Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Centaxday, barely.

The Senator you’re trying to reach is unavailable right now… While we understand your call is important, we also ask for understanding that the New Republic Senate is currently on Nakadia time. To continue to the office line, please press One. To hear these instructions in Qr–

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You’ve reached the office of Senator Leia Organa. Please leave a message after the tone...

beeeeeeeep

"Hey Lei... good news! You're an auntie now! And also a sister-in-law! Yay! Also can you please send some more of that allergy cream to my coordinates because woah the plants on this planet are mean! Also do Mandalorians shake hands? Or is that a major faux pas? Call me when you wake up! Love you, see you soon!".

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His com was ringing. His com never rang unless it was one person in particular: everyone else respected the sacred Jedi rule of Texting Only. Which meant he had to remove himself from the rather warm pile of blankets and find the device before it woke anyone else up.

Waking any of the others up would result in slightly more chaos than he was willing to deal with; mostly because the oldest-yet-youngest of them all had yet to appreciate the art of the lie in. And if he had to go crawling around in puddles again before the sun had risen, Luke was going to lose it.

There was only so much that letting his emotions flow into the Force could achieve.

The only worse thing would be waking R2 from sleep mode. His supposedly loyal droid had never once missed a chance to get him into trouble, and Luke highly doubted that today would be the first.

Clambering over the non-droid metal lump taking up far more than his fair share of the floor, Luke located his trousers and rooted around in the pocket. They were still damp from their daytime activities, and he was probably going to regret not hanging them up. Oh well, he’d see if he could dry them over the fire in the morning. For now, the priority was to stop the blaring ringtone.

Ah-ha! There it was.

He pulled the com out with victory.

Then he remembered who was calling, and the euphoria died down.

He stumbled out of tent, and sat down next to the remains of their campfire. This planet was pitch black at night, only the stars in the distance and the three moons providing any light. It wasn’t the worst place he’d ever bunked, even though the nature had it out for him.

Why did plants even need prehensile tentacles with poisonous suckers on? Why did they need to have sticky yellow pollen that made his skin itch? They didn’t, and if there were an authority to complain to he’d be sending them a holomail.

The Force had brought them to this place for a reason, was telling him that this was somewhere he needed to be. Maybe not permanently, but for long enough that something was going to happen. If the Force could maybe move to direct messaging and not just hunches, he’d be very appreciative. It was hard to do everything alone, and having something a bit more ferrocrete would definitely help.

Taking a deep calming breath, he answered the call.

"Oh hey Leia, did you get my message?", he greeted. Smooth. She’d never suspect anything.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M AN AUNTIE NOW!? I TOLD YOU NOT TO WEAR THOSE TIGHT TROUSERS ON A PLANET KNOWN FOR INVASIVE TENTACLE PLANTS BUT DID YOU LISTEN!? NO!", his twin screeched. “I KNOW YOU’RE INSATIABLY CURIOUS BUT PLEASE FOLLOW SOME DEGREE OF PROTOCOL?” Oh boy, she was worked up. And it was barely morning on Nakadia. Maybe Ben had kept her up all night?

He’d read somewhere that four-year-olds were mostly nocturnal. Or was that bats? He couldn’t remember. Getting hit around the head by a pissed off Mandalorian didn’t make for good thinking.

“I can explain!”, he interrupted as she took a breath. It was best to stop her before her blood pressure got too high. The med droids were already exasperated with her without adding more to their workload.

“I can explain, he says, as if I’ve not been worried sick.”, she snapped, and his spine straightened from instinct alone. He’d triggered the General, and would need to tread carefully for the rest of the call. “You’d better tell me right now that you’ve just been on the holonet reading forums on relationship advice again and you didn’t actually do anything stupid.”.

Somewhere in the Force, her irritation twanged. It made his ear itch. Why did it always make his ear itch?

Then again, it was better than when she was truly angry, normally at some politician or other.

Whenever that happened, his nose got all stuffy and his teeth ached. Obi-Wan had never told him that being connected to every living thing in the Force meant that he’d be affected by them on a physical level. His twin could be on the other side of existence, and yet he was always aware of her mood.

Were the other Jedi aware of his moods? Were they aware of his loneliness and want for community, or did they not get live emotional feeds every waking moment?

If any of them ever decided to contact him back, he’d make sure to ask.

A loud snore came from the tent he’d just vacated, and he froze. Shit. On the other end of the line, he could hear the blood vessel in Leia’s neck pulsing as she too registered what she’d heard. His nose tickled.

“Luke…”, she snarled. Oh yes, definitely up all night with his nephew. He hoped Han didn’t like his balls, because one wrong step today and they were off to the chopping block. Thank the Force that he himself was far enough away that his sister couldn’t come for his.

Taking a breath, he prepared to meet his doom. An ember-covered log popped, and he took that as a sign to just get on with it.

“Alright alright… so…”.

Two Weeks Earlier…

When he’d decided to explore the galaxy in order to re-establish the Jedi Order, he’d been rather unprepared for one thing in particular:

Nature.

Dagobah hadn’t caused him to break out in hives, Yavin hadn’t made his skin itch so badly he wanted to peel it off and wear it as a cloak. But for some reason, every other planet he’d visited was apparently doggedly determined to murder him.

And that was before he tracked down the Imperials he was looking for.

Once he was clean, he was going to make a very pointed lesson about why you were not supposed to use grabby-hands on unfamiliar flora. To make the objective even clearer, he’d make some flashcards he could drill Grogu with. That’s what Han did for Ben whenever he needed to learn something new, so maybe it would work on his green companion.

So he could, in his opinion, be forgiven for not noticing when his attempts to scrub pollen off of himself were punctuated by a stranger’s approach. The itch on his back was unbearable, and a much more pressing matter. There would be no way he could function the rest of the day if he wanted to peel his skin off at every moment.

Besides, Grogu was meant to be on the lookout, and tell him if anything dangerous was happening. R2 was back with the X-Wing, in case they needed a quick getaway. It was supposed to be teamwork.

“Grogu!”, he scolded as he turned, “You’re meant to tell me if we’re under attack.”. He mentally added another flashcard set to his shopping list.

The child didn’t answer him, but he did grin and wave from where he was perched in the Mandalorian’s arms.

Ah.

That… was a surprise. Wasn’t the Force supposed to tell him about that sort of thing?

For once, the Force was silent, and the whooshing of the wind through the trees felt slightly mocking. Was the fabric of the galaxy calling him an airhead again? Because that was one time and he’d actually very successfully managed to put out the fire, with minimal damage to the surrounding area, thank you very much. His calculations had only been off by a hair of a fraction, which, considering he’d solved them in the condensation of his windshield, was pretty impressive in his eyes.

But that didn’t solve the mystery of the Mandalorian man managing to magically appear.

“Oh, hello!”, Luke said, covering his emotions with a plastered-on smile. Worked every time. No one ever expected Jedi to have emotions, so he’d spent hours carefully locking down every smile to look exactly like the one his uncle’s old insurance provider had worn. “We weren’t expecting you… well, ever.”. His back still itched terribly, but most of the pollen was gone, so he supposed the correct thing to do was at least attempt to be hospitable.

Wading out of the water, he held his hand out to shake the Mandalorian’s. Uncle Owen had told him that every man appreciated a strong and confident grip. Biggs had agreed, but he’d then gone bright red so Luke wasn’t completely convinced that his childhood friend actually understood how one went about completing a business transaction.

The Mandalorian didn’t shake his hand, and Luke withdrew it. That was rather rude of him, or was it a cultural thing? Luke wasn’t sure. He’d have to ask Leia the next time she called. If he called her again in the middle of the night just to ask a silly question she’d start singing old Crooner songs down their Force bond.

He’d lost three weeks of valuable archaeology work the last time she’d done that. All of his files had been labelled with lyrics and had made no sense upon review. It had made his presentation to the Galactic Committee of Whatever very awkward. They’d still granted him his funding though, so it had all worked out in the end.

But that didn’t matter in the current moment, and he looked at the Mandalorian with the peaceful expression he’d practiced in the back of the falcon all those years ago.

His unlikely companion said nothing, and just stared.

“Is… is there something I can help you with?”, he asked, and the other man jolted.

“Uhm…”, he started, “You’re… naked.”.

Ah.

Well then.

That explained a lot about the overall awkwardness of the entire situation.

After he’d apologised profusely and redressed, Luke had led the Mandalorian back to the camp that he and Grogu had set up when they’d arrived on the planet. It wasn’t much, but it would do for now: it was more important to him that they find the perfect spot before they make any changes that could cause damage to the environment.

He trusted that the Force would tell him when they’d found the right place where the galaxy fell into balance. So far, it had led him to this place, and if he ignored the allergies, it was truly a peaceful planet.

“What brings you here, Mandalorian?”, he asked his unlikely companion.

The man in metal stilled, almost as if he’d turned to stone. The hand that had been stroking Grogu’s head fell away to be cradled in the other. Shame, guilt, and a touch of desperation; the Mandalorian seemed to be in trouble. Was the other man aware of how his movements telegraphed everything to an audience who cared to look? His helmet gave nothing away of his expression, but his body language screamed out entire three act space operas.

“I wanted to… see him again.”, the man said with a stilted voice. Even through the vocoder, his discomfort was apparent.

"Well, you’ve seen him. I don’t want to sound callous, but, well, Jedi don’t really socialise much.”, he replied. That was mostly true. Maybe in the past there had been more of a community feel; when the temples had stood and the people he’d never known had had a home. The few who had survived, however, wanted very little to do with him.

Maybe he needed pamphlets? He’d ask his sister: Leia would surely know how to better approach the issue.

“Oh.”, his companion replied. “So I should just… leave?”.

“That might be for the best. I’m sorry.”, and he truly was. He didn’t want to cause anyone pain, but Grogu needed to train and the only way Luke knew that to work was in total isolation. Backwater planet plus unholy amounts of groundwater was what he understood to be the perfect environment for Padawan 101.

He offered to escort the Mandalorian back to whatever ship he’d used to get to them, and the other man agreed. As they walked through the forest in silence, Grogu cooed at him and sent images through to Luke via the training bond. Memories of happy times spent together, of the fun they’d had, and how at every turn the Mandalorian had done his best to protect the child.

Though he also liked to take him into the blaster fights he was often protecting Grogu from, so maybe he wasn’t the most responsible guardian out there.

“Can I ask you something?”, the Mandalorian asked once they’d arrived at his piece of shit ship. A rental, by the looks of it.

Something in the Force buzzed at the back of his mind, but it was most likely just Leia getting excited over some policy or another that had just passed. His twin was such a nerd, but at least she was happy.

If R2 had been nearby, he’d have blown a circuit laughing at Luke’s audacity in calling anyone a nerd. However, he wasn’t, and therefore Luke could pretend like he didn’t read electronics manuals for fun.

“Sure.”, he replied, because Grogu was starting to fall asleep and Luke was also rather looking forward to his bed.

“I… You were never meant to see my face.”, he was told.

Was that supposed to be important? Luke had been rather distracted at the time. Thinking back to that day, all he could really remember was some crying and a bad case of helmet hair. Grogu had refused to share his own memories, guarding them jealously. Which, was fair. He was still young and was still a little too attached to his guardian. They’d meditate on that.

He bounced the child a little, getting a tiny giggle. Too cute.

“Ok. Well, I can just pretend I didn’t?”, he suggested, but the helmet shook in disagreement.

“It’s more serious than that.”.

Did he want money? Because in that case Luke would need to see a contract. Aunt Beru always said do nothing until it’s written down and verified.

“So what do you want me to do about it?”, he enquired. The Jedi were dedicated to helping people, so if he had to fulfil a side quest in order to get the Mandalorian to leave them alone, then that’s what he’d have to do.

“We have to get married.”.

Well, that wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“No thank you.”, he said cheerily, “The New Republic has ruled any and all marriages conceived through coercion, and-or politically-slash-religiously motivated unions without explicit consent to be illegal throughout all of its territories.”. He’d been thrilled when that had been passed, to the point he’d thrown a little party with Chewie and Han. They’d been pleased too. They’d all read one too many of Lando’s holonovels to sleep easy knowing that some people thought marriage could be a bargaining chip. Gross.

“It’s not like that!”, the Mandalorian exclaimed, “I need to save my soul!”.

“Look those are just rumours from the rebellion. And most of them aren’t true. I’m good, but not that good.”, he clarified, because Force-darn it they were all blabbermouths. He’d massaged one shoulder muscle and now people wanted their souls saved.

“What are you even on about?”, the other man asked.

“Never mind.”, he said, ready to turn around and head back to camp. “You’ll have to find another way to save yourself.”.

“I’m trying that as well!”, the Mandalorian exclaimed with an astonishing amount of exasperation, the first emotion other than bland that he’d shown. So he was human underneath. Luke was intrigued. Maybe Grogu’s memories hadn’t been overly-embellished after all. “But until then, this is a quick fix.”.

“Promise?”, he checked.

“Yes.”, tired, with a sigh. Oh yeah, the Mandalorian clearly didn’t want this any more than he did.

He made up his mind.

“Ok. Sure, why not.”, he agreed. It was late and he was tired. If this got the Mandalorian off his back, then he’d do whatever it took. Before he committed himself though, he made a final check. “It’s reversible though, right?”.

“Should be.”, the other man nodded. If they were getting married, Luke was going to take some liberties. He mentally renamed his soon-to-be-husband as Mando. It suited him. “As soon as possible, we divorce.”, Mando clarified.

“Cool.”, Luke said. “Let’s do it.”.

They repeated some words in a weird language he didn’t understand, and then Mando sighed in relief. He thanked Luke profusely, and said a tender goodbye to Grogu that brought a small tear to the Jedi’s eye. Farewells always made him a bit soft, and he was a married man now. Perhaps he should get an apron and learn to bake?

Or not. That sounded deathly dull.

Speaking of deathly, at that moment, the buzzing in the Force that had been in the back of his mind reached a crescendo, and he realised a split second before it happened that a spanner was about to be thrown into his droid-pit.

The clackety old ship groaned and rumbled as Mando pressed the starter fob, before bursting into a fireball higher than the treetops.

Luke threw his left hand up, shielding the three of them from any of the shrapnel that was raining down upon them. With his right, he started to ward away the flames, coaxing them out of existence.

Within moments, it had all died down, and he turned to see two identically blank expressions, which should have been amusing considering one was a literal helmet. But instead, he just felt exhausted. Not from using the Force, oh no, but from the prospect of having an unexpected tent-guest for the near future.

He’d need to tidy the tent, and wasn’t looking forward to it.

“Hold up.”, Leia said, interrupting his story. He paused, because that was the polite thing to do.

He might not have grown up a prince, but he did have manners. Beru Whitesun-Lars had not dragged him up just because he’d been born in a dustbowl. In her memory, he maintained some semblance of civility, and that alone prevented him from living out his natural state of being. Yoda wasn’t the only gremlin blessed with the Force.

One day, when his work was done, Luke fully intended to live his retirement as a crazy old hermit. No one asked crazy hermits to get involved with politics, or change diapers, or anything else. Crazy old hermits got to pull pranks and play in the mud or the sand or whatever environment they’d decided to wallow in.

“You’re telling me that you were tracked down by a bounty hunter, who then propositioned you?”, she clarified. “And after that, his ship fireballed.”.

Well, when she put it like that, of course it sounded ridiculous. Though he thought she should be more pleased at his memorisation of Senate bills.

“Where did I lose you?”, he asked, because there was a lot of detail to include, and unfortunately, all of it was rather relevant to his tale.

“You lost me somewhere about the time that this guy somehow worked out that you needed to marry him or you’d both die.”, she said. Ah yes, that was a rather important thing to keep track of.

“Gotcha. Well…”.

Two weeks before all that.

He stumbled on his way to the window. Napping had always left him disoriented, and this time was no different. Outside, he saw his father’s speeder pull up, and Din started to panic. The last thing his father had told him before leaving to grab the onions was to make sure the Kowalkian monkey-lizard was defrosted for dinner, but it was still in the conservator, rock solid and nowhere near ready to cook.

If he didn’t get it defrosted in time, he was doomed.

Scrambling for the kitchen, he managed to find the meat and pull it out. How was he meant to defrost it in such little time?

An idea struck, and he turned on his flame thrower, aiming it towards the food and hoping it would be enough.

The door opened behind him, and his father was stood there, watching him with such sadness in his eyes.

“Din? How could you?”, he said, his voice mournful and soft. Devastating. “Our guests will be here any minute.”.

He apologised, but it went unheard, and Father drifted into the other room, where Mama was setting the table. Her dress was made of lots of snakes. Din didn’t like snakes. The dress changed to glitterwings… much better.

The meat was charred, which surely meant it must be cooked through, and he plated it up. Taking it into the dining area, he placed it among all the other dishes that had been prepared. Just as he did so, their guests arrived.

It all went dark, and flames burst from the centre of the table. In them, he saw the hammer and tongs, and echoing footsteps approached. He looked up.

Standing there, his Armourer gazed upon him, and he was so small, his red cloak was like a shroud draped over him. Her helmet gave nothing away, but he knew she was disappointed in him. Over him she loomed, the spikes on her head almost brushing the ceiling.

“You have broken the Creed.”, she boomed, and he cowered.

In the distance, his mother screamed, and he whipped around to see her sobbing as Father held her. I loved you!, she cried, I loved you!.

He wanted to shout back, but his helmet had been turned off, and then Paz’s hands were yanking it off his head. Without it, the world was too bright, too colourful, and his eyes swam as he tried to focus.

“You let another see your face.”, the Armourer chastised. “You have drifted from the Way.”. His helmet was handed over to her, and she crushed it as if it were nothing. His entire identity was crumpled in her grasp.

His knees hit the floor, and he begged for forgiveness. But she ignored him, and took her seat at the head of the table. She took her tongs from Mama, who’d fetched them from the flames. Her hands blistered and bled, but she didn’t scream, she only repeated her final words, ever eternal in his mind.

The Kowalkian monkey-lizard he’d prepared was offered, and the Armourer bit into it with her tools. Except it wasn’t the monkey-lizard.

It was Grogu.

The Child was passed among the members of the party, each taking a piece. When it was put on their plates, a tiny Grogu sat up, cooing, and giggling at them. They couldn’t have him though! He was Din’s child, not theirs.

Light gathered at the opposite end of the table, and there was the Jedi, taking his own piece of Grogu, and holding him in his arms. The Child was wearing a tiny version of the Jedi’s outfit, but Din had already bought him pyjamas with frogs on. They even had booties!

Din called out for him to let the child go, that Din had changed his mind, that he wanted Grogu to reconsider. To come back to him. But the Jedi laughed at him, a high-pitched laugh that lanced at his soul.

“He chose to come with me.”, he goaded, “He hated your singing and your cooking and he chose me instead! You broke the Creed and he still chose me!”.

I broke it for him!, he wanted to plea, but his voice had been lost with his helmet. His Mama was holding the crumpled metal, and his father was sobbing as he kissed the forehead over and over again. Please! I broke it for him!.

“Only Clan can see your face and live.”, the Beroya said to him from where he was sitting on the ceiling. Gravity was making his helmet slip off, slowly revealing the rotting chin and nose Din would swear he’d never seen on that horrible day. Blue lips smiled at him, revealing crooked yellow teeth. “If they were Clan, you wouldn’t have broken the Creed.”.

Someone laughed, someone else screamed, and the dinner party went on. Music played, and the tiny Grogus danced and danced…

He bolted upright.

That was the last time he was ever drinking after a job.

Sweat was pooling under him, was bleeding through his shirt. He ached to take it all off, to exist without the weight of his sins. But the capsule bunk he’d rented afforded no such luxuries. The thin curtain between him and the rest of the galaxy never enough for him to abandon the Way.

Except, he’d already abandoned it.

But he’d done so for Grogu! So that the Child might remember him, remember Din Djarin and not just the Mandalorian.

He’d done it to be selfish. Given up the secrecy that allowed his people to live, all so he alone could live on in memory.

It had to be fixed. It had to be fixed so that his soul could rest and his people could live on.

But how?

He reached under the useless pillow for Bertha, who always provided him the comfort he needed. Holding her close, he snuggled into his blaster like he’d once snuggled into the stuffed Maorpf his Nama had made him from one of Pama’s old shirts. Bertha wasn’t as fuzzy, nor did she roar when he squeezed her, but she provided him solace all the same.

The lighting in the hallway buzzed with the same frequency as a particularly vicious Kubindi mosquito, though thankfully not a Kubindi msqito, drilling into his brain like those little suckers liked to try and drill into his beskar to get to his blood.

…Grogu liked to eat mosquitoes…

…Grogu…

In a split second, his dream came rushing back; how the Armourer would condemn him when he eventually found her again, how Paz would take pleasure in removing his helmet…

How the Jedi had taken the Child, and how Din had agreed it would be for the best.

But the Jedi didn’t know that Grogu liked mosquitoes, that he liked to chase frogs and would sick up baked treats if he didn’t digest properly! Super-powerful god-like space wizards would never be able to understand little green gremlins whose only desires in life were to cause chaos and inconvenience others while also looking adorable.

Din dearly wanted his little companion back.

If he could be with Grogu, then he wouldn’t have to worry about breaking the Creed, because he could make Grogu clan and solve the issue. Sure, it would be retroactive, but Mandalorians were all about bringing people into the fold and forgiving the past!

Should Mandalorians ever be able to live without hiding, Din was pretty convinced one of their selling points to gather new people to the Creed would be that they accepted anyone and everyone.

The pamphlets practically wrote themselves!

So he would go and find Grogu, make him officially clan, and then continue on with finding the remains of the Covert. It was simple, really.

Except there was one problem.

The Jedi.

The Jedi had also seen his face, had looked him in the eyes. Had smiled at him. Din could remember in worrying detail the last people who’d smiled at him while holding his gaze. Space wizards didn’t belong in those precious memories, but there he was: tranquil and serene and witness to Din’s greatest sin.

There had to be a solution that didn’t involve the suicide attempt that would be removing the Jedi from existence. Creed stated that anyone who saw his face had to die, because they couldn’t live with the sacred knowledge of his soul. Which, when the person in question had dispatched a batalion of Darktroopers without breaking a sweat, was a rather nerve-wracking thing to consider.

He stroked along Bertha’s barrel, taking comfort in her uniformity. If anything could help him come up with an idea, it was her. Whenever he needed to think, cleaning the blaster put him into that perfect meditative state for plotting. She never disappointed him, never jammed when he was in a firefight, always helped him. She didn’t whisper insidious, and worse, political things into his mind.

That last comment was mentally directed at the Darksaber, and the ghosts inside of it grumbled and called him a rude name. He didn’t care, they could groan all they wanted. They weren’t going to possess him like they’d wanted and if they tried, he was going to throw the damned contraption into deep space until it either disintegrated or Kryze hunted it down.

One of the great Mandalorian Forefathers took a moment to berate him, but the dialect was so old it sounded more they were being choked to death on gravel. He wondered when the clans had decided to speak with more recognisable phonemes. Surely there must have been a linguistic shift somewhere between eras, because the language being spat at him currently was far beyond what his own larynx to produce.

Linguistic quandary did not solve his problems however, so he shelved it for the time being.

Back to the issue at hand.

If adopting Grogu would make him clan, and Din would be his father and not just as his father, then that solved one part of the problem. Besides, it also meant that he could more easily legally will all his stuff to the child, so that when Din was gone, he wouldn’t be left entirely alone. Bertha would still be with him, along with Din’s beskar. Fett had also mentioned something about life insurance, and that would surely come in handy for Grogu’s future.

But it still didn’t solve his Jedi problem.

A couple in the hallway were fighting, and it was really starting to annoy him. Maybe if he shot at them, they’d shut up. Bertha was an excellent problem solver for many reasons, and this would be another chance for her to prove it.

But if he were to do that, it would mean he’d need to get out of the capsule, and he didn’t want to do that. Thin as it was, it was still the nicest mattress he’d laid down on in a while, and his back was thankful.

One of the frustrated lovers shouted that they’d wished they’d never married the other, and Din agreed that being married to a fog horn did sound exhausting.

Wait.

nO

Marriage.                                                                                                  

yOu’Re DrUnK.

That could solve his problem, until he found a more permanent solution. He could hunt down the Jedi, adopt Grogu, marry the space wizard, and then continue hunting down the remain of the Covert. Once all that was done, he could dissolve the marriage and forget the entire ordeal.

It was the best idea he’d ever had.

tHaT’s ThE sTuPiDeSt IdEa YoU’vE eVeR hAd, the Darksaber moaned at him. AnD yOu OnCe LiCkEd CaRbOnItE fOr A dArE.

“Piss off ghosts.”, he mumbled, shoving the sword into his boot. Let it fester with his socks for a while, and then he’d see if it wanted to have an input on his life.

Plan sorted for the immediate future, he resettled in his capsule. A few more hours of sleep, and then he’d get down to business.

The hunt was on, and he was going to get himself a husband and son and save his soul in the process.

iDiOt, the Darksaber hissed from its stinky prison, but Din just rolled over. The sword was just jealous that Bertha had helped him work things out instead of it.

Back to Centaxday… possibly Taungsday by this point

“…so you married a Mandalorian on a whim, a Mandalorian whose name you don’t know, and whose maybe-child you agreed to train?”, his sister said with disbelief. “Luke, you’ve done some really stupid things, but this one takes the uj cake.”.

“Well when you put it like that, it’s never going to sound sensible.”, he said, “But it’s the best option for Mando. He’s… he’s going through some stuff. His religion and people are dying out, and he’s doing what he can to not abandon his faith.”.

She sighed, and he knew she understood. He and Mando were both clinging to legacies that the galaxy wanted to forget, and she was trying to pull together all the pieces of the home she’d lost. If anyone would know what it was like to want to bring the past to life, it would be her.

“And now you’re on a random planet with your newly minted husband, trying to set up a school?”, she asked, her tone of voice telling him that she was pulling up whatever data she could find on both the planet and the husband. Unfortunately for her, there was very little for her to find. Mando was anal about being tracked, and well, his only mode of transport had gone bye-bye rather explosively.

“The Force brought me here for a reason, so I’m going to stick around for a while, see if I get any answers.”, he replied. He left off the bit about finding Mando’s lost people, that felt a little too private to share so openly.

“Send me the coordinates.”, Leia instructed, “I’ll send supplies.”.

“Thanks Leia.”, he said, beaming even though she couldn’t see it, “You’re the best.”.

“And don’t I know it.”, she replied, before ending the call.

After a few more moments staring out into the void, he unfolded himself from his position and went back into the tent. In the morning, they’d do some exploring, but until then, this would have to do.

Chapter Text

Taungsday, officially.

Mornings in the past had been slow and uneventful. He’d wake up, greet the day, and let the Force flow through him as he found a peaceful spot at which he could connect to the universe. It wasn’t always the easiest task; if he were in a city or somewhere densely populated, there may be some interference. But for the most part, it was easy to slip himself into the energy flow of the galaxy; to ebb and wane like the sands that fell across the dunes.

And then he’d found Grogu.

His days now started differently, and had for the last few months. Instead of letting himself dive into the web of reality, he was required to be active and aware from the moment he opened his eyes. Or at least, from the moment Grogu opened his eyes.

Which made having another adult present for the last couple of weeks somewhat of a surprising positive. It almost cancelled out the fact that his feet smelt like the rotting corpse of a tauntaun.

Almost.

