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sp0o0kylights · 9 months

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Part Two / Part Three

Ao3

It's 8:45 am.

The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.

It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?

No one was complaining.

They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves.

It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.

He doesn't mind it.

Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.

This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.

Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.

(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise.

The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)

As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.

It was a nice little system that worked for them.

A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.

This was not unusual.

Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face.

What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand.

The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.

Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him.

(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.)

"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it.

"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.

Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.

'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'

Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him.

"Mind if I have a word outside?"

Dammit Eddie.

"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely.

There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once.

"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. "

"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy.

Wayne stared up at him.

"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.

"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in."

If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.

It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.

They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass.

Hopper really did let the kid off easy.

Wayne really did owe him.

So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them.

"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context.

Wayne hummed to show he’d heard.

“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.”

A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn.

“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.”

A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut.

"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?"

The Chief chewed on his split lip.

"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town."

Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble.

The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction.

How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird.

Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have.

Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab.

The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters.

This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around.

The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion.

(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)

"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it."

"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed.

"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.”

This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going.

Hopper took a breath. Than another.

A third.

It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life.

"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.

Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions.

“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.”

Wayne sucked in a breath.

"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.

It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy.

Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t.

Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.

He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there.

(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.)

“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.”

His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest.

“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.

“A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.”

Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie.

“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.”

“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished.

“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.”

'Ain’t that the damn truth.'

“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind.

This one, he figured, was the most important.

“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.”

Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one.

It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.

Except, apparently, Steve Harrington.

“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.

If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.

No point in it.

“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn.

“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say.

Once again, Wayne waited him out.

“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.”

A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.

How they almost hadn’t.

“Alright.” Wayne agreed.

Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.

He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy.

He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross.

Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer?

Wayne had a feeling it was needed.

#this has like t wo more parts #pre steddie #wayne as a BAMF #wayne and Hopper both as psuedo parents to Steve #ya'll are gonna have to put up with my weird ass jumping all over the place warm ups sorry lol #Gary's fourth piece is coming no worries #and then this will either take its place or the other one I have will #you CANNOT look me in the eye and tell me all the blue color workers arent aware shits going down #like 100% local crews took one look at starcourt and went what the fuck #nevermind you know the local power plant lol #and with demo critters running around its not like they were tearing through brushes and shit #your local hunters are gonna know somethings up #anyway #beat to shit Steve Harrington #my beloved #hes gonna show up busted to shit with a major grade concussion and Eddie is gonna shit himself #steve harrington #steddie #I spelled collar color and im not changing it #outsider pov #wayne pov #I will write the first person who knows where I pulled John from a prompt of their choice #catholic wayne munson #jim hopper

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penvisions · 1 month

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of beskar and kyber {chapter 17}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Din Djarin is not a remorseful man. Everything he's done, he's done for a reason. But he finds himself in an internal struggle as he tears through the galaxy for traces of you.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical fighting, use of narcotics, use of drugs, reader gets drugged, reader gets kidnapped, reader gets tied up, kidnapping, controlling parent, toxic parent / child relationship, toxic parent / child dynamic, din has a lot of feelings, din reflects on his time spent with reader, death, minor character death, infectious thoughts, negative feelings, feelings of inadequacy, issues with intimacy, religious guilt, feelings of religious obligation, religious contemplation, so much guilt for our tin man, violence, derogative language, insinuations of sexual favors, a few instances of shouting, din loses his hold on reality (1) time, references to past instances of self-harm, references to past instances of suicidal ideations, let me know if i missed anything please!

A/N: an all din pov chapter, baby! who's ready for ten thousand words on how this man feels? this was a fun different way to approach the story and i rather liked it even if i am afraid to post it. there are so many different interpretations of din that are all so great, and while this is my personal one for the character in my fic, i'm still worried about how it'll be received

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Mother, please.” You begged, voice absolutely wrecked. Desperation settled in your gut, making you dizzy and nauseous. The illness of it was debilitating even through the hum of drugs waning in your system. Sobs were wracking your body, exploding from your ribcage in painful bursts. You struggled against the cuffs on your wrists, the cuffs around your ankles, rotating them in hopes of finding weakness but they were strong. But they were made of beskar, strong and programmed to shock you should you jostle them too much. Using the culture of the very people who had meant salvation now for damnation. She had made sure they would hold you this time.

She just sat there, watching you from the chair by the door. Long hair pulled up into a knot atop her head, blue tunic and black trousers flowing and clean. Her hands clasped in front of her, resting her chin against them as her eyes took in the slump of your form across the small room. You were on the ground, legs numb from the hard, unforgiving stone underneath you. Boots removed and down to nothing but your simple clothing. She had taken the pendant from you, the one Din had gifted you in the wake of your confession to losing the one from Akiz. It glinted over her own chest, visible where she allowed it to drape over the front of her collar.

“Please. I don’t want to be here. I want to go back to the ship. I want to go home.”

