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whump-town · 3 years

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The Shot That Tore Through The BAU

This feels unwanted and kind of dumb but I wrote it so it might as well be seen. Don’t hit me too hard because I’m just not vibing this afternoon. Feeling rather down in the dumps. (I’m not even sure this fic makes sense)

Warning: for graphic whump, language probably

Hotch gets shot

Some people are just born to fight.

There are no cosmic gifts bestowed to help shoulder the weight of the world nestled against their breasts. The stars, it seems, have just aligned, and instead of some star sign expecting a brush with love, there are just trials and tribulations. Pain.

Some people are born to hurt.

Deep aches in their lungs, fire consuming their eternities.

“I hate you!”

The air thickens and Hotch is left swept in the smoke. Lungs choking in the smog. His chest is unbearably tight. There’s a hand clenching his throat, his back pressed to the wall. His knees tremble beneath him. Weak and absent. “Go-- Go,” he manages. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. “Go to your room,” he says, eyes anywhere but the red-faced teenager in front of him. All that anger, as misplaced and cruel as it is, is aimed at him. He hasn’t got the will to fight him. To see the reason.

Jack, teeth clenched, and body shaking can’t. He’s here. He’s angry. He’s blinded. “You could have saved her,” he seethes. “If Foyet had just killed you then none of this would have ever happened!” His voice has graduated to a strangled shout. Twisted with his raw emotion. His truth. “Jessica, and mom, and me! We’d be happy. Instead of miserably stuck here with you!”

He… doesn’t--

“Look at me.”

His bones feel melted. By the collar of his shirt, he’s being shaken. Neck going limply to the left until a warm palm-- Dave. Dave’s warm palm. His neck is limp until Dave’s warm palm is placed against his freezing skin. Someone keeps calling his name but Dave grounds him.

Dave is scared.

Hotch looks to the side, jaw slacked and a soft grunting noise leaving his mouth. He can’t… he doesn’t…

“Aaron. Aaron!” Eyes rolling back into his head, Dave’s voice breaks. The fear and the emotion sinking into the desperation that they all feel. The radio cracks with the sound. Morgan shivers at the sound.

Reid falls down beside them, hands clutching at the blood uselessly. Unable to find the flow. Where’s it all coming from? Reid makes a choked sound as he finds the wound. His heart hitting the floor. “His neck,” he rasps. “His neck, he--” Reid wraps his hand over the wound. Wild fear in his eyes. “He’s not going to make it. The ambulance-- the ambulance is-- is ten minutes out!”

Dave wipes at his face with his hand. A motion meant to wipe the sweat from his brow but all it does is drag blood across his forehead. Like a broken, half-finished ritual. “What--” he shakes his head. Eyes moving frantically as he worries with his hands. “What do we do? We can’t move him.”

Hotch kicks out, a choked gurgled sound leaving his mouth as he tries to pull away from Reid’s hand. His eyes blink open, confusion laced in the dilated pupils. His foot moves, uselessly trying to find traction and push himself away.

Emily comes storming up. She comes with hellfire and a kit that seems to have come from nowhere. She grunts, throwing the red kit at Dave’s chest. She falls to her knees beside them. Her dark brows furrowed as she settles herself for what she’s about to do. “Hold him down, Reid.”

Reid shakes his head. “What?” He looks at Dave and then at Emily. “Derek,” Emily barks. “Hold him down.”

Morgan positions himself at Hotch’s head, catching Hotch’s hand when the man reaches up blindly seeking grounding. “What are we doing,” Morgan asks, paling as he watches Emily open the kit and pull out gauze. She’s wrapping it into a ball, making it look like a tampon. Forming it and shaping it quickly.

“Hold him tight, Derek,” is all she says before she throws her hips over Hotch’s. There’s no warning as she pulls Reid’s hand away from the wound. Emily starts packing the gauze in.

“Oh, God!”

Hotch comes back to them, a choked gasp leaving his pale lips. He fights against them. His knees hit Emily’s back as he tries to get away. Morgan holds him in place, his shoulder’s pinned to the ground. Tears fall down his face, pinched out of his eyes as he writhes. The veins on his face stand up, straining. His hand finds Emily’s shoulder but it only gives the softest push. Too weak to put enough strength into, unable to move her away from him.

“I’m almost done,” Emily promises, tears pooling in her eyes at the sight of her friend. “I’m sorry,” she manages, voice breaking as Hotch chokes. “I’m so sorry,” she shakes her head, roughly wiping her tears with the back of her wrist. Her actions do not reflect her words. She’s merciless, harsh as she forces the gauze into the wound. She has to be. If she can’t pack it in thick enough, she’ll stop and he’ll keep bleeding. He’ll die, right here, all over them. Slowly and, yet, so quickly.

Hotch manages to grab onto Emily’s shirt, pushing his hips to the side. It’s strength Emily hasn’t felt yet. He lifts her but she squeezes her thighs around his, he can’t get her off. “Easy, easy,” Emily grunts, steadying herself with a thrown out hand. She ends up overtop him, chest to chest. He looks terrified and she hates that she has to hurt him. “I’m almost done,” she promises when he whimpers and strangles out a cry as someone else settles their weight over his hips and she can resume her job.

She hits resistance and watches the blood still coming down his neck. Lifting her hands up they all watch and wait. One second, two… the blood has slowed. Just a little trickle of dark crimson snaking down his pale skin into the collar of his shirt. “I’m done,” she promises, leaning back over him. She wipes his tears away, shushing him gently. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m done. I’m done, I promise.”

