Helmet - a Mandalorian story

Helmet

Author: astroskypilot

Fandom: The Mandalorian/Star Wars

Timing: A few weeks after Season 1 of The Mandalorian

Warnings: none, just a bunch of fluff and a bit of angst

Words: 1012

Author's Note: It's about time I wrote a new story! Lost all ideas, but I finally got my act together. I hope I do these characters justice. Please feel free to correct anything I may have gotten wrong. Enjoy!

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The Razor Crest was quiet, the humming of the engines the only noise. The kid was asleep in his box, and Din could finally have a moment to himself.

His helmet stood proudly next to the bowl of soup on the table, silently judging the walls and ceiling of the ship. It's owner sat behind it, bare-headed, sipping soup and thinking over what the Armourer had said just those few weeks back.

She had told him that the Child was a foundling - specifically, his foundling. He would protect it, care for it, perhaps train it someday.

In other words, Din Djarin, fierce Mandalorian warrior, feared throughout the galaxy, was a father.

Din was certainly familiar with the Mandalorian foundling program - he had been one himself, many years ago. Any child alone and without a family, the Mandalorians would take them in as one of their own, no questions asked.

This is the Way.

Din rubbed his temples and sighed. He had always been aware that he might be in charge of his own foundling one day - but not so suddenly or under such circumstances. Yet he couldn't find any regret or reluctance in him faced with looking after the kid. The womp rat was useful in a tough spot - the fact that Din was sitting in his ship, alive, was proof of that fact. And, yes, the kid was cute. Din could admit he had a soft spot for the green creature, anyone could see that. In a recent hologram transmission with Cara, she had pointed out that exact fact herself.

The almost daily transmissions with Nevarro was a distraction both occupants of the Razor Crest looked forward to. Greef Karga would update Din on the latest events - constantly praising Cara on her job as his enforcer, even though she protested that she was just doing her job. Her modesty was definitely something Din liked about her. Usually, Din and Cara would take up the most time during the transmission, chatting long into the night about recent events, the kid, and past battles. Occasionally, when topics were particularly hard, they would both break out a bottle of spotchka. On one of those nights, Cara had admitted to Din that it was nice to talk about past battles with him. That it brought some sort of closure for her, in a way. After almost no hesitation, Din agreed. He told her that he trusted her, both with his life, and with his past. He told her things that he'd never told anyone before.

He told her about his family. He told her about his life before he put on his helmet.

And Cara, recognising his trust in her, replied with stories of her life on Alderaan. Of her dream to be a healer before she became a killer.

Any time these stories came out into the open, Din slept easy that night, knowing he could trust his comrade, his best friend.

Din sighed again, rubbing the stubble on his chin. It was late, or at least the clock that showed Nevarro time told him it was. Din quickly finished his soup, reaching for his helmet-

And froze. And stared.

The kid stared back.

Din's eyes flickered down to his helmet, the visor accusing. His eye jerked back to the kid, breath hitching. Wide brown eyes flitted over Din's features and his wrinkled forehead furrowed.

An eternity later, Din finally found a way to work his mouth.

"Kid," he croaked. "Um-"

His voice seemed to have jostled the kid from his scrutiny, because the child took a step forward, a big grin on his face and holding out hands to be picked up. Not knowing what to do, Din just stared at him - until he thunked his helmet down onto the table and flopped onto his chair, his head in his hands. Fingers gripped dark hair and Din realised his hands were shaking. The kid toddled over and grabbed his leg.

"Da?"

Din barely heard him. All he could think about was how he had broken his oath - how he betrayed the last few remaining members of his Creed. He had let a living creature see his bare face.

"Da?"

His whole life was now a lie. Every ounce of respect he had worked for was now gone. He could never place his helmet back onto his head. He could never call himself a Mandalorian again.

"Da!"

Din peered through his fingers down at the kid. Tiny arms clung to his leg and he stared up at the man. The grin that was there before had vanished, confusion and worry replacing it. Din slowly reached down and picked the kid up.

"Don't worry about me kid. You shouldn't have to worry. That's my job as a father."

Father.

He was the kid's father.

Din choked back a sudden laugh, a disbelieving smile adorning his face. The kid cocked his head.

"I'm your dad! We're literally family! No rules about helmets here." The kid gurgled. "That means I can put it back on, kid. That means I can still be me." Din looked over at his discarded helmet. Unconsciously he tightened his grip on his kid, hugging him to his chest. The little womp rat smooshed his face into his shoulder in reply, a giggle escaping him. Leaning back and reaching up, Din's kid ran a three-fingered hand over his father's face, feeling the stubble on his chin. His hand moved upwards to the mustache - and pulled.

"Ow!" Din laughed. "That hurts, kid. But honestly, I don't mind much. It's about time you saw the real me."

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FIN