“Oh no, my darling, you won’t be going anywhere near that disgusting ship again. That Mandalorian has caused enough damage, stealing you away after taking your fob. I still had to pay the Guild fee for your bounty. Credits you know we didn’t have in the first place.” She paused, her hands clasped together, elbows on her knees, and she leaned forward to rest her hand atop them. A wicked smile overtook her as she eyed you across the room.

“Luckily, I found someone who was willing to cover the cost and offer to take you as their wife. They’ve put a lot of energy and credits into helping locate you. They will be here in two days’ time to collect you.”

She looked almost mournful at the idea of you leaving so soon after reuniting. Of sharing you with another after claiming to do everything she had ever done to you out of protection.

“But he swore to protect you from any threats, from the Mandalorians that seem to be obsessed with owning you, harnessing your power to help them crawl from the cracks of the universe they ran to hide in when their planet was destroyed. This man, he’s from a very important royal line that is deeply rooted in the New Republic.”

“The New Republic is a joke, they can’t even keep their own soldiers happy, let alone protect anyone.”

“Hush now, darling.” She got up and the black tin she kept in her pocket flashed in her hand. You began thrashing even more so, tears cascading down your cheeks as she approached you. The click of the tin opening sent you back to every other time you had heard that sound in your life, eyes going wide and your breath left you as if you had been hit square in the chest. “The time will fly by with this dose and then we’ll be off to our new home.”

He’d been searching the city for days.

Despite the thrumming of pain through his head, his vision blurring, and the helmet resting too heavy on the now soft, new skin that was his injury. Tender fingers carefully spraying bacta and skin itching as the tissue tried to heal with its aid. He wished for your smaller hands to be the one caring for him, but he was alone. Alone with a fussing child that was beginning to use his powers to get his feelings across since he was still learning how to talk and use his little voice.

Not taking any time to rest, instincts telling him something was wrong, that something had happened. You wouldn’t just run off, even with what had occurred. At least…not for this long. He hoped. He…hoped.

Stalking through the various casinos and cantina’s, searching for any traces of you to be found. Even in the hectic atmospheres of the racetracks and brothels, of seedier bars and establishments you may have ducked into or been taken to by the force of whoever had stolen you away. Snatched you from whatever you had sought out to calm yourself.

He sat in front of the tracking fob given to him when he first took the job to return you to your mother for hours. Set it atop the control panels in the cockpit, helmet removed and head in his hands as he contemplated turning the device back on. He had scoured the hotels and seedier hostels with it in his grip, to no avail.

It was as if you had simply vanished.

Your smiles and laughter, soft sighs and teasing quips a figment of his imagination.

Made up in the loneliness that accompanied the type of life he led. Missions, jobs, hunting, tracking, trading in criminals and runaways for next to nothing, refueling the ship and hitting the ground running again, taking to the air and space again. And again, and again. He didn’t realize how tired and monotonous it had all become, despite the thrill of his skills proofing to be elite time and time again. He didn’t realize how much he had been missing out on until you threw it all off track. Deliver the goods and credits to the covert, ensure they were safe and protected, collect another job, hunt, track, kill, injure, collect. Broke the routine he had been so accustomed to with an utterance of his dying language. Rolling off your tongue with precision.

It had been striking. You had been striking and he had torn you down in a way he never wanted to, unintentionally with a fumbling lack of words. It was maddening, to search for days to find no trace of you anywhere.

There was no indication you ever existed aside from those left behind on his ship. The mug of caf sweetened with sugar and powdered milk at the table, the pack of your cigarras you always insisted on smoking outside while it was docked, the crate with your tools and materials used to make armor, the neat and organized labels you had applied to everything within the panels. The room he had set up for you….though you often split your time between his own and the hammock still hung up in the hold space.

He had left it all untouched, too afraid to erase the pieces of evidence that you were real. That you had been aboard his ship. That you had been trying to connect with him and he stumbled over his words so badly he made you feel unwanted on such a level that made you run.

Like the acts between you two had just been him seeking out pleasure with no real intent other than that behind them. The thought that you must’ve felt like he was just like every other person who had ever used you made his stomach turn and bile burn in his throat. Only his ploys had been steeped in honey and saccharine promises. He had frozen, the words he wanted to whisper to you lost in the panic of the moment, of wanting exactly what you were asking for. It had all been so overwhelming. It had been so real, felt so real, and it had been a jarring realization.

That he had wanted to remove his helmet and give into your request.

Despite the Creed he swore his life to. Despite the commitment he had made to you that would allow for him to do so in time.

But now it was too little too late.

After the third day, he was beginning to think you weren’t merely taking some time to yourself…

Maybe he was foolish to think he hadn’t messed up so monumentally that you had found a way off world and run even further from him. But he knew you weren’t the type of person to do that. To him, to ad’ika.

Burc’ya. Friend.

Ner kar’ta. My heart.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. I love you.

Vencuyot riduur. Future husband.