He opens his mouth but he only manages the frantic sweep of his eyes. Confused and dazed. Blood coats his lips as he gasps wetly around the blood on the inside of his throat.

Morgan is sitting in blood. It’s soaked into his pants. He can’t imagine… he doesn’t know but he doesn’t want to say and jinx them but-- How are they going to make it? There is only so much luck they can push before this whole plan hits the roof? How life-saving can Emily’s plan be if Hotch is still wheezing and breathing blood into his lungs?

“Medics!” JJ screams, and they all look up. She ushers them in quickly and everyone but Reid and Emily tear themselves from Hotch.

Morgan’s knees are weak beneath him, nearly dropping him when Hotch cries out, trembling hand seeking Morgan. He’s been holding his hand this whole time. He can feel the cramp now, the blood finally getting to his fingers.

“What-- What--,” Dave pulls Emily to the side, her horrified question left unanswered as they all watch.

One medic lifts Hotch’s chin back while another prepares an IV.

“He’s choking,” Dave soothes her, going with her when she sinks to the floor sobbing. “They’re just tubing him, Emily. He’s okay. He’s okay.”

Hotch bucks away as the suction is placed down his throat, a horrible wet sound emitting from the tube as it does his job. Morgan goes without question to aide, holding his friend down. He whispers bland encouragements, his voice shaking and grip weak. He has to turn away as the silver curved blade is guided down Hotch’s throat. All he can do is offer meaningless condolences as Hotch gags and tries to scramble to remove the blade.

Morgan can’t keep up with the quick motions of what comes next. One minute Hotch is writhing and then he’s limp. Boneless. “Hotch!” He moves but is stopped quickly by an EMT grabbing his shoulder. Then he sees the quick squeeze the man at Hotch’s head is delivering onto the ballooned end of the tube.

Within a blink of an eye, Hotch is lifted away. Dark eyes, slipping shut as he passes, right hand limply hanging from the stretcher.

That escalated quickly.

As things typically go with Hotch-- they should have seen this coming.

Emily phones home and tells Jack. He’s too old to lie to, these days. A startling sort of development. Something they only just realized they don’t know how to deal with. Emily breaks the news to him. She’s sitting on the other side of the room covered in Hotch’s blood, hunched over as she speaks on the phone.

“Why would you say something like that?” she asks. JJ looks up, concerned with the tone of voice Emily’s taken with the boy. She must have found the root of Hotch’s behavior from the last few days. Whatever is, he hadn’t even told Dave. Just closed Dave’s attempts to talk to him down entirely.

“I know,” Emily soothes as she melts. The tension rolling off of her. “He knows, sweetheart.” She frowns as she lowers her head to her palm. “It’s not your fault, Jack. We’re adults. We’re a family, alright? It was an accident. You’re no more responsible than us.” She shakes her head, “just don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll call you as soon as we have something to say.” She smiles, “I love you too. I’ll tell them. Okay, bye.”

Sighing, Emily stands and rubs a hand down her face. Pulling away she grimaces, looking at her trembling blood-stained hands. God… they’ve really done this time. “They had a fight,” she supplies tiredly as she takes the empty seat between Reid and Dave. “Jack… Jack told him he wished Foyet had killed Hotch and not Haley.” There’s a fairly overlapping sigh shared between them.

Dave leans forward and puts his head in his hands.

“So he was distracted,” Morgan seethes. He’s leaned against the wall. Unable to sit or think right now. Just pace.

They’d known he was distracted. Understandably. Weren’t they all? Unable to recognize the strings bound to their friend, pulling his head back under the waves. Tired. Mad. Too caught up in their own misery to detect his. That’s not their fault but they can’t shake the thought that they should have known.

“What were they fighting about,” Reid asks softly. He’s shifted his entire body back on the chair. Drawn his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, looking at Emily now where his head is dipped resting atop them.

Emily shakes her head. Jack had sounded heartbroken. Upset with what he’d said, regardless and unknowing of the weight it had on his father. Besides, he had no way of knowing how much damage it would do. He’s a child, reckless and angry. Hotch is a grown man. As tormented and broken as he may be.

“Agents?”

The surgeon hadn’t seen the agents roll in with his patient but he’d listened to the nurse’s warning when he’d grabbed him by the arm and told him to take “special care with this one”. Now he can see why. Every human life is of great and equal importance but some people leave behind terrifying family members. His agent just happens to be one of those people.

Dave rises while the other’s hold on. JJ clutches Emily and Reid’s hand, the three of them watching intensely as Dave approaches the doctor. Morgan feels a great unease in his chest. Suddenly, his heart is pounding and he feels lightheaded.

“He’s going to be alright--”

And, God, does it matter after that? Alive. He’s alive and he’s breathing and he could be paralyzed for all they care. He’ll still be here, with them. Grumpy and tangled and Hotch.

“He’s got a complicated recovery ahead,” the doctor warns over their unshaken faith.

Dave shakes the doctor’s hand, “he’s stronger than he looks. Hardheaded and stubborn as a mule.”

The doctor nods his understanding, he wants to warn them that won’t be enough. Recovery is painful. It takes time no one wants to afford it. He just smiles and nods, something tells him they know this routine well. “I understand,” he says. “He’ll need you all but I think you all need him too.”

Then he tells them none of them can come back. Aaron needs to rest and he won’t rest if he’s being watched. That’s not as great of an idea as the doctor thinks.

There’s a deep, terrified scream from down the hall. The doors of the waiting room do well in swallowing the sound but they’ve been waiting for hours to get some word about the Unit Chief they lost hours ago to those doors. Now, they know. He’s alive all right.

