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justagalwhowrites · 1 year ago

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Beskar Doll - Ch. 3: Battle Scars

You're making an effort to get along with the armored man you're stuck traveling with - at least so you don't want to kill each other. The Mandalorian isn't sure what to make of any of it. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-2, found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Din Djarin/The Mandalorian x Female Reader

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence and injury; SA threatened but not described, did not happen to reader. No use of Y/N. Whole fic is violent and smutty, 18+ only. Minors DNI.

Length: 7.2k

The Mandalorian seemed to spend more time in his quarters than usual. You set up your bed before devouring the ration he’d shoved into your hands, eating the whole thing and almost making yourself sick, but you were so hungry it was hard to stop yourself from wolfing it down.

You were already awake when he emerged and you were surprised he wasn’t already in the cockpit. You’d slept deeply enough that you thought he’d probably just slipped past you in the dark. But he stopped and looked at you for a moment as you were braiding your hair, trying to remember one of the more intricate styles from your home world that you hadn’t attempted in years. He turned to leave and you quickly tied the braid off before scrambling to your feet, half your hair still loose down your back.

“Wait,” you jogged to catch up with him. He turned to face you, arms crossed, a silent wall of metal. “I know you said to stay out of the cockpit…”

“I don’t…” he began but you held your hand up to silence him.

“I’m not trying to be in your way and I don’t want to spend time with you any more than you want to spend time with me,” you said, your diplomat voice on. “But I was hoping you’d be OK with me going in the cockpit when you weren’t there.”

He looked down at you. You could feel the intensity of his gaze but you held it all the same.

“Why?” He asked eventually. “Planning to detour us?”

“No,” you said, making sure your voice stayed even. This wouldn’t work if he saw you as an adversary all the damn time. “The hold is dark and boring. I’d like to look outside.”

“Do you think space somehow isn’t dark and boring?” He asked, skeptical.

“It’s better than the same four metal walls all the time,” you shrugged. “I won’t disrupt anything and I’ll leave as soon as you need back in. I’ll only do it when you’re resting.”

He considered you for a moment.

“Fine,” he said. You smiled a little and gave him a quick nod before turning to leave. “Wait.” You turned back, trying to hide your frown. You hoped he wouldn’t take your deal back already.

“Yes?” You asked. He paused, like he was rethinking his question.

“Are you really Imperial?” He asked eventually.

You considered him. You’d read about Mandalorians since you’d come aboard his ship. They were bound by their word and their creed and you were pretty certain you wouldn’t need to worry about him slitting your throat in your sleep, even if he did hate you. But the Empire had been cruel to his people, decimating their race and their planet. The metal your father had paid for your transit - beskar - was probably stolen from his world during an Imperial assault, intercepted in a rebellion mission and then passed off to your father as an insurance policy of sorts. If he truly thought you were Imperial, you wouldn’t blame him at all for saying “fuck the creed” and throwing you out of the nearest airlock. But it was a useful lie, good cover for exactly what you were truly hiding. At least for now.

“If I were,” you said slowly. “Would you kill me?”

He looked at you, head cocked slightly to the side.

“No,” he said eventually. “I said I would transport you and I will. Your allegiance in the war wouldn’t change that.”

You nodded slowly, trying to find a way to fold yourself into the story he’d invented for you without outright lying.

“I have…” you paused for a second. “Imperial ties.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Your mother had known Bail Organa and you grew up playing with his daughter, Leia. Both had been Imperial Senators. You’d used your profession and connection for years to bring information from rebellion sympathizers within the Empire to where it needed to be. Imperial ties were important.

He nodded slowly, not speaking again before climbing into the cockpit for the day.

You didn’t speak again for four days. You’d become skilled at learning his patterns and understanding exactly how to avoid him. If you timed it right, you could climb into your hiding place just as he was getting up for the day, watching from your perch in the ceiling as he went about his morning routine. He glanced around the hold when he came through but you weren’t sure if he was looking for you or for evidence of your wrong doing. Either way, you waited until you were sure he was settled into the cockpit before beginning your routine of practice and exercise, retreating to your hideout again just before he came down, seeking food and to use the fresher.