You wouldn’t have run from him to that degree, loyal and devoted. Loving and caring, kind hearted at the very core of who you were. Even despite the tragedies and ill-natured things you had been subjected to in your life. Good. Too good, for someone like him.

He was beginning to think something had happened.

But without the aid of your communication, vambraces still set atop the makeshift table along with your main bag and armor, he had no way of knowing for sure. Just the niggling feeling in his gut that was burrowing deeper by the second.

He sent a transmission to Karga, asking if there was any news of your arrest before deeming the planet a lost cause and raising the ramp. He took the Crest up up up and into the air, helmet scouring the shrinking planet all the while, feeling an ache in his heart that he didn’t think he would ever get used to.

He had to push through, he had to focus. You needed someone to help you, wherever you had gone or been taken. You needed him to find you. He needed to find you.

Ad’ika had been in a constant flux from eerily silent to wailing as loud as his little lungs would allow, wide eyes brimming with tears the longer you were gone. Din had taken to wrapping the child up in the cloak he had bought you, securing it with the metallic flower latches and laying him down in the cot alongside him. Never sleeping, only laying down intermittently to pass the time. Rest evading him as his mind began to think of the things that could’ve happened to you.

Tatooine was his first stop, no response from Karga when he docked and secured the ship in Pelli’s hangar. Much to his disappointment, the travel through hyperspace hadn’t been too long, so a response was wishful thinking on his part. Spurred on by the endless possibilities of what happened consuming him.

He was silent as he handed her the credits from your bag, loathing that he needed to use them as he lacked his own. Even now, gone from him and hurt, you were still offering him help. Providing for him the way he should be for you, the way that he wanted to. The reality of having asked you to travel with him weighing heavily on his mind. Once ad’ika is settled with those who could train him, Din would need to take up working with the Guild full time again to provide for the covert. A life steeped in danger and endless threats, a life you already had far too much experience with. Perhaps…perhaps he could secure a tract of land somewhere, a place to return to after jobs. A nice cabin surrounded by trees and an endless supply of anything you may need. Or perhaps a shop front on Nevarro, for you to sell you wares. He would take extra jobs to provide that for you, work his hands to the bone and until he could barely move for how exhausted he was.

Because you deserved it. You deserved to be happy and he was beginning to think that may not be with him. Not if he was constantly away or you were left on the ship for days, weeks, months at a time while he tracked down his quarries. Constantly traveling through space and left to handle the ship alone.

Would…would you even want that type of life?

Wouldn’t it be another type of imprisonment, no reward but a tired and aching man in the bed beside you only a handful of nights? Half of him given to you, half devoted to his Creed.

I’d rather be dead than be someone’s captive again. Even if it’s as one to you, jatne vod.

Thoughts consuming him, there was no argument from him as he left ad’ika with her to look through the city.

The lack of your figure emerging from the ship didn’t prompt any questions from her, though he could sense them on the tip of her tongue and the front of her mind.

He set out, looking for the woman who you made friends with the last time he had landed the Crest on the sandy planet.

He found her, in the middle of a scuffle in the marketplace over a stolen loaf of bread. A child whose stomach was caved in and bruises over their arms visible when the sleeves of their tunic rose up. The vendor wanted the child to be taken in, punished for the attempted theft. But he could see how conflicted Sioban was with following that heated demand.

Diffusing the situation, seeing the form he had first encountered you in mirrored in the small child, he stepped forward and offered a handful of credits to the vendor.

“To cover the bread for the child, two loaves and that chunk of cured meat.”

“Sir, this has nothing to do with you. You don’t need to put yourself out for that ungrateful litte-“

“Take it.” Din’s head throbbed, exhausted and anxious, just trying to do something good. Something you would do. They were your credits, and he wanted to do this. At the fixed stare of his visor, the vendor released the child from her tight grip, nearly throwing the small frame to the ground as she did. Roughly, she gathered the loaf that had started the whole ordeal, a second one, and the wrapped meat. Holding it out for him to take.

Sioban ushered everyone who had stopped in their tracks to go about their business. Once the small crowd cleared and attention was diverted, Din turned to the child and crouched down.

“Here, for you.” He kept his voice a hush, not wanting the modulator to manipulate his voice into a threatening or menacing tone it tended to do, taking the emotion from his words more often than not.

“T-thank you, sir.”

“Now go and stay out of trouble.”

An enthusiastic nod and they were running off, disappearing down the street.

“Well, well, well. Mando is a softie afterall.” Sioban’s voice lightly teased. “Where’s Sarad and the baby? Or is this a solo trip this time around?”

“I would like to speak with you, if you have the time.”

“Something happened.” The woman’s features hardened, a slant to her brow as her eyes looked him over before settling on the visor. She didn’t look or feel like a threat, something proven further by your willingness to share a table with the woman. But Din was fighting his instincts, the ones telling him to chase chase chase, even with no actual leads as to where you had gone. And this woman might hold some clues or at least be able to offer Din a higher chance if he had someone on the ground of the planet you had run to once already.