Emily doesn’t look up from her nails. They’re well past the point of bleeding, her fingertips sting and her left foot bouncing quickly with her nerves. She can’t look up. She can’t face the others in fear that she might crack and reveal more than she intends to. So instead she just… “He’s awake,” she says softly, glancing at Dave out of the corner of her eye.

The older man’s shifting in his chair, not getting up but moving his body as much as he can to see through the small window in the door. The way the scream cuts off, not dying slowly but just stopping tells them all they know. Sedating Aaron will only work superficially and Dave needs to make sure someone understands that. The sooner the better.

“Aaron--” a different doctor than before steps into the waiting room and quickly takes two steps back when he’s met with a swarm of angry looking people. He’s been doing this job long enough to understand that the force awaiting the agent he has right now in his ICU is a friendly one. However, they will not be his biggest fans. “Family of Aaron Hotchner, I’m assuming?”

Dave nods his head, wrapping his arms around his body as he looks the doctor over. “Agent Hotchner,” he corrects but it’s not flashy or anything-- it’s just to establish to the doctor who he’s dealing with.

The doctor nods, “okay then, Agent Hotchner.” He shifts the clipboard in his hand. “Uhm,” he combs over the file. “He’s sedated right now--”

Emily cuts him off. “We know,” she says. None of them miss the half-wince the doctor fails to hide. “Unless you can keep him sedated for the rest of his life,” her tone takes on an edge that says while her words reflect dark humor she is not being funny. “You have to let someone back there.” She crosses her arms on her chest. “He hates hospitals and unless one of us is back there--”

“-- he’s going to try and get himself out.” Morgan finishes. He’s seen it himself. After Boston Morgan had stood by and watched as Haley stood selflessly by Hotch’s side for days. The only person who could take to him in his delirious, fearful state. Morgan knows plenty of people who hate hospitals but he’s never met someone who hates them as much as Hotch. He does not just hate hospitals… it’s unhinged, unwavering fear.

The doctor nods his understanding. That certainly places him one step closer to understanding everything that just happened back in the room. “He’s just been moved to a room and I can allow one or two of you back for now.” Looking at the sheer size of the group before him he’s expecting that not to blow over well.

It turns out fine.

Dave turns around and looks his group over. “Alright,” he scratches at the back of his neck. “Reid, Derek, and, JJ go back to the hotel. Get some sleep. Call Garcia and tell her he’s alright.” Glancing at Emily he motions for her to follow him. “You can come with me.”

He doesn’t wake while Emily and Dave sit to watch.

Gently, ragged warmed in water from the sink, Emily wipes the blood from Hotch’s lips. She’s careful to keep the bandages dry. Mostly, they just sit. Wait.

Emily’s napping when she feels something hit her arm. She wakes up dazed, pushing the hair up out of her face. Normally, she might be embarrassed to be caught sleeping but she finds Hotch’s half-lidded eyes looking back at her. She’d been sleeping on his thigh, the perfect kind of boney pillow the moment could afford. “You okay,” she asks, rubbing at her eyes. In the other chair, Dave’s still out. His legs are kicked up on the edge of the bed, arms crossed on his chest.

He motions her closer.

“What is it,” she asks, softly, leaning down and brushing his hair back.

“Thirsty,” he manages, croaked and pain. His voice is hardly a whisper at all. Just a broken crack.

She pours him a small cup of water from the pitcher by the bed. Hesitating only a moment when she wonders if ice chips would be better. She doesn’t have any though so she gives him the water. She has to hold his hand, guiding it to his lips.

She frowns as she thinks about the accident. His blood going everywhere. The stained blouse she just threw away. He’ll be okay, she knows. In two days, the world will have calmed down once again.

Reid will be bringing Hotch books to read and the walkman he keeps in his go-bag.

Dave will be up his ass about taking care of himself. Dotting on how Emily always listens to him, why can’t you? “Is it that hard to just listen, Aaron? Do you have to worry me to death? Can’t you just behave?”

All the while, Emily sneaks him out of this awful room. Probably to go watch TV or outside, anywhere they won’t be found. If she’s tired of hearing them all worry and groans, then he will be too.

Give Garcia ten minutes and she’ll have this place covered in bright things. Trolls and balloons.

The key is Jack. No amount of snacks from JJ can save him if they don’t let him see Jack. If they don’t fix whatever was said between the two of them. Whatever it is, Emily isn’t too worried.

“Get some sleep,” she whispers. With any luck, she’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream.

She’s just afraid she won’t be able to forget the feeling of his blood rushing over her hands.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch whump #emily prentiss #david rossi #spencer reid #jennifer jareua #penelope garcia #jack hotchner #derek morgan

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haildoodles-writing · 4 years

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BE’SOL

— KA’RA, PART 2

“Priority.”

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue, Alternate Ending

Summary: Din can’t make any more excuses, and he realizes he’s make a mistake.

Pairing: the mandalorian x reader

Warnings: mentions of surgery/breaking open skin (briefly, no gore)

A/N: Part 2 is here! If you would like to be included in the Ka’ra tag list for future installments, let me know!

Now on AO3!

* * *

A few days turned into a week. A week turned into two. And then two weeks turned into three, and he still had you on board.

If he had to excuse himself away, he could. After refueling and returning to the blackness of space, another member of the Guild attacked his ship and blew out an engine. That led Din to make an emergency stop at the nearest planet, hoping to find a mechanic good enough to fix an entire wing of his ship in a day or two. But then he found himself entrenched in another job, trying to come up with the credits to pay the engineer. That took a week.

