Mutual Loyalty - Din Djarin x Male oc

-Chapter 02-

Always think of what is useful and not what it beautiful. Beauty will come of its own accord.
- Nikolai Gogol

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Humans have several ways in which they deal with trauma.

There are those who find the courage to confide in someone who they deem as trustworthy to listen to them and console them when needed. There are those who transfer their trauma into a written form, the pain slowly seeping from the hollow ink of a pen onto the coarse paper of a precious book so we can store that mental stress into a physical form.

Then, there are people who don't deal with their trauma. People who shove it so far down into the pits of nothing within them that there shouldn't be a possible way of escape, but trauma is a stubborn bastard that will dig its claws into the side of 100 foot walls just to resurface when it finds one foothold to heave them up and over the edge of the towering wall.

The same could be said for Nik, who had shoved so much trauma down so low into those cavernous depths that the walls holding them in have began to crack with the sheer pressure of holding back all of his built up pain and suffering. Much more, and those walls are sure to come tumbling down like acidic rain, scorching and burning that person who Nik believes he is to leave behind a shell of a person.

—— || ——

"Nikky, c'mon! If you don't hurry then we'll miss daddy getting home!"

"You go on, little A. If I skip training again then it'll be my turn to be the punchbag."

"Nikky~ Please?"

"... Fine, you got me."

"..."

"... Nikky, where's dad?"

"I'm sure he's with the rest of his team, look see? He should be over there!"

"Yay! C'mon let's go!"

"Slow down a little, hes not gonna want his first view of you since before falling over."

"Daddy!"

"Dad!"

"..."

"Dad?"

—— || ——

The first thing Nik became aware of was the subtle rumbling of an engine in the background, but at that moment it might as well have been the loudest uproar in the galaxy. It both sounded and felt as if his ears where being ripped to shreds, though his hands felt much too numb to use as ear protectors. The dull throb that was becoming more present every second, pounding beneath his skull, didn't help his situation in the slightest.

He draws in a sharp breath, his features scrunching as he tries to get wake himself up from the foggy haze that seems to have embedded itself in his head. As if on cue another pain promptly presents itself in his nose and he becomes aware that something feels as if it's dried and crusted onto his skin, he figures that it's safe to assume that it's blood.

When he finally blinks his eyes open, he fails to recognise anything at first due to how bleary his vision had become, but another moment clears enough of it away so that he can make out most shapes and colours in his surroundings. It's safe to say that he isn't best pleased.

"Oi, buckets." It was meant to sound harsh and intimidating, though if he was being honest with himself, he sounded much more pathetic than he'd ever like to admit.

The referenced figure didn't so much as flinch at the use of the nickname, instead opting to stay in complete silence as he expertly piloted the ship.

At his failure to make the bounty hunter respond, a low grunt pry's itself from his lips. He shakes his head at the back of the gleaming helmet that the bounty hunter wears as if he was a teenager pissed off at his parent for not tidying his room.