He’d started monitoring your ration intake, which you weren’t sure what to do about. If he decided you hadn’t eaten enough, he’d leave a ration pack on the crate near your first hideout. He never said anything about it. But you’d eat what he put out before laying down in what you were pretty sure was the afternoon to sleep, always waking up with just enough time to clean up your bed, scramble into the ceiling, and watch as he retreated to his quarters for the few hours of sleep he seemed to need every day.

That was your favorite part of the day. You gave him a few minutes, made sure he wasn’t going to come back out, before you crept into the cockpit. He darkened it before he left it, everything running at minimum power. But that was how you liked it best. You tried sitting in one of the seats the first night but it wasn’t close enough to outside for your liking, so you clambered over the controls and tucked yourself between the dash and the viewer, the stars bright and close, taking up your whole field of vision.

You stayed there as long as you could, bringing your blanket with you so you could feel safe and comfortable while staring out into the vastness of it all. Space always made you feel so small. It was comforting, knowing just how small and inconsequential you really were.

The fourth day, you’d lost track of time, your head resting on your knees as you felt like you were swimming in starlight, the galaxy whipping past outside.

“Do you always sit up there?” Mando’s voice made you jump, your head whipping around to see him standing beside the captain’s chair.

“Yes,” you said, unfolding yourself from your perch and deftly climbing down. “The view is better. Sorry, I lost track of time. I’ll get out of your way.”

“Stay,” he said, not looking at you as he took his seat. “We’re coming up on Hosnian Prime.”

You nodded, strapping into what had become your designated seat.

“Another puck to fulfill?” You asked, giving in to your drive to fill the awkward silence.

“And a resupply,” he said, not looking at you. The ship slowed, the planet appearing in front of you, a cloud of ships around it.

“What do you need?” You asked. He glanced your way. “For the resupply, I mean. Do you have a list?” You could feel the skepticism in his gaze and it irritated you how clearly you could feel his eyes through that helmet. “I’d like to make myself useful. And the faster we get off this rock, the faster you can be rid of me.”

“Fine,” he said after a moment, looking forward again. “I’m not sure how long this will take, Hosnian Prime is big and it’s densely populated, tracking is harder here. Try not to get yourself killed buying rations and bacta.”

“I’ll do my best,” you rolled your eyes, settling back into your seat and watching as the Mandalorian eased you into a hanger at a spaceport.

You perched on top of a crate to watch him load himself down with ammunition and gear, quietly observing his habits, hoping to make him predictable.

“If you leave the ship, come back every night,” he said stiffly. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back and I’m not waiting for you while you go…” he paused, like he was searching for a word, and you raised your eyebrows. “Dancing. Or whatever it is dolls do.”

“Don’t worry Mando,” you rolled your eyes. “I won’t let my vibrant social life get in your way.”

You watched him descend the ramp and you waited a few minutes before you went and sat on the end of it. It was nice, seeing people again. Your life on Tatooine had been pretty isolated, occasional trips into Mos Espa the only thing breaking up the monotony of daily chores. You’d had your family, at least, which was a comfort but it was different than Naboo. There, you’d always been surrounded by people. It was hard to remember a time you were ever alone, often sleeping in the same room as Sosha to keep her safe.

Of course, the last time you’d been to Mos Espa - before the day you boarded the Razor Crest, anyway - you’d found so much trouble that you had to flee the planet and change your name. Maybe you and throngs of people didn’t mesh as well as you thought.

The first few days, you kept to the ship, sticking with your usual habits and replacing curling up in the cockpit with people watching from the ramp. By day four, you were restless enough you decided to venture out and cross some things off Mando’s list. At least this way you’d get a say in the rations that were aboard.

Hosnian Prime was an almost overwhelming place after spending a few years isolated on the outer rim. You’d forgotten what it was like to be in a crush of bodies flowing from one place to another, the noise and the color and the smell of this many people all together. It took some time for your senses to adjust, your ears not able to focus on any one sound, snippets of different conversations and people yelling from stalls and the drone of speeders melding together into a disorienting mass, your mind flitting through languages trying to understand it all. You shook yourself, putting up your hood. You needed to be able to focus. Anyone could sneak up on you now and kill you and Maker knew there were plenty of people who wanted to. You had to be on guard.