Once he was back on track, he had stopped at another planet— a small one, sparsely populated and covered in thick rainforest— to feed the little one. Both you and Din could survive on rations, after all, but the kid needed something easier to chew on.

That started off as a measly few hours, but when a group of local villagers begged him to fend off a group of invasive canines the height of the average man— well, he knew he had to help. They paid well enough, anyways. Plus one pleading from you, and he was a goner.

So yes, he could offer excuse after excuse as to why you were still here, with him. But he didn’t want to.

And so here he was, on the ramp leading from his ship and staring at you as you swayed on the grass.

Din had killed the rabid animals that morning, creeping around in the vegetation all night until he managed to spot them. He was exhausted, that much was certain— he ached to his very bones. You had convinced him to sleep earlier that day, your voice seeping up underneath his helmet and delicate fingers stopping him by the forearms until he caved. In that moment, he had wondered what it would feel like to touch you. Without the gloves.

He wondered if your skin was as soft as your voice.

He had ended up dozing on the grass for a few hours, but his sleep was fitful enough that he eventually gave up. Instead, he moved his ship to a hill overlooking the village and played with the kid while you talked to the villagers.

If he had to admit it, he had grown used to having you around. It took a day or two for you to memorize your way around the ship, feeling every crack and crevice until you knew where everything was. And then you were off, making yourself at home. As if you belonged there. You had treated the kid as your own, too, taking care of him when Din couldn’t. Before he found you, Din loathed the fact that his job was dangerous enough to the point where leaving the kid alone was better than taking him with him. But now . . . now you were with the child. Now he could sleep better at night and take jobs without a guilty conscience.

And so Din adjusted, sleeping on a makeshift cot to let you and the kid sleep in his own bed. Setting aside extra rations for you, just in case. Keeping a hand out whenever you stepped someplace outside the ship, warning you of any bumps or objects along the path. He even made a cane for you out of wood he purchased, just so you could feel your way around easier. Din adjusted— almost too easily.

That night, the villagers were celebrating. Drinks and food were passed around while music blared, and you participated, but eventually the kid grew tired and you all retired to the ship. Din put the kid down, wrapping him in a pile of blankets on his cot before shutting the door. And then there he was, watching you from the ramp.

You swayed where you sat, fiddling with blades of grass as you listened to the distant music from the villagers. Hair brushed against your cheeks from the wind, but you paid it no mind. Instead, you were focused wholly on the music, eyes staring blankly ahead as you hummed—

And then your head shifted to the side, and a smile pulled at your lips.

“Is it beautiful?” You asked.

Din didn’t know exactly what you were talking about. “Yes,” he said anyways.

That seemed to satisfy you, and you hummed in contentment. “I think I would’ve liked to see it.”

He assumed you were talking about the village, about the firelight in the distance sparkling amongst the stars. It was beautiful indeed, but he didn’t need to look at it. Instead, he kept looking at you.

Din basked in the silence for a moment, and then began stepping down the ramp towards you. But then you spoke, and he stopped in his tracks.

“I think I would’ve liked to see you,” you said. Softly, secretly, as if he wasn’t meant to hear it.

And then you raised your voice slightly, enough for him to hear better. “You describe yourself to me. I can hear your armor, your footsteps. I can hear your voice through your helmet. But that’s all,” you said, then paused. “That’s all.”

He hated the somberness in your tone. He hated the way your hand clenched and unclenched slowly, raised above your lap. He hated the fact that he, somehow, made you feel discontentment.

From where he was frozen on the ramp, Din ground out, “What can I do?”

That seemed to catch you off guard, and you slowly lowered your hand to your lap. For a moment, you seemed to fight for words—but when Din began to walk again and stepped down onto the grass, you spit out, “Can I feel you?”

Din paused, staring at you. You were biting your lip, hard, with your hands clasped against your stomach. And then he reminded himself that for you, to touch was to see.

You wanted to see him. You wanted to learn him.

And so he slowly walked forward and lowered himself next to you, ignoring the tightness in his chest.

At his presence, you grinned brightly— but when when he lightly grabbed your hand and placed it atop his own, that smile dropped to something else. Something softer.

He could feel your fingers press against his hand through his gloves, itching to move, to explore. But still, you waited. Until—

“Yes,” Din said.

You shifted then, turning towards him more fully and pulling his hand into your lap. He could feel the heat of your thighs, your hands, seeping into his gloves, and he nearly fell apart. But then . . . Then, with one hand, you slowly started tracing his form, the other palm busy grasping his fingers. You began at the tips of his gloves, tracing over the buttons and gadgets lining his wrist and then the beskar at his forearm. And then you moved up, up, up, until you were running your fingers across his chest.

As you felt, you also spoke, asking him what color everything was. He answered mindlessly, too hypnotized by your touch—

But then his mouth got the better of him, and he whispered, “How do you know colors?”

Your hand stopped over his heart, fingertips slipping in between his shirt and chest plate. And then you laughed, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if you could feel his heart thump in return.

“Blind people understand color in different ways,” you said. A grin still pulled at your lips. “It helps us . . . categorize the world.” And then you paused. “Besides, I wasn’t always like this.”

That made Din hesitate. You continued your ministrations, slowly rubbing at the fabric of his shirt along his collar bones, spending more time there than anywhere else. He spoke when you reached his neck, feeling the edge of his helmet.

“If I may ask. . .” he swallowed, “what happened?”

No, no. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

You fell silent at that, focusing solely on the shape of his helmet. It was only when Din nearly apologized for his abruptness when you answered.