When Grogu woke up, his usual tactic of managing to climb out of his crib and diving for Luke was disrupted, as he was intercepted by the Mandalorian, who seemed to have reflexes specifically designed for keeping the child from causing too much trouble.

The man in armour would then convince the child to not be awake so early, and would coax him back under his blankets and into dreams. They’d fold themselves together like they must have done before Luke had found them, the child cradled in the man’s arms, Grogu’s tiny head resting on Mando’s shoulder. A tender scene that made the Force hum in contentment.

Maybe being married wasn’t so bad after all, if this is what it gained him.

The conversation with Leia still reverberated in his mind. She’d been right that they’d been hasty, but in the moment something had compelled him to agree, and it wasn’t just the tiredness that had been creeping into every pore of his skin. It was something more than that.

He just didn’t know what.

With his early morning for the most part looking to be undisturbed, he grabbed his pants – still damp, ugh – and headed down the hill to find out a spot to meditate. Some deep breathing would allow for him to recentre himself, and he looked forward to it.

In, and out, and in again…

And then the galaxy was at his fingertips, the beauty, and the balance all around him.

For a few hours, he floated there, unravelling his own mind, and reordering his truths.

In his mind, he saw the texts he’d been studying; trying to piece together what remained of a culture that had been so prominent, and now was him alone.

No matter who he reached out to, the sparks in the Force he swore were close enough to touch, he remained unanswered. All he wanted was to know them, but they didn’t want to know him. They shied away from him whenever he tried to interact with them. Perhaps it was best to leave them be.

He felt the others approach in the way the air shifted around them, in the way that their footsteps pressed into the soft ground, and in the movement of the leaves as they walked on by. The Mandalorian’s armour was a peculiar thing, not quite blocking the Force, but shimmering in it. More interestingly though, was the kyber crystal housed the other man’s boot. He’d noticed it after the first day, but it had never come up in conversation. Perhaps once they were more settled, he’d ask about it, and see why exactly there was a non-Force sensitive walking around with one of the galaxy’s rarest substances.

He also wanted to know why it felt slightly flirtatious, but he was ignoring that for the time being.

If Grogu’s outrageous claims and stories were to be believed, the Mandalorian had a habit of getting himself into rather extraordinary situations. After all, had he not found, cared for, and eventually safely handed over one of the only child survivors of Darth Vader’s genocide?

The footsteps stilled, but no voices interrupted his meditations. Instead, there was a rustling in the undergrowth, and he realised with a quiet delight that his companions had chosen to sit alongside him, and perhaps they too were able to understand the glory that the Force provided for them all.

Slowly, he pulled himself back, taking deep breaths and slowly preparing to join the others.

When he opened his eyes, it was to the luscious vegetation of the forest, the trees reaching for the skies and fresh new growths pushing carefully through the soil. None of the tentacle plants that had crowded the southern regions grew where they were now. The energy of this place was pure in a way he’d not felt for years, not since he’d left Dagobah for the only and final time he’d been there after Yoda’s death. There was nothing there for him anymore, and maybe there would never be again.

“This place holds the Light and the Dark in harmony.”, he said softly, and he felt one of Grogu’s ears brush his arm as the little one perked up to listen. “We were brought here by the Force; it wants us here. Perhaps it sees the turmoil we hold, and here, gives it a place to settle, somewhere we can meditate. I’ve read that in the past, Jedi used to travel to places like this, so that they could reconnect with it all. Do you remember that, Grogu? How it was done, Before?”.

A chirp from the child, sad, but fond. He remembered, but didn’t want to. Luke understood that feeling.

“We’ll bring it back, make it all whole again. We’ll have temples like they used to. We’ll thrive again. I promise you.”, Luke said, and he truly meant it. “But right now, I’m guessing you’d like your breakfast?”.

A much more pleased noise, and images of frogs danced in his mind.

“Ok, ok, I get it. Frogs with a side of frogs, served with a bonus portion of veggies.”. The kid needed fibre no matter how much he complained.

The expected grumble, and then, a much less expected sigh.

“You have to eat vegetables, kid. Especially now you’re not in the cloths.”, Mando said, his metallic voice leaving Luke’s mouth with the lingering taste of copper. Why was he with them again? Oh yeah; an explosive marriage agreement. “Remember the last time you went without on Sorgan?”.

There was a story there that spoke of something he might never find out, but the grumpy child acquiesced, and got off his guardian’s – although Luke suspected that there might be something more official in the works, if their conversation the night before meant anything – lap. His tiny feet sank a little into the damp topsoil, and Luke watched with interest as his claws adjusted to the grip he’d need to stay upright.

He didn’t know if Yoda had needed to physically adjust himself in the same way Grogu did, or if that was something that age and his cane had rendered obsolete. There were so many questions Luke wanted to ask, from the mundane to the profound. But Force Ghosts came and went as they pleased, tied to the Will of the Force and not to the whims and wishes of a very lonely Jedi fed up with being the last of them.

With as much grace as he could muster, which depending on who one asked was either none or a somewhat respectable amount, he stood to follow the child. Grogu could hone his predatorial skills to find wherever the frogs were hiding, and then Luke would try and catch some for himself and Mando.

His stoic shiny husband followed behind them both reluctantly, moving with an impressive quietude considering how much metal he was covered in. Luke wondered how low the surrounding environmental noise would have to be before he made any sound. Perhaps he’d ask, and add it to his files. One never knew when the ghost of Boba Fett might try and sneak up on oneself.

The frogs were easily found hiding under a log that lay across one of the many babbling brooks that littered the area they were in. If there were so many so close together, it was likely they were near the source, and he made a mental note to follow one to see if he could find it. Wherever water welled, so did the Force. Perhaps that was why no one ever thought to check Tatooine for anyone with midichlorians.

Walking back to the tent was more awkward than the earlier wanderings through the trees. Mando seemed to be on edge about something, and it was starting to kill the peaceful vibe that Luke had curated.

“What’s buggin’ you, big guy?”, he finally asked as they came upon the clearing in which their humble abode had been established. The pot for frog boiling unearthed itself from the pile of clean dishes, and set itself up above the fire that had very kindly lit itself.

No reply, but that was fine, considering the sudden movement from the child, who had excitedly wriggled out of Mando’s arms so that he could gulp down his frogs as quickly as possible. Sharp little teeth ripped into them with glee, and if he hadn’t been in close quarters with Yoda for so long, it would have put Luke off his own breakfast.

“Do you prefer your frogs boiled or fried?”, he questioned, and the Mandalorian’s helmet finally moved to face him. It was surprising how much emotion a blank visor could portray, and he felt a perverse sort of joy in how it was conveying something that could only be described as horror.

“Judge us all you want, but they’re actually pretty good. Personally, I’m a big fan of the blanch-and-fry method – makes the skins super crispy – but we don’t have time for that today. So it’s one or the other.”.

Maybe in a few days, he’d go into detail on how to cook them just right so they remained juicy while no longer being poisonous. Would he be able to make the other man audibly gag?

“…Fried.”, came the eventual answer, and he nodded in agreement before turning to his field-ration kit. He’d need to remind Leia to add some spices to the supply kit she was sending; it was the only way Luke could guarantee that what he cooked was at least vaguely edible. Adding another mouth to the meal rota had definitely depleted his supplies quicker than he’d expected.

When the frogs were done, he handed one over to Mando, who promptly disappeared behind a tree. To consume it, he assumed, and not just throw it into the bushes. If that were the case he could have at least offered Luke a leg.

Which, was quite rude actually, now that he thought about it.

“You can share a frog, but you can’t share manners.”, he told his student with all the wisdom he could muster. However, his sage advice was ignored in favour of chewing down yet another amphibian. Where did Grogu even put all that food? His chunky little tummy had to have a limit.

Would they need to start a frog farm, lest they risk decimating the local amphibious population? The Force hadn’t delivered him an Almanac along with its hunch.

Mando returned, fiddling with the base of his helmet. Luke had forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to be taking off – that was why they’d had to get sham married after all.

Wait.

“If we’re married, can’t you take the helmet off?”, he asked. Leia always said he asked too many questions, but he was of the opinion that people who didn’t ask remained ignorant forever. Besides, maybe his husband had a pretty face, and staring at trees and the fabric of the universe’s mysteries all day wasn’t the most interesting he’d ever done. It was better than sand, but that wasn’t saying much.

Mando froze, and just stared at him.

“No.”, he eventually replied, before sitting back on the ground and staring into the trees. At least someone seemed to enjoy the landscape.

“You’re not the chattiest, are you?”, Luke followed up.

“No.”, came the expected response.

“So… any plans for today?”.

“No.”.

“None at all?”.

“No.”.

“Well, forgive me if this is a little blunt, but we all pull our weight around here, so you might want to find something to do.”, he said, trying to sound kind. But talking with a metal wall was exhausting; and he’d talked to vapid diplomats for hours in the past. In comparison to that, this should have been easy. “Do you like pork? I’m pretty sure I saw a pig a few days ago, and if you stab one you’ll be my favourite husband.”.

He could already imagine the succulent meat roasting over the fire. It was enough to make a man drool.

“Do you have the holonet?”, Mando asked, ignoring his not-so-subtle request for a more varied diet.

“Of course I do. I’m not some backwards backwater idiot.”, Luke snapped back. Ah, there went his calm Jedi persona. Some might have said he was a little delicate around any implication that he was any less civilised than those who’d come from Middle and Inner Rims. He, however, would have disagreed.

He wasn’t sensitive, he was just fed up with harmful preconceptions and stereotypes; especially when they negatively impacted his life.

“Never said that.”, the other replied, and he held his hands up placatingly. “I don’t have a com; may I borrow yours?”.

After being around ruffians, rebels, and politicians for most of his adult life, Luke Skywalker could say he was a sucker for someone being polite. A little of his earlier irritation faded; maybe the guy was just shy and didn’t like eating in front of others. But that didn’t just mean he was going to hand over his com, not to just any old metal husband. “What do you want it for?”.

“I need to find something.”. Wonderful, that was deeply informative, really, truly helpful.

But the day was ticking onwards, and he needed to get back on schedule lest his to-do list carry over. Any arguing would have to wait.

He sighed, and dug out his com. “Fine. But don’t get any viruses, and use fulcrum mode. I don’t want constant blast outs for whatever weird stuff you look at… and keep it family friendly.”.

“Deal.”.

The Mandalorian took the device, and started tapping at it like he was ancient. How did anyone type with just two fingers? And why didn’t he have his own? How did he keep in contact with people?

And on a more technological note, did his gloves have those fancy ends that made screens work? If so, where did he buy them, because Luke’s wore out constantly.

Alas, he’d have to wait to find out, because it was time to start Grogu’s lessons for the day. Their being rudely interrupted, married and/or potentially adopted would not have any adverse affects on their learning.

Escorting the child out, he mentally prepared himself for getting very little done, and to remind himself of the patience his Masters had had when dealing with him.

The Jedi had taken Grogu outside the tent, and Din was left to himself. The sticky air was suffocating even with the chill it somehow carried, and it was with great relief that he pulled off his helmet. He’d hear the others before they came back, so he was willing to run the risk of having his face bared to the universe.

Especially if it let him breathe air that wasn’t both recycled and tinged with the aftertaste of frog. He’d eaten some terrible things in his life; everyone shared cooking duties in the Covert and Vizsla should never be allowed near anything edible; but frogs truly crossed a boundary he’d not known he had.

Going back to the com now that his lungs were somewhat cleared, he carefully navigated the series of codes he’d been taught as a teen; one single error would lock him out completely. Getting onto the less than savoury parts of the holonet wasn’t a particularly difficult task, but it was finnicky, and he didn’t want to have to wait for the lockout to run its course before he could start getting down to business. Not when the business in question had the potential to be time sensitive.

After declaring he wasn’t a droid by deciphering what had to be a note written by a quarren who’d yet to develop their ink sack, he was in.

Scrolling past the usual advertisements for weapons, wares, and other less-than-pleasant things, he proceeded to the bottom of the page, where a tiny little Mythosaur skull hid itself in the code. He wasn’t sure how many people found it, but he was certain that only a few knew that clicking it was the worst thing one could do. Privacy was important on the holonot, and trying to access what was clearly a symbol meant for only one group in particular would bring about the publishing of one’s location.

Only an idiot clicked the mythosaur.

And Din Djarin was no idiot, despite what certain cultural heirlooms might think, so instead started scanning the code for the real information hidden within it. As far as he knew, only his own covert used this method; or, if others were indeed also communicating in such a way, they’d made it indistinguishable.

But what he was looking for was clear to him, and he memorised the coordinates disguised in plain sight. As soon as he had, they disappeared. Someone knew he was there, and looking. Were they a friend, or foe? There was only one way to know, but no new message appeared. Either they wanted him to see, and know that they’d seen him in turn… or they didn’t want him to see it at all.

Interesting.

His coordinates were complete enough though that he had somewhere to start searching. A large area, probably too large to do a physical sweep; but it was more than he’d been hoping for.

Checking the chrono told him that barely any time had passed… which meant he was still potentially many hours off of needing to give the com back. But spending hours endlessly scrolling held absolutely no appeal to him. He’d much rather go for a walk, perhaps find some food that wasn’t a karking frog.

Turning fulcrum mode off, he saw that the Jedi was one of the insane people in the galaxy who kept every single thought they’d ever had open in different tabs. Din hated people who did that; it slowed their devices unnecessarily and caused him an endless amount of frustration. Just memorise the site addresses and come back to them when you were ready. It wasn’t that hard.

One of the tabs caught his eye, and he opened it. Was spying on a space wizard smart? Probably not, but he was bored, and stuck on this wet-ass planet, and had he mentioned bored?

bAcK iN mY dAy ThE yOuTh–, the Darksaber piped up, but Din just ignored it. He was much more interested in what he’d just discovered.

The tab was for some site that apparently was focused on… insisting that the Empire were actually the good guys. He did a double take and reread the title. His eyes had not betrayed him.

What the actual fuck.

He scrolled a bit more; eyes widening at the endless list of posts declared over and over that the Empire had been beneficial to the galaxy. From infrastructure to worrying trade policies, every post seemed to be defending the actions of the Empire, with apparently little regard for the literal billions who’d died as a result of their grip over the galaxy. Din didn’t want to believe it, but it was all there in front of him. In its textual glory, the proof was irrefutable. And to make it five hundred times worse, the stats at the top of the site said that the Jedi’s account had lots activity on the page, and Din’s world narrowed.

His heart stopped and the bottom dropped out of his stomach at the realisation. The Jedi was an Imp. The Jedi was an Imp and had been left alone with Grogu for months. The Jedi had a bright smile and a sarcastic streak a parsec wide and the burning evil of fascism boiling in his veins.

Din had surrendered his child to the enemy. He’d fallen for the ruse that had been played out so carefully in front of him. The hero that had saved them from Gideon had actually been his compatriot all along.

There was no time to lose; he couldn’t afford to sit and plot while Grogu was in danger, while there was a chance that someone else could hurt or experiment on him like Gideon had.

He had to get his son back; keeping him safe was always the priority.

Scrambling for his helmet, it was barely settled onto his head before he was charging out of the tent. The night before he’d left his spear standing in the dirt, but now he grabbed it, twirling it in his hand as he worked out where the others had gone.

As soon as he found the trail, he stilled. The hunter in him was ready, and his entire body slowed and adjusted for the chase.

Their footsteps still had enough heat in them against the ground for him to pick up the remnants of their trail, and he began the trek through the trees to find them. All the while, he plotted and planned how he’d take the Jedi down, and how he’d need to not only grab the child, but make it to wherever the traitor had stashed his ship.

The sword in his boot was protesting, but with the noise of the trees and insects, it was hard to make out what it was saying. Not that he was going to listen to it anyway.

There was a creek crawling along the track the two had taken, and he stepped into it to better hide his approach. He’d need every advantage he could get if he was to even attempt getting Grogu back: he’d seen what the Jedi could do.

Even from just the few moments he’d seen through the grainy video feed, it had been made abundantly clear that the Jedi possessed more power in his Empirical Pinkie than Din did in his entire body.

But that didn’t matter when it came to keeping Grogu alive.

If he’d only found out a sooner; he wouldn’t have had to marry the Jedi to save his soul. Wouldn’t have spent the last couple of weeks getting to know him, learning his routines, observing the gentle way he moved through life and the barbed tongue that hid itself behind a sweetly serene face. Wouldn’t have choked down his terrible cooking. Wouldn’t have let his guard down and let himself even consider opening up.

Killing him wouldn’t have been an issue, and in clearing the galaxy of more trash he’d have also achieved two of his personal goals. It wouldn’t have gone against any of his morals, and he’d have felt no guilt.

The only good Imp was a dead Imp.

Following the water led him to a spring, and in front of it: his quarry.

It didn’t seem like the Jedi had seen him yet, and that was exactly what Din needed. Silently, he drew his arm back, raising the spear and aiming it for the cold and deadened heart of the Imperial.

His aim rang true, and beskar sang as it soared through the air.

Before it could connect though, the Jedi spun, his laser sword lit and knocking away the weapon as if it were nothing more than a gnat. Scrambling for his whipcord, Din managed to snatch it. And with it back in his hands, he prepared for the hardest fight of his life.

“What the hell!?”, the Imp shouted out in confusion.

Din didn’t answer; there was no point in wasting energy, and he launched towards the traitor. Every blow was parried, but he didn’t care; the goal was to do what he could to get Grogu out. And that meant he had to get close, any other attack would be swept away easily.

He was pushed back, but he kept going. He had to get to his child. The water churned at his feet, threatening to tumble him. Readjusting his stance, Din lunged again, this time to get closer to Grogu.

But the Jedi just raised a hand and waved him back.

And then he was in the air, legs scrambling.

“LET ME GO IMP”, he yelled, legs flailing in a desperate attempt to make the wizard drop him.

Everything seemed to freeze.

“I’m not an Imperial!”, the Jedi stated with a look of bewilderment. He was barely out of breath, even as Din panted madly.

“Yes you are!”, he shouted back, “I saw your forums, fascist!”.

“Oh for the love of the Force.”, the Jedi moaned, seemingly unbothered by the fact that he was levitating a fully armoured man. He was barely even breaking a sweat, and Din’s professional pride was a little insulted by that. “I’m not Imperial! I’m very much the opposite of Imperial!”.

Another wave of his hand, and Din was thrown back by an invisible wave that knocked him out back into gravity and onto his back in the water.

He cried out in pain as the hit somehow passed through the beskar; and he heard then felt the crunch as his nose broke, and every muscle in his body felt like it was being ripped at the seams. In shock and in pain, he raised his aching hands to stem the bleeding. His helmet interrupted him though, and blood poured down his face and into his mouth. He spat, but the blood kept streaming into his mouth. It was flooding his senses, metal tang and sour taste making his throat close and stomach roil.

It wasn’t the first time that he’d broken his nose, but it was the first time he’d done so while unable to move from where he was lying.

He gagged, and choked, and then the hold was released, and he was on his knees, gasping and doing whatever he could to not drown.

Hands came to his neck, just like in his nightmare, and all instinct took over. Throwing himself as far as he could, he tried to crawl away from the Jedi. If he was going to die, he was doing so with what remained of his tattered soul in place.

“I won’t hurt you!.”, the Jedi insisted. “Please, just listen!”.

Din scrambled, and grabbed Bertha, who was as always waiting patiently at his hip. He drew her, and fired. It didn’t even come close to hitting the other, the Jedi batted it away as if it were nothing more than a gnat. He shot again, and the same thing happened.

Then his arm froze, and for neither love nor money could he move it. Bertha was ripped out of his hand, and he cried out. No one touched her, only him. The Beroya had given her to him, and he’d never let her out of his sight since.

“Will you please just listen!”, the Jedi exclaimed, and Din wanted to shout back, wanted to scream, and curse, but the blood coating his mouth was choking him like all of his failures had liquefied and come to consume him.

And then it was over, and the pressure around his neck was releasing. He could breathe again, he could move again, and he collapsed into the water, gasping for breath, and reaching desperately for the helmet that had been pulled off by the Jedi.

But it hadn’t been him.

The Child stood between them, the water almost to his neck. His arms were outstretched towards the adults, and Din looked up to see the Jedi also knocked over backwards, his pretentious cloak flung over his head.

“Grogu.”, he choked, “Come on, let’s go. We have to go.”. The shakiness in his limbs was preventing him from getting up and running, but he tried what he could to get to his child.

His child didn’t move thought, just stared at him with his sad eyes as he kept his arms outstretched. He didn’t want Din to come closer, even though all he wanted was to save him.

“Let us go, Grogu.”, the Jedi commanded, “You’ll exhaust yourself. We won’t fight anymore.”.

That seemed to satisfy the youngest of them, and Din felt the hold on him break. Collapsing back to his knees, he tried to understand what was going on. He was trying to protect the child from the Imperial, but Grogu was protecting him from Din.

What did it all mean?

“Why did you attack me?”, the Imperial asked calmly, as if it weren’t completely obvious and his ruse was up.

“Don’t look at me!”, he hissed back, because even if this were to be his execution, he would not look at the other nor let himself be perceived.

“I won’t. I promise. Look, I’ll turn around… Now, why did you attack me?”, still calm, still gentle. Still a snake hiding in the luscious forests of this planet.

Din stayed silent.

“Tell me.”.

He didn’t want to say, didn’t feel he needed to admit what he’d discovered, but the words rose anyway. Mashing his lips together could barely hold them back, and they slipped from him tasting of iron and shame. A final confession for this man who’d betrayed his trust.

“I saw it. Your Imperial sources. Your support for them. You liar.”, he spat, the water around him turning pink with his words. The truth ripped into him like how pain ripped through his body.

“You saw wrong.”, the Jedi said gently. “I’m no Imperial.”.

“You are.”, Din insisted, “You can’t lie to me, Imp.”. In that moment he meant the slur with every ounce of malice he could muster.

“I’m Luke Skywalker.”, the other man said, and now it sounded like he was angry. The air felt tighter somehow, like the galaxy had compressed around them, “And I am a Jedi like my father before me.”.

“What the fuck do I care who you are or who your father was?”, he laughed sardonically, all sense of self-preservation deciding to just take the day off. “Just kill me and take my child, like you always wanted.”.

“…wait.”, the Jedi said with confusion, “You don’t know who I am.”.

“And I don’t care.”, Din had truly given up. He was about to die, and his eternal sleep was being delayed by yet another Imperial who wanted to monologue about themselves rather than get the job done. Why did every fascist behave like they were owed a platform to be heard?

“Yeah we’re gonna need to talk.”, the man sighed, “Grogu, can you heal his nose? Then I’ll carry him back to camp.”.

A tiny hand met his face, and he stared helplessly into the eyes that were level with his. Was it too late? Had the child already been corrupted? Would Din be kept prisoner in exchange for his compliance?

He couldn’t think further, as his nose was suddenly thrust back into place with a horrifying crunch and a fresh flow of blood. That hurt. It hurt a lot. His head was swimming.

As the ground fell away again, so did his consciousness.

Mando was more hurt than it had seemed in the immediate aftermath, and once his head was covered with Luke’s cape – he wasn’t quite comfortable putting a heavy metal helmet back on the head of someone who was quite possibly concussed – it was no effort at all to lift him gently and float him back towards the tent. Grogu blinked sleepily the entire way back from his position in Luke’s arms, and he soothed him the best he could. He wasn’t cut out for teaching, let alone parenting, but the child seemed to take comfort in just being held.

When they’d returned, he lit the fire and put on a pot of water. Tea would at least help with Mando’s muscles, and possibly Luke’s nerves. He wished he had some spotchka. Spotchka made everything except politics better.

The child continued to slumber in his hold, and some latent stirrings of paternity made him want to not put him down. However, his desire for caffeine was stronger, and Grogu was deposited in the crib floating between the two adults.

When he had his hot leaf juice, he stewed in place of the tea as he thought on the events at the spring.

Just where had the other man got the idea that he was an Imperial? Did he truly not know who Luke was? There were few and far between who didn’t at least know the surname of the one who’d done what he had, even if his true nature as the Last Jedi wasn’t always the most public of knowledge.

He settled nearer to the Mandalorian on the other side of the fire so that he could keep a better eye on him, and then coaxed him awake with a nudge of the Force.

Mando awoke instantly, but unless one was watching for it, it would have gone undetected. Even with the initial startle, his reactions were kept to a minimum. He was waiting then, for a sign of what was going on or a chance to run. He was the prey now, and he knew how to play the game.

Luckily for him, Luke wasn’t one for cannibalism.

“I know you’re awake”, he said, watching as the act fell away and the blind stare of his own cloak turned to face him, “and I’d quite like to know what the farrick you think you were doing?”. His inner Leia had been channelled, and he knew she’d be impressed with his tone. Either a mosquito had just flown by, or he’d heard her hum of approval even on the other side of the galaxy.

“You’re Imperial.”, Mando repeated. “It was on your com.”.

On his com? Why in the Force would there be anything on his com to insinuate that he be on the enemy’s side?

Oh.

“You opened my tabs!”, he accused, all traces of his twin’s influence gone. He didn’t feel her sigh, but he knew it was there. “I told you not to do that!”.

“I didn’t mean to!”, the other protested, sounding too tired to be as angry as he wanted to be, “Either way, now I know the truth!”.

“You know jack shit!”, he cried back, “I blew up the Death Star! Helped kill the Emperor! I’m the New Republic’s poster boy and the most famous Rebel pilot, you absolute nerfherder!”.

That got a reaction, and it was impressive how Mando could make fabric look deadpan.

“What.”.

“You really have no idea?”.

“Obviously not.”.

He hated Taungsdays, nothing good ever happened on a Taungsday.

Explaining his not-so-sordid history to his possibly-legally wedded husband wasn’t exactly what he’d envisioned for his afternoon, but there he was, going to be doing so regardless. The obvious place to start would be on the dunes, but he didn’t feel like relieving those moments; the guilt and excitement and the sudden realisation that the path he was on was so much more than he’d thought it would be.

So he started a bit later, and perhaps fudged a few details. Some things should remain unsaid.

Mando listened, silent. Luke had never had to recount it all before; normally all he had to do was to correct some misconceptions, like the rumour he’d slept with every pilot he could get to, or the one that insisted that he’d taken credit for someone else’s achievements. After all, someone so short could never be so strong, they’d mutter, as if only his height and appearance mattered.

That train of thought was no good for his blood pressure, so he diverted it.

“Do you understand now?”, he asked at the end of his story.

His husband bled dubiousness into the Force. He was truly a master of letting all his actions do the talking.

“Then why were you on that forum?”, came the reply. How were they back where they started? And had no one ever taught Mando that it was very rude to answer a question with another question?

“Am I not allowed to gather intel on the enemy?”, he questioned, because no one had taught him either. “But more importantly, how do you not know anything about anything?”.

And so commenced the most painful conversation he’d ever had in his life. For every single nugget of information that Mando gave him, fifty questions opened up that he knew he’d never get the answers to. If he’d thought the other was tight-lipped before, it was nothing compared to how stubborn he could be when he really didn’t want to share something.

It all left him with a sour taste in his mouth; learning of another culture that had been decimated for Imperial gain, leaving those who remained in hiding and cut off from support. Mando’s people had been left with very little except their religion and their pride, both of which it seemed they guarded fiercely.

“Alright. I forgive you for attacking me based off of an assumption and a surprising lack of critical thinking.”, he said, waving away the past transgressions. He hoped Mando understood that this was a very nice thing for him to do; especially because anyone could tell him that Luke could be particularly petty sometimes.