“Yes.”

The conversation with Sioban hadn’t yielded any answers. If anything, it solidified that Din had absolutely no idea what to do. With no other leads, he fell back on his tracking tactics, searching for your last place of known residence.

Once back to the ship, he silently takes ad’ika from Pelli. Not responding to the looks or faint questioning he knew was on the woman’s mind. A nod, a formal shaking of the woman’s hand and he was guiding the Crest back into the air to comb over the planet as best he could. You had said you thought you were here when he took you from that compound, a home you had hidden away on this world after running from your mother years ago.

It took him nearly a week’s worth of days of flying low to the land before he caught sight of a structure.

Mind working overdrive as he strained his eyes through the visor with aided mechanics for any sign of life amid the vast stretch of the desert landscape. Sectors outlined and crossed out when they didn’t yield anything. Errant skeletons of a bantha, the Jawa’s traveling across the land, and Tusken settlements the only markers of time passing and the ship moving moderately along.

And then, suddenly.

There were two tall spires beside a moderate looking abode. Moisture farming equipment, the same you had told him about replacing shortly before your capture. Was all he had to go off of, a small conversation that you hadn’t expanded on in your time with him.

The structure was like most far out into the desert, mostly underground with a rounded and smooth stone roof, a door with a protected entrance to prevent sand from building up right up against it. It was modest, big enough for one person to have plenty of room. Abandoned, by his guess, the stone of the building chipped in places from sand and the spare storm weathering it down.

It had to be yours, it had to be, please let it be yours were his thoughts as he broke the lock still activated, ensuring the structure was protected even out in the middle of nowhere. Mos Eisley was an entire day’s travel away. Even more so in any other direction to another of the planets handful of moderate settlements. A good place to hide. Visibility on your side. A lonely place to hide.

I’ve always loved the forest.

The memory how your tired and injured features had lit up at the sight of Sorgan visible through the glass of the cockpit, the breathy gasp that had fallen from your lips sprung to his mind. You had been so calm, despite the precarious circumstances, stealing away moments to brush your bare fingers along the leaves reaching out from low branches.

You must’ve been miserable here. The land so dry and empty, the closest mountain ridges barely visible on the horizon. Even those were spotty with tangled roots that held little to no greenery. Sentencing yourself to the wasteland to live out your life in fear and comfortability, hoping the environment you weren’t fond of would throw those searching for you off your trail.

Glancing behind him, Din watched as ad’ika slowly made his way down the ramp. Little sounds falling from his lips as he took in the sight of his guardian in front of a new place he didn’t recognize. Raising his hands as he got to the bottom of it, Din retreated to it and lifted up the small child, holding him tight in the crook of his elbow as he descended down the few steps and through the open door.

It was dark inside, no lights on or power source even charged, no doubt. But definitely abandoned. Sparingly decorated, though he could feel that it was once your space. The kitchen equipped with a fancy caf maker, ample kitchen wares, potted plants and herbs that had long died and dried in the sunlight coming in through the windows. There was an impressively organized wall of shelving right above a desk in the large main room, presumably where you would work on crafting armor. The only way to support yourself in such an environment. Most likely making trips into town in order to sell or trade.

There were three interior doors at the back of the structure. A heavy duty one off to the side of the kitchen. That one contained a greenhouse set up, or as close to one as you could imitate underground and on so hot a planet. There was a large panel of controls beside the door on the inside, telling Din of the way you controlled the pressure and moisture of the room One to a storage room, more evidence of your time spent here. Full of large bins and crates, evidence of grains and dried food. Of the pieces of armor you lovingly and intricately crafted.

One to a fresher, the last to what was once your bedroom.

Underneath the bed is where he found it, with the aid of his helmet. The massive rug that took up most of the bedroom floor hiding it in plain sight. The trap door exposed when he moved the bed and folded the rug up.

It wasn’t secured with anything that he could see, even with the aid of his helmet. It looked just like score marks dug into the stone ground. And he recalled the way you could effortlessly wield the Force, the power you shared with the child. Perhaps you hadn’t wanted a way for anyone else to access what lay hidden beneath, using it to manipulate the hideaway you felt you needed even this deep in the desert alone. Forever paranoid and fearful of being tracked down and found out.

Sighing, Din tried to think of a way to break the barrier, knowing he needed to search the entire home.

“Ad’ika,” He called, turning to see the child had situated himself on the couch in the main room. Eyes wide as he toyed with a broken collar. He wondered if it had belonged to a creature you had cared for, run away or long since passed now. “Ad’ika, can you help me?”

Leaning down to pick up the occupied child, Din pointed a gloved finger to the marks in the stone ground.

“Ad’ika, see these lines?” A gurgle of acknowledgement, the tilting of his head. “There’s a door here, that leads underground. Mesh’la put it there, do you think you can open it?”

