) into a lane to orbit and then dock at the markets on the rim of Theed.

Din tucks a sleepy Grogu into his satchel and leads Vanth, who has replaced his helmet and strapped his blaster to his thigh, out among the stalls. Din is patient, delighting silently in pausing to watch Cobb stare in bafflement at goods he’s never seen in his life. Fabrics and art, shoes and bags, food and farming equipment, Cobb pokes at it all, allowing Din to nudge him along slowly and speak for him in languages other than basic or Huttese. They speak a thousand languages here, it seems. If the Mandalorian doesn't speak it, he can find a middle ground to communicate in most stalls. Cobb knows Huttese, an unfortunate side effect of growing up like he did, like most things in the galaxy seem to. He still tries valiantly not to gape too much at Din haggling over a set of fur capes and boots with a Shistavanan. The poor xeno looks fairly terrified to see two Mandalorians in full getup in their stall.

Din gets the furs and boots, grabs Vanth by the elbow, and tows them out of the stall in a huff. “Aw, what's the matter Mando? That canid got you bothered?”

Din says nothing for a moment and stalks ahead, dropping his hold on Cobb’s good arm. “He was taunting me, I suppose. About dressing my.. erm. Mate?” He shakes his head.

Cobb’s eyebrows shoot up playfully, not that Din can see it. “Oh?” He cocks his hip. They’ve drifted to a stop outside of a Gungan food vendor.

“Just choose something,” he sighs, jangling some credits out of his pocket and waving at the picture menu. Cobb stares at the pictures for a blank moment and points at something that looks vaguely good with a questioning glance at Mando. Din leans in and mutters conspiratorially; “That’s not going to be good.”

“Oh. Uhm. Whatever you get? You're… Wait, are you human?” Cobb gives him a once-over and seems to decide probably. “Humanoid, anyway. Whatever you have. Long as it's not like that Tusken melon.”

Mando snorts and orders in Gungan, paying and accepting three disposable trays. Grogu immediately tries to stick his hand in one, but Din holds it out of the way and tells him to wait- it’s too hot. He lets Cobb take the food while he shoulders the shopping and they go back to the Crest where Din can at least eat in relative peace.

“I’ll eat up top, you can stay down here with the womp rat, take your helmet off? Or you can go up.” Cobb takes his own helmet off and sets it on the bunk, watching Din unload the shopping into a storage panel. Grogu has already found the bag of food and opened a box, spilling ahrise everywhere as he eats with his hands.

Din hesitates and stares at Cobb for a long moment like he does, which always makes Cobb feel like a pinned insect. He stares back, eyebrows climbing, until Din moves and shuts the cargo door.

“I can take it off,” he says, and does exactly that. Vanth watches (and keeps his eyes on Din’s blaster holster just in case he's misinterpreting) as the catches go and then hiss, and Din pulls the helmet off. “My Creed is already broken, Vanth. My ad’ika–” he glances at the kid and shrugs. It doesn't quite hit as nonchalantly as Cobb thinks he's going for. “I took it off so he could see me when I had to leave him, remember me when I had to leave him with the jetti. I thought I'd never see him again, and it meant something to me. Hopefully it did to him. It’s already broken. And I like and respect you.” He waves a hand at Cobb’s whole self as if to say obviously. “You can look.”

Cobb bites his lips and hesitates before flicking his eyes up. He meets the deepest brown eyes he thinks he’s ever seen; soft, soulful eyes that hardly could belong to such a hardened bounty hunter, but they do. He realizes belatedly that he's been quiet a beat too long and blinks.

“This day just keeps unfolding, don’t it?” Cobb breathes, transfixed. Din scoffs and unfolds a small table and bench from a panel in the wall. When he turns back, Cobb is still watching him, drinking in the finer details of his face as if memorizing it. “Could’a said you were drop dead handsome, Din.”

“Stop it,” Din sighs, dropping onto one of the small folding stools.

“Not for anything,” Cobb continues, delighting in teasing the other man.

Getting to watch his reactions is an absolute treat. Cobb has learned to read Mando’s reactions in the tip of his helmet or the set of his shoulders. Now he gets to learn Din’s reactions removed from all that beskar. It feels like winning the lottery all over again. How many times is that today? He’s lost count.

“Well then we’re a pair.”

“You have dimples.”

“Shut up,” Din grouses, shoving a plate of food at him. Cobb laughs aloud and relents, digging in. There’s a moment of quiet while Din hands Grogu a utensil and hopes for the best, pushing some of his portion into the lid for the kid to scoop up messily in his little claws (the spoon has hit the floor). He sacrifices the larger chunk of meat readily. Cobb hands over one of his pieces without hesitation. They eat with a quick and neat pattern of men who don't often have time to linger and enjoy things before Cobb is piping up again.

“Did you call me handsome?”