Like when Han borrowed his shirts and stretched the necklines.

A mumble that sounded like an agreement mixed with some swearing was the only response, and he stood, refusing to let it rile him up. If the other wanted to sulk, that was his prerogative. Luke’s was to find something for lunch.

That, and a pair of socks that weren’t soaked through.

As he got up to leave, he could have sworn that some creepy voices were berating the other man.

Chapter Text

Still Taungsday, because apparently Luke isn’t allowed nice things.

Returning to their camp in the evening felt awkward, like he was intruding on something he wasn’t supposed to. But he was going to ignore that feeling, because it was his camp with his tent that he’d built with his Force powers. Mando’s presence was solely the result of his goodwill.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he crested the hill and watched the two beings sat around the fire, revelling in being together again.

And that always stung in the back of his mind; that even though Luke was the link to the child’s lost past and culture, he wasn’t enough. Grogu had come with him because it was the right thing to do, but if Luke hadn’t been there, would he have made the same choice?

Looking at them together, he didn’t want to admit he knew the answer.

Grogu wanted Mando, not Luke. The little one understood where duty lay, but above all else; was a child who only wanted his father.

History repeated itself in cruel and unusual ways, that much was clear.

From the distance he was at, he couldn’t make out much more than the other man’s pale skin and brown hair, but that wasn’t what interested him. It was the way that Grogu’s little hands cupped his face that had him hesitating from joining them immediately. The way one gently stroked down a nose he was too far away to see clearly. But he knew what it meant even with the blurry image.

The whole healing with the Force thing was new to him in practice; the theory had been something he’d read about years ago. But without a proper guide, there was no way to learn. That’s how a lot of it was now; simply knowledge from long ago written down and never to be used again. No one had ever thought that they’d need to add more, that there would ever be a time where the words in between the lines would be as important as the ones on the page.

It was lost, unless Grogu was willing to be his teacher, just like how Luke was supposed to be teaching the child. There was trauma in the child though, memories that wanted to be forgotten. Terrible days and nights that begged to never be relived.

To heal though, he’d need to bring those memories back, and it filled him with dread. As much as he could, he ignored the inevitability of what he’d need to do to the child.

For now, he’d announce his arrival and let Mando cover himself up again. And his jealousy would simmer back down along with his desperate wants for the other man to see that Luke was the right person for Grogu. Not that he’d ever admit it to any of them. He’d barely admitted it to himself. Coveting wasn’t going to help anyone, and so he’d stay silent.

Purposefully cracking a few branches as he made his way to the others, he watched with curiosity at the speed Mando was able to break out of the tender moment and replace the barrier that kept him safe from the rest of the galaxy.

What a strange man, with strange ways.

Then again, Luke wasn’t one to talk; he was a desert rat turned rebel pilot turned last bastion of an ancient culture. Perhaps it was prudent to be more mindful of that reality. Besides, they all had their fashion quirks: whether a glove or a metal bucket.

“I’m back!”, he sing-songed as he approached, lifting his bulging net high, “And I brought froggies!”.

The child clapped with glee, lightening Luke’s heart. But the grown man next to him groaned quietly, a metallic crackle juxtaposed against the sounds of nature.

Actually, that made him smile as well.

His side of the tent was cold, and he hated it. Even with his blankets, it wasn’t enough. What he wanted was to be in the cuddle pile they’d used to make in the Falcon, everyone heaped together in a warm lump of family.

It wasn’t very Jedi-like to want to scoot over and snuggle up with the others, but he’d done his thinking on that and decided that there was no way a culture of thousands all agreed that the only way to live was to be alone. Clearly the more hermit-y members of the Order had become so out of necessity. He didn’t have thousands though. He had himself, a padawan who preferred his father, a husband of inconvenience made of metal and dirty clothes, and a droid.

And it wasn’t like R2D2 could provide any warmth even if he weren’t currently on another hemisphere of the planet.

So lying awake in the middle of the night did make him consider being friendly with Mando; past grievances pushed aside for the common goal of not freezing in his sleep. Maybe a warm shoulder to pillow himself on. The snoring would be an issue but he could stuff his ears. It wouldn’t be cuddling, per se, more like a transactional and carefully arranged contract for comfort and warmth.

Even that felt like a wall built far too high for even him to backflip over though.

Zhellday

Breakfast was, much to his dismay, still primarily focused on the amphibious food group. Enough was enough, he had to stand up for what was right. Every single Mandalorian had to use their voice, that’s what he’d been taught. If even one stayed silent in the Creed, they would fail.

And he would never let that happen.

Din was close to begging. If he had to eat another frog he was going to gut himself. He’d eaten some terrible stuff in his time, but the bland chewiness fought his oesophagus with every swallow. Nothing in the galaxy could compete with his disgust for the Jedi’s limited palette.

“No more frogs”, he groaned, “Please.”.

The Jedi looked up at him from his freakish feast, a leg bone sticking from his mouth as he sucked off the meat. Din’s stomach didn’t like that image at all, and begged him to please do something about it. He promised it that he was trying.

“There are lots of animals in the forest.”, he said, “We could have something other than frogs.”.

A good tactic for negotiating was to always point out other possibilities while not at all mentioning the problem with the other person. In his experience, this worked on every single being from Paz Vizsla to small children.

Maybe it only worked on the dumb and impressionable then. He’d have to think on that.

“Go hunt something then.”, Skywalker said, sniffing haughtily. “If my cooking isn’t good enough, you can be the provider. Go spear a pig or something.”.

yEs, LeT’s Go KiLl. LeT’s HuNt. We WiLl FeEd On ThE uNfOrTuNaTe, the Darksaber added with bloodthirsty glee. Din didn’t normally like to humour it, because every so often the sword got a little overzealous and now he was dodging charges on a planet whose name he couldn’t say without feeling nauseous.

But regardless, the Jedi’s words sounded like a challenge. Which was a dangerous thing for it to sound like, because Din Djarin, consummate professional, was also a bit of an adrenaline junkie.

And he was sick of eating frogs.

fUcKiNg FrOgS.

“Ok then.”, he said simply as he stood up. His knees protested and he shushed them. Dignity was on the line; he didn’t have time to fuss over aches and pains and the inevitability of hitting his late thirties. “I’ll get a pig for dinner.”.

“Bye~.”, the Jedi sang at him, before turning to the child and making the frogs in his net float and dance like the galaxy’s most disturbing puppet show.

He hated it so much. Their bulbous heads lolling as their legs dangled lifelessly. Did all Jedi play with their food, or had he just happened upon two that shared the preference for dinner and a show?

They were eating real meat tonight, whether the others wanted to or not.

Marching through the undergrowth, Din grumbled at the mystery that was the Jedi and his entire existence. Every single thing about the other irritated him: from the way his robes stayed pristine and his hair stayed light and fluffy despite the humidity; to the way that he was able to seamlessly communicate with Grogu.

He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t.

yOu ArE, the Darksaber told him, with a tone that Din understood meant it had its metaphorical hands on its metaphorical hips. How a non-corporeal voice sounded like a disappointed parent he’d never understand. yOu’Re JeAlOuS aNd It’S gEtTiNg OlD rEaL qUiCk.

“Shut up.”, Din hissed at it, and got laughed at in response.

But the sword did shut up, so he took that as a win, minor though it was.

Several clicks out from the camp, he finally found what he was looking for. Just off the imagined path he was meandering down, a pile of dung awaited. He stopped, and took a good long look at it.

iT’s A pIlE oF cRaP, nOt FiNe ArT, one of the voices snarked. fInE aRt Is WoRsE, another snickered, rEmEmBeR tHaT aWfUl ExHiBiTiOn KoRkIe HeLd On CoNcOrDiA.

“If you’re not going to help, stop talking.”, Din chastised, and the nattering fell silent. This was why he preferred to work alone; no inane chatter to distract him.

Standing from his crouch, he surveyed the area around the droppings. Somewhere, there would be a clue to his prize, and the thought of being ever closer to a non-frog dinner was more appealing than any other meal had ever been.

His mouth was almost watering at the thought of it.

And then he found what he was after; torn up roots and vegetation just metres from where he was. Even better, the turned ground was still damp; it hadn’t been long since a snout had been digging. Another glance around provided him with the tracks, and from there the hunt was his.

Activating the heat lens, he followed a few steps of the glowing trail before coming to a halt. Down the hill he was on, drinking from the river lazily winding through the trees, was a family of pigs. Or at least, piggy-things. The six tusks were new, and the eight legs more than was standard to his understanding; but pigs were pigs no matter what.

And Din wanted him a hog.

Going for the Mama pig would be a stupid thing to do; she could gore him with ease and he didn’t have a kid to make it float this time. And killing the piglets would be pointless; they could barely feed one person let alone three. But the two middle ones; they would do nicely. He’d grab one of them today, and then the other would be a treat for another day.

He just had to time it right.

If they saw him, they were going to scatter. He’d need to get in a tree, and wait, and probably wait some more. Take some time to reassess the situation, and then it was just a matter of time. Nothing too strenuous, and the pigs didn’t have blasters or any way to knock him out of his hiding place. It was almost too easy.

After his one-sided fight with the Jedi, he needed easy. Even though Grogu had healed him, the emotional damage had yet to subside; and his dignity had held a funeral with some touching words that could never reclaim all that he had lost. As he climbed his tree and into his perch, he wondered how the fight would have gone if the Jedi didn’t have creepy tingle-senses. Probably similarly, there was very little one could do against the sheer skill of someone so deeply trained in the art of the laser sword.

He should probably learn how to use his, but it came with baggage and he really wasn’t about that life.

But for now, he needed to focus.

In his opinion, the best part of the hunt was the focus, and he revelled in it. It allowed his mind to settle and smooth out into that calm space he’d honed to perfection; the one that had marked him out as a child as one of the ones who’d eventually go above the ground and provide for the Covert.

When the chase was on, he wasn’t anything except the Hunter. He wasn’t Din Djarin, orphan, Mandalorian; wasn’t unexpected father, unlikely husband, or unwanted Mand’alor. He was the Beroya, the Hunter.

His prey remained unaware that its time was coming to a close.

Patience was the winner’s game of the moment, and he sat there in his tree, polishing Bertha to a shine so that when the moment came, she’d be as reliable as she’d always been. For a long time it had just been the two of them, and he’d never forget that. He loved her.

dO yOu EvEr CoNsIdEr ThE fAcT tHaT tAlKiNg To YoUr BlAsTeR mAkEs YoU lOoK a LiTtLe InSaNe?, he was asked. As was becoming more practiced than he’d ever wanted it to be, he ignored the question.

Judgemental haunted swords could keep their opinions to themselves. Especially because they kept talking to him and interrupting his conversations with Bertha. Horribly rude for something that considered itself royalty.

The light shifted as the day moved on, and the wind began to rustle the leaves he was settled in. Down by the riverside, his prey continued to snuffle for roots in the ground. Let them enjoy their final meals, he thought, a well-fed pig made a happy pig. And a happy pig made delicious pork.

He just had to wait for Mama to get out of the way, needed for her to mind her own business on the other side of the water. Once she’d crossed over, he’d be free to take his shot at one of the little squealers, and then he could gut the thing by the water before making his way back to camp.

And in a few days, he’d come find them again, and get another meal from what he was going to nickname his deli aisle. On his HUD, he marked the location and named it, so that he’d not need to stop and sniff the dung on his next foray into the woods.

Then Mama made a splash in the water, the piglets following, and it was time to shoot. The older piglets stayed back, still engrossed in their plant matter, and Din raised his blaster. One single shot was all he’d have, and then he’d need to tie it and get back up the tree before he was murdered by Mama.

Taking a breath, he slowed his movements until each muscle was exactly where it needed it to be. Shand would have already taken the shot; he could hear her impatience with him as if she were right next to him. But he wasn’t her, and had his own method for his madness.

His finger rested on the trigger. He lined up the shot.

Bertha rang true.

Bullseye. Or rather, Pigseye.

He scrambled down the tree and leapt for his prize, shooting at the feet of the angry sibling who’d just lost its twin. Grabbing at the meat he’d won, he ran back to his tree, flying the last few steps and into the branches that had been his temporary perch.

Gutting the thing would be messy, but it was better to do it up high, where the family couldn’t get to him. This was a private affair, not a family matter.

Pulling his knife out, he started the messy task. He’d never liked this part; the smell and the warmth and the way it seemed to take forever to wipe off his armour. As a boy he’d been made to pluck their Snickens, and their purple feathers had always been preferable to the warm wetness of internal organs.

In no time at all, he was done. Originally he’d wanted to wash the entire carcass in the river, but Mama was watching his tree with her beady eyes, and so his plan changed. He’d fly back to camp so that he didn’t leave a fresh scent trail, and then he’d wash their dinner their.

After that he’d get a fire going, and pork chops would be on the menu.

He was so excited.

No one was there when he returned, but that didn’t dent his feeling of victory. They weren’t having frogs for dinner, so it didn’t matter if he was alone in doing the dirty work.

As he washed the meat in the river, he dared to even hum a little tune to himself. It was a good day to be alive, with fresh food and no wizard backseat piloting his every action.

Truly a magical moment.

So when Grogu splashed through the water to meet him, he didn’t feel awkward in picking the little child up and swinging him around, letting him cuddle into Din’s pauldron as he explained all about the hunt and the meat. Watching Grogu’s greedy eyes take in the amount of food they were going to share between them all, he vowed to take his son with him the next time. It was all very well and good that he could float his food as a Jedi, but he needed to learn how to catch it like a Mandalorian.

Skywalker watched them with a look on his face that reminded Din of that time they’d run out of fibre pills and Grogu had backed up like a trash droid in the outer rim. Perhaps his amphibian-centric diet wasn’t as good for his digestion as he wanted Din to believe.

“I’ll get the fire started.”, the Jedi eventually spoke up. “And find the seasoning tin.”.

Din nodded, because little could dampen his mood. If someone wanted to help than that was fine.

He did draw the line though when Skywalker insisted that he be the one to cook the meat. The territorial part of him wanted to be the one to do it. And he said so, but the other bit back that Din didn’t need to do everything, and suggested that perhaps the Mandalorian would like to take a break. Sit down with his son and take a moment to relax. Din didn’t want to admit that he was tired from the excitement, was sticky and sweaty and would quite like to wash himself off in the stream.

“I’ll cook it.”, the Jedi repeated stubbornly. “You went out and caught it, so I’ll cook it. That’s fair.”.

“Fine.”, Din sighed, because he wasn’t going to fight and let anything get in the way of his dinner. “If you want to that badly.”.

Skywalker nodded determinedly, and so Din handed over the pig. If he was so desperate to skewer and roast the thing, then he was just going to let him get on with it.

“I’m going to wash up.”, he said, “I’ll be back later.”.

If the Jedi replied, he didn’t hear it.

His return was guided in part by his cleanliness, and in part by his nose being tempted by the delicious smell of roasted omnivore.

Sitting by the fire, he watched as Skywalker turned and basted the meat with whatever seasoning concoction remained in his little tin. Din had never been interested in it when it had been attempting to make frogs palatable, but on pork, it sure did smell good.

“Will you be eating with us tonight?”, he was asked, “Or are you going behind the tree? I don’t have a better plate for you.”.

“I can stay here.”, Din replied cautiously, “But only if you cover your eyes.”.

“Sure, let me just whip out the blindfold I always carry with me for this specific moment.”, Skywalker said with a tone of sarcasm that reminded him of some political speech from a tiny woman in white who’d sent a tremor of fear down his spine.

“Use a sock.”, Din snarked, “Your feet are big enough for one to wrap around your head.”. He didn’t know why the Jedi pulled his inner teenager back out of where it had been lurking for twenty years, but he did. Skywalker made him want to throw something, preferably at the other.

“Fine.”, came the eventual grumble, “But I don’t like it.”.

“Not my problem.”, he replied. He’d laid down his terms and it was up to the other to deal with it.

“The food’s done cooking anyway. I’ll find a sock and then we eat.”.

“That’s fine with me.”, he said, and then remembered his manners, “Thank you for being so courteous.”.

A grunted reply, and the other was rooting around in his pack for something to cover his eyes. When he emerged, he barely seemed like he couldn’t see. But Din made several rude gestured that went unaddressed, and so he decided it was good enough. Grogu giggled, but when asked why, the child waved in the direction of a tree, and so Din’s little secret was kept safe.

The meat was cut with a nasty looking knife Skywalker used a little too lightly for something so big, but Din said nothing. He’d got up close and personal with enough blades to know that men didn’t like it when one commented on their size.

His own portion was unceremoniously handed to him on the lid of an old ration tray, but he didn’t care. It smelt good, and that was through the helmet. He took it off, and it smelt even better.

Though one thing did worry him.

“I don’t think pork is meant to be pink in the middle.”, he said dubiously.

The Jedi looked up at him blindly from where he was cutting meat into more manageable chunks for Grogu, who’s grabby hands were straining to get to his dinner. Din privately thought that the man should hurry up; those little teeth looked cute, but he’d learnt the hard way that denying the child food in a timely manner would result in a few less-than-adorable puncture wounds.

“It’s called medium-rare”, he sniffed, “it’s how everyone eats meat on Coruscant.”. Even with the sock covering his eyes, he still managed to find Din’s face with pinpoint accuracy. It freaked him out a little, but then again, everything Skywalker did seemed a little unnatural; like the universe moved around him instead of the other way around.

Din wasn’t convinced, but he still took his own food and bit into it. The meat was juicy, and the seasoning was as good as it had smelt. All in all, it was much better than the frogs had ever been. Maybe he’d actually enjoy a meal for the first time in however long.

The galaxy was a cold and cruel place; anyone who’d ever gazed into the stars could tell another that such was the case. And for those on an uninhabited planet in the middle of a system far from civilisation, the galaxy also apparently had a warped sense of humour.

Din Djarin was about to discover this for himself.

His evening took a turn for the worse when, during his evening cuddles, Grogu’s stomach made a noise that could best be described as the mating call of a particularly operatic rancor. In all their time together, Din had known the child to make many a bizarre sound; indeed he’d become much more vocal during their travels. The silence of the traumatised baby he’d found giving way to the chatty little thing he’d rocked to sleep night after night against the spot where Din carried the signet of their clan.

But this noise was new.

Something deeply instinctive took over, and he held the child out away from him. This was apparently the correct thing to do, as a tiny grunted uuf was the only warning they received before Grogu committed what Din could only describe as a war crime directed at anyone with a functioning sense of smell.

At the very least it would get them banned from several planets of the Perinn Sector.

kArK, the Darksaber choked with what could only being described as horror.

Another grunt, and another squelch. The green face looked traumatised as his is little robe sagged under the weight of his sins, and Din couldn’t help it. He retched.

Upon seeing his reaction, Grogu burst into tears, and his poor father panicked. He needed to clean the child up, needed to make sure he was ok, needed to do a lot of things that no one had ever taught him to do. He’d made it two months of doing cloth changes before he’d decided to potty train the kid, which had gone horribly and resulted in the diapers sticking around for good. Din Djarin was the hunter and he was the prey, at no point was he meant to be the nursemaid as well.

Grogu chose that moment to spit up as well, officially ruining his clothes. Dank farrick Din hated sewing, and he only had the clothes on his back, but there was no way his child could continue wearing his soiled outfit. Another burp and this time there was chunks. He gagged again.

“I don’t think the pork was good.”, he said in shock a few seconds later, looking over at Skywalker, whose traumatised face would have been extremely amusing had Din not also witnessed the events.

“Kark.”, was the only response, before Skywalker bolted into the trees. Unhelpful bastard wizard.

That was when Din felt it too. The Rumble.

“Kark.”, he repeated, grappling at his helmet with the hand not holding his stinky child and stumbling away from the camp.

Years of practice made it so that he was able to remove it just in time as he threw up his dinner. He was going to kill that bastard wizard with his shit cooking skills. He was going to skewer him with the laser sword and then he was going to roast him until he was medium-rare.

Grogu continued to cry, and Din did his best to strip him out of the stained clothes before realising it wasn’t going to be enough. They’d need to go downstream and bathe him before anything dried. He also de-armoured, and accepted that his flightsuit and underwear were going to be uncomfortable damp all night.

There was no other option though. Chunky little ones with folds of green skin was all very well and adorable, until they needed to be scrubbed. But it was worse if it dried. The last thing he wanted at that moment was to scrape the mess from Grogu’s fat little ankles as the overtired little one wailed and wailed for his bed.

Mama pig was somewhere in the forest laughing at Din. He just knew it.

After he’d got them both free of the mess, the child somehow still had enough inside him for another round of diplomatic incidents, and it was truly a sign of how much he loved his son that Din didn’t just let him go and allow the river to take him away. Could the little one ever be clean again? His father wasn’t convinced as his stomach revolted as another wave of nausea hit.

But eventually it was over, and the wet child and his sweating father went back to the camp together. His armour clanked together as it dangled over his shoulder by his whipcord. Skywalker was already there, curled in a ball in front of the fire and occasionally whimpering. Din liked the idea of no longer being upright, and also got himself onto the ground next to the other. The flames were warm against his clammy skin and damp clothes, and Grogu purred in delight as the cold water on his naked body began to dry.

“Medium rare.”, Din croaked with all the disdain he could muster.

“Don’t.”, the Jedi groaned back.

“I hate you.”, the Mandalorian said with all the sincerity he’d ever felt. “Grogu shat on me. It was yellow. I want you to know it was yellow and it was on me.”.

“I hate me too.”, Skywalker replied, “Why did it smell so bad?”.

Something bubbled in Din’s throat at the memory of what had happened, and he prepared to roll so that he could aim his vomit at the Jedi. But instead of the stomach acid he was expecting, a laugh burst out of him. Unable to control himself, he giggled like a small child.

“It was rotten.”, he giggled. “Absolutely rotten.”.

That was when the Jedi started laughing too, and the two of them together must have looked like fools as they cracked up on the ground; unable to move without upsetting their delicate constitutions, but also unable to stop themselves from cackling.

“Stinky baby. Stinky, stinky baby.”, Skywalker said as he gasped for air.

“The stinkiest.”, Din agreed, and then they were off again.

Once the laughter came to an end, they lay there on the ground, staring up at the stars. With the sounds of the insects in the trees, with the way the air settled cold on his skin before the warmth of the fire banished it away; it was peaceful. The horrors of before were forgotten, the stiltedness between them seemed to be gone. For the first time, Din was enjoying the company of the Jedi without a stipulation, without only being there for Grogu or desperate to leave at the first opportunity.

“I’m sorry about the meat.”, Skywalker eventually said, and Din twisted his neck just enough so that he could see the other clearly.

It startled him to remember that he wasn’t wearing the helmet, but then, he didn’t feel the urge for it either. Up to now, Skywalker had done his best to be respectful even though he clearly didn’t understand. Maybe it was the right thing to do; to be bare in front of the one who’d saved them both, who’d taken Grogu away but also allowed them to stay together.

Maybe it was time for Din to be vulnerable, and let someone stronger be the one looking out for him.

“I know.”, he replied, not letting his turmoil seep into his voice. It was harder without the vocoder in place; but he still remembered the time Before, when he’d kept a straight face even though he’d been the one to steal cakes from the table. Everyone had always said his chubby cheeks and winning grin could get him out of any trouble. “I forgive you.”.

wE dOn’T, the Darksaber piped up, tHaT wAs ThE wOrSt ThInG wE’vE eVeR sEeN, aNd MaUl HaD a KeNbOoBy ShRiNe.

As he’d learnt during their time together, Din ignored the sword in his wet boot. Why it felt the urge to give constant commentary on his life he didn’t understand. The next time he saw Kryze he was insisting she take it back. If anyone deserved to be constantly bugged; it was Bo-Katan.

He didn’t even have a good reason for feeling that way: he just really didn’t like her.

They lay in silence a little longer, the brand-new comfort between them settling sweetly into the night. The three moons were rising slowly, the bigger two twisting around the smaller third like its guardians. One day, in millennia or more, they’d meet and meld, become one or thousands as they crashed and conformed to their new reality. They’d make or break each other, forever changed and never again to be as they once were.

“I really want you to like me.”, the Jedi admitted into the night, his voice soft. Din had never heard that tone in the few weeks they’d been together. Whenever they spoke, there was either a casual serenity, or a biting wit. The softness was new. It was raw. It was intriguing. “You’re all Grogu talks about, like ever. You’re his hero and his dad and I took him away from that. He came to me because of duty, but his heart is with you.”.

He didn’t know how to respond to that, not with words. They’d never been his strongest suite. Sure, he could negotiate, he could threaten, he could bargain and bribe and bark orders like a commander. But soothing was new, was something he’d only learnt when a hand had reached for him like he’d once reached for those who were no longer with him.

It had worked then, so maybe it would work now.

Din carefully moved his arm off Grogu’s sleeping form, removing his glove with expertise born of someone who spilt a lot of corrosive liquids, and reached for the Jedi. Blindly searching, he found his hand, and squeezed it gently. It couldn’t ever say everything, but it would have to say enough.

Skywalker froze, and Din realised he’d mis-stepped, and went to pull his hand away. But the fingers in his gripped harder, holding him in place.

“No one touches me anymore.”, came the quiet words, and adding to Din’s discoveries of the Jedi’s range of emotions, “Only my sister, my close friends… everyone else treats me different. Like I’m special, not just Luke. They expect me to be impressive, the Jedi, wise and above it all.”.

Din was unsure how he was meant to react. He understood what it meant to be the Other, to be separated by a barrier of expectations. But he had no idea what it was like to carry it all. Even though they were few, his people still existed, still thrived in tiny pockets. They’d be strong again one day.

The Jedi was alone. Except for Grogu.

“You should cook for them.”, he eventually said. “That’d sort it out.”.                  

And to his surprise, Skywalker burst into cackles, laughing as hard as he had earlier.

“Thank you.”, he panted as he tried to control himself after a few moments, “Thank you for seeing me as a normal person.”. His grip hadn’t loosened, and in it, Din understood the gratitude.

“I don’t think you’re normal.”, Din told him seriously, “No one who snores that loud is normal.”.

“Oh you’re one to talk, Mando!”, Skywalker exclaimed, “You sound like a dying bantha!”.

“I sound like a dying bantha?”, Din replied, rather insulted. “You’ve broken the sound barrier at least twice in the last week.”.

They bickered back and forth, each insult getting more and more ridiculous, until they were out of breath and gasping for air once more. For all the time they’d spent together, they’d never realised how well they truly got along.

The rough start of their time together had given way to camaraderie brought on by a bought of food poisoning so awful Din wasn’t sure if he’d ever eat meat again. It didn’t matter though, not while he was lying in the dirt with his dignity stained with the memory of bodily fluids and his only wakeful companion smelling just as bad.

In a way, it made the laughter easier to come by.

They held hands the entire time, and the first seemingly-insurmountable barrier fell.

Chapter Text

Two Weeks After That Very Shitty Zhellday

Whoever had built R2D2 had to have been one hell of a sadistic asshole, Luke’s first thoughts that morning were. While the droid was family to him, it was hard to feel any form of affection towards anyone or anything whose preferred method of waking him up was to beep incessantly into his ear after what felt like barely twenty minutes after falling asleep.

“I’m going to shoot that fucking thing.”, Mando mumbled from where he was buried under Grogu and a mountain of blankets. Privately, Luke agreed.

But that wasn’t going to achieve anything other than a scolding and slightly guilt-tripping call from C-3PO, and so he rolled over to find out what R2 wanted.