“My parents, my family . . . They are not good people,” you said quietly. For a moment, you traced the metal beneath his eyes. “I have . . . abilities, talents, that are stronger than they should be. And they wanted for themselves. They wanted to control me.” And then you swallowed, your expression going blank. “They thought acid would do the trick.”

For a moment, Din couldn’t focus, still processing your words. But when it sunk in like a weight in his stomach, he couldn’t breathe.

If he looked hard enough, he could see irregularities in the skin surrounding your eyes, your temples, your cheeks. Acid burns healed over.

The idea that a family would do something to their daughter, a woman who was softness incarnate, who didn’t even hesitate to help her former enemy—

He wanted to kill them.

You could evidently feel the anger seeping through him, because your hand slid from his chest to his other hand. He didn’t notice how hard he was clenching his fist until your fingers pulled them apart.

“It’s alright, it’s over now,” you said, squeezing both of his hands now.

But no, no it wasn’t.

Because Din had taken you as a bounty. He had tracked you, imprisoned you, and planned on taking you back into the arms of the monsters you had run from in the first place. And for a moment, Din felt that he was choking.

He couldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t hurt you.

“Come with me,” Din eventually ground out, standing up suddenly and pulling you to your feet by both hands. You made a noise of protest—but he was already walking, leading you to his ship. Once you were safely inside with the ramp raised, he pulled out a crate and had you sit.

It took him only a moment to grab his medical kit from beneath his bed. And then he was back, straddling the crate with you in front of him.

“What are you—“

“I need you to trust me,” Din said, quietly. Guilt had lodged itself in his throat at that point, permitting him to speak any louder than a whisper.

And then he pulled out his tracking fob, its beeping filling the air. He swept it over your body until he found where it was— the tracker, slipped just underneath the skin of your left bicep. Once he found it, he made no hesitation in crushing the device on the floor.

“I need to remove a tracker from your arm,” Din said, watching your scrunched brows smooth. ”You need to roll up your sleeve.”

A breath escaped him when you slowly obeyed, folding your sleeve up until it was tucked securely on your shoulder. Din removed his gloves then, slowly reaching up to trace your bicep with calloused fingers. He had to ignore how utterly soft you were.

Stuffing down his thoughts, felt it immediately: a small square, just underneath your skin. Once he found the exact location, he took out the necessary tools from his kit. And then he waited.

“May I?”

At the idea of him having to cut open your skin, you blanched— but in the end, you nodded. Albeit slowly.

“Okay.”

After cleaning the skin around the tracker, he tried to move as swiftly as he could. He didn’t like the panic in your face, nor the hiss you made when he sliced open your skin. But he made quick work of it, and soon he had a tracker resting on his thigh and a few stitches in your arm. He set the medical kit aside, and with one firm press, the tracker was destroyed. He cleaned up silently.

Once Din was finished, he turned to you. You were breathing shakily. Likely processing everything.

Slowly, carefully, he unfolded your sleeve, letting it glide down your arm. His fingers paused at your hand. For a moment, he allowed himself to touch you— not out of necessity, but because he wanted to. And then he felt his callouses scratch your skin, and his hand retreated to his side.

The two of you sat in silence, ironically for longer than Din would’ve liked. And then his voice cut through the tension like a knife:

“You should stay.”

You moved at that, evidently caught off guard. One of your hands dropped to the crate, eerily close to his thigh.

“. . .What do you mean?” The question was rough, raspy, likely matching Din’s own voice.

Din cleared his throat. “You seem to enjoy it here—and the villagers have taken a liking to you. You could be safe here,” he reasoned.

For a moment, he watched as you chewed on the idea.

“Would you be here?” you asked.

Din nearly choked. Though he wanted to—

“No.”

You paused again. “Would the baby be here?”

Again, though he wanted to, no. The kid’s tracker wasn’t physical like he had hoped. He couldn’t simply take out and destroy a tracker like yours; something bigger was at play here.

“No.”

You hummed, and Din didn’t fail to notice that your thumb absently began tracing his knee.

“Then no, I think I’ll stay with you.”

The answer both warmed Din to his fingertips and stopped him cold— though he liked your company, he didn’t want to risk your safety—

“You seem to not have anyone you can trust,” you continued, picking up on his panic. “And the baby needs someone when you’re out working. And . . . I like it here,” you added. “It feels safe.”

Din weighed everything out. He would be risking your safety, yes, but . . . really, he couldn’t be assuring your safety on this planet, either. Other people seemed to be out looking for you, tracking fob or no.

Plus, being here would be beneficial. For both the kid and him. Especially the kid, who had taken a liking to you almost instantly. And you said that you wanted to be there.

Perhaps . . .

Perhaps he didn’t have to make up excuses to keep you on board anymore. Perhaps you wouldn’t have to, either.

“Okay,” he said.

And that was that.

* * *

Tag list: @lirinchi @acehyacinth @thunderingbats @biolo-tea @shadowfoxey @nyashi-kaages @soradragon @aeryntheofficial

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #dyn jarren #dyn jarren x reader #star wars #sw #star wars x reader #baby yoda #din djarin #din djarin x reader

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aratilightwood · 4 years

Text

Old ghosts of years past.

Little Mina has a surprise guest and Kit’s worried.

Set: 31st October 2015.

...

Kit Herondale was wide awake when he heard murmurs drifting down the hallway, from his little sister’s bedroom.

He should’ve been sleeping.

After training nearly every day, for at least six hours, it surprised him that he hadn’t become accustomed to his new lifestyle.

A lifestyle that was only fit for a Shadowhunter.

It had been a long day.

