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

Din & Omera

It's...

Nostalgic?

Aay'han?

There's no words for the feeling in his chest. He wants to say 'bittersweet', but there's no substance to that.

The Crest is just as he remembers. Dull and metal and void of colour. His mind says 'home', and his heart scolds it.

He still remembers the controls. It comes naturally. He's a machine again, working from the deep recess of his mind, no need to stop and think. Subconscious pressing of buttons, flipping switches, pulling levers, and then he's out of the atmosphere, and overlooking a green luscious planet. He doesn't recognise it, but his coordinates tell him he's in the mid-rim.

It's easy to navigate from there. Easier than he expects it to be, his fear that he'll input the wrong coordinates is quickly squashed and just as before, he's on complete autopilot. With his backpack in his lap, he jumps into hyperspace with the same confidence as he always had.

He's always thought that hyperspace was beautiful, but he never stood around to watch it. Now, with his face bare, he can't look away. Billions of stars passing by as he's thrown across the Galaxy, one end to another. It's not long at all before the ship emerges again, and in that whole time he never once leaves his seat or averts his eyes.

Nevarro is just like he remembers, too, though he notes the severe lack of Imperial Troopers. It's happier, kinder, and the townspeople are no longer cowering in fear. He finds Greef easily enough...

...but stops in his tracks.

What am I doing?

He won't even recognise me.

His hand is clutched around the strap of his backpack. Passerbys give him funny looks but otherwise pay him no mind. He's dressed strangely to them, but they assume he's from a different planet and shrug. Greef will surely have the same reaction. But what about when he hears my voice?

He can't just stand around, though. He only has an hour, and he's supremely lucky that the hyperspace jump only took 20 minutes. So he throws the backpack around his shoulder, and approaches Greef with any and all previous confidence completely vanished.

It's as he suspects. Greef looks him up and down in a judge-y sort of way, then gives a warm smile and asks what can I do for you?

Suddenly the words are stuck in his throat. They refuse to come out, and he's shaking. Why is this so hard?

"Are you looking for the Marshal?" Greef points at a nearby shopping stall. It's Cara, slaving over fruit. "She's right over there!"

Din clears his throat. It hurts, it burns, his tongue feels too big for his mouth. "Marshal?" he rasps. Marshal?

Something flashes on Greef's face. Something like recognition, and Din nearly jumps for joy, but it's quickly gone when Greef shakes it away with a simple nod.

"Yep, that's her, right over there. If you're looking for a job, however—"

"No." Din gives a shaky exhale. "No." If he forces the words, they'll come easier. He just needs to set it right. "I don't want a job."