Din rolls his eyes over a mouth full of ahrise. “You started it.”

“Oooh, I’ll fuckin’ finish it if you keep that up.”

Din eyes him for a charged moment, assessing him carefully. The kid is already yawning over Din’s forearm, slumping with a full belly. Cobb’s never been on the receiving end of the stare of a predator quite like that; it makes his pulse quicken despite his desire to remain cool and nonchalant. Din takes another bite before closing his box and tucking Grogu into his nest again. Cobb is staring at the spread of his thighs fairly blatantly as Din bends into the bunk space and situates Grogu, hazel eyes flicking between Din's ass and the back of his curly head. Din smirks a little and huffs when he straightens and catches him at it.

Cobb just raises his eyebrows as if begging to be called out, itching for a tussle. Part of him wants to rise to the bait, bite back twice as hard, see if Mandalorian skin grows thick as a Tattooine slave’s.

“Get some sleep,” Din cracks into his thoughts, shutting them down. “The cot’s wide enough with the kid in his cubby. I’ll wake you when we get to the Hoth system. It’ll be a longer jump than Tattooine to Naboo.” With that, Din scoops up his helmet, replaces it, and disappears up the ladder, leaving Cobb to finish his dinner and crawl into the bunk beside the kid to lick his wounds.

____________

“I did warn you,” Din growls, dropping Cobb from his fairly undignified position slung over his shoulder down to the frozen ground of the cave he’d just scouted out. The man immediately huddles into his furs and glares up at Din insolently thru his own HUD. “Keep your helmet on, it will prevent your throat from freezing until I can get a fire built."

“I’m sorry!” Cobb picks off the rest of his absolutely freezing armor and jetpack while Din kneels and rips his soggy boots off and wraps him back up as quickly as his shaking hands will allow. At least Din got them out of the biting wind.

Din serves Cobb a deadpan glare (what else can he do with the helmet on) and stalks off deeper into the cave with a Stay called over his shoulder and his blaster drawn. A moment later he returns dragging the massive freeze-dried carcass of a wampa and a pile of partially charred wood tucked under the other arm. He’d scouted for (living, dangerous) wampas and thanked the stars for finally some small stroke of luck on this twice-damned bounty hunt.

The Mandalorian sets about making a campfire, aiming his torch gauntlet at it to get it blazing quickly, and starts skinning the wampa carcass. It’s been cut by something and burned, but still usable for a thick fur. At least it’s not bloodied or particularly smelly.

Cobb shakes violently and inches closer to the fire, watching Din methodically strip the fur clean. He’s pretty sure his ass is frozen to the ground by now.

“Here,” Din says after a moment, standing and shaking out a large swath of wampa fur. He lays it down close to the fire and pushes Cobb onto it on his side, blanketing him with both their fur cloaks.

“Hey!”

“I’m not the one that plunged into a ten foot deep snowdrift, shut up and focus on getting warm before you go hypothermic and lose another limb,” Din grits at him, stressed. He starts detaching his own armor and stacking it. “Fett’s not out here to drop you in a convenient bacta tank and get his Mod artist to build you something else.”

“Yeah- yeah. What are you doing?”

“Do you want ice cold beskar on your back?”

Cobb hesitates, squinting back at Din through the cover of furs. “You gettin’ under here with me?”

“Body heat is the fastest way to warm you back up. I wasn't joking- you could lose toes or a foot, easily. Fingers, et cetera. Stay still,” Din shucks his helmet and scoots under the two cloaks, shimmying up tight behind Cobb’s bony ass, sandwiching his frozen flesh-and-blood hand between Din’s forearm and Cobb’s ribs. Vanth uses the mod arm to pull his helmet off and burrows back under the cloaks.

At least they're not wet, thank the Force, and both still fully clothed in their flight suits and gloves aside from Cobb’s soggy socks and boots which are upended by the fire to dry them.

Din had fished the Marshal out of the snow, then summarily thrown him over his shoulder and used the Rising Phoenix to get them to the mouth of the cave his HUD picked out of the low mountain range to their west. He had ripped Vanth’s boots and socks off, taken his own second set off and jammed them on Cobb’s numb feet before leaving him to scout the cave. Cobb had complained about the manhandling until his jaw started shivering so hard he couldn't.

“Womp rat of a man. No fat on you at all,” Din teases into a bristly silver hairline, now that the survivalist panic is starting to subside. He breathes warm into the skin there, lips catching on the peak of a star-shaped scar just under the cowl’s pile.

“Well it’s not exactly a problem back home.”

Din buries his forehead in Cobb’s nape and snorts. “Problematic when you see snow for the first time and drop directly into it because you're not listening.”

“Oh fuck off. I’m fine.” Cobb tightens further into a ball of angles and pouts, elbowing Din in the ribs with his mech arm. He growls when Din says as much. “Not pouting! I’m a grown ass man, Mando, I do not pout.”