“Morning gorgeous.”, the droid bleeped at him, and how he managed to sound sarcastic Luke would never know. “Enjoy your beauty sleep?”.

“I slept great thanks.”, he replied pleasantly. Arguing with a hunk of metal never got him anywhere. On second thought, considering his latest companions, it sometimes got him food poisoning.

No one had let him forget and he was suffering with as much silent dignity as he could muster.

“I found you a place.”, his droid continued, “Exactly as you wanted.”.

“Are you serious?”, he asked, sitting up and a lot more awake at the news, “Did you really?”.

“I’m not some cheap model.”, R2D2 blooped derisively, “I’m custom, and I’m damn good.”.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry I doubted you. Can you send me the coordinates, and then take the X-Wing over?”, he said, raising his hands in a placating manner.

R2D2 whistled in agreement, and promptly trundled out of the tent, knocking several piles of dirty clothes over and having the gall to pretend it had never happened.

Such an asshole.

Luke turned to his companions, who were both watching him. The cuter of the two had sleep blurred eyes, and the other was a metal lump whose very being radiated deep confusion.

“We’re moving.”, he told them, “And once we’re there, we’ll be building. No more tents for us.”.

No one else seemed to share his enthusiasm; Grogu had gone back to sleep, and Mando was still staring at him.

“How the kriff did you do that with your mouth?”, the Mandalorian asked with a tone that wasn’t unlike the one Luke had had when he’d first seen trees stretching out beneath him.

“Do what?”, he tried to clarify.

“The beeping and the booping. Droiding.”, came the helpful reply.

“Speaking droid is a useful skill to have in the galaxy.”, he said wisely, and chose not to mention the three-week seminar he’d taken when Leia was about to give birth and had threatened to cut his other hand off if he hadn’t stopped hovering. Even Han had had enough of him, and he’d been the one crocheting booties.

Ben had hated the booties, which was why Luke believed he’d invested his time in a much better way.

Then again, Ben was one hell of a strange child, so perhaps neither adult was truly the problem.

He banished that thought before Leia could pick up on it. One time, he’d thought of his nephew as resembling a particularly unfortunate dried fruit, and she’d wet and frozen all of Luke’s bedclothes and set his heater to the Hothest setting. He was in awe of her. Awe and fear.

Thank you reverberated through their bond, and he snorted a little laugh.

“You’re so weird.”, Mando said quietly, interrupting his thoughts as he lay back down. “When do we leave?”.

“Later this morning, I want to take Grogu to that clearing I told you about, we’re going to see if he can move the leaves.”, Luke told him. “And yes, you can join us.”.

He was getting better at that; sharing the time he spent with Grogu. Mando wasn’t going to take him away, wasn’t going to sever another connection. He was staying, and so was the child they both loved dearly.

The warmth he felt at that was almost definitely a breeze coming from outside the tent; R2 had left the door flap open and of course was never going to come back and close it.

Benduday

“Will you ever tell me why you needed my com?”, he asked as they made their way up the creek to their new campsite.

If this site was indeed all that was promised by his faithful companion, he’d finally have a place to start building. Somewhere to set down roots, and somewhere to return to. A new home for the Order he was going to build. It thrilled him as much as it scared him.

He’d had a few dreams about Master Yoda like that. To deal with that knowledge, he liked to think that it was the Force’s way of keeping him on task. Nothing like waking up to face his own trauma as a form of encouraging productivity.

“I was trying to find something.”, Mando replied, carefully pulling a barbed vine out of his cape. It was getting awfully tatty. Was Luke supposed to do something about that? He’d read somewhere that one spouse was supposed to be able to sew or something like that. Maybe Mando could take on that duty.

“What were you trying to find?”, he asked patiently. Uncle Owen had once said that trying to get a straight answer from a teenaged Luke was trying to get Basic from a Jawa. Luke would have liked to introduce him to Mando and see if he held the same sentiment after that.

“…My Covert, my community, we got attacked, and scattered.”, Mando said haltingly. “I want to find them. Who’s left.”.

“And you needed my com for that?”. Strange, but he’d heard stranger.

“We leave codes in places, if you know were to look.”, the other said dismissively, as if it were completely obvious. Well excuse Luke for his scattered people’s historical orgasms for physical records.

“Any luck?”, he wanted to know, curiosity burning. A secret group of Mandalorians, hiding in the backwaters of the galaxy. A lone survivor looking for them, trying to find home again. It sounded somewhat familiar.

“Some. But I’ll need a better terminal. Something that can run more complex numbers.”.

“Would R2D2 work?”, he offered. This planet was all very nice, and Grogu’s lessons were indeed important… but the thought of a mission sent tremors of excitement through him.

“Probably not, unless he’s hooked up to the Shadow Realm?”, came the next question.

He shuddered, because there was only one thing stopping R2 from fully delving into anarchy, and that was the fact that he didn’t know how to wield a knife. And if Luke had his way, he’d never learn.

“Oh hell no. He’s bad enough without encouragement.”, he said with all honesty. A moment’s pause while they both thought and came up with nothing. “I guess that puts a Grogu in your electrics.”.

“He told you about that?”, Mando asked, sounding a little bit affronted. Clearly he wasn’t used to his parenting being brought into question. Which was another reason that Luke needed to do teach Grogu all the skills he could. At this rate, he’d be fried by his father before anyone else could get to him.

“Yeah, and he wants me to remind you that he’s a child.”, he replied.

“Well children need to learn their colours better.”, Mando said huffily.

Before he could say anything else, the child in question broke out of the undergrowth with a giggle, a fistful of worms held above his head. While Mando nodded approvingly, Luke was treated to a barrage of images in which the Fearsome Grogu of Clan Mudhorn tracked down and attacked his prey.

Cute.

Until he opened wide and swallowed the whole wriggling mess. Slightly less cute, and also quite unfair.

“Hey, share your snacks.”, he scolded as the little one burped.

Mando made a noise of disgust, but Luke didn’t care. Fussy eaters could mind their own business as far as he was concerned. When he’d been Grogu’s age… or, rather, his developmental age, Luke would have done anything for a nice snack of worms. The dried ones Uncle Owen would bring back from the market always had sand in, but then, Aunt Beru could make anything into a casserole that’d have a droid drooling.

Gently bouncing the child into the air, he continued walking through the forest. Even after so many years, the amount of life that the galaxy held awed him. Out of everything that had happened to him, with all the truths that had been revealed, it was the greenness that always managed to take his breath away. Entire planets of water, places that brimmed with nature, with life, and with plants far as the eye could see.

He wished that he’d been able to take it all home, and let his family see it too.

Another loud laugh broke him from his reverie, and he looked over to see that he’d floated Grogu a bit further than he’d meant to, sending the child into his father’s arms.

In the damp forest, Mando’s armour didn’t shine. Soft light dappled across the metal he wrapped himself in, softening him. He seemed to blend in, to have become one with the planet despite being so different. The hard edges had rounded, the coarseness had become gentler.

He’d rested, and with it, his hackles had finally fallen from their rise.

When they got divorced, after Mando had found what he was looking for and saved his soul in whatever way he needed to, Luke was hopeful that they’d stay in contact, and not just for Grogu. It was nice to talk to another adult; all the droids he knew made jokes about his accent and told him he needed to get an oil change.

But that wasn’t going to be anytime soon, if Mando was having a hard time finding the people he needed in order to solve his problems. If they just had a ship with more than a bucket seat and a navicom, they wouldn’t need to wait.

Hang on.

He was a genius. He should remind Leia of that.

Through their bond, she told him to piss off, that she was in an important meeting, and that his moment of genius might actually be flatulence. Feeling rather insulted, he sent back a rousing chorus of Baby Shaak alongside an imagined middle finger.

Either way, he’d still solved the issue at hand.

“Wanna hijack a pirate ship?”, he asked his companions.

Grogu squealed in delight. Mando just stared. Utter confusion and a deep-seated resignation emanated off him in the Force.

Not everyone, Grand Master Luke Skywalker thought sagely, was easy to please.

The wizard wanted to hijack a pirate ship. Din wanted to hit his head on a rock.

“Say that again?”, he requested. Perhaps he’d got water in his ear, or he’d been deafened by Grogu crying, or he was dreaming again. There was a good chance he was still asleep and his central processing unit was just throwing whatever it could at the walls to see what would stick.

Wait, no, both his boots were on. Definitely not a dream.

“You, me, pirate ship.”, the Jedi repeated, grinning. “We find one, we get on one, we borrow their terminal.”. He looked mighty pleased with himself, and that gave Din a prickly feeling on the back of his neck; the same one he’d felt when he’d first found Grogu.

“No.”, he said succinctly. Listening to that instinct had got him a son, that much was true, but it had also got him a planet, and he was vaguely less enthused about that.

“Oh come on! It’ll be great! Call it spousal bonding or whatever husbands do these days.”.

“They remember that this is temporary and therefore bonding is not necessary.”

“Either way, Grogu needs his co-parents to be on the same page. We have to learn to live with each other somehow.”.

Dank farrick. He was right. Grogu needed a strong support system; and even though Din was personally of the opinion that the ragtag group he’d pulled together from the scraps of the galaxy was enough, his son needed more than they alone could give him.

He and the Jedi were going to have to bond.

“Fine.”, he sighed. He did a lot of that lately. “We can find a terminal.”. On a damn pirate ship. That they’d have to hijack. Despite his day-job not being too different, the thought of doing so with the Jedi had already brought on a sense of weariness.

Nevertheless, Skywalker looked delighted, and when he twirled his wizard hands in excitement, Din was certain that he saw him float a little off the ground. But that was probably just his imagination.

At least, for the sake of his blood pressure, that’s what he told himself.

The other man started thinking aloud of what they were going to do, and Din listened with half a brain as he walked and watched the two Jedi bouncing along in front of him. Such a strange type of person, but he couldn’t be too mad. They’d been looking for each other, after all.

Primeday

Since his agreement to access a terminal off-planet, the Jedi had been almost dizzy with excitement. Combined with the new site that was planned for more permanent building, his entire attitude reminded Din of a Tooka; all bright eyes and boundless energy. Sort of cute too, if one was into that sort of thing.

Which Din was obviously not. He was a lone wolf in the galaxy, living free and doing what he could for his people.

sO yOu’Re OvErDrAmAtIc As WeLl As A lIaR, the ghosts of the past sneered at him. They’d been acting rancid with him ever since he’d stepped in a particularly rank puddle a few clicks back. Given that he’d felt the squelch and could still smell the weeds, he’d forgive them this once.

He prodded the fire, keeping the flames at the right level. The other two would be back soon, hopefully with some fish.

As soon as he’d thought it, Skywalker and Grogu appeared from the trees, carrying what looked like the largest catch any of them had ever managed, and the image of a proud Tooka once again rose in Din’s mind.

Within the next half hour, he’d amended that thought; Skywalker was definitely a feral Tooka if not an outright rancor, what with the way he was gleefully ripping into his roasted fish and sucking the meat off the bones.

Since the pork incident, Din had remained with them to eat, under the condition that Skywalker wrap a sock or other improvised blindfold around his eyes. So far, he’d complied, and for once in his life, Din was able to enjoy a meal with adult company sitting in front of him.

“Tell me how we’re going to find a ship.”, he requested, breaking the silence in the new clearing. Unlike the last one, it was large, with natural paths in the grass that wound themselves up the hill to the peak where the Jedi had solemnly lifted a single standing rock.

Both he and Grogu had stared at it in silence for a while, exchanging words that Din would never know. It had felt like the entire forest had shuddered to a halt, and for once, even the Darksaber had fallen silent. Something holy had happened there, but he didn’t know what.

Even now, in the fire’s glow, he could see the rock watching them from its position. What secrets did it represent, what forgotten history did it tell?

He may never know, but the curiosity still burned.

“I’ll search for something nearby.”, the Jedi stated. Even with his eyes covered and mouth shiny with oil, he held a certain wisdom and posture. Perhaps it was inherent to the Jedi way, and one day, Din’s own son would sit with the same quiet pride and confidence. “No more than a day’s travel if possible, and we’ll go from there.”.

“Sounds good to me.”, he murmured in reply.

The quiet between them returned, and it was only in its absence that Din realised how much he’d become accustomed to chatter.

Skywalker’s meditating and searching had pulled up some promising information. Not a lot, but a better lead than anything else they’d found. The Jedi told him that the speed of his findings was in part due to the new site, and had gone on a long ramble about the ways that something or other converged naturally there. He’d been very invested, and so Din had sat and listened politely despite the fact that he’d been lost since about the eighth word.

Either way, the findings were the reason that they were sitting around a star map trying to work out the best way to make it both to and from space port they’d highlighted as being the most likely to hold a ship that might have access to the information they were after. While Din was on team impromptu calculations, Skywalker was more in favour of having his droid run the numbers so they could run alongside the nearest hyperspace lane; bouncing off its echo to aid their own covert movements.

Grogu was no help in solving their issues, considering he was quite happily napping in the floating crib next to the table: one had arrived alongside some supplies that had seemingly been airdropped to them. There had also been several pairs of socks and some new clothes for him, which he was trying not to feel embarrassed about. The fact that Skywalker had also been given instructions to burn his existing socks made him feel a little bit better about the state of his own garments.

Turning his attention back to his son, he smiled behind the helmet watching his soft breathing. Fatherhood had not been on his first choice, or even his one-hundredth choice, but he was finding with each day that the thought of going back to his solitary life became less and less desirable. He was becoming domesticated, and Din wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

When he was quiet and not trying to fill Din’s boots with frogs, Grogu was adorable. What a sweet little baby he’d found. So tiny, so cute. Reaching over carefully, the Mandalorian adjusted the blankets. As he moved away, Grogu’s tiny claws grasped at his fingers. It was so adorable as he lifted them to his mouth. What a sweet darling child he had, so loving and gentle. Did he want to kiss the digits, like Din had seen some children do?

The answer was no, as Grogu’s sharp little razor teeth chomped down on him.

Hissing in pain, Din pulled his injured hand away. When Grogu woke up, they were going to have a long talk about when it was and wasn’t appropriate to bite people. Again.

Kidnappers, Imps, and random old Twi’leks who stuck their hands into cribs: those were fair game to bite. Fathers were not. It was a very simple concept, and yet even at fifty-years-old, Grogu was struggling to master it. Maybe there was some Jedi magic that would help. Or blunt his little gnashers. He’d not drawn blood this time, but he’d done it before, and Din was worried he might have acquired a taste for it.

It would be just his luck to adopt a child whose species consumed their elders upon maturity.

He turned back to the table, and glared at Skywalker, who was silently laughing into his metal hand. The one Grogu had tried to bite and then cried as he'd been met with a hard surface instead of soft delicate flesh. Asshole. He couldn’t see the look Din was giving him, but if he could, he’d be in a lot of trouble.

Eventually, Skywalker recovered what little had ever existed of his composure.

“From what I can gather, the port will be closing and moving within a galactic calendar month. The hyperspace capabilities of the entire rig will leave enough disturbance for us to see where it was, but the radiation is going to completely scramble any trackers we might be able to place on it… Simply put; we’re not going to have time to get a bigger ship.”, the Jedi mused, “We’ll have to take the X-Wing.”.

“We won’t fit.”, Din reminded him. Because there was absolutely no way that two adults, a child and a droid were going to squeeze into that thing and make it out alive. He had a knife, and if the Jedi started singing again he was going to be forced to use it.

“Well, sorry to bust your bucket, but that’s our only way in.”, he was told.

“No.”.

“Yup.”, Skywalker was a little shit and Din wanted him to know that. Sage and wise was a veneer, and underneath was an absolute pain in the shebs. “It’s that or living longer with a jeopardised soul.”.

Dank farrick. He’d hit the sore point.

“How would it work?”, he demanded, “Those things are tiny.”. Tiny and fast, like little gnats. And they buzzed around in the same way. Always the same: you’re going too fast, you’re unregistered, sir your rear flight blinks are out and that carries a fine. It seemed like they never left him alone.

“I”, Skywalker announced grandly, “will sit on your lap and steer. You can be the shiny chrome upholstery.”. He looked far too pleased with his idea, eyes doing that sparkly thing they kept doing. Maybe he had an infection or something.

“Absolutely not. We’re not going.”. And it was beskar, but he didn't add that. Some arguments were best left for another day.

“Oh grow up, it’s sitting on your husband’s lap.”, the Jedi argued, “It’s perfectly chaste.”.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”, he replied, holding in the deep sigh that wanted to break free. He’d been doing so well in keeping himself calm. The other got under his skin in a way he couldn’t explain.

“It’s ok to be a little nervous your first time.”, came the sweet sarcasm, and another deep breath was taken.

“I hate you.”, he said sincerely.

“I’ve heard that makes it better.”, a wink, a salacious one at that. He hated how naturally it played across his face, and how Din’s own eyes were locked onto it.

“You’re not sitting on me.”, he insisted.

“My ship, my rules.”, oh now there was pouting; how mature. He was going to be the adult in the room and ignore it.

“I drive.”, Din stated forcefully. There had to be a way he could win this. But Skywalker just laughed.

“Not on your life. I drive, or you stay here.”, he said cheerfully.

“No.”.

“Yes.”.

“No.”,

“Yes.”,

“No.”

jUsT dO iT yOu StUbBoRn MoRoN

“Fine.”, he snapped after a second of glaring at each other. He hoped Skywalker could feel it even if he couldn’t see it. “But I don’t like it.”

“I promise to ignore any and all crotch pokes.”, Skywalker told him with serene sincerity. He had a supremely punchable face. Din wondered if anyone had ever done so. He’d like to shake their hand.

“I hate you.”, he stated.

“And yet, you married me.”, came the smug reply.

He was three minutes away from shoving Bertha up the Jedi’s ass. Anything was preferable to dealing with the man-child he was tied to.

Standing up from the ground, he made his way towards the treeline. Perhaps shooting something for dinner would make him feel a lot better. Especially if he imagined Skywalker’s face on it.

Zhellday, Again

There was a familiarity in running the final checks on his X-Wing that calmed him down in a way nothing else could. The delicacy in the movements his hands had to make, the way that everything had its place; could be fixed if he just put it in order, gave him a sense of peace that linked him closer to the Force than any amount of sitting had ever done.

Mando had got over his sulk pretty quickly, but that seemed to only be because he’d instead chosen to focus his energy on bossing R2 around on the topic of what the droid could and could not do with the child.

It was deeply amusing to hear the conversation, two metal domes locked in a battle of sass and sarcasm. He moved a mirror so he could see behind him, and had to quickly stifle his laughter.

The Mandalorian was pointing directly into R2’s optical receiver, practically jabbing him, and informing him in no uncertain terms was he to let Grogu into the water on his own.

Beeps that would remain untranslated for the sake of intergalactic peace came in reply, and he almost blushed at some of the words coming from the droid’s speakers. Truly, where had he learnt such foul language?

Probably Leia, if he were being realistic. Whenever those two were left together there was always an increased fire risk.

And people thought he was the troublesome twin.

His husband finished his scolding, and with one last fond pat of Grogu’s head, made his way over to the X-Wing. Only the stiffness of his posture gave away his discomfort about their flight arrangements.

“Welcome aboard!”, he said, only to get a blank stare in return. Fine. Be that way. Luke had planned for an in-flight snack, but now Mando was getting nothing.

The Metal Man climbed inside, huffing and puffing and making a few mutterings that Luke was going to pretend he hadn’t heard. They were going to be cramped in there for at least seven hours, and if they started an argument before they even got off the ground, there was going to be hell to pay.

When his companion was settled, he lifted himself into position. Definitely not the comfiest way to fly, but it was all they had, and so he settled himself into the open space between Mando’s legs, shimmying until he was confident that neither of his ass cheeks would go numb.

His movements caused a noise of displeasure, but he was going to ignore it. They both had the right to get as comfy as they could, and he was going to take advantage of that.

He was studiously ignoring the warmth of the thighs bracketing him, and the way that a strong broad chest was bracing his back instead of the normal seat.

Just because he was committed to being a Jedi didn’t mean he didn’t have eyes. It was just that up until that exact moment, he’d been able to appreciate the Mandalorian’s form from a distance. But his slightly less-than-pure thoughts were harder to ignore when the evidence was pressed up against him.

Luckily, he was distracted by the canopy slid closed above him. It was too late for them to have any problems now; they had a mission and by the Force he was going to make sure they completed it.

Mando’s hands reached around him to input their route, his hands easily working the navicom as he ran the calculations through the system.

He’s doing it in his head, he realised as the other typed. He felt his cheeks go pink. Mando also did the calculations in his head. Mando was like him. Mando was a flyboy.

Oh no.

And then they were moving and he didn’t have time to think of the implications of what he’d just found out. That information would have to sit in his chest until he had the time to lie alone at night, staring up at the sky, and wonder what exactly he was meant to do when there was someone right there who shared the same old-fashioned and hard-earned skill he did.

He was starting to regret insisting he sit on the other man’s lap though.

The port he’d found didn’t take too kindly to his ship appearing on his radar, but he told the same lie he always did; that he’d bought it from a friend of a friend of a friend, and used it to run his smuggling enterprise and avoid the eyes of the government.

It worked, because apparently critical thinking was no longer required for villainy, and they were given access to a landing pad.

Getting out and looking around, he shook the cramps out of his legs and was thankful he’d left R2D2 at home. If the droid had come with them, he’d had combusted out of excitement.

Every type of criminal seemed to be roaming around, weapons and scarred skin on display for all to see. Raising his hood, he hid his face from the galaxy, and just took it all in as they made their way to the port’s main level.

As they did, he felt a nudge in the Force, pointing his attention towards an ugly gunship waiting on the other side of the forecourt. That was the one they’d be breaking into; he knew it in his water. He silently gestured to his companion, who nodded, and then continued walking.

Apparently talking was off the table until later.

The agreement they eventually reached to wait until nightfall before attempting to board their chosen ship, which left them with several hours to burn. Sensing that if he was left to wander out in the open, trouble would find Skywalker with remarkable accuracy, Din insisted that they rent a room overlooking the port for the afternoon and evening.

He’d ignored the sleazy look the owner had given him as he’d escorted the Jedi up the stairs and away from all the potential calamities he could cause.

They’d made it a few hours before hunger made itself known. In the short time that he’d been camping out in Jedi-land, Din’s body had adapted to the regular meals, and was now protesting loudly at the fact that his stomach was empty. With a sigh, he put Bertha’s cleaning cloth down, and informed Skywalker that he was going to find food.

“Cool. Have fun.”, the Jedi told him from where he was sitting on the ceiling. This was exactly why Din wanted them out of the public eye.

Several stalls on the main level had carried snacks of varying types, and bargaining with them had acquired him a decent feast in very little time. Returning to the room in record time, he stopped dead upon opening the door.

"Why.", he asked, feeling his soul depart and join the Manda.

Skywalker just looked at him coyly from the bed, or at least it was an attempt to be coy; his artfully tousled hair and pinkened cheeks were just making him look weirdly... weird.

"Oh this?", the Jedi asked with a smirk, "This is my I'm helpless so please don't hurt me disguise for later.".

He pulled a face that was apparently him acting weak and pathetic. It was absolutely ridiculous, considering anyone who spent more than a few seconds near the Jedi was made very aware of the vast amount of power held in every single fibre of his being. He practically radiated Don’t Fuck With Me from his pores.

"You look feverish.", Din told him, because there was no way he’d compliment how the pinkness of his cheeks made his eyes bluer.

Pretty.

Pretty and gross, he amended in his mind. Yeah. Super gross.

Skywalker pouted, and then turned his back on the Mandalorian. Din ignored the way his slim body moved so fluidly. Clearly the hunger was getting to him more than he’d thought. Locating the Snoodles he’d got for himself; he opened the carton and lifted the helmet enough that he could inhale them. Delicious, even with the slightly engine-oil aftertaste.

“I promise it’ll work. If we get caught, which we won’t, they’ll take one look at me, and decide I’m worth keeping as cargo.”, the Jedi told him with what was apparently authority as he kept fiddling with his hair in the mirror. “I’ve been doing it for years to get in and out of trouble.”.

He took out a tube of something, and started rubbing it all over his lips. It made them pink and shiny and Din didn’t like it one bit. The Mandalorian felt his nose crinkle at the thought of how sticky it must feel.

“Don’t give me that look.”, the Jedi said as he smeared more of the stuff on himself, “Some of us care about our appearances. Your dry-ass lips wish they were this hydrated.”.

Din self-consciously licked his lips. They were very dry. They were so dry that they cried for moisture and relief. He ignored them. He wasn’t putting anything sticky on his body. Especially not if the recommendation came from the Jedi.

“So how is this supposed to work?”, he asked, because staying on task was far more important than working out whatever it was that Skywalker had going on.

The Jedi’s artificially plumped and shiny lips pouted at him again, and Din sighed. That made it the thirty-second one that day; not quite a record, but surely working its way there.

A deep breath, and he ran through it in his head instead: they’d sneak on, find the terminal, get the information, and leave. Of course, it all hinged on everyone being able to ignore the sheer magnitude of space magic Skywalker possessed rippling through the air with every step… it was never going to work.

Dank farrick.

YoU’rE dOoMeD.

The Breenut gallery’s input was not appreciated.

Creeping onto the ship was surprisingly easy. The ugly hunk of junk was in the middle of being sprayed down when they made their attempt to board. As a team of angry looking Gammoreans grunted at each other as they made their way around the ship with their hose, and none of them noticed as the two men crept passed them and straight up the entry ramp.

Luke was almost a little disappointed, considering he’d been expecting at least a little bit more of a challenge, and he whispered such. His metal shadow remained silent, hovering a step behind Luke’s left shoulder, and simply waited for further instruction.

Ah, it seemed Luke had paired himself up with the more goal-focused type. No time for chit-chat when they were on the job.

Fulcrum always told him he should talk less, but he did his best thinking aloud, and it wasn’t his fault he was often left alone with only an open com line for company.

Sneaking around was always so much fun, and together, they slowly made their way through the ship.

Just as they turned a corner, an alarm started to blare, and shouts echoed down the corridor. They’d not been careful enough, and must have tripped some sort of invisible wire. A rookie error he shouldn’t be making at his age. This was why he needed to be kept busy; his excitement got the better of him when he finally got cleared for another mission.

He wasn’t sure where Mando had gone; he wasn’t behind him anymore. And, at later times, when he was asked to recount how the mission had gone terribly wrong, he’d use Mando as his excuse for his distraction.

Because that was the exact moment he ran straight into a metal beam, and managed to knock himself out.

Somewhere in the Force, Master Yoda was laughing his saggy green ass off.

Din watched from his hiding spot as Skywalker ran straight into a support beam and crumpled. The urge to laugh was so powerful he almost gave away his position, but he remained strong. Besides, he’d captured the moment with his helmet and would definitely be re-watching it the entire ride back.

Apparently, the ship belonged to a ragtag band of pirates, as a group of rough looking fellows surrounded the Jedi’s crumpled form. There was no way Din could risk shooting at them; a shot could easily deflect and hit his companion. But more importantly; they had no idea he was there.

It was time to sink into the shadows, and bide his time.

iF yOu SiNg YoUr StUpId ThEmE sOnG aGaIn We’Ll MaKe SuRe ThEy FiNd YoU, the Darksaber threatened. But it needn’t worry, because Din had already started following the pirates to where they were taking the Jedi.

They’d not even bothered to check for anyone else, and he held that against them. Sure, Skywalker screamed danger danger when conscious, but with his current indisposed nature, he was no more danger than a particularly vicious feather.