You stocked up on rations and shopped around until you found bacta and other medical supplies for less than a small fortune. You also picked up some cleaning materials for weaponry and found a small kit you could use to patch clothing and flight suits - useful tools when your wardrobe options were limited. It was nice, feeling productive. It was small but it was the first time you’d accomplished something in weeks, and you made your way back to the Razor Crest with a smile on your face.

The outing was enough to keep you satisfied for a few days of routine again before you started feeling restless. Mando had been gone a week now and in a planet that was more city than anything else, it would be impossible to know where he was or an idea of how long he’d be gone unless he planned to tell you - which he obviously didn’t.

A week and a day after he left, you decided a different kind of practice was in order. It had been a while since you’d try to surveil anyone or get into places you shouldn’t be in an urban space. You put on your most nondescript clothes and grabbed a few of the credits your father and stashed in your bag before bidding you farewell and headed out into the city.

It took you a bit to find someone to follow but you settled on a large man who looked like he was up to no good, leering at women who passed and sneering at everyone else. You kept to the shadows behind him, weaving through the press of people as he went about his business, never close enough that he saw you but never so far that you lost him. You tailed him for hours until he went into what you assumed was his apartment. Once he’d stayed inside for more than an hour and you realized you’d been slinking through the city for eight or nine and the sun was starting to set, you started trying to navigate your way back to the spaceport without asking for help. It was after dark when you returned and you were relieved to find the Razor Crest was still there and that Mando hadn’t come back and left without you.

A new pattern began to take shape. One day, you’d stay at the ship, going about your usual routine. The next, out into the city to keep other skills sharp. You sometimes followed strangers, other times tried to break into places that seemed tricky, once you even just went and found more nondescript clothes than what you’d brought from Naboo and Tatooine, hoping they’d help you blend in on the myriad planets you’d likely be dragged to before the Mandalorian finally deposited you on Dantooine.

Half way through his third week hunting, you were in the city, your challenge for the day having found their way home as the sun began to set. You were working your way back to the ship, pleased with how your self-made training session had gone. Your selection that day was a bit more challenging, often using a different exit for a building he visited than an entrance and he was smaller so he would often blend in with crowds as he went from place to place. But you’d tracked him all the same. You were starting to get concerned about when Mando was returning - at what point did you decide he’d just been wounded or killed and get yourself off world? - when you heard a scream.

It was loud and pleading and close so you ran for it, slipping into holes in the crowd where you could and just pushing through where you couldn’t until you found the source. In an alley off a side street was a woman, her back to a wall and a cluster of four men around her. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she was obviously terrified, cowering and pressing herself into the building behind her like she was wishing it would swallow her whole.

“Hey!” You snapped, stalking over to them. You’d left your blaster on the ship but your knife was heavy in your pocket. Four on one weren’t great odds, but you’d had worse. “I think she wants you to leave her alone.”

“Stay out of this, off-worlder,” one spat, glancing at me. The woman looked at you, her eyes wide like she was begging for help.

“Don’t think I will,” you said, stepping closer, cataloguing what you could read about the men. One had a blaster at his waist but he was close to you, you could probably take it quickly. Another had his hand to the woman’s throat and looked to be the biggest - you’d go for him second. “Last chance. Go home with life and limb intact.”

“Do you understand what you’re getting yourself into, little girl?” The third man, whose back had been to you, turned to face you, a vibroknife in his hand. You nodded, admiring the weapon as you prowled closer. It was large and looked to be custom. It’d be a nice addition to your collection. Just a slight change of plan.

You looked at him and smiled before hooking your leg around his and pulling it out from under him, grabbing the wrist of the hand that held the knife as he collapsed to the ground. You twisted it and he dropped the knife, crying out as you kept twisting until the bones snapped. You snatched the knife out of the air and spun it in your hand until your grip was right.

Everything happened quickly then, the man holding the woman by the throat dropping her to lunge for you. You sidestepped him and used the butt of the knife to hit his temple as he passed you, knocking him off balance.