Din set him down in front of it, crouching down to hold his hand out in front of them both and mimic the way you would twist your hand in concentration to harness your powers.

“Just like Mesh’la, like how you take the handle from the lever in the control room?”

Wide eyes looked up at him, curiosity in them at the man’s words.

If this didn’t work…he could always resort to using the charges fastened to his belt. Force a way through the entrance, but he didn’t want to damage the space or the room below.

But the crackling of stone was sharp as it sounded in the air. The child’s small face scrunched up in concentration, his eyes clenched shut as he harnessed his powers. Quiet grunts falling from his mouth as he struggled to move the stone.

But it was working. It was opening, the telltale sounds of stone grinding on stone as the thick slab that acted as an entrance was pried open.

“Good job, ad’ika! It’s working!” He couldn’t contain the pride in his voice nor the rapid beating of his heart. Positive that any answers he was in search of would dwell below. He moved forward to help lift the heavy slab, shoving it along the floor and revealing a dark space into the lower level of the house.

Turning on the flashlight of his helmet, Din descended into the bowels of your hideaway. Dust enveloped him as he waved at ad’ika to stay put on the higher level until he cleared the space.

It was a large room, the same size as the whole top floor of the structure. Though it was only two rooms, a living room and a bedroom with a second fresher. The living room held floor to ceiling bookcases, filled to the brim with physical books. A holo net in front of the couch, signs that you spent just as much time down here as you did in the rest of the structure if not more. He hated the realization that you felt the need to hide away even this far out in the desert, this far out in the galaxy. Forever paranoid and holding the fear that you would be tracked down. And he had been a part of that fear, he had been one of the many who had sought you out.

The crate in the bedroom caught his eye, beckoning him forward. Not only because of the hefty locks sealing it shut but because there was energy around it that made the tips of his fingers tingle. Much like his blood when he felt your body pressed up to his own, the sacrament of your trust in him personified.

Walking toward it, the small baby curls of his recently trimmed hair prickled on the back of his neck.

Snapping the thick locks, he kneeled on the ground in front of it and slowly lifted the lid.

His breath left him as the visor set into a midnight blue, almost black Mandalorian helmet peered back up at him. It was in pristine condition, as if it had merely been taken off for the man who he suspected wore it to partake in a quick meal and not the reality that it had been stored here for who knows how many years untouched. He hadn’t asked if you had kept it, after the man’s death, but he was felt the question bubble on his tongue more than once. But the answer was sitting obvious and blaring right in front of him.

Lifting it revealed the very same pendant he had gifted to you, attached to a thinly crafted beskar chain.

The one you had said you intended to show him in order to garner his help, to let him know of your connection to his way of life. Lost in the scuffle of being taken off guard and whisked away, but it was here, awaiting your return. He wondered why you hadn’t worn it that day, the day that set your paths up to cross. With slow movements, he began to remove the cowl about his neck, laying it down beside him.

With a held breath, he reached for the pendant and fastened it around his neck, tucking it beneath his shirt and layers of protective ware fronted by his cuirass. The cowl going back in place.

Beside the helmet…beside it was a neatly arranged line of metal hilts similar to the one you carried with you at all times. Similar to the one you had tried to buy your freedom from him with when first meeting.

Similar but not identical.

There were four of them. Lightsabers, you had told him they were called. That he now knew were an integral part of the creed you had been trained in. But the fact remained that he didn’t know the why of how many you had in your possession.

You had said each person similar in skill and training crafted their own, each unique and personal to an individual much like the helmets and armor Mandalorian’s adorned. Carefully picking one up, tingling traveling further up his arms and settling down his back, he tilted it to see that it did indeed house a crystal like your own. Each one had a different hue.

He decided to stay in the place that you once called home that night, locking up the ship after checking to see if he had received word from Karga. But when there were transmissions waiting to be heard, he secured the ship. His head hurting and his mind overwhelmed at finding pieces of you, proof that you existed outside of his memories.

Settling into the bed, he knew it was a lost cause as he tried to feel close to you. Reality reminding him you hadn’t slept in either of the cots aboard the ship in nearly two weeks now, years for the bed he now lay atop, cover bunched underneath his arms as he curled on his side and regarded the journal you left behind in your haste to run. Ad’ika resting atop the pillow beside his own, wrapped in your cloak as if it was the softest blanket in the universe. The child trying to feel close to you as well, missing you and growing more concerned each day.

Sleep evaded him, your voice loud in his head, the way you had sounded so devoid of emotion when he had failed to communicate with you. Tipping into different memories, the most prominent of the events back on Nevarro.

It rang in his ears, over and over, layering itself until it was a buzz he couldn’t rid himself of.

Ner kar’ta.

The desperation in your voice, the tears in your eyes, the way your hands shook as they reached out for him, how gentle they were when they cradled his helmet. The soft press of your forehead to his chest, to his helmet, to his hands grasped in your own as he lay bloodied and injured, barely conscious and so tired. So ready for death after a life that had only allowed him a glimpse of you. To ensure you could escape and continue to live, to be safe.