The unconscious Jedi was taken into a room just off the main corridor, and Din waited until the others had left before he slipped through the closing door. They’d been in there a while, but what they’d been doing he had no idea.

“Congrats, you got caught, Mr. Invisible. Now what?”, he said as strolled into Skywalker’s impromptu cell. The other man just glared at him blearily. The giant bump on his head rather ruined the effect, however. Din ignored him, his pride was as bruised as his forehead, so antagonising him wasn’t going to get them anywhere.

Taking stock of the room, it looked like the pirates were just using a spare cargo hold. That would be useful; they could just travel via the mechanics of a ship through the panelling and avoid being seen that way. He could peel a panel off and see what was underneath. As long as there wasn’t any insulation blocking the way, they’d be able to navigate much more easily.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance to find out what was inside the walls, as someone decided to zap him right between the plates of his armour at that exact moment. That really was a design flaw. If he ever found the Armourer again they were going to talk about potential improvements. Tradition be damned, he was sick of getting injured over and over in the same place.

As he fell to the floor, he caught sight of the ugliest Rodian he’d ever seen holding what looked like an Imperial Shock Prod.

Wonderful.

wE tOlD yOu ThAt ThIs WaS a DuMb IdEa.

He woke up to what sounded like one of those livestock markets he’d once chased a bounty through. The bastard had finally slipped over in a massive pile of dung, and it had stunk the entire way back to the nearest guild. As part of the payment, Din had insisted they refund him for the Crest’s cleaning. Even then, it had taken months for the smell to disappear.

However he was not in that market; he was still in the storage room he’d found Skywalker in, and now the pirates were jeering at them both.

His Rodese wasn’t the best, but whatever they were saying definitely sounded insulting.

Another one of the pirates laughed. It sounded somewhat similar to that time he and a few others had managed to tie a rope around a Nexu on Chalgonna and deeply upset it in the process. He still had a scar from that, right across his ribs. It had hurt like a bitch, but the Beroya had also let him try Tihaar afterwards, so it hadn’t been all that bad.

Back to the present though, Ugly McUglyface was nudging the Jedi with his foot.

“It looks like the little pretty isn’t doing too good.”, he cackled, and the others chuckled.

Din risked a glance over at Skywalker. Indeed, he really didn’t look very well. He looked like he had after the pork. Din hoped they weren’t going to get a repeat performance; there was no way he was removing the helmet and he didn’t want to risk throwing up inside it again. That had been the worst day of his life, top three at the very least.

“Take the cuffs off.”, he commanded, but no one listened. They just jeered. He hated pirates so much.

Skywalker stared at them blearily, and croaked out that they needed to take the cuffs off, that they didn’t know what they were doing. Was he trying to do that persuasion thing again? Because Din could tell him now that it wasn’t going to work. He might have tried to look all submissive earlier with the floppy hair and pink lips, but now he just looked wrecked. In the fifteen shots of spotchka way, not the very fun times on a bunk way.

Not that he had ever imagined Skywalker in such a situation. Nope. Not at all. Besides, if anyone were to get wrecked in such a sense it would be Din. His job was very difficult physically and he deserved to be pampered.

One of the pirates went to poke them with his prod, but just before he could, an alarm blared, and the pirates rushed out of the room to deal with it.

Carefully avoiding his wounded side, he rolled over to look at the Jedi. The other’s forehead was turning a spectacular array of purples and blues. It went lovely with his eyes.  

“If you say anything I’ll vomit on you.”, Skywalker croaked, “Now, help me up.”.

Groaning, Din stood slowly, and then helped the Jedi to his feet. Now that they were both upright, it was very clear that they’d perhaps underestimated how much damage a bunch of imbeciles could do.

He reached for the cuffs, buy Skywalker stopped him. He tried again, and was stopped again.

“Leave them for a moment.”, he was told, “Just until we’re on the bridge.”.

“I think we can call this a loss.”, he replied, “We’ll have to find another terminal.”.

“I’m not leaving until we get your stuff.”, the Jedi gasped, which rather put a damper on his usual stubbornness, “Come on, let’s go.”.

He stumbled for the door. In an effort to make sure he didn’t kill himself by tripping over his own feet, Din followed. After how hard it had been to find this Jedi, Din didn’t want to lose him to a tragic case of clumsiness.

Back in the corridor, he took a quick stock of their surroundings.

When he was a child, Din Djarin had enjoyed drawing on the floor of his mother’s workroom, and his favourite artistic choice was to make fantastical ships that would take him on adventures all over the universe. Until that fateful day when everything changed, he’d never been aboard an actual ship, and so colour and light had played large parts within his daydreams.

The disappointing reality of dull grey and blinking LEDs had never quite gone away.

Walking to the bridge took barely any time, even with Skywalker’s shaky legs and slightly crossed eyes, and when they arrived, the door was unlocked. A pleasant green light blinked up at them from the keypad, completely open to any old person who might just wander in with the intent of stealing their terminal’s data.

He sighed. Make that fifty-three; a new record. These pirates seriously really needed to up their game.

Absolutely zero security considering the group in question apparently had enough Imperial surplus to go around shocking people as they pleased. It was unacceptable that one of them had managed to prod him. His professional dignity had been damaged and it was embarrassing that it was this group who’d done it.

The door slid open, and not a single person looked up. These were truly the worst pirates he’d ever met. Maybe if the whole bounty hunting thing didn’t work out, he could do some consultancy work? Boba kept telling him he needed to diversify his assets.

Skywalker stopped in the doorway, until one of the pirates noticed him; several moments after their arrival, which was just shameful at that point in Din’s professional opinion, and shouted out in surprise.

“Cuffs off please. And get behind me”, came the quiet request, and Din pressed the button to deactivate the blasted things, and then slipped out of whatever line of fire was coming next. Several Rodians had pulled out blasters, and he didn’t fancy getting shot.

He’d expected Skywalker to maybe draw his laser sword, do some twirling and impressive blaster blocking like he’d done on Gideon’s cruiser. But instead, the air around them rippled, and then froze, dust motes suspended like stars, shock all over the pirates’ faces. In a split second, his chest felt tight, like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, his lungs suddenly burning and desperate despite the fact he’d just taken a breath. Din instinctively stepped closer to the Jedi, because while beskar could withstand almost anything, he wasn’t sure on its durability when space magic was involved.

And then the moment broke as Skywalker sneezed violently, and a wave of energy pummelled through the room. The Mandalorian was certain that for a fraction of a second as the wave crested, he’d seen something he could only describe as the fabric between time and space. Why those were the words that came to mind, he didn’t know, but it made him terrified in the most primal way to see Skywalker rip into the universe as if it were nothing more than bread.

His lower brain noted that such a display of power was also rather attractive, but he was ignoring that because honestly he wasn’t going near anything that could summon a wormhole at will.

Don’t bend your shebs for crazy, that’s what he’d been taught and he was sticking to it.

YeAh RiGhT. yOu’Re ToTaLlY DrOoLiNg In ThAt HeLmEt. DoN’t LiE.

“What the fuck.”, Din whispered, pretending he couldn’t hear his laser sword mocking him. Although he didn’t mean for it, the helmet’s microphone caught it, and Skywalker turned to him, smiling slightly.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it as he sniffled, and Din saw the Circarpous Sector flash out the corner of his eye. Which, considering they were in a completely different rim, made his head feel a bit funny.

“Everyone thinks that those cuffs cut you off from the Force, and they do.”, he said, much more calmly than anyone who’d just done that should, “But if it’s not flowing through me, where’s it going to go?”.

So Skywalker’s magic was something similar to indigestion or trapped wind.

Good to know.

Chapter Text

Hyperspace was boring. It was endless and it was dull and Din had a very heavy man on his lap who kept fidgeting and stopping him from napping away the rest of the journey.

His ass had gone numb after an hour into the flight; now that there was no adrenaline pumping through him, the length of the journey was starting to feel like an impossibly long time. His entire lower half was deeply displeased with the position he'd found himself in.

Then they swerved violently, and the blue streaks slowed back to the star-studded vastness of the galaxy. This had not been on the plan, and judging by the way that Skywalker had taken the controls back form the auto-pilot, was going to result in an impromptu adventure that Din had in no way agreed to.

“Why are you pulling out?”, Din questioned as he struggled to see what was going on from his rather precarious position. This was highly unusual behaviour, especially considering the prep work they’d put into both fitting.

 “We gotta stop.”, the Jedi moaned, wriggling around like a worm, “Like we gotta stop five minutes ago.”.

Din thunked his head back, groaning. They were doing so well, and now they had to stop. He didn’t deserve this.

“I told you not to do it.”, he said, sounding suspiciously like he did whenever Grogu did something he’d been told not to do. That was an uncomfortable thought considering the circumstances, and he changed his mental direction. “I told you you wouldn’t be able to last.”.

“Yeah, well. Normally I’m fine.”, Skywalker replied, his face contorting as he continued his weird little movements.

“If we stop now we’re making up for it later.”, Din warned, and took the pleading whine as an acquiescence.

His body felt weightless in its position, and he just let the sensation guide him as they went from soaring to hitting the ground with a bump. Why did nothing in his life ever run smoothly?

As soon as they were down, Skywalker scrambled out of the cockpit as if he were on fire. Maybe the trees were, and it was his Jedi duty to put them out with his piss.

Ten minutes later, his erstwhile co-pilot returned, colour back in his face and gait a little less tense.

“Don’t.”, the Jedi warned as he clambered back into the X-Wing and onto Din’s lap. He still wasn’t happy about that, he wanted it to be known. He especially wasn’t happy knowing that a(n unfairly attractive, his traitorous mind declared) Godlike Prat with black hole ripping powers was the one perched upon him.

The wiggling hadn’t helped either, and his Little Darksaber had been deeply confused by all the information it had been receiving. Were they happy about this or not?

pLeAsE dOn’T cAlL iT tHaT.

“Don’t what.”, he snarked back to Skywalker. He ignored the intrusive sword. He ignored the perplexed little sword.

“Don’t say it.”.

“I’m not saying anything.”.

“But you want to.”.

He did.

“I can see you thinking it. Even with the bucket.”.

“All I’m thinking is that when you’re about to embark on a seventeen-hour flight, sucking down a Lleb Ocat Freezie before take off is one of the worst things you can do.”, he said smugly. He’d been insistent that it was a bad idea before they’d left the station, but no one ever listened to him. This was why he worked alone; no one else apparently understood the effects that liquids had on the human body.

“The Jedi don’t believe in hate. But if we did…”, ooh how scary, an angry twig with buff arms and a small bladder.

Wait, why did it matter what his arms were like?

“You’d have still needed to piss and I’d have still been right.”, he said smarmily. The thoughts about arms were just an accident; there was no other reasoning or meaning behind it. 

He got indignant spluttering in response, just as the Jedi got himself back into position after some particularly hip breaking moves. Which is why Din chose that exact moment to enact his revenge.

“Also get up. I'm going to take a piss while we’re here.”. That, and his left testicle had been stuck to his thigh for the last four hours and he really wanted to check it hadn’t permanently fused.

Skywalker huffed and puffed as he hauled himself up, and Din smirked behind the safety of his helmet. He shook out his leg, and felt the sweet sweet relief of his ballsack once again swinging free. 

He made a point of pissing right against the side of the x-wing, to truly show how much he hated being sat on. A squawk told him that Skywalker had definitely noticed.

The sound of angry Jedi was one he was learning to truly enjoy.

There were many times that Din was grateful for his helmet; whenever someone tried to shoot him in the head, whenever someone said something so stupid he was certain his jaw had fallen open, and now: when the Jedi’s hair would certainly be tickling his nose without the beskar barrier in the way.

It was getting greasy, the long couple of days they’d been travelling and sneaking and stealing and then travelling again taking its toll on the brown locks. Din’s own scalp was starting to itch from the lack of washing, and he wondered if the Jedi just had less sensitive skin, or if he’d learnt to meditate away the frustration sensations of being alive.

One piece in particular was sticking to his visor, and kept fluttering every time the Jedi breathed. The Armourer had never found out that Din had installed Pacmando onto the interface, and he’d never tell her. But the game didn’t work as well when there was a constant flicker of motion on the display.

He’d just got his little blue helmet through the maze and the stormtroopers to the Uj fruit in the top corner when there was a sudden shudder through the ship. Minimising the game quickly, his awareness was turned to one-hundred as the Jedi swerved them back out of hyperspace once more and out into sub-space.

“What’s going on?”, he asked, once again wondering how such a seemingly easy journey had become infinitely more complicated now that a space wizard had been added to the mis.

“Nothing to worry about!”, his companion said cheerfully, “We just need to take a detour to recalibrate some thingamadoodles and the whatsamajig.”.

“That was very informative. Thank you.”, Din said drily. When they were back at the camp he was going to close some of the Jedi’s holonet tabs and open some about clear communication. How was this man supposed to teach Grogu when he couldn’t even remember vocabulary sets?

Wait, was Din supposed to invest in flashcards? He’d heard somewhere that kids liked flashcards. Or was it that they didn’t? He didn’t know and there was no fi-wi signal in space; he’d just have to hope he remembered to look it up when they landed.

Which they were supposedly now doing at a rapid speed.

“Do you even know where we are?”, he asked, and the Jedi shrugged and nodded.

“Kinda. There’s a moon there with a port. It’s all fine.”.

Din had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t fine at all.

But he was still held captive under the bony ass of the Jedi, and so it was all he could do to look out of the tiny sliver of window he could see and watch as another sleezy looking location appeared on the horizon.

“I hope you’re not expecting me to pay for the docking fee.”, he piped up. “I’m broke and this was your idea.”.

“Yes darling, I’ll pay.”, the Jedi replied airily as he navigated the traffic. And then blew through a red light. Who’d taught him to fly? He was a danger to civilisation with the way he kept cutting corners and ignoring the speed limits.

They finally parked in some grotty looking port that had clearly seen better days. But Din wasn’t paying, so Din wasn’t saying; therefore it would have to do. As long as he got to get up and stretch his legs he wasn’t going to complain about anything.

“There’s a hotel sort of thing about three streets from here.”, Skywalker told him. “It’s cheap, but it’s got beds, running water, and a decent room-service menu... plus I’ve heard they have an in-house masseuse”.

He wasn’t entirely sure why Skywalker was informing him of that, considering Din’s propensity for walking around with a metal exoskeleton. There was no way in any life that a stranger was going to be putting their hands on his bare flesh; he didn’t care how much his back ached.

But he was tempted by the option of a bed, and so followed after the other man with a dutiful pace once all the relevant administration had been completed.

He could only hope that the layover was quick and all the issues with the ship were easily resolved.

Luke felt perhaps a little bad for lying to Mando about the ship needing a repair, but the Force was telling him not to return to their little planet yet; that something needed to happen on this one before they could go back.

If the Force could provide a little more context in the future, he’d be very grateful.

The other man had been quiet since they’d got the data from the pirate terminal. While the terminal had been running the calculations needed to break the encrypted message from Mando’s friends, they’d not spoken to each other.

And they needed to talk. They really needed to talk.

It was one thing for Mando to not think any different of him after Luke had basically beat him up and then given him food poisoning: he was a warrior himself, and understood that when in a fight, anything that could be used to one’s advantage should and would be used. He was also a terrible cook in his own right, and had offered some dubious food of his own.

But seeing someone rip a hole in the very fabric of reality? That one was a little harder to come back from.

Which was why he was checking into a seedy hotel in the middle of the worst part of the mid-rim, trying to work out the best way to discuss the bantha in the irrigation.

“Our best rates are for the double room.”, the host told them, and Luke was perfectly willing to take it if that’s what was on offer. “Perfect for a couple like yourselves. Wonderful view of the city, bed big enough for a zillo beast… can withstand one too, if you know what I mean.”. He winked one of his eyes as he said it, and Luke ignored it in favour of digging out his card.

“No thanks.”, Mando said from behind him. “We’ll take the twin room. No view.”.

“Ah well… sir, that’s not exactly our most… romantic destination.”, the salesperson stuttered. Luke just stared at his friend. Was this a sign that he had summarily joined the legions of those terrified of the Jedi? They’d shared a general sleeping space without an issue every other night they’d been in each other’s company.

“Don’t need romance. I need a bed. And a door with a lock.”, Mando snapped back. Luke could see the tiredness and agitation rolling off him in the Force; putrid waves of a man who’d not showered for a good few days. It made him feel slightly better about their tentative friendship still being intact.

More spluttering from the receptionist, but then they were being presented with the door codes and were permitted to leave the lobby and find their room. Judging from the heaviness of Mando’s steps, the conversation Luke wanted to have would have to wait.

His assumptions were correct, as Mando took one look around the room before collapsing onto one of the beds. His form shuffled a bit and then slowed to a halt as his breathes deepened and evened out.

The Mandalorian was dead to the world, and it made Luke rather jealous.

It was still too early for him to sleep, and much too late for him to start any work, which left him with only one option: he’d have to find a bar to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening in.

His inner Leia told him that that was not his only option, while his inner Han told him that he had the right to relax after being smushed against Mando all day. It had been a lot harder than he’d thought to ignore both how warm the other man was pressed up against him, and also how badly they both smelt.

Speaking of which… he raised one arm. Sniffing was not necessary; the stench of sweat practically filled the whole room.

He needed to shower before he did anything else.

The fresher was tiny, but functional, and that would have to suffice for such a desperate situation. Stripping off was a relief as cool air hit his bare skin for the first time in two days. He loved his x-wing, but sometimes he couldn’t help but wish he had something with slightly more room to move around.

A way to go to the bathroom that wasn’t a disposal tube would also be very much appreciated. Especially if he ever had to fly somewhere with Mando again.

He was well aware of his body and its overall pleasantness, but that didn’t mean he was going to whip his dick out for a piss in front of his companion, husband or not. One of them still had some standards.

Warm water hit his body and he sighed in relief. Blessed water, giver of life and cleaner of grime; he loved it more than life itself.

Standing under the stream of water, he wondered if Mando felt the same way as he did about being able to take a shower. Did his strictness about the armour carry over to personal hygiene. Other than their journey together, he’d never noticed the Mandalorian smelling particularly bad, even if they were both always a little sweaty from the humidity.

Mando took the helmet off to eat if Luke couldn’t see him, but the rest never came off; not even to sleep. How often did he get to truly scrub down?

What did he look like, under all that armour? Was he scraggly and pale? Luke vaguely remembered pale skin, but he’d not been lying when he’d said he’d not paid much attention to the one time he’d seen Mando’s face.

Or perhaps he was wiry, like Luke was. Mando looked like he was broad, but how much of that was inflated by the ever-present layer of metal. He was barely taller than the Jedi, but it seemed like he was larger, especially with the wide gait of his walk and the way his shoulders were so expressive even with his face covered.

His thoughts had clearly gone far beyond the academic consideration he was given them, as he felt himself react to the thoughts of a strong man to pin down and have his way with.

Which was why he summarily turned the water to cold and with it rinsed away any notion of attraction. That was a dangerous game to play, and he was putting his foot down. Literally: he'd scrubbed it clean.

And that was the only reason he almost slipped over on the soap, hands flying out to steady himself.

When his heart had returned to a normal rhythm, he declared his shower officially over: one awkward hard-on and a near-death experience was enough for one wash.

His clothes were still grungy, so he shoved them in the tiny drycycler under the sink. It surely wouldn’t take that long, so he had plenty of time to see what was in the mini-conservator he’d spotted when they’d walked in. Lunch time was slowly ticking away, and he was getting hungrier and hungrier by the minute.

The galaxy was on his side, and he found himself a delightful pack of dried nuts. It wasn’t enough to satiate the hunger of the Force, but it would suffice until he got himself out of the room and onto the streets. His stomach rumbled a little at the promise of more food, and he shushed it. It would get sustenance soon, so very soon, it just had to be patient.

He often said the same thing to Grogu. Was that a Jedi thing?

Mando snuffled and turned over. Luke didn’t want to watch him, but for some reason he couldn’t look away. Was he drooling under the helmet? Then the snoring started, and he decided to check on his clothes. He didn’t fancy being deafened again, and made a hasty retreat.

The good news was that his clothes no longer stank like the back end of a bantha. The bad news was that the fresher had somehow managed to shrink his trousers into something that Leia might have been able to fit into.

But he was hungry, and he wanted a drink. The tiny trousers would have to do and he’d just hope that his boots were long enough to cover up the awkward space between the cuffs and his ankles.

Thankfully, they did, and he sighed in relief. The last thing he wanted was to have that awful sensation of bare skin around strangers. There was a good reason that he covered up, and it had everything to do with being perceived when he didn’t want to be.

Honestly, Mando had a good system in place.

Though that in turn reminded Luke that he’d been casually forgetting to wear his robe, or would unbutton his tunic slightly, or go barefoot when he was around the other man, that he was becoming comfortable with him and Grogu in their little jungle away from everything.

Thinking about that further was not something he was wanting to do at that moment. Or any moment.

The Force reminded him that he’d have to, eventually. It told him in a soft caress, like how his aunt had swaddled him as a child, and he knew that where the Force was taking him was somewhere he was meant to be.

But he wasn’t sure he was ready.

As he left the hotel room, he took one last look at his confusing companion. They’d been brought together for a reason, and they’d been told to stop here for another. What did it all mean?

His stomach rumbled again, and he truly pushed those thoughts aside in favour of finding some food.

Luke decided on the third bar he saw. The first two looked a little too rough for his liking; he wanted to at least eat something before he inevitably got into some form of trouble.

It was empty enough inside that he was able to get himself one of the tables lining the edge of the wall, the long seats able to fit far more than one would expect. But for now, he was alone, and that was perfect.

The food was simple and cheap, but he didn’t care. What was important was getting something in him, and the quality didn’t matter. An old droid clunked towards him for his order, and then he was left alone. Taking a few deep breaths in, he observed the other patrons.

Several humans were crowded around a darts board, having what seemed to be an intense argument over whether or not one of the sharp objects had landed in the middle or outer rim. It was negligible at best, and Luke had the feeling they were going through the motions of the interaction rather than actually caring about the results. They were blowing off steam, and that posed no threat to him.

A trandoshan was keeping her head down as she typed quickly onto her holopad, her fingers almost flying as she tried to keep up with her thoughts. Next to her was an open notebook, and he wondered what she was writing. Was she conjuring up a whole new world? Or was she writing a lengthy treatise on non-human rights for the Senate. He’d never know, but he wished her well.

Five twi’leks walked in, all boisterous and well dressed for the area they were in. Probably here for a gambling vacation, knowing the usual crowds that this port brought in. He ignored them, their voices far too loud for his liking.

The serving droid brought his drink over, and he thanked them softly. It trilled back at him, and he knew that his gesture had been appreciated. Far too few didn’t take droids for granted.

“Hey there, handsome.”, came a loud voice, disturbing his thoughts.

“Hi.”, he replied politely. Luke didn’t want to talk to anyone, and thought his tone conveyed that nicely.

“You’re looking awfully lonely, sat there all by yourself.”, the newcomer said, leering down at him.

“I’m not.”, he said firmly. The so go away was implied, but apparently went unnoticed.

“Well maybe you should smile a little more, otherwise people are going to think you’re such a grumpy little thing.”. What a dick thing to say. Luke pulled a face; what was wrong with people these days?

“You’re a tiny pretty aren’t you.”, he continued, “What are you doing without a big strong man to keep you warm?”. Bleurgh. Big red flag number one popped into existence.

Luke cursed internally that his short torso had people assuming he was short. Perhaps before he’d got them lopped off, Anakin had also been all leg, and that was where he had got it from. There was no evidence for his mother having anything tall about her, if Leia was anything to go by.

“I’m perfectly content as I am, thank you.”.

“How about some company though, seeing as you’re all alone. I’ll look after you, how about that.”, it wasn’t a question. Big red flag number two waved itself happily in his direction.

He felt the polite smile he was beginning to form halt at the corners. So this guy wasn’t just annoying, he was pushy too. Why did this always happen to him? When he’d been in his early twenties and still a little bit too much like a puppy-draks he’d understood that he looked like the perfect candidate for such predators, but he was almost thirty! Surely by now he deserved some peace? Han said it was because he looked sweet and innocent, and Chewie always laughed at that and said something he refused to translate; but Luke had a rough idea and it wasn’t the most complimentary thing.

“Sure.”, he said shortly. If he just ignored the twi’lek while he was eating, there was a good chance he’d just go away.

Once again, he cursed the fact that Mando didn’t have a com. He really needed to bitch-text someone and everyone else he knew was definitely night-sleeping and not just being a lazy ass napping during the day.

He turned back to his beer. It was malty and a little bitter, but it had that crispness that always took the edge off. Mentally reminding himself to make a note of the brewery when he got back, he took another swig. From the inside out it gave him peace.

That peace was then swiftly interrupted.

“I’ve not seen you before. What brings you here?”, the twi’lek said, scooting closer. Luke scooted away, so that he was perched on the edge of the seat. Damned bench seating. Why was it so fashionable these days?

“Business.”, he replied, perhaps a little shortly. He didn’t want to talk; he wanted to drink his beer and eat his lunch when it came out the kitchen.

“I’m Cha’ad.”, the stranger, Cha’ad, stated. “Cha’ad D’shbahgg the Third. A… pleasure to make your acquaintance.”.

“Charmed.”, Luke replied, not offering his own name. This dude was creepy and he wanted him gone. What had happened to good old fashioned manners where weirdos left people alone?

“Such a grumpy little kitten.”, Cha’ad laughed, “A little less cute though.”.

A noncommittal hum was all he was willing to give.

“Though you’re a little too untidy for a kitten. You’ve got a bird’s nest on your head… maybe that’s what I’ll call you, Little Birdie.” His eyes were like sharks going in for the kill. Big red flag number three screamed itself into existence like the intruder alarm on the Death Star.

His blood pressure was rising.

“I’d like you to go away now.”.

“Don’t be like that, Birdie.”.

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.”.

“Wow, I can't say anything without you taking it the wrong way.”.

That was when his food arrived, and Luke took the opportunity to block out his unwanted fuest and start eating. It was odd not having to cook for himself, and then share it with his student-slash-possibly-adopted-son; but he was going to enjoy it even more for that exact reason.

“You can really put it away.”, came the unwanted commentary, “Which probably explains those wardrobe choices.”.

No answer was the best answer: that was the approach he was going to take with this. Why he always seemed to attract the abusive loser type he’d never understand. Did he just exude ‘ready to be abused’ energy? This was why he’d stopped even trying to date.

“Don’t be so sensitive, Birdie, I’m just being honest.”, Cha’ad continued, “I could look after you, make you feel so good.”.

The food in his mouth turned to ash. Nothing had ever sounded less appealing than being with the asshole sat next to him. Big red flag number whatever wandered in with a smoothie.

Luke looked around for anything that could get him away from the asshole next to him.

Then he spotted his companion, sat at the bar and obviously watching him and Cha’ad. He could clearly see that Luke wasn’t exactly welcoming the ongoing interaction, so why wasn’t he helping? Having someone come over would be quite useful. Having someone shoot the twi’lek would be even better.

Mando’s head moved, tilted just to the side; enough that it was a clear gesture and not just him wanting to relieve some of the tension in his neck. He moved back to how he’d been, and then did it again.

What was he trying to say? Luke watched him a moment longer as he repeated the movement one last time, and then tapped his glass. His glass with a straw to go under his helmet. His glass that was almost empty. He should really order another, Luke thought, before realising what the other was trying to tell him. Luke needed to be at the bar too, otherwise Mando was just going to sit back and watch; unsure of where the interaction was headed.

