Din's Point-of-View
Sound.
He's used to the hum of the ship, the beeps of machinery, and they've become background noise over the years. They are tuned out of his mind to the point they don't register anymore. Funny how one young child could bring it all back to the forefront.
Din didn't realize how much he enjoyed his solitude until the Child swiftly moved in. Crying, whimpers, laughs, squeaks and squeals, they all come jarring into Din's ears like the first sounds he's ever heard.
They always cause him undue emotion; worry, happiness, sometimes even confusion. The Child could get into just about anything, and the young one certainly made quick work of finding every single dangerous thing in the Razor's Crest. Din had locked anything and everything easy to reach, his gun cabinet shut tight and a new bolt over the carbonite switch.
Despite the immediate changes, the Child had become everything to Din. His life revolved around caring for the small one, and he found he didn't mind at all. Life had become bland before the Child; one bounty after another, something to make the time pass by with purpose.
And although Din always preferred silence, now his life was filled with sound.
--
Your Point-of-View
The lightsaber at your hip feels hot with energy. Your hand twitches toward it, the feeling magnetic and unyielding. You can't explain the pull, but the moment you hear the blaster shot, your saber is lit and deflecting each bolt. Your adversary looks shocked, and you almost manage a grin in response.
No one expects a lightsaber. No one expects a Jedi.
The hum is like music to your ears, the purple blade cutting through the air with practiced ease. It doesn't take long to cross the middle distance toward your foe, his blaster still raised and shaking with spent adrenaline and fear. You feel it on him like a rancid smell, wafting over his body and into the breeze.
In the snap of a finger, the barrel of his blaster is sliced away, leaving him weaponless. You breath in and watch as he cowers away- eyes wide and terrified, the purple light of your saber washing him in an eerie glow in the dusk of twilight.
"Go." You simply say, in no mood to speak further. He drops the few items he'd tried to steal and runs as fast as he can toward the nearest cantina.
You hadn't wanted to make yourself known this quickly. The place you'd found was just starting to be cozy enough to miss throughout the day, and now you knew you'd have to pack up and leave.
No one expects a Jedi. No one wants a Jedi.
Before the Empire, you'd been told that the Jedi were a means for peace in the galaxy. A group of warriors who helped, who were looked up to, who were revered. This was no longer the case.
You weren't really sure if you were considered a real Jedi. You'd had no formal training other than the needling sensation at the back of your mind that begged you to pursue it. The Force surrounded you always, as long as you could remember. It pushed, it prodded, it spoke to you with such ferocity that you heeded it's every call.
Your chest constricts with the knowledge that you'd have to leave soon. This planet was nice- the weather was pleasant, the people quiet and self-keeping. If only that nerf-herder hadn't exposed you.
You were fully okay with him stealing your items as long as you weren't found out- but then he had to fire his blaster and...
You sigh and try to memorize the outside of your short-lived home.
--
Din's Point-of-View
The Child does not like ration bars.
Din laughs as the child scrunches up his nose, his small mouth going tight lipped when presented with another bite. The green child wiggles on the tabletop, Din seated next to him in the only chair.
"You'd rather have a frog, womp rat?" Din asks, smiling beneath the mask. The Child whines out while reaching his small green hand toward his caregiver.
Din gasps. He knew the kid had something odd going on, especially after the encounter with the mudhorn- but he never expected anything like this.
A single thought enters his mind, and he suddenly realizes this is how the Child communicates. Unable to properly use words, the infant has learned to project his thoughts to those who can help.
"You want milk," Din sighs woefully. His body droops, ration bar hanging limply from his gloved hand. They were on their way to (hopefully) a new planet to seek hidden refuge, but they were still several hours from the destination.
The Child begins to cry as it senses Din's despair. The small body constricts into itself, wails filling the small underbelly of the ship.
"Please," Din desperately asks, reaching for the Child and holding him closely, "I will get you milk as soon as we land."
The Child doesn't understand and continues to cry, his tears falling onto the much too large tunic it wears. Din's despair grows tenfold, suddenly aware he has no idea how to care for a child. Especially a child who's species he's never seen nor heard of.
The Child pulls his little fingers at the breastplate on Din's chest, the scratches shrill. A bit too late, Din realizes a cold beskar plate is none too cozy to calm a baby. He sets the child back down and stands, which causes his cries to become desperate- frightened.
Din wants to know how many people have left this little one in his fifty-year lifespan to cause it such undue panic.
His breastplate comes off quickly, along with his pauldrons and gloves, leaving only his somewhat rough under suit. It wasn't much, but it'd be better.
The Child reaches for him, the small body trembling as Din carefully lifts and holds him close to his chest. His large warm hand cradles the baby's head, his wails calming to soft cries.
"K'urr (hush)" Din whispers, although most of the effect is lost through the modulator on his helmet. He bounces as he walks, pacing up and down the cramped room.
"Udesii, gedet'ye (calm down, please)," he continues, his heart rate relaxing as the child begins to slow its breathing. He has stopped shaking, and his small green fingers grasp tightly to Din's shirt.
"Ni cuy' olar (I am here)," the words cause the child to snuggle further into his warmth, tiny hand relaxing its hold.
Din almost says it- it's on the tip of his tongue, but the implication of the words has him tied in knots. Thankfully, the child doesn't seem to notice- too far gone in sleep to take in the emotion the Mandalorian is burdened with.
Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad. (I know your name as my child.)
The words stop in his throat and seem to choke him. If they are spoken, they cannot be taken back.
YOU ARE READING
The Stars Grow Pale
Fanfiction(Mandalorian X Reader) Needing the help of a self-proclaimed (untrained) Jedi, Dyn Jarren finds that perhaps taking care of his newest addition is the most difficult job in the galaxy.
