❝ 𝘳.𝘦.𝘮. ❞ [ Pedro Pascal characters x reader ]

alone | bittersweet

prompt: Mando has a bit of a breakdown

warning: just some sad stuff

word count: 1235

pronouns: gender-neutral

══════════════════

second-person point of view. . .

══════════════════

Pain comes in many forms. Some pain is simple, like a broken bone or a blaster wound. Those wounds can be cured with proper care and time. Other pain is more complicated, like rejection or the kind of pain that comes from self-sacrifice. Those wounds are much more difficult to heal. What is perhaps even more difficult is trying to help someone suffering from complicated pain.

Mando was never the open type. He had always found it more meaningful to share comfortable silence with somebody than to have a deep conversation. Consequently, the hours you spent together in the cockpit of the Razor Crest were primarily quiet. He had always liked it that way and you had never minded. Not until recently, that is.

Not until you lost The Child.

The silence was no longer comfortable; it was no longer the quiet you treasured. The quiet used to be weightless as you enjoyed the privilege of sitting beside one another. He had appeared so focused on piloting the ship, even if it required little effort at times. It was hard to tell what was going through his head, but you had routinely stared at him long enough to hallucinate an expression.

The silence was now heavy. Mando did not speak because your company put him at ease, he did not speak because he did not trust his fractured voice to carry the words. His demeanor changed entirely. He had become the cold bounty hunter he was when you had first met. You could tell he was suffering, in a way you could not understand.

You loved The Child, but he and Mando had been a special kind of close. The kind of close that makes you devastated with grief at the thought of losing them. The kind of close that makes you ultimately decide to let them go because you know that is what's best for them. The Child was his son.

The Razor Crest was gone, blown into a million fragments of metal and machinery. You were both homeless. Drifting from planet to plant via public transport was growing old. Less than a week after you lost everything, you had come to stay on a rather quiet planet in search of a quick bounty. The job was over and done within a day.

You stayed in a small inn. The room was divided in half by a thin wall and a door of questionable structural integrity. Silently, you entered the boxy shower to wash away the sweat that had built up. When you were finished, half of the room was empty and the door to the over half shut. That was where Mando must have been.

You approached the door, ready to ask where he was planning for you two to go next. A strange sound was muffled by the barrier in the form of a wall. It made you pause. It was difficult to decipher what precisely that noise had been, but it had been alarming enough to prevent you from barging inside. In particular, the fact that the noise had sounded unfiltered.

He had not spoken words, but it sounded as if his helmet was removed. You listened intently to see if he would make that sound again. He did not. But he made a different one--a strange one. A deep inhale through the nose, but it had sounded blocked by snot as if his nose was running. It was followed by a strangled cough from his chest and a shaky breath afterward.

It sounded like he was crying. Concern flooded over you in waves of worry. Your knuckles gently met the door as you knocked.

"Can I come in?" You hesitantly wondered aloud.

Your voice traveled through the wooden door and to his uncovered ears. It made him tense and hold his breath unintentionally. He had not met to get so worked up. It had all bubbled up so suddenly; one moment he was pondering the subsequent bounty, and the next, he was unable to focus on anything but the burning hole in his chest. It had been impossible to ignore that pain and before he knew it, the Beskar around his head was suffocating and he needed to remove it.

His face burned, though tears were staining his skin. His leather gloves harshly wiped at his eyes in a vain attempt to rid himself of the tears. You would wait to enter until he gave you a verbal answer and he knew that, but he still needed to provide a response.

"No," he stated as soundly as he could muster.

It was not sound, however, quite the opposite; nearly trembling. He could not control himself in the way he so desperately wished he could. He wished he could bury the emotions in depths so deep they would never resurface, and put on the stoic front he had always been known for. But this time it had been far too difficult to play pretend when he was alone with his thoughts.

"I'm gonna sit out here then, okay?" You told him softly.

He did not respond. You maneuvered yourself to sit on the floor, with your back against the wall the dor was attached to. Your hands laid in your lap awkwardly. You were not entirely sure what to do. It was more than evident he was distraught over something, but you were indecisive in your approach to comforting him.

"Can you open the door?" You asked him delicately. "So I don't have to shout?"

You heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door and then stopping. The doorknob clicked and the door was pushed open a few inches. You could not see him through such a small gap, but you listened to him shift positions and come to rest on the other side of the wall you sat against.

Leading with, what's wrong, felt too strong. And pointless as well. There could be only one thing that was wrong. The bounty was easy and the deal went through without a hitch. It must have been about The Child, that was the only logical explanation.

"I... " you struggled to find where to start. "I can't begin to understand how difficult this has been for you."

He did not respond and a moment of silence passed. He steadied himself, trying to suppress any sobs that threatened to rack through his body.

"But you're not alone," you spoke tenderly and genuinely. "I'm here for you."

Mando felt a new batch of tears sting at his brown eyes. He braced his gloved hands on the floor for stability. You saw his hand through the gap between the ajar door and the doorframe. How you prayed there was something you could do to just pull the pain from inside him and cast it far away. Instead, you settled for what little assurance you could grant him.

You placed your head atop of his slowly and carefully. When you did, he flinched. A new ache spread across him and that fresh set of tears began to fall from his eyes in close succession. That ache was different from the pain he had been feeling nothing but for the last week. That pain was miserable and debilitating. That ache was the fear of having to feel his pain again.

"Don't leave me too," his voice shook in vulnerable dread with every syllable. "Please, (Y/n)... Please."

"I won't, I promise," you ensured him, giving his hand a small squeeze. "And I'll do whatever I can to make sure you're never alone again."