Why was it always Luke who had to do the legwork? All his friends made him do the bar run as well. Something about him being able to float the glasses and stop them from spilling.

That was probably why, actually. Coruscant prices were so ridiculous that even losing a drop could mean catastrophic financial loss.

Which was why Luke always got his sister and friends to pay for his drinks; that was a much more fiscally responsible choice to make.

Either way, he was fed up with Cha’ad and his back-handedness. Time to escape.

“My friend is at the bar. It was nice meeting you.”, he lied pleasantly before getting up and walking away. His tight trousers were pushing all his precious parts in the wrong places, and it was hard to not shake his leg out like a wampa to put everything back in their rightful places.

The walk across the room felt like an eternity, but he made it, collapsing in the seat next to his be-metalled friend.

“You come here often?”, Mando drawled at him, leaning closer. With his legs splayed like that, he was playing a dangerous game of Will Luke Kick Me In the Balls?.

“Don’t start.”, he snapped, feeling a sense of déjà vu… maybe déjà vécu at this point, “That guy’s not left me alone since before my food arrived.”. And ruined his appetite while he was at it. The curry had smelt so good, but the stench of asshole had really ruined the taste.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”, his companion replied, leaning back into his seat. If it weren’t for the armour and the weapons, Luke would believe that he was just another person ready to relax.

Any further thoughts were interrupted by Cha’ad deciding he wasn’t done with annoying Luke to death.

“Why’d you run off for this loser?”, the twi’lek started, and his hackles rose in anticipation for the insult that was coming. “It’s not like he’s anything special, and nobody worth it is desperate to be your conversation partner.”. He laughed his annoying little laugh, and Luke started counted to ten in Shyriwook. He would not punch him and get himself kicked out of another bar.

Mando sucked in a breath, and Luke knew then and there that if he started something, he’d have someone to back him up. That was all the encouragement he needed.

It was time for some fun.

“If I’m not a good conversationalist, why are you following me?”, he asked innocently. “I thought I wasn’t worth it.”.

“I was just teasing, sweetheart.”, came the response, and he wanted to gag. This guy was unbelievable.

He looked over his shoulder to roll his eyes at Mando. Even though he couldn’t see it, he just knew the other’s expression was some form of disgust.

“That’s not very nice.”, Luke said seriously. “You’re not exactly much of a catch yourself, if that’s how you think you should treat people.”. Plus he oozed eau de sleemo. “Babe, this guy is being so rude to me.”, his lip wobbled, and he heard Mando snort with laughter.

“Don’t cry.”, Mando said softly, wiping Luke’s cheek. “He’ll go away soon.”. His gloves were soft from wear, nothing like the clamminess of his bare palm that time they’d held hands after shitting and spewing their guts up. It was different, but still weirdly familiar.

Why did that matter?

“Oh don’t get yourself into a state.”, Cha’ad purred, although his eyes had gone back to that shark-like look from before. He’d really thought he was in with a chance. The twi’lek sneered before turning so he was partially blocking Mando from Luke’s view. “You’re so sensitive, you obviously need someone to take care of you.”.

“Uh-huh.”, was his only response, and he craned around Cha’ad for Mando, who was carefully watching him. Unlike the twi’lek’s attention though, it didn’t feel demeaning; just supportive.

He turned his attention back to his companion fully, intent on ordering another drink for them both. As he did, his stool wobbled, and Mando’s arm came out to support him.

“Thanks.”, he said quietly, giving him a little smile.

“Oh I see how it is.”, Cha’ad interrupted. “You and the metal guy.”. He then stepped in between them so that all Luke could see was the way his lekku ran down his back. They looked weirdly greasy. He hadn’t known that lekku could get greasy. Or was it some special oil he’d put on it? He made a mental reminder to look it up when they got back to the hotel.

But he refocused his attention back onto the other two. Cha’ad was grinning down at Mando, whose visor was barely tilted to look at the twi’lek. A snub, for sure, but the armoured man didn’t seem to care. He was apparently more concerned that his drink was empty.

Luke took some initiative to order another for them both, just guessing at whatever frou-frou cocktail Mando had chosen. His own beer arrived quickly, and he took a calming gulp. And then another. The best things in life came in twos, after all.

“Why don’t you come sit with us?”, Cha’ad demanded again, “Leave this loser behind. You can do better, even looking like that.”.  

The cocktail arrived as well, and he leaned over to give it to his friend. But Cha’ad had apparently had enough, and took it from his hand, while also putting his other straight onto Luke’s thigh, in close proximity to his crotch. His fingers dug in, and he tugged as if he wanted Luke to get up and move.

The Jedi’s patience broke, and the game was over.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mando reaching for his blaster.

But Luke was faster, and he snatched Cha’ad’s hand off of his thigh, bending the grubby fingers that had violated his space backwards. They went, until they didn’t and a loud snap echoed around the suddenly silent bar.

“You broke my fingers!”, Cha’ad screamed, “You broke my fucking fingers!”. He cradled his hand to his chest, and whimpered a little as they knocked against his chest. He was being very overdramatic, considering Luke hadn’t even used the Force; just his own strength.

“You broke my boundaries.”, Luke replied calmly. It really wasn’t a hard concept to grasp. Though maybe it was, for Cha’ad, if the angle of his digits was saying anything.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you slut!”, the angry twi’lek ranted, “I’ll fucking kill you and then I’ll…”. He didn’t get to finish, as Luke chose that moment to sock him in the jaw.

The creep fell to the floor like a sack of bricks, apparently not expecting Luke to either get out of his seat, or actually be the taller of them. Giving him a swift kick in the balls for good measure, Luke then made a point of looking a few of the other patrons in the eyes, holding it just a little longer with Cha’ad’s friends, making it clear that he wasn’t there to mess around. Once he’d done that, he sat back down. He wanted to finish his drink; he’d paid good money for it, after all.

“He seemed nice.”, Mando said lightly after Luke had drunk half of his beer. That was when the giggles started, slightly hysterical on his part, and they were trying to hold it together in a bar full of hostility and the biggest asshole Luke had ever had the misfortune to meet.

He finished his beer, and got up to go. Mando close behind him, his beskar shadow he knew would fight alongside him if he needed him to.

It was much more appreciated than he'd thought it would be. 

Maybe Leia was right, and working along wasn't the best thing for him.

“Is it always so exciting to be you?”, Din asked as he locked the door to their room. From where he was lying on his bed, Skywalker groaned as if in agony. “That’s not an answer.”, he pointed out.

fUcKiNg JeDi AlWaYs CaUsInG tRoUbLe, the Darksaber cursed. It had been supplying a running commentary the entire way back from the bar.

“I just wanted some lunch and a beer!”, the Jedi complained, “but no, Luke can’t have nice things! Luke gets creeped on and violated and it’s just totally fine!”.

Din’s humour vanished in a millisecond.

The Darksaber fell silent.

“Are you ok?”, he asked sincerely. “Did he hurt you?”. Had anyone ever hurt him, under the guise of flirtation or more?

“I’m fine.”, Skywalker replied, “Seriously, I’m fine. I’m just karked off.”.

Understandable, considering. And if it wasn’t the first time, it made a lot of sense. Din’s heart ached, and he was glad he’d insisted on separate beds. The last thing he’d ever want was to make Skywalker think that he was in any way like that Cha’ad person.

“They just take one look at me and think I’m a victim waiting to happen!”, the Jedi suddenly burst out, “And I can take them down easily, so it’s more irritating than anything else… I just worry about the people who can’t get rid of them, who are trapped by them.”. He shuddered.

“I’m sorry.”, Din said, feeling completely helpless. Most people avoided him. If they did flirt, a hand on his blaster got rid of them quickly. No one had ever assumed he was weak; his beskar told them straight up that he wasn’t.

“It is what it is.”, the other sighed, “I just hope that with every one of them that tries on me and gets hurt stops doing it at all. That’s all I can really do.”.

“And that’s enough.”, Din told him sincerely, “You’re protecting people from becoming victims, before it can ever happen.”. There were countless people out in the galaxy who’d been saved from potential trauma because of Skywalker standing up for what was right. They’d never know, and he was grateful. No one should ever go through that.

“Thanks.”, Skywalker smiled at him. “It’s nice to hear it from someone else.”.

The conversation faded to silence, and he felt awkward. Skywalker was smiling at him, his eyes were luminous, and for a moment Din could forget that they were in a strange hotel on a strange planet because the Jedi had made up some crack-tale about his ship being broken.

He was captivated by the different sides he’d seen of the other; the powerful sorcerer, the funny young man, the brave warrior, the man who cared for strangers he’d never meet out in the galaxy, the friend he was making, all of it making up someone who he realised he trusted; with himself and with his son.

The urge to remove the helmet again rose up, even though if he did so there was nothing to protect him from being Seen. There was no dark night, no dying fire, no awkward angles or sleeping child. It was just him, and the Jedi, and a feeling that something was happening that he didn’t yet understand.

But he wanted to.

And wasn’t that the most curious thing?

Chapter Text

It was beeping again. The disky was beeping and Grogu wanted to know why. But Ook had left it too high up for him to reach, and Dad had said no using the Force. So he had to stay on the ground, unable to reach the object of his desire.

Many times in his short life, Grogu had been kept from the things he’d wanted; those fishies in the pond at the Temple, food when the Nasty People had taken him, His Ball in Dad’s ship. And now the disky. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair at all.

The bleeping stopped, and he peered at it suspiciously. Why did it do that? He’d counted so many bleeping times since Ook and Dad had left, and every single one was the same. The disky would start making noise randomly, but always in the same pattern.

Beeptoo was no help either. All he ever did was tell Grogu not to do things. Like climb up fun things, and eat fun things, and stay up later than Ook or Dad ever let him. He never answered Grogu’s questions about the disky, and wouldn’t help him get it down either.

Grogu didn’t know any Bad Words, but occasionally Dad called people Shabweers, so that’s what he’d decided Beeptoo was.

I wanna go outside, he thought at the droid, but got no answer. It was so unfair that no one ever listened to him! Except Ook. Ook listened to him, and he liked Grogu’s stories about all the frogs he was going to eat, and how one day he was going to become big and strong like Dad so that he could hunt all the frogs he wanted.

And all that learning stuff too, he guessed. Ook listened to him about that as well.

I WANNA GO OUTSIDE, he tried again, and this time beeptoo heard him, or at least, understood that he was trying to say something.

His babysitter made a series of noises that sounded like that time Dad had let Grogu press all the ship buttons and then promised to never let him do that again. It had been fun.

When were they coming back? He didn’t remember.

Until then, he wanted out of the tent. He wanted to go see all the delicious friends in the river, and maybe find a few more in the undergrowth. He wanted a snack, but the tent only had boring snakcs. It was nicer than the last tent, and Ook had told him that when he returned, they’d start building with blocks, but he didn’t care about that.

He wanted to be outside. His tumbly was rumbly and he wanted to chew on his friends.

If he were allowed to use the Force, he would gently unlock the tent flap, and then sneak himself out. But no Force, that’s what Dad had said. If he got too tired, he’d be in Big Trouble.

And if he got in Big Trouble, he had to wash his own ears.

But his guard wasn’t going to let him out, so it didn’t matter. He needed a plan. It was time to think like a Mand’orian, not like a Jedi.

What would Dad do?

He’d wait, Dad always made him wait. Stay here Grogu, don’t move Grogu, stay with this stranger we’ve only known ten minutes Grogu, don’t eat that Grogu, we’ll get dinner later Grogu. So much waiting with Dad.

Then he remembered the Krayt meat, and thought maybe Dad had the right idea... Ok, that decided step one for him.

All he had to do was wait until naptime, and he could do that.

What did Dad always do after waiting?

Falling. Lots of falling. And getting shot. Was that normal? Did Other Dads get shot so much? He thought Ook might be becoming his Other Dad, and he got shot at all the time. Maybe it was a dad thing, like rancid farts and smelly socks. They both did those too.

Grogu had nowhere to fall from though, so maybe instead he could just lie on the ground. Yes, that would have to work.

Step three, was fight, but Grogu didn’t have a weapon, so he’d default to Dad’s backup plan: run.

So he’d run to the tent flap. Good, his plan was coming along nicely.

To open the tent, he’d need to open the zipulator, and that was where he was going to have the most trouble. His little hands could barely manage it on a good day, and the practice toy Dad had got him had blown up with everything else.

Maybe he could use a little bit of the Force to help? Not a lot, just a tiny little bit. If he was already pulling at it, then he’d be able to manage it?

Dad always said use everything to his advantage, and so Grogu made up his mind.

No one would ever need to know.

[SmallGreen2] was plotting something. [R2D2] knew this instinctively. Something in his code trembled with the knowledge that somehow [ButtChin] had found someone to carry on [NotMasterAnakin]’s legacy... one that also happened to look just like a smoother [SmallGreen]. And with [MetalMan] there as well being all clunky and distracting, [R2D2] just knew he was never going to get another moment of peace.

He should have stayed with [PrincessLeia], like [C3PO] had told him to, but [FuckWit] had been there, cracking his stupid human jokes with his stupid human voice and [R2D2] wanted none of that.

His internal chronometer informed him that it was time to power down and charge, so he trundled on over to his station. [ButtChin] had ensured it was plugged in this time, unlike that time on [PlanetRedacted].

Before he powered down, he watched as [SmallGreen2] fell to the floor dramatically. He’d forgotten his blanket, and was going to wake up grumpy, but [R2D2] neither cared nor had hands, so it looked like the kid was just going to have to be grumpy.

Partially through his charging, he sensed movement. Ah, so the child had been trying to trick him. Again.

He watched with bemusement as the kid tried to sneak towards the flap of the tent, and then struggled with the zipulator. [SmallGreen2] waved his hands a little, and it moved slightly.

That, [R2D2] thought, was the exact moment he fucked up.

Already tired from needing a nap, [SmallGreen2]’s escape attempt pushed himself over the limit of his energy levels, and he slumped down by the entrance; firmly asleep.

Just like every other day since [ButtChin] and [MetalMan] had been gone.

He was pretty certain that Mando didn’t wear a codpiece, which made the slight lump under his ass considerably more awkward. Being a wise and serene Jedi, Luke picked silence, but the part of his brain that had definitely taken note of Mando’s very nice thighs over the last several hours was not going to let the train of thought go quite so easily.

Upon landing, he’d clamboured out of the X-wing as though he was on fire, not wanting to be stuck in such an intimate position any longer. They were going to talk about getting a second ship with more space if this whole marriage thing was going to continue on any longer.

The suns had barely risen by the time they arrived back at their camp, the tent still standing and everyithng just as they’d left it. The ration boxes had been piled up neatly, and he double checked that there were the correct number for the amount of meals Grogu was supposed to have eaten. All was well, and just like that, their adventure was over.

Unzipping the tent flap and stepping inside almost had him treading straight onto the child, who was sleeping in a curled up ball directly in front of the entrance. Smiling down at him, he waved his hand and floated the child back over to his crib.

Behind him, Mando shuffled closer, so close he could feel the warmth of his body and the cold of the beskar.

He wanted to say something, but never got the chance. R2 had noticed them, and had powered on with a set of noises that sounded just like whenever Luke cracked his spine all the way up.

“You’re in so much fucking trouble.”, R2D2 bleeped at him with a tone of dark humour. “The Princess called you so many times. And you answered none of them.”. He booped out his sarcastic little laugh as he trundled away, apparently done with babysitting duty and wanting some alone time.

“That didn’t sound very friendly.”, Mando said dryly as they watched the dust R2D2 kicked up.

“Oh it wasn’t.”, he replied. “I don’t think he can make it through a sentence without obscenity.”.

Mando laughed, and he didn’t like the way that it made him feel. All warm and shaky inside, like when he ate something that was going to give him indigestion. The entire time since the Douchebag incident he’d been feeling the same way. Maybe he needed some antacids, and a good long meditation session.

“I’d better go check on the kid.”, the Mandalorian said before Luke could add anything else. As he walked into the tent fully, his gait was a little odd. Maybe they did need to talk about getting a bigger ship sooner rather than later.

He grabbed his com from the shelf he’d put it on before leaving, and blanched at the hundreds of missed calls from Leia. He was in so much trouble.

It was better to get it over with, he decided, as he pressed the commands to call her back while wandering to somewhere a little more secluded.

“Oh good, you’re not dead.”, she opened with once the call had connected. He’d clearly caught her at a good time. The last time he’d not kept in contact she’d started the call with profanity.

“Hi Leia.”, he said.

“Hi Leia? HI LEIA???”, she screeched, before taking a deep breath. He could easily imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose as she ran through some obscure law or other to calm her down.

He sat down. This felt like it might be a long conversation.

“Tell me, Lucas, why exactly you couldn’t answer my calls for the last week?”, his sister bit out.

“That’s not my name.”, he replied, absentmindedly picking a lose thread from his robe. He’d need to order another set soon, but he was putting it off. He hated ordering new clothes. Shopping was a cruel and unusual punishment designed to torture the sane and prolong the suffering of the broken and the damned. It was, objectively speaking, the worst.

“That’s not important right now.”, Leia snapped, and he felt his brow wrinkle.

“Yes it is.”, he said, feeling something indignant rise in him “My name is Luke. In the tongue of my ancestors… of our ancestors, it means One Who is Free. I am Free. The firstborn Free Skywalker in our line. Skywalker is a slave name, and in that name, our ancestors’ stories are told. In my name, their freedom is given. My name is Luke.”.

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”, she said quietly. “I didn’t know.”.

“Anakin was born a slave, and freed by the Jedi.”, he told her, remembering the night he’d been told of that truth by a ghost of a man fallen and risen. His aunt and uncle had only told him that he’d been released from their inherited bondage, but not who’d done so.

“Oh.”.

More silence.

He said nothing else. Let her process that information, let her understand why being a Jedi like his father was more than just the legacy of one man and one culture. It was more than that, and it always would be.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?”, she asked for the third time, and this time, he was ready to answer.

“There was a mission.”, he said, hoping that for once in her life, Leia wouldn’t pry for more details.

“That sounds interesting.”, a new voice chimed. Han had apparently joined the call, which never ended well for Luke. Apparently it was galactic law that whenever two of the groups shared a com, the third was in for a roasting. And the time Leia had been left waiting had marinated her feelings nicely.

“We needed some data, and there’s not a terminal here that could decrypt it.”, he explained. If he did it fast enough, then maybe he could escape all the teasing.

“Why didn’t you just ask me to send something?”, his sister enquired.

“I didn’t think Mando would trust it, and also it was quicker for us to just go and get it.”, he answered truthfully. He wasn’t going to mention his own adrenaline junkie tendencies and the way that he’d leapt at a chance to get off the planet and be potentially shot at. When a man had lived many of his years with a target on his back, he got a little jumpy when left alone for too long.

“Where did you go? How did you get there?”, oh Force it was like being questioned by Uncle Owen whenever he got home late and Aunt Beru had forgot to open the pantry window for him to sneak through.

“We went to some pirate dock not too far away and not too close.”, he said, praising himself for his ability to dodge giving a more precise answer. Besides, if he did, someone could potentially track him. His vagueness was helpful.

“Answer the other question toots.”, Han ordered, and Luke balked. That was his friend’s dad voice, and it made him much more authoritative than a guy who slept with a night-light had any right to be.

“I can’t tell you. What if the line’s not as secure?”, he replied, because paranoia was genetic and he was going to abuse that for his own benefit.

“Fine. We’ll drop it. But it didn’t take that long.”, Leia stated. “What else did you do?”.

“There was a problem with the X-Wing.”, he said, wondering if he could fake an emergency and just hang up.

He had no such luck, and was made to tell them about the stopover to eat and wash. He did his best to keep it as vague as possible, to keep the details about Mando to as little as he could manage.

But apparently he failed.

“For someone pretty sold on isolationist monkhood, it sure does sound like you’ve got a crush on this Mando guy.”, Han piped up once he’d done.

“No.”, he said quickly, “He’s just a friend.”.

“Just a friend, he says.”, Leia snarked, “Sure honey, you totally spend time admiring the backsides of your friends.”.

Wait, he hadn’t said anything about Mando’s ass, had he? He vaguely remembered saying that they… oh. Oh fuck. Yeah he’d mentioned his ass.

“And if you don’t, you should.”, Han added, “Lando’s been working on his squats. Short-cut capes are in style this season and he’s looking great.”.

“I’ll take your word for it.”, Luke said, wondering how he could get out of the conversation. Judging from the feedback in the Force, Mando had his helmet off, and a newly woken Grogu was sending out waves of joy after going so long without seeing his father’s face. It’d have been cute if Luke hadn’t needed an escape.

“I can send you pictures.”, Han helpfully offered, “You might find them inspiring.”.

“What are you trying to say?”, he demanded.

“What he’s saying, brother dearest, is that you have a flat ass.”, Leia said, her tone not the least bit consoling.

He gasped.

“You take that back!”,

“Oh honey there’s nothing to take.”.

Luke laughed so hard he saw stars in his vision, gasping for breath as his family tethered him back into his circle of love and friendship.

He’d missed them. But he still wasn’t taking his com on missions.

“Time for me to love you and leave you, kid.”, his friend said, “Gotta pick up the little monster from the nannydroids.”.

Luke passed his love along the best he could. At times like this, it was hard to remember why exactly he’d chosen the life he had, far away from his loved ones. But the warmth flooding the Force as he searched out for those around him reminded him. He had a duty to fulfil, and once he’d done that, there would be all the time for family.

The line hummed with static, neither sibling feeling the need to talk. But he knew something was coming. He always did.

“There’s someone who wants to meet you.”, Leia said quietly. “Someone from Before.”.

“Who?”, he gasped. No one had responded to him, and he could forgive the hurt he felt at them going through Leia if it meant that he was finally able to meet someone. Would it be that guy with the red hair he’d seen traces of on securidroid footage, or perhaps the one who was always in a cloak? The Twi’lek he knew was doing something in the Outer Rim slave trade, or the Old Man on an island who burnt so brightly he was untouchable?

“She only gave me a name: Fulcrum.”, he was told, “Which of course, is one you’re familiar with.”.

He was, but that gave him no further clues. Had Fulcrum found someone who wanted to meet him, or was there something more to the mysterious figure in the shadows?

“Why you?”, he questioned, ever wary despite his excitement.

“Apparently you’re a very hard man to find.”, Leia said, and he heard her smile. The one thing she always told him was to stay safe, and to stay hidden. And he did, for her.

“Send them to me.”, he instructed, “And I’ll meet them.”.

“I will… I love you.”. The silence in the background had suddenly bubbled with voices. It was time for them to go.

“I love you too, and May the Force Be With You.”.

A hurried reply, and then the line was dead. Even so, he sat there staring at his com for a little longer, not yet ready to head back to the others.

Someone was coming.

He’d left Skywalker at the camp, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be too guilty considering that he was just happy to be with Grogu again. He’d taken off the helmet in a pique of joyous energy, let little hands explore his unwashed face, and basked in being together with the child who meant so much to him.

“I missed you too.”, he murmured, and let Grogu crawl all over him. Once Din had come to his senses and had taken him from the Client, that had been something the child had done; used him like a climbing frame and done what he could to try and cling to beskar as if it were a game.

Din didn’t fool himself into thinking that Grogu had ever been allowed to do much playing.

He was going to have to leave again soon, he knew he was. But for now, he could just enjoy this, even if his child was trying to bite through his armour.

The unencrypted data all pointed towards one place, and that meant he was going to need to go sooner rather than later. Anything so obvious was surely temporary, if he knew what his people were like.

Leaving would be difficult, especially after having been gone for a week, but it had to be done. He needed answers, even if they came with more questions. He needed to find the Armourer, and receive whatever wisdom she had left for him.

If it were even her he was going to find. Thinking that he was was purely an assumption on his part. In reality, he had no way of knowing who the survivor’s had been.

“Can I borrow your com?”, he asked the Jedi when he and Grogu returned to the camp. The serene smile and nod he’d received in reply were strange considering the openness he’d got used to, but then again, Skywalker always seemed to turn a little robotic when he was in Space Wizard mode.

The device was handed over to him, and Grogu hissed at it. That… that was unusual. And also going to be really annoying if he kept insisting on doing so.

So he handed his child over to the Jedi, and wished him luck. Whatever Grogu’s problem was, was Skywalker’s problem now.

Sitting on the floor of the tent, he considered raising their lack of furniture with Skywalker… and then he corrected himself. It wasn’t their lack of furniture, just the Jedi’s. Din had no stake in the interior design of a tent he didn’t own.

And he never would, he reminded himself sternly. He was turning into a sap; he needed to shoot something.

Dialling Boba’s code took little effort, considering the other man had practically forced him to learn it to the tune of some random Mandalorian nursery rhyme.

Five-oh-seven-three-two-five-eighteen, he hummed to himself, absolutely no idea what the original words had been. Knowing Mandalorians, they were likely something about glory, war, and being brothers.

He loved his adopted people, but they were rather predictable.

“So you’re still alive.”. Fennec answered. He double checked the code. It was definitely Boba’s.

“He’s got you working as a secretary now?”, he asked her, because if there was a change in the ranking, he needed to know. There was no way he was directing any complaints to her if there was a change revenge could be taken.

“He wishes.”, she snorted, “He’s taking a crap, I’m just distraction duty.”.

“I didn’t need to know that.”, he stated, and she just laughed at him.

“Anyway he’ll be like ten minutes.”, Fennec said, “So we’re just going to sit here in awkward silence and not think about what I just told you.”.

She was enjoying this far too much, which was why when Boba did appear, Din was more than ready to get off this call.

“What can I help you with?”, his friend asked, and his voice was soothing. There was a wisdom to him different from the Jedi, but Din felt like he could trust Boba to understand, and to help him make good choices.

“I found where my Covert could be.”, he said, “But I’m going to need a job to get me there. Can you hook me up with one?”. Travelling on public ships was going to be a pain in the shebs without a valid code, and with how far he was from everything, getting one wouldn’t be easy for him to do alone.

“That, I can do, my friend.”, Boba agreed smoothly, and then brushed off Din’s thanks. “And… that thing we talked about before, have you been thinking about it?”.

Din felt like a naughty child caught with his hand in the blaster safe. He’d not been thinking about it, and it felt like he was about to get scolded.

“I’m not sure.”, he replied, hoping it would be enough.

“It’s the best thing for the kid.”, Boba told him gently, “It’ll secure his future, for when you’re gone.”.

Din didn’t like thinking about that, about the centuries Grogu would spend alone, without him.

“It’s a lot to think about.”, he said, getting a small hum of agreement from his friend.

“It is, so why not just take a look? You can decide before anything is final, it’s all up to you.”, Boba said calmly. He was good at this whole persuasion thing, Din thought.

“Ok.”, he said, “I’ll take a look.”. It was the least he could do, after all.

“You won’t regret it.”, Boba told him, “Life insurance is an excellent way to secure the future, and the policy I’m sending over to you is one of the best I have to offer.”.

“Thank you.”, he said sincerely. At the very least, he could understand better what he’d need to leave behind to ensure that Grogu was well looked after.

“How long does it take to become a Jedi?”, Din asked the figure lying lazily on the floor. Boba had sent him the life insurance forms, and he needed an estimation of how much he’d need to contribute for Grogu’s continuing education to be fully funded upon his death.