“You're doing a valiant job of proving it,” Din sighs and settles them closer, tucking Cobb's frozen feet between his own to warm them. Cobb, intelligently, does not retort. “It’s at best negative fifty standard degrees outside with a sharp wind chill. You would have had frostbite across your feet within the hour and gone hypothermic within another twenty minutes. You haven't been in this environment before, Cobb. Shut up and let me take care of you.”

Cobb doesn't answer but his belly tenses like he’s rolling something acrid around in his mouth, trying to decide if he’ll let it out.

Din presses on to prevent it. “If I were suffering heat stroke in the Dune Sea, would you step in and care for me? Tell me to shut up and bow to your better knowledge of the environment and dangers of what it can do to the body?”

“Yeah– alright. I get it.”

Din hums in simple acknowledgement and thinks about Grogu back on the ship, hopefully remaining safe and warm. With any luck he can get Cobb warmed and they’ll be out of here within the hour and can flush out the two men his tip had told him were hiding in the old abandoned rebel alliance base. It’s not too much further. He’s hoping the base’s ground sensors are damaged badly enough from the battle a few years ago to scan for him and Cobb flying in with their Rising Phoenix.

______________

The bounty targets prove to be as stupid and easy to catch as Din had hoped. The base was indeed ruined, barely more than a cave anymore. He and Vanth had made quick work of flying in low and sneaking in a crevice left over from an old blaster hit during the war. They had snuck up on the men sleeping around a fire, not even taking shifts. A good hit to the temple and they were both out cold. He and Cobb each grabbed one and flew back to the Crest to put the men in carbonite and head out.

“What about the other two?” Cobb asks, releasing his helmet seals and trying not to shiver too hard while he thaws in the warmth of the ship. Grogu bashes his shins til he picks the little guy up. Din hangs the Carbonite plate of the second man and turns to him.

“I need to send a comm to confirm, but last I heard they had followed through on that plan to jump to Takodana. Up for a jungle planet?”

“After this? Kriff yes.”

Din snorts and scoops Grogu up, who is reaching for him. “You did a great job doing what I asked, ad'ika. Let's get to a warmer locale?”

___________

It’s dark and they're both exhausted by the time they make it across the short jump to Takodana. Din normally would push through and pursue the targets anyway, but he’s silently concerned that Cobb is hiding how badly he feels.

They decide to sleep and search for the other two in the early morning.

“Take the bunk again, I'm used to sleeping up here,” Din says, waving at the ladder. Cobb glances down and hesitates.

“Reckon there’s space enough down there.”

In lieu of answering, Din waits for clarification. Cobb huffs and seems to swallow down a biting taunt. “Surely this ship’ll keep us safe enough that sleeping in shifts ain't necessary?”

“I wasn't going to do shifts,” Din lies. He was going to sit up here quietly, possibly meditate, until he fell asleep. That's not quite the same as intentionally staying up, he reasons.

“Then come down here with us. Rather have us all in one place. And warm,” Cobb shifts his weight and sighs before shaking his head and going down the ladder. Din listens to him remove the armor and place it in the crate before opening the bunk hatch and growling about clambering in.

The bunk is narrow and cut into the side of the ship like a horizontal closet. Din has compared it to a cryo pod (or a casket) more than once, but the door opens at the feet rather than upward. It’s perhaps a meter wide with a cubby on each side, one of which is now filled with Grogu’s little nest. As of late, Din usually puts his helmet and sabre in the other.

Cobb crawls into it and kicks off his boots so they fall outside with a thunk. He doesn't shut the door, feeling uneasy about it. He hadn't napped earlier, before Hoth; he’d been too anxious and filled with nervous energy. Now, his body is severely protesting that lack of sleep among the other things he’s done such as nearly freezing to death and carrying a full- grown male Togruta back to the ship. He’s bone-weary but can’t relax.

He’s on his left side (he can't sleep with all his weight on his right side anymore) watching Grogu snore softly when he hears the clink of beskar against the ladder. A moment later, Din appears at his feet, hovering a bit awkwardly. Instead of saying anything, Cobb shuffles backward so Din can fit between him and his son.

The Mandalorian strips off his armor so they can fit, setting the plates in the crate with Cobb’s before he slides into the bunk. He reaches behind Cobb and sets his helmet and sabre into the cubby within reach and lays down, his back to Cobb’s chest, and goes still.

The fit is tight; they're spooning like they were by the fire in the wampa cave, except Din is in front and Cobb isn't facing the idea of losing his toes. Cobb finds his body relaxing much better than he was when he was laying here with just the kid. Din smells like sweat at his nape and whatever antiperspirant he uses under the flight suit. Cobb’s still a long red streak in his own suit and the material whishes softly as they adjust and get comfortable against one another. Din taps the door button with his foot and it slides down, dimming the compartment light to a low red glow that bleaches the colors out. Cobb presses his eyes closed and makes himself lay still until sleep finally takes him.