You had told him, as well as you could, what you meant to him.

Had shown him, with trusting him to press his skin to yours, body tangled with his own. Nervous giggles sounding into the air and seizing his heart as he wanted for more of them. Of the breathy sighs and sounds that fell from your lips as you let him caress your skin, the soft give of your chest, the plush give of your thighs, the velvet smooth apex between them.

Trusted him with the most intimate parts of you, parts of human connection. Even in the face of all that you had endured.

And then you has whispered it, half asleep and safe underneath him.

I love you. Future husband.

And he shattered it. With a foolish blunder of words he hadn’t been able to reign in, to explain himself and his own desires in a more coherent way. That he wanted you just as you wanted him.

Jatne vod.

Contradicted with the emotion bleeding from your expressive eyes, the firm line of your lips as you closed your mouth, resigned to a notion that you gathered from his stupid, ill thought-out words. From his lack of words. The way your hands shook for an entirely different reason, the way you shrunk into yourself, away from him.

And then you had been gone.

And it hurt.

He left ad’ika in the room, fast asleep atop the pillows.

Removing his helmet and hanging his head in his hands, he settled on the couch. For the first time in a long time, the Mandalorian known for being so ruthless, for being so focused and emotionless behind his helmet, cried.

“Mando, I’ve received word. But it is best relayed in person. I will be awaiting your arrival.”

Ad’ika was not having a good day, he didn’t want to leave the house he could feel your presence in. He had already wailed and shook his tiny fists as Din tried to pick up him. Causing the migraine addled man to lose his grip at the sharp pierce of his cries to his head. That had only resulted in the thump of ad’ika’s bottom on the stone floor and more crying.

Din already felt bad enough, but he felt like the worst guardian in the galaxy for dropping his foundling, for not being able to manage his own pain and discomfort to care for another’s. A pang of fear floods him, igniting his instincts in a way it rarely did. And he froze in his crouched position, having been about to scoop ad’ika up.

The child must’ve shared in his foreboding, a shriek sprouting from him and causing Din to cradle his head as best he could with the helmet, knees kissing the floor harshly as he fell to them.

Something was wrong. Low in his gut, unease bubbled and stuck to his insides.

He felt like he was going to be sick, his head throbbing, pain prickling from the healing scar at the back.

And then his body felt numb, like all sense of command was not his to control and his vision blacked out.

Nevarro loomed in the distance, approaching fast. The ship rattled at the harsh landing, Din’s steps hard and fast as he disembarked, the ramp closing behind him as he crossed the new archway that had been erected in the time he had been away. Months had gone by, one with you and one without. Having to spend another week resting in the place you once called home. He had fallen ill, though of what he didn’t have an answer. Only that his head felt like he had been electrocuted and his limbs had been hard to control. Adi’ka too, had been lethargic, crying out long into the night every time the suns had set and darkness took over the planet. The search for you stretching far too long, anxiety thrumming over his skin.

Karga was in the reconstructed city hall, reading over something laid out on the table when the door boomed open, revealing the determined figure of Din, a secretary behind him frantically trying to warn the man in charge of his arrival.

“Where?”

“Sir, please, you need to check in-“

“It’s alright, he’s got clearance.” With a nod the woman was closing the door behind her, knowing it was serious if all protocol was being ignored.

Din repeated his question, forgoing a formal greeting.

“Well, I wish these were better circumstances.” The man stood up, coming around the table and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest as he took in the still form of Din across the room. The wide eyes of the child peeking out from the bag at his hip, small hands allowing him to climb from within it and jump from the moderate height. He cooed, walking the distance to Karga and lifting his hands toward the man.

“I’m still trying to get intel on that. But I do know that it was her mother, who struck a deal with someone of the Guild. He…was here still when we took back the city. He had taken the transaction separate from the Guild, not wanting word of it to get back to me. To you.” He relayed the information as he bent down to pick up the small being.

“I’ve got him locked up, but he’s not speaking.”

“He will.”

“Mando-“

He was gone in a blink, stalking out the door and toward the prison cells kept on the lowest floor of the building.

The stone steps opened up to a line of cells on both sides of the long room, Din stopped in front of the only occupied one. Body buzzing with anger that the inhabitant had not only hunted you down and captured you but did so on the orders of someone who’s voice triggered you through a transmission. He couldn’t begin to imagine the visceral reaction you’d have upon seeing her for the first time in years, having entertained the thought of killing yourself in order to not have to deal with her again.

And he feared, heat catching in his throat as he felt the prickle of tears.

I’d rather be dead than be shackled for one more second of my life!