“That’s… that’s a really good question.”, the Jedi said, looking up from his book. An actual book, with pages made of flimsi. What an aesthetic nerd. “It took me like not that long, but I was in a rush… maybe three to six years? I don’t really know how long it takes others, they’re all either dead or avoiding me.”.

“That doesn’t fit in the form.”, he said.

“Put between five and five hundred years. They’ll have to accept a range.”, Skywalker said before returning to his page. He’d put his finger on the word he’d stopped on, and Din watched with a strange desire as the Jedi stroked the page before continuing to read.

Din shook his head before writing down the answer, and moved on to the next question.

“Spouse’s tax number?”, he requested.

The Jedi bolted upright, his book falling to his side. He looked vaguely panicked, which worried Din slightly. At no point in their gentle probing of each other’s lives had he ever looked anything less than painfully serene. Even when his voice portrayed other emotions his face was as bland as Tatooine’s blue custard. The one time he’d been truly irritated with either of them it was because Grogu had shit on his clean clothes when he was on an important holocall, and even then, he’d not panicked.

Din waited to see what exactly had inspired such emotion.

“Taxation is inherently theft.”, the Jedi finally stated. “I won’t pay it, and they can’t make me.”.

Oh for the sake of all the dank farricks in the universe. Once a rebel, always a rebel.

“That’s nice.”, Din replied, “But I need the number.”.

“I don’t have one.”, Skywalker sniffed haughtily, “Getting one is a sign that I approve of their methods, which I don’t, and therefore I refuse.”.

Din sighed. This was meant to have been a quick twenty-minute form, but now he had to explain to Boba that he’d got himself into a marriage of inconvenience and also maybe-kinda-sorta fallen in love with a tax-dodging space wizard. This was going to affect his premium horribly, let alone his interest rates.

“It’s for Grogu’s future.”, he pointed out, “So he has an inheritance.”.

Skywalker groaned, but eventually grabbed his com and started scrolling through something. Then he started typing. And kept typing, and kept typing. Din realised what he was doing.

“Do not ask the holonet for unethical advice.”, he instructed, getting a very mature gesture in return. “Just give me the number.”. It was like trying to coax Grogu first in, and then out, of the bath. Gently, gently, until he could grab him.

“No.”, the Jedi insisted, “I’m a religious figure, I’m tax exempt.”.

“Do you own private property?”, he asked.

“Nope!”, came the cheerful reply, “I’m rootless, nothing to tie me down.”.

“I’m sorry.”, Din said sincerely. Even though they were scattered, he knew that would always have a place to return to wherever the Covert settled.

That caused Skywalker to pause. His eyes went a little glassy, and he stood quickly. And then he was leaving with a mutter about checking on Grogu.

How very very strange.

He and Grogu had eaten dinner alone, and then relaxed the evening away alone, and finally, the kid had gone to bed, alone.

Skywalker was nowhere to be seen, and Din was worried. It wasn’t like him to avoid everyone, even in his weirdest moods he’d at least hovered at the edge of Din’s sight, always focused on where Grogu played, almost like he couldn’t bear to look away from the last vestiges of his culture.

What had he said to cause this? It had seemed like they’d been getting along well; better than ever in fact, right up until Skywalker had walked away.

He didn’t want him to walk away. Something inside of him yearned for the Jedi to stay close. Din didn’t really understand it, but he was learning that when it came to the Force and all that space wizard bullshit, he never really would.

A tiny secret part of him wished that he could, just so that he could support his son, and perhaps the man who’d found them in a galaxy of lost souls. They wouldn’t need to feel so alone if they made their own little Covert, hidden on this far away planet.

The tent was near silent, only the tiny bleeps of the charging droid and the even smaller breaths of Grogu’s sleep breaking through the nothingness. There had been storm clouds earlier, and he wondered when they’d break, and turn the nothingness of silence to the numbing everything of rainfall.

Decision made to find the other, he got up, and left the tent; determined to find the other. Even if he wasn’t in the immediate vicinity, Skywalker couldn’t have gone too far.      

He heaved a sigh as he stood, and left the tent. Skywalker wasn’t going to be allowed to hide any longer.                                                                               

The Jedi was outside after all, stood close to where they’d sat one afternoon before the mission, in the place where he’d told Grogu of many things Din didn’t understand and never would. Where a dying culture had taken its first steps towards thriving once more.

It was strange how the night could make something so normal become ethereal, he thought as he watched him. Brown hair was black in its soaked state, plastered to the other’s head. He didn’t seem to have noticed though, completely focused on moving strangely in the night, almost like he was floating.

He was dancing, Din realised.

His feet didn’t belong to him as he walked out into the clearing and out from the safety of the trees, soaked through in seconds as the deluge flooded all around them. He’d have to make sure Grogu didn’t go down to the river in the morning, lest the groundwater sweep him downstream.

In the Jedi’s clearing, he could only watch as Skywalker’s movements never ceased, as he span with his arms held out in a way that seemed familiar.

The same way he held his laser sword, Din pieced together. The rhythm of it all suddenly making sense as he saw the warrior’s intent behind it all. But it was a little too loose, too artistic, to count as practice. This was expression, this was freedom.

Did he dare to allow himself the same? His heartbeat mirrored the rain, and he felt something pulling him towards the other, ever closer, and yet closer still.

He went.

“Why are we dancing?”, he asked over the thunderous drops hitting the ground around them. It seemed like they were echoing, a chorus of tiny drums beating away in the only way they knew how.

“Because we can!”, the Jedi shouted back, his eyes alight with sheer joy as he swayed to a rhythm only he heard. Could Grogu hear it too, or was it just for Skywalker? Was it a song of their people, or one to be enjoyed alone?

He watched, water seeping under his armour as the skies opened above them. It splashed into his boots, chilled him to his core. What joy was there to be found in this?

A memory, of a time long gone, reminded him. Nanya telling him to come inside, that Mother would be unhappy with him if he made himself a mess before dinner, a whisper of ghosts he rarely heard anymore. There had been a party, his father’s friends, or maybe his mother’s colleagues… someone. And he’d been told to stay clean… but the rain had danced in the courtyard, and he’d run out to join it.

What had it felt like, to have the rain on his skin? He didn’t remember. He knew what it felt like when water washed him, when it completed its function, but he no longer knew what it was to just exist alongside it.

That was why it felt easy to slip a glove off, the smallest offense to his Way that he could commit and live with. He stretched out his hand, and the rain frenzied on his skin, whispers and tickles of the past living in the present.

And then the Jedi took his hand, and they were swaying together. He heard the music, the chorus rising among the thunder. He saw the Jedi’s skin light up in lines as the sky flashed above them; glowing marks walking across his existence. He didn’t know what they were, but he saw how the rain healed them, how the music cured, and he understood. This was the Force; this was what Grogu saw, what he was a part of.

The galaxy spun out around them, and he saw it all.

And at the centre, far from the Core, he saw the Jedi, saw Skywalker, saw Luke. The beacon that led it all to shore, that moved the tides and set the sails.

He felt the Darksaber, for once quiet, and saw the ghosts of those who’d once wielded it. He saw them all, all the way to a single robed figure, who greeted the rain like an old friend before they all crumbled back into the fertile earth. He saw a blue glow at the edge of his vision, but he couldn’t focus on it. Now that his own blade was gone, his vision tunnelled on the man in front of him.

That’s all he was: a man. One with great power, akin to those of the Gods of old. But a man none the less. One who took pleasure in the rain, and in it danced to the galaxy’s beat.

And Din didn’t want it to ever end.

The friendship and fighting, the joking and the quiet nights, the adventures and the boredom, all of it. He’d been working alone for so long, until he’d found the Kid. But even then, he’d had other duties. He wanted this for him. Wanted him. Because it felt right.

So when he leaned forward to rest his helmet on the Jedi’s brow, it felt natural, felt safe.

No one had to know the meaning except him, and that was enough. No boundaries were broken, and yet, he knew that his had fallen.

Without permission, the Jedi Skywalker had become Luke, and in turn had become Clan.

It was devastating, and yet thrilling.

Another crash of thunder, another flash of lightening, and the rain died down, the crescendo fading to coda, and he pulled away.

Blue eyes glowed with a power that should scare him, and his skin burned from where their sweaty palms had been pressed together.

Lightning flashed, skin glowed, and reality rushed back to him.

He had to find the Armourer, had to hear her wisdom. He had to dissolve the marriage, and free this God from the captivity Din had unknowingly placed him under.

Skywalker blinked, and it all faded, and he was again a man. But Din knew better, had heard what he’d only been told of, of the Will of the Force. He knew the Way forward.

But Luke had other plans for him, and instead of letting him go, pulled him close again, resting their foreheads together once more in a gesture that he couldn’t have understood.

“I do.”, he murmured. “I understand.”.

“I’m sorry.”, Din whispered, but his throat closed before he could say anymore.

“This is the Will of the Force.”, he was told, a voice so familiar in its warmth and laughter suddenly wise beyond its years. “Regret nothing.”.

How could he refuse?

“I won’t.”, he promised, “I won’t.”.

“Good.”

A hand under his chin, running down to his neck, and he heard the song again. Quieter than before, but it didn’t matter. The message was received, nonetheless.

He wasn’t alone.

Chapter Text

Centaxday, once again.

“So, like, if we’re married and dating and all that, can we start… y’know fooling around?”, Luke asked him three weeks after the rain and two hours after Din had slipped spectacularly down a river bank and twisted his ankle. The sudden intimacy of needing to remove both his boots and his socks seemed to have spurred the conversation. Such sluttiness of revealing one’s ankle to another was certainly a good reason to have a discussion on the matter.

HuSsY.

“I guess so?”, he replied, because at the end of the day, he was irrevocably stricken by the Jedi, and that meant he just had to live with it. And he did really want to touch the other. He had patterns running up his skin that were intriguing. Din wanted to be trusted with them.

“Ok, that’s cool.”, Luke responded, before poking his ankle. It was deeply painful, but his hiss of displeasure went apparently unnoticed. “You’re gonna need to rest this for at least a week, it looks sprained.”.

Great. Wonderful news. More sitting around. He hmphed. The vocoder picked it up. Luke gave him a disapproving look.

“I know it’s not ideal, but it’s that or do worse damage.”.

He still didn’t like it.

“Will it make you feel better if I let you touch my butt?”, he was offered.

Din perked up at that. Luke did have a very nice butt, a little flat but no one was perfect. And he’d already thrown in his lot with being attracted to the other; so being able to grope-with-consent was really just an added bonus. Maybe this “fooling around” was going to be fun after all.

“You can only touch it if you promise to stay on bedrest.”, Luke warned him, and Din’s sulk came back.

He was meant to be the one influencing Grogu, but it might or might not have been going the other way.

“And you’ll kiss my wrists again?”, he bargained. Luke had started doing that since the whole rain thing and it was strangely addicting. It also felt slightly illicit, because it was so forbidden in the Covert to have lips touch anything but food. To even receive the touch of another was sacred, let alone the touch of that which was meant to be hidden.

It was hard to feel sorry for his sins though, when they felt so damn good.

“Yes I’ll kiss them again.”, his Jedi laughed fondly, before reaching around Din’s head to stroke the tiny lock of hair that was growing just beneath the edge of the helmet. That was another of those little gestures that had sprung up. He never wanted them to stop.

YoU’rE sO gRoSs. iF wE hAd InTeRnAl OrGaNs We’D cHuCk Up.

He’d not missed the Darksaber’s insistence on giving a running commentary on his life. For a little while, the sword had been quiet, and he’d been hoping that the sound of its haunting voice had been nothing more than stress and religious guilt. In the end, the snark had returned, along with the knowledge that the artefact had been sulking over Luke’s lightsaber not being receptive to its advances.

The intimate details of the inner lives of magical swords was not something he’d ever known he didn’t want to know about.

Following his tried and tested method of pretending the sword didn’t exist, he turned his attention to much better things. Which meant Luke. It always meant that these days.

GrOsS!!!

Jealousy wasn’t a good look on a sword.

A series of Centaxdays, all of which are pretty boring if we discount the fact that Din is shit at communicating important sword-related facts to his husband.

“So… are we ever going to talk about the sword in your boot?”, he chanced one day when he’d coerced Din into lying on his lap during Grogu’s naptime. The sock was over his eyes, and the helmet was off, and he’d never been more grateful that Leia had insisted his prosthesis include artificial nerve endings.

All those nights with cold fingers were worth it in exchange for the ability to sense the softness of Din’s hair, for the knowledge of how it got flattened in the front and greasy in the back. To know the curve of his nose and the set of his chin. Without his eyes, his hands became his only method of exploration, and he took such seriously.

Except, his hands weren’t in Din’s hair anymore. Din wasn’t in his lap either.

There was a mutter about getting dinner, and then the whoosh of an engine.

Ripping off the sock, Luke was greeted with only the tiny silhouette of his husband high above the treetops.

Clearly the topic was off limits.

No matter. Next time he’d simply need to be much more subtle.

“So, what’s your favourite weapon?”, he opened with on a rainy afternoon. Grogu’s training had been very muddy, and Luke was very much looking forward to doing nothing for the rest of the day.

Nothing, of course, did include attempting to unzip the top of Din’s flightsuit so that he might be able to stroke his collarbones and try to bring a pink flush to the pale skin.

The Force, he wanted it to be known, approved of this plan.

“Bertha.”, Din told him seriously, which didn’t answer his question at all and honestly just left him with more questions.

“Come again?”, he tried.

“Bertha, my blaster.”, Din clarified.

Ah. Actually, now that Luke thought about it, that made a lot of sense. Din did spend an inordinate amount of time cleaning it and doing much more than just basic maintenance.

“Mine’s my lightsaber. There’s something about the harmony it brings to me. Are you good with a sword? I know you have one?”.

Well done Skywalker, nice and subtle.

Alas, not subtle enough.

Din bolted up, getting to his feet with a speed Luke knew would leave his knees aching.

“Do you hear a pig?”, the Mandalorian asked. “I hear a pig. I think Mama’s coming to get revenge.”.

“First of all, I hear nothing. Second, who’s Mama?”

“I’m going to check the perimeter.”, Din continued, as if he’d not heard Luke at all. “Yes. That’s a good idea.”.

“Uhm, honey?”, Luke tried, but his husband was already marching away. Apparently he’d forgotten the fact that Luke could sense a gnat farting on the other side of the galaxy and that as a result there was no danger that could get to them without him knowing the moment it became a spark within their consciousness.

Regardless, Luke’s chance to probe about the mystery sword was lost.

Attempt number two was a failure.  

This time, he was prepared; he’d made sure they’d eaten Din’s favourite ration pack flavour, he’d bribed Grogu into going to bed a little earlier, and he was slowly stroking down his husband’s chest. There was no way he could fail.

Unlike Din, Luke was unable to hear the Darksaber, but it could read his intentions, and was laughing deeply at his naïveté.

However, as he was deaf to this assessment of his efforts, he continued with his plan.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”, Luke whispered, his lips just touching the shell of Din’s ear. A curl of hair was tickling his nose, and they were so close it felt like they were almost one. In such an innocently intimate position, he hoped that this would be the moment he’d learn the truth.

“I do.”, Din murmured in agreement, clearly sleepy and ready to follow his son into dreams. Luke had to work quick.

“So is there anything you want to tell me, anything that you’ve been too scared to say?”, he pressed. He’d get his answers about the sword, about the kyber he could feel pulsating in the Force with every moment of the day. Patience was the key.

“How did you know?”, Din asked him as he rolled closer to tuck himself further under the blankets. The planet was rapidly cooling into its rainier-season, and Luke had to admit he was enjoying the warmth-motivated closeness it granted them.

“I can just tell.”, he whispered back, smiling even though he knew it would go unseen in the darkness. “But you can always tell me anything, I promise.”.

“Ok.”, Din agreed again.

Luke waited for a moment, but got no further words from the man pressed against him. He nudged him, gently of course.

“Love you.”, Din muttered sleepily, before he buried himself into Luke’s chest and his breathing evened out.

Well.

That was unexpected.

But infinitely better.

Centaxday, because the galaxy consumes fibre and is therefore very regular.

“My friend has a job for me.”, he announced after Luke had shown some spectacular skill in areas that Din couldn’t think about without blushing.

“Wow. Glad to know I can keep you focused.”, his husband hmphed at him. This was easily mitigated by stroking a hand down Luke’s cheek.

The care and watering of one’s Jedi was a rather simple task regardless of age: they liked to consume frogs, had to be made to take naps, and adored the simplest of fond touches.

“You captivate me.”, he said honestly. “But this is important and I need to tell you.”.

“When do you need to leave?”, Luke sighed, and Din opened his arms for him to settle into. Quiet moments without Grogu were few and far between; mostly neatly compartmentalised into time slots where he was sleeping off the Jedi lessons he went through every day.

“In a week or so. I have time to prepare.”.

“And you absolutely have to go?”.

“I do. I need to find my Covert. And get some answers from them.”, he said. He’d still not told Luke about the Darksaber, but when he knew so little himself, he didn’t feel like he truly understood the situation that he’d got himself into. The Armourer would know the answer. And if she didn’t, he was certain she could bullshit a good enough response until she worked it out for herself.

“Fine.”, Luke said, sighing again. “I guess we don’t have a choice.”.

They didn’t. But Din did have several more days before departure, and that was plenty of time to give Luke as many kisses as he could manage.

Centaxday, yes, another one. They come every week.

“We did meet a Jedi, before you. Maybe it’s them?”, Din asked as he folded up a pair of socks. He seemed convinced he’d only need a single change of clothes throughout the entirety of his trip, which made Luke’s nose hairs quiver with fear. Force alive he was married to such a stinky man.

Worse: his deep and irrevocable attraction made him willing to overlook it.

“Did you happen to catch a name?”, he questioned, because any clue to who might be coming was more than he currently had.

“Nope.”, his husband replied, now counting out however many tooth cleaning pills he thought he needed. Luke added a few more to the pile. He’d kissed the guy; he was allowed to judge.

“Nothing? Not even a syllable?”.

“I’m not the best with names.”, Din admitted, before leaning over and tugging Luke down next to him. With their shoulders together, the beskar was cold and unforgiving. But it was also comforting, to have the Mandalorian’s weight pressed against him one last time before he had to leave.

Sure they’d be against each other the entire flight to the terminal station, but that wasn’t the same.

“I’ll miss you.”, his husband admitted. “I’ll come back, as soon as I can.”.

“Even if you’re sent on some magical quest to regain your religiosity?”, he asked.

“Even then.”, Din said, “I’ll come back to see you both before doing anything.”.

“That’s ok then.”, he replied.

They sat together quietly for a moment, his hands idly fiddling with the seams on Din’s gloves where the leather changed from brown to orange. He remembered something he’d meant to ask a while ago.

“Will you bring back some lube?”, he requested.

“Sure.”, Din answered, sounding confused. “What type? Hyperdrive, hinge, droid?”.

What an innocent little moonbeam he was married to.

“Ass.”, he said, enjoying the way Din’s back straightened and it became obvious that the other man was blushing deeply. “When you come back, we’ll go find a quiet moon with a nice little spotel, and we’ll have some grown-up fun… we’ll turn the lights off, take those gloves off, and maybe unzip that flight suit of yours.”.

Luke was pretty certain he heard Din squeak. He hoped it was the case.

“…Ok.”, came the eventual agreement, and he grinned. Within four to six business weeks, he was going to get his dick wet. He was inordinately excited.

“Good. Now pass me another sock… not that one, a clean one… better.”, he said, tying the article of clothing around his eyes. “Now kiss me before I forget what it feels like.”.

His husband-of-much-convenience was fortunately willing to oblige.

Centaxday, apparently it’s the only time slot left.

Ahsoka Tano.

He knew her name, in the sort of a way he knew his birth mother’s voice. It had come to him, in dreams and in visions of a time long gone. Before everything had happened, before he had been born.

And now she stood before him, and she’d seen a ghost.

It wasn’t exactly the first meeting he’d been hoping for. But then, it’s not like he had much of a choice.

Still, they’d removed themselves from the main camp, where the 4-NT droids were starting to finally make some progress on his new temple, and with one eye firmly kept on Grogu’s independent meditation session, he began the conversation he’d never thought he’d get to have.

Navigating his genocidal father was a topic he avoided whenever possible, but for once in his life he was with someone who’d known him before the urge to murder literal children had appeared.

Accepting that Anakin had been remorseful and returned to the light was one thing, but forgiving him for his crimes was neither Luke’s jurisdiction nor his right.

So he’d just have to take what he could get.

And what he got was a lot.

When it became too much, he steered the conversation away from the past and towards the future. The clouds over Ahsoka’s face cleared, and perhaps he even saw a glimmer of hope. Not for her, she’d made her choices, but for the others of them who remained.

“I thought it would be too difficult for him, but he made the right choice in the end.”, she said after all the tears had dried, watching the child with an odd look in her eyes. “Attachment leads to the Dark Side. He was right to let it go.”.

“I’m sorry?”, he asked, not sure he’d heard correctly.

“Grogu, and the Mandalorian. When I met them, they were too intertwined. Separating them would have been a disaster. But he’s learnt to let go, and that shows that he is ready to be a Jedi.”. She spoke calmly, and Luke for the first time hoped that he wasn’t like the other Jedi and she couldn’t see the panic rolling off him in waves.

“Hmmm.”, was his only verbal response, while inside he was struck with turmoil. Din’s presence was all over the place in his eyes; from the rocks they’d overturned together to find frogs, to the way that half the socks drying in the sun were a size too small for him. The holopic he’d taken of them all before Din had left was on proud display inside the tent, and countless other proofs that he’d been there, that he’d called this place home, that he’d called Luke home, were all glaringly obvious to him.

“Shall we go join him?”, she suggested lightly, and he smiled and gestured for her to lead the way.

All the while his heart didn’t stop fluttering with panic.

He needed to make sure Grogu didn’t say a word about his dad.

Tuning in to his student, he found him not meditating like he’d been told to do. Oh no, that would be too easy. Grogu was, of course, daydreaming about his next snack.

This isn’t what you’re meant to be doing!, he chided through their bond. We have a guest, so please try to behave. Also don’t mention your Dad… and on that topic why didn’t you tell me you’d met Ahsoka?

Who?, ugh, another Djarin who was shit with names. Just his luck.

Togruta, tall, A JEDI.

Oh. Her. She tried to take me from Dad.

I took you from your dad, he reminded his student. Step-son. Step-student?

Yeah, but Dad found us, came the childish reply, with a tone that indicated that Grogu thought Luke was extremely stupid for forgetting such a fact.

Uh… you do know he wasn’t meant to do that. They’d definitely had that discussion; he was sure of it. There’d been flashcards involved.

He never is. But that’s how it works. Grogu is lost. Dad finds Grogu. He goes where I go, Grogu told him. There was a ferocity to his voice that reminded Luke of Master Yoda, and he dropped the subject. Obviously this was a topic best addressed when Din was back.

Well, just don’t tell Ahsoka your Dad was here, ok? She won’t like it and I really want her to like me.

I thought you and Dad liked each other?, Grogu asked, and he didn’t sound happy. He sounded like he was about to scream. Oh Force no. Not another tantrum. Din seemed to like them, something about emotional development. But he could also mute his audio receptors, and Luke had no such blessing.

We do, I meant as a friend. I want Ahsoka to be my friend, he clarified, hoping it would stave off the conversation.

Ok. The connection was dropped. The child was clearly done with the conversation.

As long as he didn’t mess everything up.

Centaxday, to absolutely no one’s surprise.

It was becoming increasingly apparent that he was going to need to ask Luke for advice when it came to dealing with his glowy-swordy friend.

oH nOw He ReAlIsEs

“Shut up.”, he groaned, not in too much pain to have made sure that there was no one around. The last thing he needed was someone seeing him having a conversation with himself and assuming that it meant he was incapacitated.

Well, he was, but he still had his pride.

“Let’s be a hidden society.”, he muttered, “Let’s hide in the bowels of random rings of wasteful opulence floating through space.”.

Whenever he was in pain his blasphemy started to rear its ugly head.

The throbbing in his leg was getting worse, but he couldn’t stop or slow down until he’d reached his goal. He just had to make it the rest of the way, and then he could heal. Hopefully.

If no one had any bacta he was going to scream and then possible scream a little bit more.

All he wanted was to sit down, have Luke tell him it was all going to be ok, and then have Grogu do a little dance to make him feel better.

Alas, that was lightyears away, and until he could get a ship and back to their hidden planet; he was stuck with a gammy leg and public transport.

The next time Boba got him a job; he was asking for payment up front. Having to complete a few side quests before he could get to the main deal was frustrating and also time consuming.

But it did get him where he needed to be, he admitted as he finally found the sign he was looking for hidden on a wall. Finally, he would get the answers he was seeking.

And also a bandage.

Then a nap. His back got all twisted when he was sleep deprived.

Paz Viszla had always been a bully. From his larger than necessary frame, to his need to be the toughest guy in the room; he’d antagonised Din with his very existence from the first day they’d met.

And now he had a claim to Din’s extremely aggravating latest accessory, and was hungrily staring at where it was stashed.

It made him oddly thankful that he stored it in his boot and not his belt. Certain parts were for Luke’s eyes only, thank the Manda very much.

“You wish for me to make a garment, for your little friend?”, the Armourer asked him again, tearing him from his distraction. One day he was going to ask if she’d taken lessons to hide all emotions from her voice. It seemed like a useful skill. Maybe she’d have a discount code for recommending it to him or something like that.

“Yes. That is what I wish.”, he responded, feeling awkward with having to slip back into the more formal speech patterns interactions with the Covert demanded. Why in the galaxy they’d settled on such a stilted dialect, he’d never understand.

“Then that is what I shall do.”, the Armourer agreed, and he nodded. His leg still throbbed and he very much wanted to sit down before it collapsed from under him again.

The last thing he needed was Paz to find another reason to attack him.

Forge work had always been boring, and this time was no different. No matter where they settled, nothing was as mind-numbingly dull as having to kneel in respect while the Armourer hammered away. This was probably why his knees were so bad; all the times he’d had to get his armour reformed as he kept adding pieces and developing bulk in different places.

Did Luke have bad knees too? He did a lot of acrobatics and although his landings looked smooth, there was a good chance that his knees were taking in a lot of shock damage. He should definitely buy them an ointment or something before he went back.

Luke had insisted Din take his spATM code with him, and had told him to only sleep in actual accommodations and to look after himself. So far, he’d behaved, and stayed under budget, so surely a few treats for them all would be permitted too?

He wished he could ask. Maybe once he was off this ring and away from where the Armourer could be watching him, he’d buy a comlink and get in touch with the ones he missed. They were always preached to about the dangers of owning what essentially boiled down to a tracking device; but considering the amount of times people managed to find Din regardless of his off-the-grid status, he didn’t really think it would make any difference.

Plus he may have spent a few nights before leaving watching his two Jedi sleeping, and singing Luke’s comcode back to himself like Boba had made him do however long ago it was.

But no one had witnessed that so it hadn’t happened.

ThAt’S wHaT yOu ThInK

Maybe he should give the sword to Paz after all.

Centaxday, now with less sugar.

He had to admit that Peli did know her stuff when it came to making a ship. The N1 practically purred under his touch, could turn on a credit and gave him that swooshy feeling in his stomach.

Though that feeling could also be his excitement at being able to see his little clan again. For the first time in a long time, he had something to look forward to. And considering how he’d not properly weaned himself off of all the affection he’d received before leaving, it wasn’t too far a stretch for anyone to imagine just how badly he was wanting some tender loving attention.