A few hours later, Vanth blinks awake to a light tapping on his forehead. He cracks his eyes open to see Grogu curiously eyeing them, cooing very quietly.

“Hey lil guy.” Cobb whispers and stretches minutely, flexing against the heavy weight pinning him to one wall. He can feel Din’s helmet in his lower back and he bows away from it, finding he can’t go far. There is a soft grumble of protest against his throat and Cobb quickly becomes aware of their position change.

Din had rolled in his sleep and tucked his head under Cobb’s chin, puffing hot breaths into the hollow of his throat. He’s got a heavy arm across Cobb’s belly and their legs are carded. Cobb’s flesh arm is under Din's neck and bent upward, cupping his top shoulder.

Ah, that would be a big part of the kid’s confusion. He’s probably never seen Din touch anyone outside of a fight.. or holding Grogu, himself.

Cobb clears his throat as quietly as he can and blinks up at the kid, now standing just behind Din’s head, his little claws resting gently in his papa’s hair.

“Does your daddy not want anyone to know he's secretly very cuddly?” He whispers to the kid, who blinks at him and cocks his head. In answer, Grogu crawls over Din’s neck and settles against the hollow made between their chins and chests. Din hums, tipping his face up to allow him more room, as if this is a regular occurrence. The adjustment puts the Mandalorian’s nose in Cobb’s beard, just under his ear.

Cobb holds perfectly still, pinned halfway under them both, taking in the softness of Din when sleeping. His face is unlined and relaxed, jaw soft and slack, lips parted slightly. His hair is mussed on one side, sticking up and curling wildly where he's been rubbing it against the pillow. Drowsily, he brings an arm up off of Cobb’s belly and curls it around the kid, humming before going quiet again. He’s on the verge of waking; Cobb can feel the shift in his breathing.

Call him selfish, but any Tatooine - born being knows that you take your pleasures as they come. They're often few and far between. So Cobb lays there and counts their three separate breaths, enjoying the press of another body (or two) and the simple joy of how easy it feels, for now.

Din snuffles awake a few short minutes later, blinking a dark eye down at the kid and then across at Cobb who’s in the middle of a jaw-cracking yawn. Din stretches against them and rolls mostly to his back, as much as he can in the narrow space.

“Sorry if we crowded you,” he yawns, pulling Grogu onto his chest. The kid taps him on the chin curiously and blinks over at Vanth with a questioning sound.

“No trouble. I don't get to cuddle very often,” he winks at Din’s startled look and chuckles.

The Mandalorian just hums in somber agreement and sits up, sliding out of the bunk to check the local time and his comms.

“The local cantina is also an inn. We can go there and check with the proprietor, see if our targets have passed through.” While he's talking, he sets Grogu down and starts reattaching armor to his flight suit, pausing when he seems to belatedly realize his helmet is still off. Cobb reaches behind himself where he's sat on the edge of the bed and retrieves it.

“Alright.”

Din takes the helmet and holds it at his hip, watching the child crawl into his satchel. “If you're coming you have to be vigilant,” he says. Grogu blinks up at him and waves a claw. Whatever he signs makes Din snort and pick him up. He puts the helmet on and opens the cargo door, turning to Cobb.

“I’ll set a path to the inn. Do you need help with your armor?”

Vanth squints at him, how he’s angling for the door fairly blatantly. “Nah, I got it. Go piss,” he says, waving, and earns a slightly embarrassed huff of laughter (he’s getting better at deciphering the myriad of flattened sounds that come through the vocoder) before the Mando disappears down the ramp.

__________

The bounties prove blessedly easy once again.

The innkeeper at the cantina-and-inn goes wide-eyed at the sight of them and quickly directs them to a room in which the two remaining bounties are still asleep in the early dawn hour. Cobb kicks in the door and Mando shocks them back into silence with his stunner. Again, they each take a man and drag them back to the ship. Cobb’s wakes up halfway there and they have a tussle, but he clocks the Shista in the temple with his mod arm and he goes back down.

Din puts them both in carbonite and hangs the trays. Cobb is maybe five meters from the ship, standing at the edge of a streamlet cutting through the undergrowth.

“We’ve made good time. Only two days,” the Mandalorian calls.

“That we have,” Cobb agrees, shucking his helmet. “So much for a vacation,” he jokes. Din stares at him a moment and then looks down at the kid and back.

“I probably know the answer, but have you ever swam?”

Cobb snorts. “Hell, no. Not enough water on all of Tattooine for that, ‘cept for maybe one of the Hutt palaces.”

