My eyes flutter open to the sound of a groan next to me. It sounds pained, weak, tired.
I struggle to recall... anything.
Where am I?
What day is it?
What the fuck happened?
My eyes open fully to take in my surroundings. It's very dark out, so there's not much to see, but I stare straight up- up into the underside of a starfighter. Memories of the previous night flood into my brain, forcing me to relive each second of it all. Even the agonizingly hard ones.
Why am I waking up? I was supposed to stay awake. I sigh at myself angrily.
A groan escapes his lips, willing my gaze to the right to fall upon my metal man. He moves slightly, finally showing signs of progress. He shifts his torso ever so slightly and groans quietly from the pain.
"Try not to move," I tell him. I let out a small sigh of relief, knowing he's going to be okay. As long as he's awake and conscious, he'll be fine. His head shifts side to side before turning to his left to look at me laying next to him in the dirt.
"Wha-" he starts. His hand lifts up from the ground on either side of him and travels swiftly to the wound on his back.
"Hey, take it easy. No touching," I tell him. I pick myself up off the ground and lean toward him, putting my hand on the back of his and guide it away from the wound. He swipes my hand away from his and lifts himself up to a sitting position before I can protest. He groans softly.
"How- how long has it been?" he asks me, sounding out of breath. I'm not sure of the answer. I told myself to stay awake to make sure I kept him safe, but I failed. I have no idea how long it's been. A few hours? A whole day?
"About two hours," I tell him. I get up farther to match his seated position. He looks me up and down a couple times before grabbing my arm gently in his hands.
"Let me clean you up," he says, noticing the deep gashes on each of my arms. I wanted to save the bacta for him, so I just cleaned up the blood on myself and covered my wounds with a few thin pieces of cloth. My flesh wounds are not at the top of my priority list at the moment.
"No, I'm fine. Let me see your back- it probably needs another coat of bacta by now." I try to pull my arm away from him, but he tightens his grip.
"After."
"Din-"
"After."
Din lets go of my arm and puts his hands on the ground to try to get himself on his feet. He groans again, but this time loudly. The muscles in his back need more time to heal before he tries to carry the weight of himself.
"Din, stop," I command him, this time sternly. He surprisingly listens and plops himself back down onto the ground with a grunt. I reach into the bag I brought down here with me and pull out the extra bottles of bacta. Without hesitation, he takes them from me and grabs my arm again.
"Any suture tape?" he asks me. I shake my head, knowing it would be helpful to use to keep the gashes closed while the bacta does its thing. I used the last of the tape on his wound in my initial panic.
He sighs then brings his right hand to his helmet, then reaches under it toward where his mouth would be. His hand slides out of his black and yellow leather glove slowly. He drops the glove from his teeth into his lap and does the same with his other hand.
My eyes are wide watching him in the dark, trying to make sure I get every glimpse of him as I can.
He grabs hold of my forearm and brings it close to his visor, presumably to take a closer look at my wounds. He touches a button on the side of his helmet and leans in close. Then, he uses his fingers to pinch together my wounds as he sprays bacta on them, one by one. He waits until the bacta seals the skin together before moving on to the next, pausing each time to look at me to make sure I'm okay.
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What's a Mandalorian? || Din Djarin
Fanfiction"Was that a laugh?" I ask, smiling. I haven't heard him laugh yet. It was only a short chuckle, but it was definitely there. I look into the rearview mirror that's sat in front of his helmet to look at him. Who needs a rearview mirror in space? "Hav...