And there it was, their planet, all green and moody and horrifically humid.

Home.

He hoped Luke was ready for all the wrist he was going to be flashing.

Well, Grogu hadn’t almost spilled the beans since Ahsoka’s arrival, but the last thing he’d been expecting was for Din to show up planet-side. In a fancy new ship that was definitely not family friendly, and then he’d been told to leave by Ahsoka before Luke could even say hi.

His husband had been so close, and yet Luke had received neither kisses, nor cuddles, nor an illicit flash of a wrist.

So he was feeling more than a little grumpy.

“Your Dad.”, he told the child eagerly bouncing on his lap, “Is a stinker. He’s stinky and he didn’t come and give either of us any kisses.”. He belw a raspberry onto Grogu’s surprisingly hairy head, and it helped him feel a little better.

But he was still bitter.

“And that new ride of his is not what we agreed upon.”, he added, feeling his irritation come back. “We said something the whole family could fit in, not a midlife crisis!”.

He ignored R2D2’s snarky commentary on how he was still driving his first ship, and how truly this was a case of hyperdrive, droid, black. He kept the X-Wing for a multitude of reasons that didn’t all boil down to nostalgia. It was a reliable ride and he would defend that until it gave up on him.

“Tell me again what happened?”, he requested of his droid, who sighed in static and then recounted what had occurred with Din while Luke was with Grogu and Ahsoka.

At the very least, he was pleased that Din got a chance to take a nap. His back got horribly knotted when he didn’t get enough sleep.

Centaxday, but only just.

Why did no one ever phone him during daylight hours? Why had everyone decided that he didn’t need as much sleep as he did, and why did they insist on communicating with him when he was very clearly unavailable.

“What?”, he snapped down the line, hoping that if this was quick enough, he wouldn’t even have to open his eyes and he could regain the sleep he was losing out on before he woke up completely.

“Is this a bad time”, Din’s voice crackled through the line, and any and all thoughts he had about returning to sleep flew out of his head as the surprise registered in his brain.

“How?”, he gasped, “you hate technology!”.

“I don’t hate it.”, his husband replied, “I just don’t see the point.”.

“Whatever. That’s not important.”, Luke said, interrupting the old man tirade he knew was coming. “You’re here. Well, there. Talking to me.”.

“I am.”, his husband said, and it was always surprising how much emotion a vocoder could convey. “I miss you both.”.

“We miss you too.”, he said, “Grogu’s asleep otherwise I’d put him on. Where are you? Did you find the people you were looking for?”.

“I did.”, Din confirmed, “And I’m on Tatooine. It’s a sand ball but a friend needs my help.”.

Oh.

That place.

“Well hurry back.”, he said, eager to not talk about sand or binary suns or anything else that might crop up in relation to the one place he was avoiding with al he had.

“I will.”, Din told him, “And maybe this time your guests won’t kick me off the planet before I can see you.”.

“I’m sorry about that.”, he sighed, “I’ll tell you all about it when you’re back.”

They chatted a little longer, and he’d be lying if he said that it didn’t settle something inside of him that had been feeling turbulent ever since Din had gone. Something in the Force had felt a little wonky, like something was out of place. And now he knew that it was. One of their little family was missing, but now Luke had confirmation that he’d be back soon.

The call ended, and he floated the comlink back to where it belonged; far from Grogu’s reach.

He snuggled back into his blankets, closed his eyes, and was just off to sleep when –

Beep beep beep

Fuck it all.

“WHAT?”, he snapped for the second time.

“Hello to you too.”, his sister snapped back. “Get up. We’ve got a Moff. I’m sending a ship.”.

He was more awake than he wanted to be, but now the chase was on, and he could potentially be finding some of the answers he wanted.

“Send me landing coordinates.”, he said, looking for his trousers in the pile of clothes in the corner, “I’ll be there.”.

She hung up, and a loud snore drew him back to reality.

Grogu.

Shit.

“R2. I need you. Take Grogu to Tatooine. Din’s there. I’ll program coordinates.”, he barked, gently taking Grogu from his crib and starting to dress him in the beskar shirt. It’d have to protect him while neither of his fathers could, he thought as he tied up the child’s robes.

It would all be fine.

As he rushed out of the tent towards his X-Wing, he hoped that Din wouldn’t be too angry with his choices. There was no other option.

Chapter Text

Centaxday... wait, no, not this time.

Hang on… 

Taungsday, as it turns out.

He had many questions, some of which were almost definitely concussion induced. However, the question about how Grogu had ended up back in his sole care was the one that was hammering itself into his very sore head without any mercy.

Which, if Din were to be perfectly honest, was both valid and very, very painful.

“mrrrrrp”, Grogu cooed at him, apparently delighted to be with him again. Din couldn’t disagree with that sentiment. For all his denying and attempting to avoid it, the Child had wormed his way into his beskar clad heart, and now Din had the glorious knowledge of what it felt like to fall in love in two vastly different yet equally incredible ways.

However, he was still recovering, and so was unable to truly express his emotions.

“baaaa, hmph, badoo”, he was told seriously, and although no translation was forthcoming, he was going to interpret the noises as an altogether positive thing.

“Is that so?”, he asked. On the flight over to Tatooine, he’d used his brand new commlink to look up some things about parenting. Some of it he had vehemently disagreed with – such as the adamance of certain holonet parents who believed that teaching electrical engineering was inappropriate for the very young. What if something happened and the parent was incapacitated!? Other parts, he’d decided to try out for himself. He’d always encouraged Grogu’s vocalisations, but Din wasn’t getting any younger, and he wanted to see if he could get a word out of his child in Basic before he died.

Said child wasn’t really understanding this goal, but Din reckoned they had a bit more time before it became urgent.

Finding out what happened with Luke though, that was urgent in the utmost of ways.

Alas, his comm appeared to have been disconnected for the time being.

Boba had at least invested, or perhaps stolen, some comfortable beds for the palace he’d come upon. So while he was being forced to lie down and do nothing, Din could just fiddle around on the holonet…

Maybe on one of those forums Luke was ever so fond of...

After several hours on the holonet, the conclusions he’d drawn were that the entire experience had been educational; yet also slightly worrying. Talking with Luke was currently sitting at the top of his priority list, firstly because he was missing him deeply, and secondly so he could hug him tight. What the holopeople had to say was useless when all Din wanted was to tell Luke to his face that Din forgave him.

At the end of the day, Grogu was safe with his father, and if the decision had been taking Grogu to some New Republic event or sending him alone with a droid, Din would shove all of his misgivings aside in order to have is child in his arms.

And the child was, or at least, would be if he didn’t keep wriggling out of Din’s grasp. After months of sleeping in his comfy cot in the Forested Tent, hard and unforgiving beskar must be an adjustment.

But the child had done it before and would do it again, and Din would keep him upright every time regardless of how often it was needed.

That only solved his Grogu problem though; it didn’t solve the hunger currently making itself known through rumbles and grumbles. With that in mind, he decided it was time to find out what exactly Boba and Fennec stocked their cupboards with.

Other than spotchka, of course.

He was unsurprised to find them sitting around the massive table in front of the throne; a design choice Din had decided to stay mute on. If anyone had asked him, and they hadn’t, he’d have suggested that the table go a little further back; to better capture the natural light that flooded the room during certain times of day. In his completely non-professional opinion, the current positioning made it all look a lot drearier than it needed to be.

“How’s the back?”, Fennec asked him as he sat down. If he weren’t so deeply grateful for the medical aid, he’d have been slightly embarrassed that she’d seen his middle-aged shuffle back to the palace. There were only so many disks that a spine could slip before it started to wear on a man.

“Good.”, he replied. During his months with Luke, he’d been much more talkative; almost impossible to shut up by his standards on some days. But with the others, he felt an instinctive need to hold all his cards close to his chest. Boba and Fennec were from the same world as him, and they understood and appreciated the art of saying little and showing less.

“How’s the kid?”, Boba followed up, and Din grunted that he was ok. Anyone with functioning eyes could see that the child was happily sleeping away. Adding anything more was an invitation for trouble and or oversharing.

“I hear he arrived with a droid, which is strange considering he was taken away by Skywalker.”, Boba continued, and Din realised what was going on. This was some form of intervention, where he was questioned about the last few months and what exactly had been going on. But something else was more important.

“You know Luke?”, Din questioned. He’d not been expecting for that to happen. Sometimes it felt like there were only about fifteen people in the galaxy.

“You’re on first-name terms with him?”, Boba shot back.

“We’re married.”, Din said simply. There was no point trying to explain the rest; not when one of the veins on Boba’s head had started dancing the Hosian Three Step in perfect time.

“And we’ll leave that conversation there.”, Fennec interjected, “I think Fett here needs a nap. Come on old man, time for sleepy-bye-byes.”. She escorted Boba from the room with a surprising amount of both practice and care. There really was a story there that Din wasn’t completely aware of.

As well as one about Luke.

Oh well, not his circus, not his kowalkian monkey-lizard.

His stomach rumbled further at the thought of freshly roasted meat, and reminded him of exactly why he’d ventured away from the soft mattress he’d been so happily lying on.

Time for food.

“So why weren’t we invited to the wedding?”, Fennec asked lightly the next time he ventured out of his room to see if there were any snacks he could pilfer. Unfortunately, instead of something delicious, he’d found himself sat at the giant meeting table proofreading something Santo had prepared for the local businesses.

Said Wookiee was watching him with a snarl as the Mandalorian tapped his stylus against yet another spelling error.

Crossing out a grammatical error, he questioned if he needed to give Santo a talking to on the appropriate uses of parenthetic commas. The Wookiee was obsessed with them, to the point of being rather worrying, and Din was sick of it. If there was so much to be said, then separate clauses were necessary, all of the malarky with run on phrasing was making his head hurt.

“It was private.”, he replied, scratching out another semi-colon. By the Manda he needed more strength than he had for this.

“So private you couldn’t invite your dear friends?”, she pushed.

“Yes.”.

“I’m hurt.”, she announced. “I wanted cake.”.

“Mandalorians don’t do wedding cake.”, he informed her. “Stabbings yes. Cake no.” Cavities were a big issue when brushing your teeth had to be done in complete solitude, and so dental health had been drilled into him from a young age. Din personally lived in fear of ever needing a filling; the very idea of being so vulnerable filled him with more heeby jeebies than a suspended clause ever did.

Even the famed and admittedly delicious uj’alayi was only to be consumed on the battlefield for its calorific content. After the war was over, mandatory dental checks were standard. The last time that had happened, they’d had to strap him down so the T33-F droid could do its job.

“How long have you been married?”, Santo growled at him. Clearly his desire to know more overrode his anger at Din’s red markings all over his work.

“Six months.”, Din said, and then after a pause continued. “Should I do something special for that?”. He had no idea when romantic gestures were meant to be flung around like Santo did prepositions.

“You should take him out.”, Boba said simply, before turning back to whatever he was writing. Fennec nodded in approval.

“I don’t think that’ll work.”, Din told them, “He’s… not one for grand gestures.”. Besides, where would he even take someone like Luke? The Jedi had probably been all over the galaxy tasted the finest of cuisines, and Din had a budget of SpappleBees with a coupon.

“No, not like that… I meant shoot him.”, the non-Mandalorian clarified with a tone that indicated he thought Din was a little slow. He was used to that. Most people saw lots of beskar and assumed there was no brain inside. All the muscle, none of the meat.

Din sighed.

“I’m not shooting him.”, he insisted. If he shot his husband, there would be a significant decrease in the number of kisses he received, and that was simply unacceptable. How could his wrists go back to being unbesmooched now that he was aware of such pleasures?

“It’ll make your insurance premium better.”, Boba negotiated. “A widower with a child makes for an excellent case of needing more support.”.

“Still not happening.”.

“I just want to know what you were thinking?”, Fennec asked with bemusement. Or at least, he assumed it was bemusement. She had the same smile she wore when she shot people, so he wasn’t’ completely sure.

“I was thinking about getting married.”, he responded defensively. He left out the parts where he’d been drunk and in a state of religious turmoil. They’d mock him for the former and simply not understand the latter. The bit with all the kissing and falling in love and stuff would be best off remaining unsaid.

Boba snorted derisively. Rude. Santo sighed as if it were the most romantic thing he’d ever heard.

“When did any of you turn into the galactic court of moral judgement anyway?”, Din demanded, “Last I looked, no one in this room was known for making good life choices.”. He was of course, referring to the incident with a spucumber and a jar of spatella that had taken place his first night staying with them.

He’d never look at the vegetable the same way.

He was also removing the spread from Grogu’s diet.

“We’re excellent judges of character.”, Fennec told him seriously. “For example, those kids with the weird outfits? Desperate to prove themselves, and therefore excellent foot soldiers.”.

“And,”, Boba continued, “on top of that, with all the damage done from the fighting, and the trust we’ve gained from all the locals; we’ll be selling insurance to half of Mos Eisley and taking reparations from the other half.”.

“That feels very illegal.”, Din mused, sans judgement. “But also very short term.”.

“It’s anything but, my friend.”, Boba informed him, “Insurance is just the first step. There’s also taxes to be collected to improve the common spaces; infrastructure to be built, and investments to be found.”.

“And you’re planning to do all this by yourselves?”, Din asked. It didn’t seem very plausible, considering the more… stubborn Tatooinians he’d met. The people of Freetown were likely going to try and bully him into staying for dinner again. If they could make him do that, there was no way they were going to let Boba get away with his shenanigans.

“Nonsense!”, the other not-Mandalorian cried, “I’ve already got Santo studying the basics of real estate management, and the kids are excited to go door to door to let people know the plan. We even have pamphlets.”. The Wookiee growled in acknowledgement of his educational achievements, and Din made a mental not to check over the pamphlets as well.

“We’ve got an open position for you too, if you want it?”, Fennec offered.

“Oh?”, Din questioned. His answer was always going to be no, but he’d always been weak to a terrible plan with an even lower chance of succeeding.

In a way, it was almost like his calling card.

oH sO nOw We’Re AlLoWeD tO pOiNt OuT fLaWs?

No, they absolutely were not, and he’d like to remind judgemental relics of Mandalorian origin that they were supposed to be tired after a long day of actually doing something and not just sitting there looking pretty.

aW, yOu SaId We’Re PrEtTy.

He was throwing the sword into the first sarlacc pit he came across. Boba probably knew where one was; he looked like the sort of man who knew things like that.

“We need more guys on the ground. People who understand the locals and want the best for them too. Just think about it, no pressure.”, Boba said sweetly. Din didn’t trust that tone of voice one iota. It was the same one Luke liked to use before he did that leaping thing that always ended up with Din being winded and his ribs aching.

He missed it, in a weird way. For the first time in a long time his socks weren’t damp with humidity and he was almost a little bereft for that fact.

Hopefully they could head back sooner rather than later.

“You’ve got a visitor.”, Fennec told him with a blank look on her face. Considering Cobb was still suspended in bacta, Peli was giving come-hither eyes to the Major-domo, and everyone else he knew was shacking up in the palace; Din wasn’t sure who she meant.

Unless Bo-Katan had found him. He hoped with the strength of a thousand suns that she hadn’t.

dId YoU kNoW sHe’S a NaTuRaL bLoNdE?

He hadn’t known that, actually.

A little-known secret about Din Djarin’s success at bounty hunting was the fact he, at his base nature, was an incurable gossip. Any tiny amount of information could hold a clue about the whereabouts of whoever he was hunting. An unfortunate side effect to this necessary part of his job had resulted in him being extremely aware of the local gossip in over a hundred towns and villages in a range of around thirty planets.

Of course, he still had morals, and a lot of professional competition; so he kept the majority of what he’d learned to himself.

Though, one must understand, he had very little issue with other people spilling what they know.

yEaH, tHaT oRaNgE iS sTrAiGhT fRoM a BoX.

Not surprising, given the way it seemed to glow under halogen lights.

iT’s OnE oF tHoSe DyEs ThAt’S mEaNt To CoVeR tHe GrEyS.

Was it now? How old even was she? His eyes said around forty, but he also had a fifty-year-old toddler, so his time perception wasn’t the best.

cLoSe To SiXtY. sHe UsEd To TrY aNd TaLk To Me WhIlE sHe ExFoLiAtEd. It WaS tOrTuRe.

The Darksaber’s apparent disdain for her caused Din a lot more joy than it really should. He was going to defend the right to this emotion based on the fact that she’d called him a cultist, lied to him, and then been absolutely useless with information, in that order.

For someone who claimed to be a true Mandalorian, she was deeply lacking in Mandokar.

Fennec was still waiting for an answer though, and so he tuned back into the conversation.

“Who?”, he finally asked, crossing his fingers behind his back. Maybe today it would work.

“Some guy in black trying to act like the heat isn’t bothering him.”, she replied.

Oh.

Din stood. This was an occasion for standing. Luke was on Tatooine, and maybe that meant that soon they’d all be able to leave the dustball planet and return to their forested moon in the back end of nowhere.

“Lead the way.”, he instructed, and followed the assassin out of the room. He’d have asked where the Jedi was, except he didn’t need to. Loud voices grew ever closer as they traversed the halls, and he was gifted with the knowledge that whatever history Boba and Luke had with each other; it was personal.

“You literally worked for the bad guys; The Bad Guy had you on speed dial! Who says you’re good now?”, Luke was snapping, his brow dark with displeasure and his cheeks flushed from the heat.

Din winced, because all that black was certainly doing a number on his temperature regulation. The Jedi’s hypothalamus must have been working overtime to stop him from just keeling over from heat stroke there and then. For a native, he sure didn’t dress the part.

From what Din understood, the real locals liked beige, grey, and weirdly enough: ponchos. The city kids he would not comment on, considering he thought they all looked rather ridiculous.

“Who’s the fancy guy?”, one of the kids asked. He didn’t remember which one it was. At some point he’d vowed to learn their names, as it was only polite, but their proclivity for putting their feet on the dining room table had irked him enough that he was choosing to be petty.

“The Mister.”, he replied, if only to take brief pleasure in the look of shock that crossed their face. He could get used to that.

“The Boss is married?”, the kid asked him with awe. Oh no, Din didn’t like that at all.

“My Mister.”, he clarified. He didn’t add that Boba would have shot Luke before the vows were over. And that it was likely to happen in reality within the next twenty seconds judging from the insults being hurled not very far from where the crowd was gathering.

“My Aunt Beru never paid Jabba any taxes, so I’m sure as sand never paying them to you!”, his husband cried. It would have been more effective if he weren’t sweating quite so profusely.

“You own property, you pay tax.”, Boba replied snappily. His veins were tap-tapping away again.

“It’s not property, it’s a memorial. I filed the right flimsipack.”, Luke argued back.

Boba opened his mouth to retort, and Din sighed internally. This fight was going to last forever and he was desperate to sit down again. For all his outward confidence and casual mien, his tailbone was still aching and there was a high chance Grogu had also broken into his secret stash of spgummy worms.

“Fuck this. I’m out.”, Fennec declared. “I’ll see you all when you’ve decided whose dick is smallest.”. And with that she was gone, providing Din with zero back up and leaving him in the middle of two puffed up and very deadly men.

This was what he got for daring to hope.

YeAh, ThIs OnE’s On YoU bUdDy.

He was going to take the sword, snap it into tiny pieces, and then he was going to bury it so deep in sand it’d choke to death on its own assholery before making it back to the surface.

lOvE yOu ToO, tOoTs. YoU fOuGhT fOr Me, YoU lOoOoOoOoVe Me. DoN’t FoRgEt It.

If he weren’t aware of just how awful Paz was, he’d be regretting his choice to win the damn thing for a second time.

But right in the moment, he needed to separate his husband and his… business partner? Friend? Landlord? from each other before a head rolled. Luke appeared to be a pacifist, but he was lightning fast with his laser sword; and Boba didn’t wear any beskar around his neck.

Though thinking about it, neither did Din. He made a note to amend that fact next time he went to see the Armourer for more cryptic and deeply subjective advice.

He stepped between them, knowing that he wasn’t going to be heard over the argument. If he were a brave, or rather; stupider, man, he might have tried to lift his husband over his shoulder and carry him off. Din, however, was much wiser than that, and knew for a fact that the Jedi would first scratch through his beskar in fury, and then proceed to wipe the floor with him.

It was nice, sometimes, to have made enough moral choices to be on the same side as the ultimate Good Guy. Especially when said Good Guy could fuck up literally any person in the galaxy.

Din congratulated himself on also managing to marry that guy.

iT dOeSn’T cOuNt If YoU wErE dRuNk AnD uSiNg HiM aS a ReLiGiOuS lOoPhOlE.

Yes it did. And that was enough commentary. He was going in.

Twenty minutes later, he was exhausted, but he’d extracted his husband. The cost had been high; three insurance contracts and a promise to review a pamphlet, but it was worth it to be reunited properly.

Although the mutterings coming from his spouse were slightly worrying.

“He’s trying to make me pay tax.”, Luke pouted from where he’d splattered himself on the bed. It was an odd look on him, seeing as he was approaching thirty at an alarming rate and no longer held the “boyish charm” he’d bragged to Din about one night.

“Yes. We all heard.”, Din commiserated. He wouldn’t have minded the conversation if it weren’t the third time they were having it and both Din’s wrist and ankles were bare and ready for the taking. Honestly, the amount of flesh a man had to show these days to get any amount of attention was too damn high. “Maybe a distraction would help?”, subtlety had failed, it was time to be direct.

“Maybe. Or we could sneak out and leave this place?”, Luke replied hopefully.

Din had had enough.

“My flesh is on show.”, he pointed out, hoping that he wasn’t flashing himself around for nothing. IF he was going to prove that he’d forgiven Luke for sending Grogu with the droid, doing so physically would be a lot more satisfying than just doing it over the holonet.

Luckily for him, his redirection was successful, and he finally received the attention he’d been so patiently waiting on.

It was good to be together again.

Five days later, with a lingering despair from his husband’s and Boba’s continued hostilities, Din drew the line and announced they were leaving.

“And where, exactly, are we going to go?”, Luke enquired as they walked back from bartering fuel in Mos Eisley. They were absolutely getting price gouged, but if it meant they could leave earlier, than that’s what they were going to have to live with.

“The Armourer said to head to Mandalore.”, he replied. Whether or not that was a smart idea was beyond him.

“Well, I’m all for listening to the deeply confusing advice of devout female authority figures.”, Luke said cheerfully, “How long will it take?”.

“No idea.”, Din told him truthfully. “There’s a lot of debris to manoeuvre, plus refuelling, checking air quality, making sure there are no life forms nearby, and all the rest.”.

“Sounds like a real adventure.”, Luke said, an excited smile spreading across his face. “We’ll have to make a pit stop and plan it all out.”.

They would, he would make sure of it. It was kind of Boba to allow them to stay in the palace, but he was desperate for them to get some alone time, just the three of them. There was no way he could even think of taking the helmet off, regardless of how much Luke covered his eyes, when there was the chance that someone else could come across him.

The two adults stopped for a moment so that Grogu could catch up to them. Since their reuniting, the child had been insistent in proving that he was more mobile now; either running or hopping from place to place as if to demonstrate to anyone watching that he could.

He jumped into Luke’s arms, a skill that thrilled Din if only for the memory of the way Grogu had leapt into his hold upon them finally being together again. He was unfailingly fond of his two Jedi, and that feeling grew every single day.

“Grogu wants to fly with you. Says you have a poop button or something.”, Luke stated, holding said child out in front of him. “If that means you ate beans this morning I am so glad we’re flying separate.”.

“It’s the turbo button.”, Din clarified. “It’s wizard.”. More ships needed to have one. It was so much fun.

“You are so old.”, his husband said fondly, his hand tapping the metal curve of where Din’s cheek sat under the beskar. “Such an old fart.”.

“What did I do now?”, Din asked indignantly.

“Wizard.”, Luke repeated, “That sounds like something my dad would have said… before he, y’know, went bad.”.

Went bad was what Din understood to be a little bit of an understatement. And by understatement he meant one of the biggest gloss-overs in the history of gloss-overs. But it was hard for his husband to talk about, and so he stayed quiet. No need to cause more problems than necessary.

“If I’m so old, does that mean separate beds?”, he asked instead. Better to deflect than continue the conversation on its current trajectory.

Watching his husband backpedal would never not be funny to him, especially considering how calm and collected Luke always appeared.

“No, it does not.”, he sniffed, “We’ll be sharing, thank you very much.”.

Fine with Din.

They continued on a little longer, the suns beating down on them with a cruel intensity that must have been deeply amusing to the Old Gods of the Sands.

“Why are you wearing black?”, he wanted to know, “And how are you not sweating to death?”, since Luke had arrived, he’d reclaimed control of his glands; a skill of which Din was deeply jealous of considering he was being boiled to death in his very own beskar soup pot.

“Meditation.”, Luke told him sagely. “I’m inviting the Force in and using it to draw away the heat.”.

“That works?”.

“Not nearly enough.”, Luke admitted. “I’ve strapped three ice packs to myself.”.

“How did you survive growing up here?”, he demanded. Surely a child of the desert was meant to be an expert at dealing with the never-ending oppression of the suns and the dunes.

“Beige clothing, no sense of style, and a protective aunt with electrolyte drinks and a shotgun.”, Luke told him fondly. “No one messed with Aunt Beru.”.  

That made a few dots connect in his mind. Especially the shotgun part. Luke was a menace with a blaster and there was no way that space magic was completely the reason for it. A trigger-happy aunt made much more sense.

But it didn’t make up for the idiocy of wearing black on Tatooine.

“So. Off again are ya?”, Peli yelled at him from across the forecourt. Why she couldn’t just approach him he didn’t know.

Instead of saying anything, he just nodded. It was much too early for anyone to be conversational, and yet he’d already been subjected to both of his Jedi jabbering away at him like a pair of Mimbanese twitterlings.

“Well, don’t be a stranger or anything like that. You and Grogurt should stop by some other time.”, she continued.

“Grogu.”, he corrected. She waved him off, and he considered whether or not it was worth it to make a bigger deal out of it. A glance at the chronometer on his HUD told him it was far too early for such nonsense.

“Still a stupid name.”, she stated as he bristled, “Either way, you and the squirt are welcome any time.”. He heard the silent addition of for a price but chose not to remark upon it.

“Sure.”, he heard himself agreeing. There was no way of knowing when they’d next be back; not with the mission that was in front of him, the family building itself around him, and the destiny he didn’t want still hanging around him. Nothing was certain, that was the only thing he knew for sure.

And as he buckled Grogu in and completed his own pre-flight checks, he considered the fact that he was facing an entirely new reality. But then there was a tap on the window from a silver ball he was starting to regret handing back over, and he was distracted from his thoughts.

“No.”, he stated. “Not until we’re in open space, and then only once.”.

Grogu tapped on the glass of his capsule again, more insistent this time.

“No.”, he repeated, as he fired on the thrusters and began the process of steering them out of the garage and onto their flight path.

Tap tap tap.

He ignored it, and was holding out excellently, until the tapping reached a crescendo as they climbed into the exosphere.

“Fine.”, he sighed, “But this is the first, and last, time.”.

“We both know that that’s a lie.”, Luke laughed over the open communications line.

Din wasn’t going to admit to that though, and even as he was flipping up the cover to push The Button, he openly denied that he’d be doing it more than just once.

Grogu’s shrieks of delight warmed his heart though, and he had to admit that it was wizard…

Maybe just one more time? The very last time he'd give in.

LiAr.

He pushed the button.