“I don't think the kid has either. There’s a waterfall and pool not far from here. We have plenty of time,” Din lets the bait lay and waits, like any good hunter.

“I ain't keen on drowning,” Cobb says, testing his way forward.

“I won't let you drown.”

“Well then. Count me in, partner.”

They fill up canteens and fill a camtono with snacks and blankets for drying off. Cobb straps the kid to himself since Din’s got the heft of the gear slung over his shoulder. In lieu of walking, he suggests they fly the few clicks to the south. He shows Cobb where to go on the topography map and they take off.

It’s not hard at all to find; Takodana is a thick jungle planet with mountains and lakes studded through the forest. It’s easy to spot the low mountain range with water climbing along its spine and then falling off the end, even if Cobb’s never seen that much free-flowing water in his life. At the bottom of the waterfall is a deep natural pool of the brightest turquoise he’s ever seen.

Din lets him explore the rocky outcroppings while he removes his armor and flight suit and strips the kid down. Grogu immediately splashes into the shallows and sits in the mud, playing with small rocks and trying to catch the small fish in his tiny fists.

“You could jump from there,” Din calls out, catching Cobb’s curious stare down into the pool. “But I'll probably have to fish you out.”

Vanth nods and steps down off the rocks, returning to the two of them. “Better learn to swim first, eh?” He chuckles, stripping off his own suit and armor. He lays it on a flat rock beside Din’s and joins them in the shallows. In their smalls, they must look a hilarious sight between Din with his helmet on and a little green fella between them, but Cobb splashes happily in the water anyway. The smile on his face could power Tattooine’s suns, Din thinks idly.

Soon enough, Grogu tires out after lifting pebbles with his powers and trying to catch the tiny silver fish that flit between their feet. He yawns and drapes himself over Din’s knee, so Din makes a little nest out of their combined clothing and puts him there to nap.

When he comes back, Cobb’s standing in the pool to his chest, dipping parts of the mod arm tentatively in the water, watching it closely. He turns and lifts his eyebrows at Din’s lack of helmet.

“It shouldn't react negatively in water; they're made so you're able to bathe regularly.”

“Yeah well I only have a sonic, hasn't really been tested.” He drops his arm in the water with a wince, half expecting to be electrocuted. When nothing happens, Din watches him relax. “Your helmet can't get wet?”

“It can, but submerging it isn't wise. I don't have it fitted for waterproofing.” Maybe my next upgrade if this goes well. Take them to more watering holes. He holds out a hand and waits for Cobb to take it. “No need to look like I'm going to drag you out and leave you. I’d have done that on Hoth,” Din quips, swimming backward with one arm until it’s deep enough to barely touch.

Cobb snorts but his face fills with apprehension the deeper he follows Din out. But he goes. Cobb’s taller than him, but soon they run out of large, sunken boulders to balance on and Din slips off the side of one into deeper waters. Cobb stays on the boulder, comfortable with the depth and something solid under his feet. He watches Din paddle around for a moment and starts to copy the movements. When Din notices, he comes back and takes a hand again, squeezing lightly.

“Bow your arms out, like this, and keep them moving. Yeah– that’s called treading water. Keeps you afloat, but it's tiring. Now tip your chin back- no! Ah-ha. Put your head in the water! Further.” He puts a hand under Cobb’s skull and lower back, guiding gently. “Tip your chin up. Now clench your stomach, bring your knees up. There you go. And move your arms like- yeah. Now you're floating. You can stay like that for ages.” Din lets go, flops to his back and floats, casting an eye back over at the kid, still sleeping soundly. He jumps and sinks when he gets splashed.

Cobb laughs hard enough that he sinks, and then panics. In retaliation, Din shoves him under water and then yanks him back up before Cobb can get a lungful.

“Oh, kriff,” Cobb splutters, hanging onto Din like a parasite. He wipes water off his face and laughs, catching his breath. Din shakes his head to rid excess water and chuckles, holding him easily and still staying afloat even though they're off the big flat boulder.

“The water is drinkable here. If you hold your breath you could go under and open your eyes.” Din laughs at the appalled look Cobb gives him.

“Sorry partner but uh- I'm okay not seeing what is or isn't below us right now. Unless I feel it touch me, then we’re gonna have problems.”

“Oh, come on. Just a bunch of rocks. Some small fish. Maybe a sea monster,” Din chuckles when Cobb splashes him. He lets Cobb go and then has to catch him again when the man turns into all angles and forgets his floating lesson. “Maker, you're forgetful. Just– come here,” he turns and drags Cobb up against his back, hooking the Marshal’s forearms over his shoulders. “Hang on,” he says, and paddles slowly out to darker waters, pulling Cobb along like a tugship.

