the curious happenstance of pedro pascal and din djarin [The Mandalorian]

I'd like to talk, first.

I don't know how to think or feel without you guiding me. Your determination grounded me. Your anger gave me hope. I would have gone to the ends of the earth to save you. But it's too late now. I buried you this morning. Forgive me, I could not bear to look at you. He put a hole in your skull.

I'm sorry. I failed.

-

"How're you feeling?"

Din slid into the car and took his seat next to Christopher, whose eyes were glazed, distant, and fixed straight ahead of him. The kid wriggled in his arm, but eventually settled when he got comfortable.

"My leg hurts," Chris slurred. "My head hurts. My throat. My chest." He blinked. "Everything."

"You should take your pills."

"Yeah." But he didn't move. Coughed, winced. Scrunched his eyes up tight.

"Do you want me to get them for you? Are they in your bag?" He'd have to put the kid down, with only one usable arm, but he could do it.

There was no response. Chris' eyes were open again and his eyelids were drooped like he was struggling to keep them open, stay awake. Din nudged his arm, and he glanced over with a questioning gaze.

"Did you say something?"

"...I asked if you want me to get your pills for you. If you're too tired, or..."

"Oh." He crossed his arms. "No. I don't want them. Right now. Later... maybe." But even as he said this, his face scrunched up in pain as he shifted his leg to a more comfortable spot in the cramped seat.

"How bad is the pain?" Din asked. The kid wriggled and squirmed, so he let him explore the car a little. "On a scale from 1 - 10."

"I don't fuckin' know." Chris glared with all the intensity of the sun. "People ask that. I'm not good at judging shit. It's bad, it sucks, I wish someone would throw me off the edge of a fucking building. It's 'ouch', okay? Fucking hell."

Din frowned. Chris frowned right back. But the foul expression melted away just as quickly as he glanced down at the child, who had clung to his arm with a loud coo. They both stared at each other, heads tilted.

"Are you—" Chris cleared his throat, "Are you okay with— with him being close to me?"

Din blinked. "I know you won't hurt him."

"Yes, but— but— for so long, I mean, it seemed..."

"It seemed?"

"That you hated me."

Like he was ashamed, his eyes were fixed on his knees, his head held low, not even daring to spare another glance at the kid or Din. He seemed truly small this way, hunched over himself and fiddling with his own sleeves.

Din lifted the kid off of his arm. Chris closed his eyes. But he opened them again, wide, when Din placed the kid on his lap.

"Mmfblr," the kid gargled, as he took a handful of Chris' jacket, and shoved it in his mouth.

"Kid..." Din sighed.

Chris chuckled, but it was strained, and so was his voice. His expression was hidden. "That's not food..." He pulled the fabric from the kid's mouth, now damp with saliva.