“Run!” You yelled to her. She didn’t need to be told twice, taking off. You positioned yourself between her attackers and her escape route, vibroknife in hand in front of you, blade out toward them.

“Fucking bitch!” The one you’d hit in the temple swore, clutching his head.

“Warned you,” you shrugged, waiting for their next move, stolen knife at the ready. The one whose wrist you’d broken was still on the ground, clutching his injured arm. One down.

You were about to go for the one with the blaster when the final one - the one you hadn’t truly assessed - pulled something from his side and extended it before igniting it. An electrostaff. Shit. You hadn’t planned for that.

You went for the one you’d hit in the temple first, feigning a low strike and instead punching him hard in the face with the hand that held the vibroknife, both the pain and force of the punch amplified by the metal in your hands. He crumpled to the ground, so the hand injury was at least worth it. The staff wielder swung for you and you barely managed to dodge it, ducking below his swing that was a bit too high for someone of your size, anyway. At least he seemed like a rudimentary user.

The blaster draw you only caught by luck, a brief flash of metal out of the corner of your eye as a light a few floors above you flickered to life. You dove just as he got off a shot, tucking and rolling to jump back to your feet and come up alongside the shooter. You gave him a glancing strike with the vibroknife - enough to need bacta but not so much that it would kill him. He clutched his weapon tighter but fell to his knees with a strangled moan, the ragged gash at his side gushing blood.

You watched him for a second too long, making sure he wasn’t going to try to pull another shot off when you barely saw the electrostaff swinging in your direction. You tried to twist away but it was too close to fully dodge and the weapon made contact, glancing off your ribs. You clenched your teeth and fought to stay standing. This, in comparison to what you’d suffered in the past, was nothing. But it had been years since you’d last had a real fight and the blow knocked the wind out of you. You spun and backed away, just outside of his threat radius, vibroknife at the ready. The distinctive smell of burning flesh reached your nose, turning your stomach.

“Should have stayed out of it, baby girl,” the only man left standing smirked at you. “But since you were so eager to bail out your friend the whore, maybe we’ll just take you home instead.”

“You can try,” you shrugged, getting a firmer grip on the knife. The man with the blaster started to move, looking like he might try to shoot you again. With barely a glance, you kicked where you’d cut him before and he instinctively dropped the blaster with a wail as he went to clutch his side. You kicked the weapon behind you, hearing it clatter into the side of the building. “Don’t like your odds, though.”

With a snarling yell, the last man standing lunged for you and your body reacted, every ounce of training you’d ever had rising to the surface. Adrenaline took over, the pain from the blow fading until you forgot it completely. His movements seemed almost slow and you sidestepped him, slamming your shoulder into his diaphragm as you ducked below his arm. The electro staff buzzed near you and you twisted again to dodge it as he brought it back around, aiming to catch you with a second pass.

He spun and backed away, keeping you in his line of sight and panting for breath, smirking slightly. “Good,” he said, eyes raking over your body. “It’s more fun when you fight.”

“You know,” you said, eyes narrowing. “Just for that, I think I’m going to kill you.”

He went for you again. He had tells, you’d quickly learned. His training was rudimentary, he couldn’t hide his plans for shit. You dodged him easily this time, bringing the knife down on his arm as you moved to avoid him. Your angle wasn’t quite good enough to take the whole limb off, even with the vibroknife, but it still did some damage as you heard his pained, enraged scream. He recovered quicker than you expected, swinging the weapon down as you turned to face him again, the electric current caching on your back, burning and cutting as it went. He smiled defiantly, ragged flesh hanging from his injured arm. You wondered what your back looked like as you adjusted your grip on the vibroknife again, looking him up and down.

Before he had the chance to strike first yet again, you lunged. He wasn’t anticipating your movements, putting him behind already, but he fell even more behind when he didn’t realize that you weren’t going for his head, heart or even stomach. No, you went low, bringing the blade around to the back of his ankle as you twisted around his body and severed the tendon there, forcing him to collapse, unable to hold himself up. His hands instinctively flew out to catch himself, one releasing the electrostaff entirely. In one fluid motion, you took advantage of his weakness and snatched it away from him, throwing it at the wall near the blaster before grabbing him by the hair, bringing your knife around his shoulders to put the blade to his throat.