They're close enough to feel the thrum of the waterfall pummeling into the rocks under the surface now, the pool deep and rocks worn hollow in some spots from millennia of erosion. Din takes them right up to the froth to let Cobb sit on a rock and get beaten by the flow of a smaller section of the fall for a moment. He answers questions about the strength of water, the ability for it to cut through rock and carve out canyons. How ice is stronger and less forgiving, like the low mountains they saw on Hoth versus the tall ones here with rivers cut across the lay of them.

Cobb clings to Din and floats behind him like a cape, trailing through the water til Din gets tired and beaches them on a flat sheet of rock not far from where they left the kid. There is a rock pool in the middle of the shale and Cobb moves over to it, poking curiously at a little crustacean. It snips its claws at him furiously and he relents with a huff of laughter, taking an empty, mirror-shiny shell back to show Din.

He gives it a few seconds of curious perusal before directing the Marshal to look at something dark swimming through the lake where they’d just been floundering, but Cobb notices Din wrapping the shell in his fist as he looks away.

Cobb sprawls out flat on the rock beside Din, legs straight out and dangling off the flat rock into the water, leaned back in his elbows, taking in the greenish-blue sky framed in tree tops and single sun, all the foliage that’s so odd to him. It's fascinating. He thinks he likes it.

Much better than Hoth, anyway.

“Didn't imagine a bounty hunt would turn into a nice little family vacation,” he teases, hooking his ankle behind Din’s where they float in the lapping water. He doesn't get much response, which doesn't surprise him, so he presses on the bruise a little harder. “Dank farrik, Din. You could have just asked me, you know. Or– shit. Come to my house and stayed.”

Din nods and seems to recede, but Cobb is used to his stretches of meditative silence by now. Din’s smart- he doesn't talk a lot or talk quickly, so others tend to think he’s slow or just antisocial, but mostly he thinks about his words and chooses them carefully. Cobb can accept that, so he waits.

“I like that you can handle yourself. And are respectful of my customs, even if I've broken some of them myself. And the kid likes you; he’s easy around you. You’re smart, and brave, and resilient. But I have had a… Perspective change over the last few months. That sabre I carry has a weight attached to it like nothing I would have ever expected. And it means that anything I might pursue with you could potentially be incredibly complicated, or drag you or your people into unnecessary danger. I’ve painted enough of a target on your back. And the people who are after the kid… That's a whole other set of dangers.”

“Just tell me.” Cobb sits up, cross-legged and leaning forward don his knees. “Let me have a choice, here.”

Din stares at the water, then over at the kid, then finally locks eyes with him and heaves a deep sigh. “I won the sabre in battle against an Imp who had it. By Mandalorian custom, after winning it in battle the wielder is our ruler, the Mand’alor. I’m– essentially a king.”

As expected, Cobb recoils and blinks at him, stunned into silence.

“So– you’re like. Royalty?”

Din snorts and shakes his head. “That's not really- we don't have a lineage like that. Boba’s father led the last of the true Mandalorians- and they were slaughtered by the splinter faction that raised me as a foundling. There’s not many true Mandalorians left. Whoever owns the sabre is the ruler, and I can’t hand it off. I’ve tried. Someone has to defeat me in battle.”

“So be the king or die.”

“Essentially.”

Cobb sits for a moment and kicks his feet lazily in the water. “Sounds like a call to action. And you're an action kinda man.”

Din hums noncommittally. “It’s not only that. As if that isn't enough. I broke my Creed, so my faction no longer considers me Mandalorian. And the remaining factions are suspicious of me because I was a foundling, so I don't represent them either as the Manda’lor. And all this is aside from the pull I have to simply–” he breaks off and waves toward the shore where Grogu is bundled. “Be. Raise him. To the best of my ability.” he shakes his head and lays out flat on the rock, eyes squeezed shut.

“And where do I fit in?”

Din sighs and shakes his head. “Wherever you want. In all honesty, I don't know. I was content to do what I had to do regarding Grogu and just– come back, maybe present you with a future, but then all of this–. Now I'm not sure if I can have you, and him, and do everything I now have to do. Or ought to do.”

Cobb nods and hums, lets that sit heavy on his chest for a minute. “And your planet- it’s ruined, ain't it?”

Din nods. “Mandalore was glassed by the empire in an attempt to wipe us out. They and the Yuuzan Vong have wiped the beskar from the surface and most of the crust as well. It’s why we live in small factions, in coverts. We are hunted, even by non-imperials. the planet will have to be terraformed aggressively before it's livable again.”

Cobb bites his lip. “And until then?”

Din shrugs. “We’ll live wherever. Or remain as nomads as we have been. My covert on nevarro was wiped out, the few remaining from my faction are in hiding. Boba has invited me to use his palace as a base, but I have to endure his ribbing and passive- aggressive comments. And Fennec.” Din cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows.

