#i would fistfight gideon to know more about din's childhood tbh

[ooops-i-arted]

Hey, happy birthday! I've been simmering on a fic idea where Din does a little bday celebration for Grogu, but if you wanted to tackle it I bet it'd be terrific 😊. Have a good weekend.

A little more melancholy than fluffy, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

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Din walked through the market, the pod trailing quietly along after him, the kid asleep inside. Much as the kid enjoyed the sights and sounds of towns, Din found supply runs easier with him quiet and asleep. The kid awake, curious, and cute drew too much attention from others, and often extended the shopping trip with his antics.

Din stopped at a preserved food stall for more ration bars and a few freeze-dried things he hoped the kid would like trying. It was still a guessing game about what he would accept and what he would use as a toy instead. Din was still scrubbing bello berries off part of the cargo hold.

On instinct, Din glanced around as the seller packed up Din’s purchases. No danger so far; the market had been quiet, but Din wasn’t taking any chances. He scanned the nearby shoppers and stalls and buildings. A holosign blinked, catching his eye, but the neon letters were just spelling out the date and time. Din blinked. He wasn’t one for marking the day, but that date seemed familiar…

Suddenly he realized. One year ago, he’d stood in a dusty compound on Nevarro, opened a pod containing a 50-year-old bounty, and his life had changed forever.

“Sir, your items,” said the shopkeeper, and Din hurriedly took the bag from the shopkeeper. But he could barely keep his eyes off the pod and the precious cargo it contained.

One whole year, he thought as he walked through the market, pod still in tow. One whole year! It seemed like another lifetime when he was just the tribe’s beroya, before he found, turned in, rescued, and ultimately was declared the father of the little green child that was now the center of his entire life. Had it really been an entire year?

Din stopped and glanced back. If it had been a whole year, then the kid wasn’t even fifty anymore. He was fifty-one.

Din didn’t know the kid’s real birthday, or if his culture - from birth or the Jedi - even celebrated birthdays. They weren’t a big deal to the Mandalorians, simply acknowledged; although his sixteenth birthday had been the day Din formally swore the Creed, that had been more about the oath than his age. Maybe the kid didn’t care?

But maybe he did. Before the Mandalorians, with his family, Din remembered a special dinner and cake and present, hugs and kisses and love. He remembered his last birthday with his parents, where he’d begged and begged for the new starship models that were coming out of Republic cruisers, complete with miniature starfighters and soldiers. His parents hadn’t liked that, but he’d pleaded and said all his friends were getting them; back then the phrase “Clone Wars” didn’t mean anything to him but the holochannel being changed when he was in the room and the new toys. His parents had said again and again that war was serious and not for toys, but the morning of his birthday he’d woken up to a beautiful silver starship waiting for him at the table. Now it was probably a melted hunk of plastiform garbage somewhere in the ruins of Aq Vetina.

He’d never considered toys. They weren’t practical. But they’d been important when he was little. He remembered the special starship, a bright blue ball, a stuffed tooka he’d slept with every night. And the kid was obsessed with the shifter knob, always nabbing it as soon as Din’s back was turned. Maybe he really did need his own toy.

Din wandered away from all the practical and useful stalls to the section of the market for artisans and craftspeople. Many were geared for children - tailors hawking blankets and bedding, painters showing off wall art and holocam skills, even someone selling custom pods far more luxurious than the one the kid had now. Din passed right by that; it was definitely outside his budget. Most of the stalls seemed geared towards clientele with a house and yard and much more normal lives than a single Mandalorian bounty hunter living out of his run-down ship.

Finally Din found a stall of simple toys. Dolls and stuffies, balls and blocks and hanging activity mobiles. Din eliminated that one immediately; it would get in the way of the pod closing and he’d taught the kid to do that right away if there was danger. Maybe he’d like a ball, like the shifter knob? A doll to carry around like a companion in his pod? Something soft to hold at night?

Din’s eyes landed on a large frog plush, about as large as the kid was, made of beautiful turquoise fabric and embroidered in whimsical patterns. It was like the Sorgan frogs the kid had enjoyed so much.

“Just sixty credits,” said the shopkeeper cheerfully. “Handmade, like all my wares.”

Din peeked into his credit pouch. A measly ten credits stared accusingly back, all he had left after refueling and resupplying. Probably not enough to buy anything more than a cheap plastiform figurine. Din trudged away from the stalls, dejected. He couldn’t even buy his kid a toy for his birthday. Sure, feeding themselves and staying on the move was more important, but if he’d haggled better, maybe he could afford an actual treat.

A coo interrupted his guilty thoughts and he looked back. The pod was open now, the kid staring expectantly at him. As soon as Din looked at him, the kid raised his arms. Din immediately picked him up, and the kid snuggled up close to his neck.

Din hugged him close, and happened to catch sight of a food stall.

Maybe two cheap roasted frogs on sticks, dripping with greasy sauce, wasn’t much of a birthday treat. But the kid giggled with delight as he scarfed his down, and Din smiled as he stuck his portion under his helmet to eat together with the kid for once. He got through half before the kid tugged on the stick, big brown eyes pleading.

“Oh all right,” Din said, handing over the rest of his portion. “Happy birthday, kid.”