You…you wouldn’t, right? Now that you had him to return to, someone to rescue you from being stolen away from the life you had carved out for yourself. It had been so long since you had been taken, days, weeks, and entire month. And he still had no clue as to where you had been crated off to. It would be more days, more weeks, maybe another month before he could figure it out. Did you already seize an unknown opportunity, try to escape? Or had you given up, too loaded up with whatever drugs your mother and intended pumped into your system to make you compliant? Would you have taken the endless out of harming yourself, seeing it as the only option as he failed to come to your aid thus far?

Would you be able to sense the desperation and endless efforts he was putting forth to find you? That he was trying, despite the way he was still healing, despite the sense of dread that he would be too late?

Would you be able to sense his worry and fear over you having to deal with something you never wished for? A forced reunion with your mother, back in her clutches and control. A forced marriage to a man you didn’t know, the obligations that came along with that notion…the very same acts that had caused you to turn to self-harm in the past, the scars of which were displayed on the skin of your thighs, the same ones that he had run his fingers over not too long ago…

A man bound in cuffs was slumped against the floor, back leaning on the wall behind him. He appeared to be alive, though if his answers didn’t aid Din in his search for you he wouldn’t be for long. Giving into the urge to startle the unaware man, Din banged a fist on the bars of the cell. Jerking awake, the man’s eyes flew open and his chest heaved.

The second he recognized the armor, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“It was just a job, nothing personal, Mando.”

“Is that why you went out of your way to hide it from the Guild records?”

“You’re too self-righteous, knew you’d come after me for hunting the girl.”

The snapping of metal was loud, sickening as Din’s shoulders forced the control panel to bend and spark.

The whine of the door swinging open deafening as the man pressed himself back into the wall, trying to get up on his feet. But he was too slow, Din’s hands hauling the man up by the front of his jumpsuit and slamming him into the wall. A crack sounded as the back of the man’s head connected with the stone of the wall. A wail punched from his chest as he lost the air in his lungs.

“It’s too late, her mother married her off to some high lord. She’s probably already knocked up with his heir by now. Living a cush life in some nice palace far away from here.” He spoke unprompted by a direct question. Knowing that it was useless to try and lie to the Mandalorian.

The mere thought of someone touching you had anger swirling in his chest and stomach, igniting him in a dangerous way. You didn’t like people touching you, you didn’t like anyone who wasn’t him touching you in any way let alone intimately. His voice was low when he breathed out his next question, an edge to it that commanded the truth.

“Where?”

“Don’t know, I told her mother you were probably going to find out, track me down and kill me for the information. Don’t know why.” The man flipped the stray hairs flopping over his forehead away, teeth clenching as he recalled the way you had slammed him harshly into the side of the alley. “The bitch has a pretty face, sure, but she was a handful. Took a lot to take her out, but once I did, she begged so sweet for me to let her go.”

“Drugging someone isn’t something to boast about, it’s a last-ditch effort for those who don’t have the skill for the job.” Din’s words were a guttural sound, echoing across the floor. Blood dripped from the man’s nose, a vambrace knocked into it the longer the man talked. He didn’t know anything, but that wouldn’t stop Din from beating what he could out of the man.

“So what? It took her down and that’s what mattered. I saw her take down those Storm Troopers that overran the city, there was no way I was going to be able to without the hint from her mother. You’ll find another body to warm your bed. No need to fret over-“

Din’s hand was around the man’s throat in a flash, knuckles popping with the force. An ugly gurgle deep in his chest, body desperate for air, but he would never take another breath again. Windpipe crushing under his palm, Din took some comfort in the final, choked sound the man made before his body went limp.

Before it could even crumple to the ground, Din was walking out of the room and going straight toward the stairs.

“Mando, I sent communication to Cara, she’s-“

“I’ve got what I need.” Din was careful as he lifted the child from atop the desk where Karga had set him with a snack. Exchanging adoring coos with the tired little being. Making sure to offer the rest of the pack of dried fruit to the claws reaching out for it, a whine falling from his mouth at the idea of leaving it behind.

“Not so fast-“

“I don’t have time. I need to find her.” Din snapped, fists clenching and ad’ika ducking down into the bag at the boom of his voice. “She’s been sold like a slave by her mother.”

“I’m going with you,” Cara was firm in her decision, not wanting to take any chances of your distance becoming permanent. Of it leading to the demise of the person who you had begun to develop into that she had glimpsed.

“No, I have to handle this myself. I was the one who failed to protect her.” He moved to continue through the room, toward the door. But Cara was suddenly in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips a firm line.

“Mando, you’re gonna need help. And she’s important to me too.”

It was a quiet trek back to the entrance of the city, more ships having landed around his own. He was about to engage the ramp when two of the attending guards approached him. But they spoke with Cara at the sharp gaze of the visor on them. Another ship was offered for them to use, curtesy of the city and of Karga. Something a little smaller, a little faster, nondescript and wouldn’t give away the presence of an enraged and desperate Mandalorian searching for his partner.

When the argument for a different ship didn’t take, Karga approached through the archway.