“Hmm.” Cobb rolls to his side and lays next to Din, almost touching. He knocks their feet together again. “So you’re tellin’ me that– for the foreseeable future- you’re stationed on Tattooine while you gather your people and terraform your planet. And you like me. And you want some domesticity in which to raise your kid? The kid you told me to care for in your stead?”

Din cracks an eye and looks at him, assessing. “Yes.”

“And your kid likes me, and my town has a few little ones and a school in the middle of nowhere not even on a map in the desert, days from anywhere.”

“Yeah.”

Cobb snorts, cracking a wide grin. “Well then, darlin’. Sounds like we want some of the same things.” He stays still while Din rolls to his side to face him.

“Yeah?”

Cobb hums his assent. “I’d like you to stay with me, when you can. If you're on Tattooine anyway. ‘N Freetown ain't too far a ride from Mos Eisley. Faster in your cruiser. And I'll mind the kid when you gotta go off without him. And I'll come out here with you when I can, like now. Like this.”

“And if we finish terraforming Mandalore in my lifetime?”

“Stars, I better be retired by then. Bein’ a trophy partner to a king and all,'' Cobb teases. He grins wide when it makes Din actually laugh, his hazel eyes folding into half-moons. “I expect I'll have passed on my mantle by then. And I'll come with you.”

Din stares at him for several seconds, seemingly thinking a thousand loud things at once. Cobb decides to interrupt for once. “Sweetheart, we don't gotta plan our lives right now. But I like you a lot, and I miss you when you're gone. And I love your kid, and I respect your customs, and your mantle. And I'd really like to kiss you.”

Din laughs. “Hmm. Come on then,” he says, and pulls Cobb on top of him as he rolls to his back.

And Maker, Din kisses with a curious sort of gentle certainty for someone who’s spent most of his life under a bucket. His palms and thumbs cup the rise of a sharp hip bone on each side and his square fingers curl over Cobb’s narrow ass, and he angles up his chin and lets Cobb lick into him slow and sure like the waves lapping over their calves. Cobb’s flat atop him, balanced on his elbows on either side of his Mandalorian’s head with his flesh fingers in those dark curls, tilting him just a little to deepen the angle.

Just as they’re starting to explore a little more, legs spreading and hands searching, they both jump at the sound of a curious coo across the shore.

“Ah,” Din sighs, dropping his head back into the rock and smiling up at Cobb. “We’ve been caught.”

Cobb laughs and kneels up, offering Din a hand as he stands. They splash across the shore back to Grogu, who’s woken up and made a beeline for the water. Din catches him before he can step too deep and parades them back to a rock pool that can be safely investigated.

As the sun heads toward the evening, Din uses his grappling tool to catch a sizable fish and inspects it for toxins, and they build a small fire and roast it. The kid inhales half of it and promptly passes out with a full belly and an active day under his belt.

They re-armor up and fly back to the ship, landing just as the sun dips below the horizon.

________________________

He’s draped over the back of one of the cockpit chairs, knees on the seat and chest on the headrest.

“Ohhhffffff!” Din wheezes, hips stuttering forward against the unyielding hold of Cobb’s mod hand clamped over his hip. He’s trying to be still and quiet, not make a fuss or wake Grogu in the bunk compartment just below them, but Cobb is talented with his mouth in a way that defies logic. The bounty hunter's pretty sure he’s losing higher brain function by the second; it had been methodically sucked out of his dick before Cobb turned him around and put his mouth and fingers– elsewhere.

He’s got one hand fisted behind him in Cobb’s hair and the other locked over that metal hand on his hip, getting what can only be described as the most necessary rimming of his life while the Marshal kneels behind him, half his face ticked up around the stretch of his jaw in a smirk. Bastard. Din resolves to give it back in kind as soon as he’s ready to go again.

A long, narrow flesh- and- blood thumb probes, tracing Din’s hole and pressing lightly, smearing slick. He jumps, though not in disagreement. “Oh– Cobb! Cobb! I’m already– If you- if you do that too I'm gonna– come,” he pants, tugging on the straight silver hair in his hands.

Cobb relents, though only a little. He pulls his mouth away only to move up, kissing the top of Din’s crack while still circling below with the slick finger. He bites over the curve of Din’s firm ass, all hard muscle with a layer of soft that holds teeth imprints like footprints in sand. He laps curiously into the fuzzy whorl of Din’s lower back and noses up the trail of dark hair that arrows south. Below, he rolls a fingertip inside and seals his lips over a curve of shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise, scraping teeth over the mark while the Mandalorian pants and tries to stay quiet. Din works back against the finger inside him, wanting more- wanting to feel strained and used and to do exactly what is asked of him. But Cobb only gentles his touch, pulls his hand away and grabs more slick.