It was a holiday that was dedicated in remembrance of the dead, as well as, marking the celebration of ghouls, goblins and anything that went bump in the night. Mundane children ran around the neighbourhood in costumes and knocked on strangers’ doors for candy.

Kit remembered Halloween as it had been when he lived with his father. His school friends often insisted on going ‘trick-or-treating’ when he was young, but Johnny Rook always refused to allow his son the freedom of enjoying the day.

It was common knowledge that some Downworlders, particularly faeries, used the day to their advantage. They disguised themselves as children wearing fancy dress to deceive mundanes, and demanded something more valuable than sweets.

Kit wasn’t aware of it at the time, but he soon realised the most precious thing Rook hid from the outside world was him, and the faeries that instilled such cautiousness were the Riders of Mannan.

It’d been three years since the battle in Idris, and still the memory of the confrontation haunted him.

Yes, they were killed.

But there would be others, intrigued by his true lineage and determined to exploit the mysterious magic surrounding him because of his relation to the First Heir.

Now, he tried willing himself to slumber so he could wake up early. Jem had planned a hike for them across Dartmoor National Park the following day.

Tessa and Mina had made egg mayonnaise sandwiches, before placing them inside two backpacks with drinks. His sister was insistent on making the food herself, nevertheless Tessa stood beside her daughter to ensure no eggshells fell into the mixture.

Kit even laid the clothes he was going to wear on an armchair beside his bed, the night before.

It was the largest park within miles of Devon, and the more he thought about the long trek ahead, the more he curled under his covers and buried his face into pillows.

He wanted rest.

He needed rest.

But Wilhelmina Carstairs was unwilling to cooperate.

It hadn’t been the first time she kept him awake during late hours of the evening.

Their bedrooms were located on opposite ends of a hallway, but there was no mistaking she hadn’t slept either.

She was, no doubt, talking to her ‘friends.’

Kit often dismissed this as a, ‘child’s imagination.’

But Jem and Tessa had been sceptical, considering these ‘imaginary friends’ were occasionally described wearing period clothing dating back more than one hundred years ago.

Annoyed with his unrest, he tried covering his ears to drown out her incessant giggling by placing the duvet over his entire body.

Min Min, please let me sleep, he thought.

When sleep hadn’t come, Kit sighed with frustration. He sat up with a flinch when his feet landed on the cold floorboards and rubbed the weariness from his eyes.

The t-shirt he wore had been crinkled after hours of continuous pivoting, from one side of the bed to the other.

Jem had bought it for him two weeks before, claiming the store manager said it was a superhero’s symbol and Kit loved Marvel.

It was only after he unpacked it, when Kit realised the red colour and ‘W’ came from a D.C comics heroine called, Wonder Woman, instead.

He wasn’t fussed.

To spare Jem’s feelings, he said he loved his new t-shirt and would wear it paired with comfortable black joggers.

He stood up then and walked barefoot, across the room and turned the doorknob to step outside.

The hallway was dark and still entailed some elements of the Edwardian era. Century’s old wallpaper adorned the interior, a few portraits of an old Shadowhunter family were attached to the walls while sconces hung low and emanated witchlight instead or fire from a candle.

They’d contemplated redecorating when they first moved in, however Jem claimed it wouldn’t have felt like home.

The grandness of Cirenworth Hall often reminded Kit of the fictional Hogwarts castle.

When he first made this remark, Tessa replied with, “Read those books.”

To which he responded, “Saw those movies.”

Jem, as always, contributed in the only way he could with, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Now the closer he walked towards Mina’s bedroom, the louder the voices inside became.

Her door was painted white and it was opened slightly ajar.

The room was mostly dark, and only the moon emanated brightness from outside the large window. It cast a ray of light down on the bed, as if to present the little girl sitting on top of it in the most theatrical manner.

Mina was dressed is a cream onesie she wore on most days because of the bitter Autumn weather. Her hair was loose and ruffled, reaching just below her shoulders as she swept it aside to prevent it from obscuring her vision. It was like she was performing on stage, waiting for a playwright to give her next lines.

But sitting on the edge of the bed was a figure of a man - a ghost of a man.

They were immersed in their conversation, so much so, they failed to notice the boy peaking in through the door.

Kit felt overwhelmed with protectiveness and prepared to walk inside to cast the phantom away, until he began to identify the mysterious guest.

The man appeared to be around his age, seventeen or eighteen. He was wearing a clean Victorian suit, white in colour. A tribute to those who were mourning amongst the Nephilim. It contrasted with his black hair that tangled in untameable curls.

Kit remembered another day, standing on the imperishable fields beside a boy in similar clothes and features that took his breath away, before he boggled and shook his head to chide himself.

Memories served one no good, especially if they were painful. Kit trained himself expertly over the years to leave his past behind, by locking such thoughts away in the furthest recesses of his brain.

Focusing on the situation at hand, he began recognising the voice of the phantom, as it spoke in warm and friendly tones.

Will Herondale of course, Kit thought. This is the same bastard who kept me awake the other night, singing about something ghastly called, ‘Demon pox.’

Only when Kit had asked whether Will’s own death was caused by the disease, did the ghost disappear with a shriek of outrage vowing to return and haunt him for all eternity.

“So, can you go anywhere in the world? Anywhere you like?” Mina piped up, capturing his attention.

“I suppose I can - ghosts don’t get tired of travelling,” Will replied.

“Shadowhunters get tired. Dad wants to take Kit out for a long walk tomorrow. But he doesn’t want to go.”

“That’s because he’s a lazy sloth.”

“I like sloths. They’re cute. Like Sid in ‘Ice Age.’”

“What’s that?”

