State of Grace || The Mandalorian

7 • Down Home Roots

The first thing your brain registers once it's awake is Din's scent, and it's very distinct. Strong hints of metal and smoke etch themselves into your memory without you even realizing it.

You inhale sharp enough to make your chest hurt as your eyes fly open. You're sitting at your desk—well, more like laying on it—and your cheek is pressed against something rough. Din's flight suit is spread out across the desk underneath you and various mending supplies lay scattered about.

Upon seeing the suit, you vaguely remember working on it last night in order to get your mind off of some... painful things.

As you slowly sit up and stretch, you check the time. It's four a.m, which means you somehow woke up two hours earlier than your alarm. The idea of crawling back into bed is tempting, but you're far too awake to fall back asleep. Starting the morning chores two hours early wouldn't hurt. If anything, it gave you more time to yourself later on.

You take a quick shower and change into a clean pair of clothes. With that done, you head to the kitchen for some caf.

Banx wasn't waiting for you at the door, as expected. He was most likely curled up on the couch. As you walk down the hall, you notice that Din's door has been left ajar. That came off as strange since he usually kept his door closed at night.

You quietly approach the door and nudge it open a bit further with your hand so you can take a peek inside. To your surprise, the bed is empty aside from the child—still sound asleep.

Your heart begins to race as you continue down the hall. Where could he have gone? There was no reason for him to be awake this early in the morning.

Thankfully, you didn't have to go far to find him.

He was in the living room, sitting hunched over on the couch with something in his lap. No shirt, no shoes. Just his helmet and some pants he borrowed from you. It looks as though he sat down mere moments ago.

"Din?" You call softly, not wanting to spook him. "Are you alright?"

Without warning, his arm flashes up to point something at you. Your eyes catch the gleam of a blaster barrel in the moonlight.

"Din." You hesitantly step forward. "It's me, remember?"

He doesn't move—doesn't flinch, either. His blaster remains pointed at your chest, his finger hovering over the trigger. You can hear his heavy exhales from across the room. He's breathing hard.

You're not sure what to do. Getting close could be dangerous, but how else would you be able to help him? He was obviously having some sort of episode—perhaps the result of a nightmare. Those were out of your level of experience. You needed to trust your gut and make a decision.

It was the only thing you could do.

In the midst of thinking, you hear him call your name in a soft tone. You stare at him for a moment, then nod your head in affirmation.

He curses under his breath and lowers his blaster. He appears to be shaking, though it's hard to tell.

"I'm sorry... I thought—" He starts to say, then cuts himself off.

You approach after a moment has passed and sit next to him on the couch. He noticeably tenses, but doesn't flinch away.

"It's okay." You reassure him. "Did you have a bad dream?"

He stays quiet, almost hesitant to speak. His fingers fidget with the mechanisms of the blaster as he flicks the safety on—a nervous habit, you suppose.

"Yes." He finally answers.

"Do you.. want to talk about it?"

Din turns his head ever so slightly to look at you. Moonlight illuminates the side of his helmet, casting a soft glow across the beskar. His skin appears pale—almost ghost-like—with the dark impressions of scars and blemishes becoming more prominent. Your attention is drawn to a particular scar on his shoulder, where dark tissue spreads outward in a rough star shape.

"No one's ever asked me that before." He says, breaking the silence.

You avert your gaze. "I understand if you don't want to."

He's silent again. His hidden gaze eventually falls back on the blaster in his hands. Although you aren't the best at reading people's emotions, you can tell he isn't quite comfortable with the idea. Sighing softly, you gather your courage and place your hand on his shoulder.

"Sit here and relax for a little while. I'll make you something to eat, okay?" You say as you look over at him again, rubbing circles into his shoulder with your thumb. 

He looks at you and sighs. You feel his muscles relax under your touch.

"Okay." He replies in a small voice, barely audible through his modulator.

You smile, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze before standing from the couch and heading into the kitchen. He watches from the living room as you gather ingredients from the pantry.

You wanted to make something that would help calm his nerves and give him a warm, fuzzy feeling. Your mother's maple grits always seemed to do the trick for you in the past, so you decided to make that. And since he had a fairly large appetite, you would add a fried egg on the side to ensure he had enough to eat.

While you wait for the grits to finish cooking, you bring Din a mug of caf to sip on. He lets you sit next to him again and doesn't seem to mind your presence as he lifts his helmet to take a sip from the mug.

You risk a peek while his helmet is lifted, unable to help yourself.

However, he notices this time and almost spills caf on himself. You instantly hide your face in your mug, trying to act like it didn't happen. It was too late, unfortunately. He knew what you'd done.

Fuck. That was stupid.

Thankfully, the grits start to boil over at that very moment, providing a chance to escape. You leave your mug on the end table and scramble to the stove to lower the heat. Blood rushes to your cheeks the moment you're away from him and your hand trembles as you take a wooden spoon and use it to stir the grits.

You thought you'd be more mature about this kind of matter, but obviously that wasn't the case. Your behavior was just as embarrassing as it was in grade school and you definitely hadn't gotten any better at handling your feelings.