“Ah– more. I can take it. C’mon.” Din grabs Cobb by the hair and hauls him up while he twists to the side for a bruising kiss, tongues lashing for dominance until Din relents. He lets Vanth press him back down and bite over the back of his neck, arches his head to the side so he can suck another bruise over the juncture of shoulder where it’ll be tender under his pauldron tomorrow. He keens when Vanth rolls two fingertips against him.

“I'm nearly done, you’re– oh!” Vanth takes his balls in his mod arm and yanks them down, sliding two fingers in fast at the same time. Din jolts with the sharp change and huffs out a stifled gasp, biting down on the leather under his cheek. “Fuck!”

“Almost,” Cobb grins, biting the rounded curve of a firm ass cheek.

Din drops his forehead to the headrest and tries to get a grip on his breathing. He’s going to come the second Cobb seats himself at this rate. “Come on. I want you inside- gonna come any second,” he pants, looking back and down his body at the other man.

Cobb keeps his fingers crooked inside, avoiding his prostate, and mantles back up over Din, trailing biting kisses and soothing licks up his spine. He flattens against Din's back and yanks him around by the hair and kisses him, licking behind his teeth like a hook to drag more gasping tiny sounds out of him.

“One more, sweetheart, so it don’t hurt. Then you can have me.”

Din groans as Cobb scissors his fingers a few times, testing the stretch. He adds a third finger and lets them sit just inside for a minute, stroking the straining walls gently to coax Din into relaxing. The man’s teeth are buried in the leather of the seat, growls and gasps falling out of his mouth. Din pushes his hips back and up, seeking more of anything. Cobb still has a hand clamped around his balls, drawing them down and away from his body. Din’s pretty sure that's the only thing keeping him from coming at this point because all the self-determination in the galaxy isn't helping him now.

“Ah- please,” he pants, throwing a hand back, drawing Cobb closer against him by the hip.

“Hmm. What're you gonna call me? Does the partner of the Manda’lor have a title?”

“Hnnng- I'm gonna call you a "You what?" Cobb sets his glass down and lifts an eyebrow at the man in beskar beside him at their usual table inside Freetown’s little cantina. The kid- he’s got a name now, Grogu, the still-nameless Mando tells him - coos at him and trains his huge eyes on a small group of miners talking animatedly across the bar. Mando pushes a second (his own) bowl of bone broth and legumes at him and tips his helmet toward Cobb.

"And where exactly would we--?" Cobb waves a hand vaguely upward and Din cocks his head a bit. "Go?"

Cobb snorts into his glass and knocks it back. "I know about Hoth, nerfherder. Damn near everyone does by now. How long?"

“Patu! Ooah?” Grogu waves the roll in one tiny fist. He waves his other tiny claw at him and Mando nods and repeats the sign language. Cobb’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead.

“Are you Patoo?”

Mando shrugs. “The jetti told me he is saying Papa.”

“Well if that ain't the cutest thing I've ever heard. And now you can understand him?”

“I have a gift for you, should you join me.”

“Ah, a bribe aside from credits and spending time with your handsome self. This I gotta see.” Cobb smirks when Mando hesitates.

Well then. Least he can do is ride along and shoot things. Even if it scares the shit out of him to think about going offworld.

Cobb shrugs. “You know me well enough by now. I have no love for the slavers on this planet.”

“Yes. But ensuring their destruction is much more than keeping them out of your town, which you have historically preferred over eradicating them.”

He drops his bag next to the bunk compartment Mando points out and turns to him.

Mando gestures to a black plastisteel crate. Cobb angles toward it, curiosity piqued. He kneels and unlatches it and inside, carefully nestled in layers of padding is a set of beskar armor gleaming up at him, complete with a stylized HUD helmet and z-6 jetpack.

“Kriff, Mando! I can't accept this!” Cobb can't even bring himself to touch it, though it was clearly made for him. But the Mandalorian just cocks his head at him and stands there.

“Yeah, I can see that it was made for me! What the hell’d I do to earn this?” he whips his head back at Mando and squints. “Who’s your ruler? ‘N how’d they know about me?”

“But– isn't this like, sacred? Do I gotta swear a creed? Isn't it– offensive? To your people?”

“Fett’s armor was offensive because you were wearing a fallen Mandalorian's armor who had presumably died wearing it in battle. It had to be returned. And Fett isn’t dead, so. But this is yours, crafted new. It’s not beskar. But it is the best quality durasteel; I've been reassured of that. Beskar’s just hard to come by, and. Sacred. And to answer your question- I’ve learned since seeing you last that there are... many Creeds among my kin. I myself am relearning many things about my people. I won't make you swear a creed for this gift, just honor the implications of the armor when you wear it. Though I should probably teach you the tenets of resol’nare at some point.” Din watches Cobb carefully lift the breastplate and examine it, swallowing. “I can have you swear something if you’d like.” He’s pleasantly surprised at how pleased he feels with Cobb’s reaction.