“What did you call me before?” You panted for breath. “Baby girl, was it?”

“Please,” he whimpered, all his cockiness gone. “Please don’t kill me…”

“Why shouldn’t I?” You asked, pressing your lips against his ear as though you were a lover. “Give me a reason why I should let you live. You’re a rapist, right? Is that what you were trying to do to that woman before? I should kill you and all your little friends, leave you to rot here…”

“No,” he was crying. “Please, we just… she wouldn’t give us the rate we wanted…”

“So you decided to take what you wanted, is that it?” You asked, pressing the knife into him lightly, holding the back of his body tightly to the front of yours.

“Please,” he said again. “My mom…”

“Should be ashamed to have you as a son,” you said. “She’d be better off without you, we all would. You’re wasting my time, baby boy.”

“She’s sick,” he said quickly. “Please, she needs me, I promise I won’t hurt anyone ever again, I promise…”

“Where’s your identification,” you asked, still holding your knife to his throat.

“Back pocket,” he said quickly. You took he knife away from his throat before bringing it down to his intact ankle and severing the tendon there, too. He shrieked and you let his limp body fall forward before reaching into his pocket. The ID looked legitimate.

“OK Chellen,” you said, reading the name off the ID, moving to squat beside his head as he lay on the ground, crying in front of you. “I’m keeping that. I hear one word of you getting into trouble - if you even fucking shoplift - I will come back and I will kill you. I don’t care where in the galaxy I am, I will be on you like flies on bantha shit, do you understand me?”

“Yes,” he sobbed.

“Good,” you straightened up and went to pick up the electrostaff, examining it for a moment before turning it off and collapsing it down. “And I’m taking this. You don’t deserve it.”

You turned to leave the alley before taking one last look back down at the destruction in your wake.

“Behave, Chellen,” you said. “I’ll be watching.”

With that, you started off back to the Razor Crest.

It wasn’t a terribly long walk considering the size of the city - only about an hour - but about 15 minutes in, the adrenaline from the fight wore off and the pain took over. It damn near took you down, the screaming agony at your back and side. You hesitantly reached back and delicately touched the torn flesh and then examined your fingers. They were wet with blood and your burns were already weeping. You forced yourself to keep going, you couldn’t just collapse in the street in a city where you knew all of one person - and even he’d be fine if you dropped dead.

When you made it to the ship, you barely trudged up the ramp before you collapsed, laying face down on the floor of the hold while the ramp closed behind you. Normally, you enjoyed the fresh air when you were on world, luxuriating in something that wasn’t filtered and recirculated hundreds of times. Now, you needed the safety a closed and locked ship provided.

You may have passed out but you couldn’t be sure. There wasn’t a good way to track time. But eventually, you forced yourself to your feet, your legs shaky, and you stumbled to the galley where you’d stashed the medical supplies.

Bacta cost an arm and a leg and it belonged to the Mandalorian, so you just looked longingly at the pads there before sighing and finding disinfectant, gauze, glue and thread. You grabbed water and a ration pack, too, chugging the liquid and taking a few bites of the food. You had to do this without collapsing or you wouldn’t get through it.

Back in the hold, you positioned yourself in front of the reflective crate you usually reserved for hair braiding, your injured side facing the shiny surface. You delicately adjusted your ragged shirt and inspected the injury, blood still oozing from the wound that was charred at the edges but frustratingly uncauterized. You poured some disinfectant on the gauze, took a deep breath, and pressed it into the gash, hissing as it burned.

“Fucking Maker,” you cursed, forcing yourself to hurt as you cleaned the wound. The last time you’d gotten hurt was far worse, but you’d been unconscious for the patching up. At least no one else was having to stitch you up this time.