“‘Ice age’ - it’s a movie. A great movie. Do you want to watch it?”

“Maybe another time,” Will said with a smile.

“Of course if we go downstairs, we’ll wake everyone up!” Mina giggled mischievously.

“That wouldn’t be a good idea. I got you into trouble last time.”

Kit remembered.

A few weeks ago, Mina had woken in the middle of the night, and made her way to the library. She opened a famous book called, ‘Alice in Wonderland,’ and began reading it out loud. No one would’ve woken up, if her hand hadn’t clumsily upset a bookend that was holding a row of tomes on the windowsill. When the heavy books fell and toppled onto the floor with large thumps, the entire household woke up.

Tessa had walked hastily out of her bedroom with Jem on tow, both in pyjamas, as Kit came out of his room calmly to assess the situation.

They had stood in the hallway looking at each other’s bewildered faces, when realisation hit them.

“Mina,” they’d said in unison, before running towards the library.

When they entered it, they were met with an innocent looking girl curled up on a bench, looking guiltily down at the mess she created.

Only Kit saw a glimpse of a transparent figure vanishing into the darkness, leaving him horrified yet curious.

Tessa had been firm with Mina, but Jem couldn’t remain angry with his daughter for very long.

When it was evident little damage was done, Kit was instructed to pick the books up while the rest of them returned to bed, much to his dismay.

Mina had stuck a tongue out to him cheekily while he pulled a face before they left the room.

“I remember! That book was great,” Mina exclaimed, drawing Kit away from his thoughts.

“What? ‘Alice in wonderland?’” Will questioned. “It’s a classic.”

“What’s your favourite snack?”

“Caramel apples.”

Kit snorted.

Mina scrunched her nose with distaste, “that’s too sticky and messy.”

“What do you prefer, then?”

“Candy floss!”

“Like the time when your parents took you to the funfair? You got a big sugar rush, became overexcited and wouldn’t settle down all night.”

“You were there? I didn’t see you!”

“Of course I was. I can choose when I can and cannot be seen.”

“Can you see other ghosts?”

“I’ve seen your aunty Jessamine.”

Jessamine? Kit thought. The ghost from the London Institute?

“Jessie! She comes to visit me sometimes,” Mina said happily.

“I bet she takes good care of you.”

“She does! Do you see others?”

“Most of the people I’ve known have found peace.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Who do you love most in the world?” Mina asked to lighten the mood.

There was a pause and Kit listened more intently.

“Two people. Two of the best people I have ever known.”

“Do I know them?”

“Would you believe me if I said you’re closer to them, than you could ever imagine?”

Mina gave it a long thought.

“Is one of them Kit?”

At that, Will laughed out loud and Kit pretended to gag.

“I think you’ll be able to figure it out when you’re older.”

With that, Kit retreated to his own bedroom for his long-awaited rest.

One day, Mina would understand.

Her parents would eventually tell her exciting stories of the war against automatons, the great demon invasion and the endarkened. But most importantly, they would talk of the epic and beautiful relationship they shared with one man they, too, loved most in the world.

Just not tonight.

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skies7536 · 7 years

Text

Settle In

Rex offered his arm and his daughter accepted as they walked from the infirmary toward her childhood home at the other side of town near the base. It was a lovely day. Not a cloud in the sky as they walked the peaceful streets of Solus Suum Tal.

They have made this walk several times, even much further she remembered as she was growing up. ‘No need for transportation when you have two good legs.’ He would say. Kitxa smiled at the memory, then her mood slowly turned to concern as she noticed that her father was tiring more easily now. She could feel a slight hitch in his step as they walked, and she made the excuse to pause at some storefronts to look at some displays to let him rest a little before they continued.

“Oh, look.” She said pointing to a small café. “That’s new. Let’s eat there. I’m famished.”

“But, we’re nearly home.” Rex complained.

“I don’t feel much like cooking. Do you?”

Rex stood a moment and wearily agreed, the fatigue in his voice was evident, “Not really.” He smiled craftily, “Well, you are eating for three after all.”

“And don’t you forget it, gramps.” She teased as she squeezed his arm, “Let’s go.”

Kitxa cherished this time with her father. It had been a couple of years since they had a chance to be alone together since she had been busy with her work and new life as a wife and soon to be mother. Rex had been exceptionally busy her entire life, but he always found time for her. But now, especially over the past year, Rex had slowly relinquished some of his captaincy duties to his second in command, Razer. She hadn’t noticed until recently how old he had become. His strange illness was beginning to take its toll. This was partially why she wanted to become a doctor. What is causing his pain? Why can’t it be alleviated? He barely ever took drugs and the few that he did take, he stopped because he said that it made him tired. The therapy helps only a little. Why does this keep happening?

She pushed those troubling thoughts aside and enjoyed the present. They had a wonderful time talking about the near future. Who was coming to the next family gathering? Should she birth at the infirmary, or at home. Should the children be encouraged in medicine, engineering, farming, or art? Kitxa noticed that he did not seem to encourage a soldier’s life, but she understood. While many clones remained active as military instructors, few clones at Solus Suum Tal encouraged their own children to enter the soldier’s career however, they all encouraged self-defense, self-reliance, and marksmanship skills as a basic right of passage for all youngsters.

They carefully avoiding the obvious concern for Kitxa’s husband. There was nothing either of them could do but wait. Kitxa did feel satisfied that Rex was eating quite well with her present. His color began to return and his mood improved by the time they settled their bill and continued on their walk home.

As they reached the simple one story home they noticed Plo sitting joyfully on the porch waiting for them.

“The pups too much for you already, Plo?” Rex laughed as he patted the small megalupin’s head.