Though speaking of stitches… you sighed, threading the needle and throughly covering it and the thread in disinfectant. You took your own knife - not the one you’d just stolen and had no idea where it had been - and put it between your teeth, biting down on the leather-wrapped handle. After moving in close to the reflective crate, you took a deep breath and pierced your flesh with the needle, howling against the knife handle as you did. You pulled the thread through and pierced the other side before tugging it together, holding the wound closed. You repeated the process 20 times, dripping sweat and vocal cords aching from screaming. You’d been making enough noise, the pain a loud enough roar in your body, that you hadn’t heard the hatch open on the ship.

***

He hadn’t anticipated screaming when he came aboard his ship.

Din had been hunting for a while, tracking someone in an urban landscape like Hosnian Prime the kind of challenge he thrived on, but he was happy it was over. He needed more than an hour or two’s sleep at a time, a chance to let his mind relax after being on high alert for weeks. But when he heard your muffled screams from inside the hold, he’d run inside before the ramp had fully lowered, dragging his quarry behind him. He cuffed the still defiant man just inside the gate, slamming the button to close it as he spotted blood on the floor in a small pool, with a trail leading to the galley.

“Sounds like your friend’s having a bad day, Mando,” the quarry laughed. Din ignored him, flipping on his heat sensor. He didn’t have time to try to find whatever hole you’d hidden yourself in, he needed to locate you now. He spotted your heat signature immediately and ran but he froze when he saw you. Your back was to him as you twisted to see your work in the mirror but you were in obvious agony, your face contorted in agony and a knife clenched between your teeth as you sewed a charred gash at your side closed. There was a second, longer, deeper cut that ran up your spine, your shredded shirt exposing the damage. You were so absorbed in your work and overwhelmed by the pain, you hadn’t noticed him standing there. He approached hesitantly, kneeling behind you and gingerly taking the hand holding the needle. Your head spun to face him, your face red and wet as you panted for breath around the knife in your teeth.

“I’ve got it,” he said gently. “I’ll finish it, I’ve got it, OK?”

You nodded, choking on your tears. You let him take the needle and do the final two stitches. He winced as he did. The wound was bad, jagged and deep and stitching burned flesh closed was a whole other level of pain. He wanted to take some of it from you. Even through his gloved hand, he could feel your exhaustion, how your body shook with the pain. He finished the stitch and cut it, arranging himself so he was on his knees in front of you.

“It’s done,” he said quietly, gently removing the knife from your mouth. He glanced down at the handle. You’d almost bitten clean through the leather.

“There’s more,” you said, fighting to swallow tears. “But…”

“I know, it’s OK,” his voice was slow and soothing. A gloved hand went to your shoulder, gently guiding you forward and you collapsed against him, your head on the cool metal of his shoulder as your body trembled. “You can give it to me, it’s OK.”

His hands stayed on your head and neck and shoulders. He told himself he was touching you to ground you and calm you but he knew it was as much for himself as it was for you.

“Who did this?” He asked as your shaking slowed. He fought to keep his voice gentle. “Tell me where to find them and I’ll kill them.”

“You don’t need to,” you sniffled into his shoulder, voice shaky. “They’re in worse shape than me.”

“They?” He asked, pulling back from you slightly but keeping his hands on you. You nodded, drying your eyes.

“There were four of them,” you said. “Trying to hurt a woman, she was scared…”

“So you got them to attack you instead?” Below the helmet, he was frowning.

“Something like that,” you laughed a little, then winced. “But if you want an electrostaff, it’s all yours. I’m keeping the vibroknife.”

He examined you for a moment, taking stock of what he could see of your body from this angle. He realized that he’d never really seen much of your flesh, just hints of your shape. You were small with gentle curves, nothing that would indicate strength or skill as a fighter. But you were clearly experienced if you’d walked away from a fight where you were outnumbered four to one with relatively little damage.

“What did you do to get their weapons?” He asked, trying to keep you talking. He wanted to keep you conscious, push through the shock phase.

“The knife was easy,” you shrugged. “He was an idiot, so I took out his leg, broke his wrist, caught the knife.”

Mando nodded slowly. Hand to hand combat - not what he’d have expected of you.

“Staff was trickier,” you said, blinking the tears from your eyes. “He wasn’t well trained but he had some knowledge and plenty of reach on me. Ended up taking him out at the ankles, cut the tendons. Took his identification, told him I’d kill him if he so much as breathed wrong in the future.”