The house was just as she remembered it. Simple, comfortable, a minimalist lifestyle. A computer/holo table in the corner, a couch, a lounge chair and one rocking chair. A book shelf with an assortment of tablets and paper books. Only a few hearty plants decorated the room since they were almost impossible to kill, it was the only other living thing in the house besides themselves and Plo. A holochess table was in the other corner of the living room. Rotating Holo pictures were on the walls, from her parent’s adventures with family and friends. On a small table near the door sat Rex’s trooper helmet. It hardly left that spot unless he accompanied his brothers on their excursions which became fewer and fewer.

Rex kissed his daughters cheek, “Welcome home. There are a few things in your old room. Settle in.”

Kitxa went down the short hallway and entered her old room. It was pretty much how she left it. Just a new paint job and more guest friendly. She opened the dresser and found some bath towels and a couple of boxes wrapped in brightly colored paper. Kitxa sat on her bed and opened them up finding some much needed maternity clothes at the proper size. She smiled thoroughly amused. The timing was perfect, “Thanks, mom.” She took her time to clean up and changed into her new attire. “Well, boys, now we all have room to grow.” She laughed as she rubbed her belly and started on her way to the living room.

It had been over a week since Rex was submerged in the bacta and he hasn’t seen nor heard from his wife since. When he inquired at the infirmary, they said she was at a listening station and Rex understood that she was, therefore, on a mission and unavailable.

Finally, he decided to use their specialized scrambled channel and attempted a simple audio transmission.

“Hey, it’s me. Where are you ‘Soka? I’m starting to get worried. Come home cayre, I miss you. Love you.” He sadly ended the transmission lightly leaning on the computer table. He picked up a data pad and turned, now noticing his daughter behind him. He smiled half-heartedly and shrugged. “She’ll be home soon.” He sighed as he limped slightly and sat heavily in his favorite chair. Wincing only slightly adjusting himself so he didn’t lean directly on his back injury, he began to read his tablet.

Kitxa entered the kitchen and made tea for herself and caf for her father. The smell didn’t agree with her now a days but she wasn’t going to deprive him of his guilty pleasure in his own house. She stood in front of him as he was studying the tablet.

“Dad.”

“Hmm? Oh, Thanks.” Rex smiled as he accepted the caf.

“I thought you were going to rest.” Kitxa mentioned as she gently took his tablet and checked its contents.

“I am resting.” He protested.

“Mapping charts. Really?” She closed the leather covering around the tablet, “Planning on going somewhere?”

“Uh…”

“I thought you said that Razer had it under control.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to have fresh eyes….ok, old eyes check the info for another perspective.”

Kitxa rolls over the holochess table in front of him and sits opposite in the rocking chair.

“We haven’t played in over a year. Ready for a rematch?”

“Three against one.” Rex Smiles “Not sure I like those odds.”

“Better get used to it.” She smiled patting her belly, “Your move, grandpa.”

They had only played one game, and Rex was feeling rather sleepy as he waited for his daughter to make her move on the board. She merely sat rocking calmly in the rocking chair humming a Togruta lullaby as she tried to calm the movement of the babes in her belly. Rex smiled slightly as he took some deep breaths and slowly fell asleep in his chair.

“There are many ways to find victory.” She whispers as she kisses her father’s forehead and covers him with blanket.

Ahsoka silently entered their home late in the evening, finding her husband in his chair she carefully approached and touched his arm.

“Cayre…” she whispered calmly.

Rex stirred slightly, his eyes still closed, “Hmmm?”

“Cayre, I’m home.” She repeated softly as she stroked his cheek.

“’Soka?” Rex yawned sleepily, “Hi, Cayre.” Rex now realized he fell asleep in his chair. He frowned briefly at this realization. He never does that.

“Come to bed.” Ahsoka urged. Rex turned the blanket aside and stiffly stood.

“Force, I missed you.” He said lovingly as they kissed.

“I missed you too.” She said quietly as they embraced, and she started to lead him to their room.

“Kitxa is home. I thought she should be with us since Thanowyn is missing. Have you heard anything?” Rex asked quietly.

Ahsoka stops and turns into her husband’s comforting embrace, “A Fulcrum says a few prisoners have been transferred to a Stardestroyer. We don’t know if he is among them.” Ahsoka snuggles into her husband’s chest. “Cayre, these starships are larger, and deadlier than anything we have ever seen. The First Order is growing from the remanence of the Imperial Empire.” She whispers sadly, “It’s starting again.” Rex kissed his cayre and they began to walk again.

Ahsoka stopped him at Kitxa’s room smiling. “She still sleeps with the door open.” She whispers amused as they silently watched their daughter sleeping peacefully.

Rex chuckled quietly, “Wait till the little ‘uns are born and running around. That’ll stop quick.”

Rex stiffly sat on the edge of the bed as Ahsoka readied herself for bed.

“’Soka…”

“Yes, Cayre?”

“I - I could use some help…”He complained as he stiffly removed his shirt.

“Oh, Cayre…”Ahsoka whispered as she examined her husband’s back. It was raw and bleeding slightly in places.

“Kit gave me some salve, there.” He said weakly as he pointed to the can on the dresser. “It opened up a couple of days ago. It’s not nearly as bad as it was, really.” He yawned as he lay belly down on the bed.

“Did you think about talking to Luke?” Ahsoka asked as she gently washed his back and began to apply the salve. “Rex?”

Rex did not want to continue this conversation tonight. He simply closed his eyes and went to sleep.

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#captain rex #ahsoka tano #rexsoka #star wars au

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