Din smiled beneath the helmet, impressed in spite of himself. You turned your face to the ceiling, blinking back the last of your tears, your breathing returning to a more normal rate.

“Where’s your quarry?” You frowned, looking back to Din. “Didn’t come back just for me, did you?”

“Cuffed by the door,” he said gruffly. “I need to get him… settled. Once I’m done, we’ll move you to my quarters, I’ll get your back fixed up.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around your waist as Din went to retrieve the bounty he’d locked by the entry.

“Someone obviously couldn’t handle themselves,” the man taunted. “Didn’t think a Mandalorian would keep such weak company…”

“It’d be smart to watch what you say,” Mando said, pushing him forward with enough force that the man stumbled a few steps. “There are plenty of ways I could mess up carbonite storage.”

It didn’t occur to Din to have you move from where he’d left you on the floor until the quarry caught sight of you on the way to the carbonite chamber.

“I see the appeal now, Mando. Nice to have something good and tight waiting at home,” the man focused on your body at first, leering, before he reached your face and stopped in his tracks. “Oh ho! Would you look at who we have here.”

You glared at him, defiant. He twisted to look at Din.

“Do you have any idea who your little friend is, Mando?” He asked.

“I’m just cargo,” you snapped, sitting up a little straighter and wincing as you did.

“Oh you’re valuable cargo indeed,” he looked at you like you were meal and he was salivating before turning back toward the bounty hunter. “You have no idea, do you?”

“Shut up,” you hissed.

“We could sell her,” he ignored you. “I know people who would pay so much for her it would make your head spin. We could split it. Hell, I’ll even pay what you’d make from my bounty out of my portion and still walk away a rich man…”

“Shut up!” You got to your feet with surprising dexterity, considering the gaping wound on your back. You grabbed your new vibroknife and nearly ran for the man, pressing the blade to his throat. “Or I will make you shut up.”

“Someone knows when she’s in hot water,” he smirked at you. “I’m telling you, Mando. We’re men of business, you and I, and you’re sitting on the opportunity of a lifetime.”

There was genuine fear in your eyes when you pulled your glare from the quarry and looked at him. You were afraid the Mandalorian would surrender you to this man’s allies for the payout, afraid of what they’d do to you if they had you.

“I don’t work with Imperial bounties,” Mando said simply, taking a guess at just who might want you. The man’s reaction proved him right. So you weren’t Imperial after all. Or, at least, you’d fallen out of favor. He shoved the man forward toward the carbonite chamber, leaning in close and lowering his voice in hopes that you wouldn’t hear. “Your bounty holder only needs what’s in your head. They said nothing about bringing the rest of you in intact.”

The quarry fell silent and he worked quickly to secure him in carbonite before finding you again. You were still standing, slumped against the crate you’d been using as a mirror, eyes closed. Blood dripped down your back but your breathing was steady and unhurried, a good sign.

“We don’t have time of find a medic,” he said. It was almost like you’d forgotten he was on the ship with you, your head whipping around toward him when he spoke like you were surprised to find him there. “But I can do it.”

“I don’t need a medic,” you said. Your voice was weaker than he liked. “I’ve had worse. It’s fine, I…” You sighed, wincing. “Well, don’t trust you but. Close enough.”

He put a hand at the top of your back, above the wound, and you pressed yourself into his side. He took your weight, wishing he could just pick you up and carry you the way you clearly needed but that would just aggravate what was already a devastating wound. You moved as quickly as you could to his quarters and he helped you onto the bed, laying you out flat on your stomach. He increased the light and started examining you, looking closely at the wound. He could see part of your spine through the cut, exposing your nerves and bone. It was amazing you’d stayed conscious.

“I’m going to cut the rest of your shirt,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. He wasn’t used to looking at anyone’s wounds besides his own. “Make sure we’re not contaminating the field any more.”

“OK,” you said quietly. Your arms were folded under your head like a pillow, your face turned out to watch him. He cut the shirt and exposed the rest of your back before gently examining the cut. He frowned, a small sigh picked up by the modulator. “What?” You asked. He saw some of your body tense.

“There’s some tissue that I think I’ll need to cut away,” he said. “There’s no saving it and…”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, looking up at him. “You don’t need to tell me it all, it’s fine. Just give me something to bite so I don’t scream your ship down. And once you start, just finish it. Keep going so I don’t have to do this again.”

He gave you a stiff nod, grabbing a spare holster from his bedside and putting it between your teeth before he started working. He cleaned the area first, monitoring your breathing to make sure you weren’t going to pass out as you worked through the pain. When he moved on to disinfecting the area and the tools, the panting turned to moans which turned to screams as he cut away the skin that had been exposed to enough electricity that it was dead, already blackened and threatening to rot. He glanced up at your face and saw your hands, nails digging into your arms so hard that you were drawing blood. You were drenched in sweat and tears, teeth clinging to the holster, searching for some kind of outlet for the pain.

“Here,” he took your hand gently and delicately pulled it out from below your head, glancing at the bloody crescent shaped marks on your skin. He put it on his leg, over his flight suit where there was no armor to protect him. “Give it to me. I can take it. I’m going to start sewing now, just give it to me.”

You nodded and he started stitching you up. You didn’t hesitate to dig into his thigh as you screamed, strong enough that he was constantly aware of your grip but not so much that it distracted him from his work. He was nearly done, having lost count around 40 stitches or so, when your grip suddenly went lax and the screaming stopped.

“Hey,” he dropped the needle, ripping his glove off and searching for the pulse point on your neck. “Come on, stay with me…”

He found your pulse, weak but there, and put his other hand in the middle of your back until he was sure he felt your chest rising and falling. You were alive, at least. He quickly finished closing the wound and put gauze over it, leaving you unconscious in the bunk.

Din went to where he kept the medical supplies, wondering if there were any salves or something left that might ease the pain or speed the healing. But if you hadn’t been able to find bacta here, there might not be much else. He made a plan to take a side trip to Coruscant on his way to the next bounty and find bacta, there should be some there even if there was a shortage that kept it from getting to Hosnian Prime. If he jumped, it would probably be fast enough to keep you from much scarring…

But when he opened the medkit, he froze. There were bacta patches inside, at the top. More than a dozen of them, plenty to have covered your injuries and still had a reasonable stock for the ship. You hadn’t used it.

He stared at it for a second, like there was a connection missing in his mind. He’d seen you using a needle and thread, heard your agony, why would you have put yourself through that when there was bacta right next to the stock of disinfectant and gauze you’d obviously grabbed? He’d just assumed you hadn’t found any and he’d known that there was almost none left before this stop… The rations. He’d never told you that you could use the bacta, or anything else, just like he’d never told you you could eat.

“I… well, I don’t trust you but. Close enough.” Your words echoed in his mind, alongside the look on your face when the quarry mentioned the high price you’d fetch if taken to the right Imperials. You didn’t act like it but you were scared of the Mandalorian. Afraid that you’d do the wrong thing and he’d do away with you, afraid enough that you’d rather torture yourself and risk infection or death rather than chance using some bacta. The safer bet was suffering. He looked toward his quarters. He knew what it was like to be alone but he’d always had other Mandalorians he could trust and call upon if needed. You, it seemed, had no one.

He took a few bacta pads and returned to his quarters. You were still unconscious, your breathing shallow but steady. He opened the pads and gently pressed them to your body, covering every inch of your wounds. He got a damp cloth and wiped away your sweat and tears. As his hand ranged over your back, he noticed the tell-tale signs of past injuries that had been healed with bacta before. Your skin was smooth, no raised scarring, but small variations in the color betrayed your earlier wounds. He couldn’t see all of you but it was clear that, at some point, you’d been nearly torn apart.

“I’ve had worse,” you’d said. “It’s fine.”

You were a person who was on the run from Tatooine, enough that you were changing your name. You held your own in a fight where you were outnumbered and out gunned. You were able to sew yourself back together to survive. You were wanted so badly by the remaining Imperials that they were willing to pay a high price - high enough for half the amount to pay off an already hefty bounty.

Who the fuck was on his ship?

#mandalorian fanfic #fanfic #din djarin #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x reader

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