Cara was hesitant to point out that the ship was as obvious as Din’s armor. A sign to tip off those keeping an eye out for threats. She had been quiet, sitting in the office with the magistrate and the child while the body of the now deceased Guild member who had hunted you down was taken care of. Waiting for Din to emerge from the containment level. But now she stood beside him, urging him to see the benefits to changing ships, just for the time being.

“Do we risk docking the ship in a hangar?”

“Yes, we lie about the model.” Din insisted, not wanting to leave the Crest behind.

“What if someone knows?”

“It’s an old ship, pre-Empire, no one will know.”

“They’ll run it through the system.” Karga spoke up, wanting to be a voice of reason for his friend determined to rush, to not take a beat and think things through. “Mando, you owe it to her to be as stealthy as possible. If they know you’re coming, once you track down where, they may hurt her. Take it out on her.”

Din closed his eyes, hand coming to the front of his helmet and over the visor. He didn’t want to part ways with his ship, even temporarily. It would mean he wasn’t surrounded by the things you left behind, the proof that you were real, had been with him, shared in a life with him even for a moment.

With his words more of a grunt than anything, he conceded, knowing the two beside him were just trying to help.

“What did you do Mando?” She asked quietly, the book from your crate in her hands and pages flipping as she looked through it. Hoping to find some light on how to connect with you. Din had gathered supplies from the Crest, things you may want once he managed to find you and rescue you.Your armor and more of your clothing, the first things he packed into your bag. An insistence for you to never leave the ship without the pauldrons again that he would plead with you until you conceded. People would be less likely to confront you with the tell-tale signet of a clan and the Mandalorian armor. But then again, he never planned to stray far from you outside of the ship. He knew you were capable, more than capable, but he…he wouldn’t be able to handle loosing you again if he was able to get you back.

When he got you back, he argued against the self-depreciating and negative thoughts that were attempting to consume him.

The ship was in hyperspace, a three-day trip ahead of them to make it to the mid rim coordinates of your home world. Neither had been there but knew of the inhabitants being an uneven mix of humans and a reptilian race. Oceans and sprawling fields of tall grass making up most of the environment. It was a moderately size planet, had seen bases for both the Resistance and the Empire in it’s time. Though the more recent had been the former. Most likely spurred on by your suspected return to what you knew in the wake of the Temple’s attack. An event in your life that you had yet to open up completely about, allowing him small glimpses before it became to much to talk about. But it was easy to connect the fall of Mandalore and the fall of your Temple being equally devastating, an attempt to take out entire cultures.

“I…I made a mistake.”

“…how big of a mistake?” Cara didn’t look up from the journal in her hands, not wanting to make the armored man feel cornered. Allowing him the privacy and space to turn away from the question should he want to, feel the need to.

“She fled the ship, to get some space. She must’ve been distracted, too worked up to keep her head up and on alert. It…I’m the reason she was taken.”

“Mando, you know that’s not true.” Cara tried to placate him, knowing he carried a lot of guilt over what had happened, whatever it had been to cause all of this. “She didn’t have her saber?”

“She does- did. She.. they drugged her. Like you said, it’s the only way to take her down.”

“Wait, this looks like Basic. They’re the only characters written differently…”

Din was hovering, making out the words on his own.

“Betrothed.”

He recalled the same words falling from your lips, the reason that prompted you to make an escape. You hadn’t wanted to be someone’s wife, someone’s property. The name was in Basic as well, something you didn’t want to forget lest they come after you themselves. A shadow of your past hovering over you and hidden in the back of your mind as you set out on your own, determined to hide yourself away to prevent anyone from having power over you. Of belonging to someone, anyone ever again.

And yet…you had so readily agreed in his commitment to you, knowing that was the only way Din would be able to share in your affections and wants. Mandalorian religion and culture strictly forbade the removal of one’s helmet unless it was with family, with a spouse, with children of the same clan. To do so outside of those conditions would result in the label of an apostate. Striped of their involvement in the lifestyle and Creed. It was a serious thing you should hold reservations about, with your past.

And while he hadn’t pushed the parameters of it….he had wanted to. For you, for himself, to share himself with you in the way that you had felt safe enough to voice. The realization that you had agreed to such an all-encompassing thing, being with him made him reflect. Why were you willing to do so with him, for him? He was just a bounty hunter, one who had actively sought you out and intended to turn you into the very person who had stolen you away. Sold you like an object to someone for their wants and needs, to fill a space in their life whichever way they commanded it. He had been of the same mind when first encountering you, seeking you out for a trade of currency.

Din was not a good man, though he tried to be for his people. But being a good man to his people, being the sole provider for his covert allowed him to be fast and loose with what it meant to be good in order to do so. What did it matter if the person whose puck he had was truly guilty of the accusations calling for their surrender if it allowed him to delivery credits and supplies to his people? What did it matter if the job warranted for the person he was tracking to be delivered dead or alive and he chose to kill them based on the simple notion of them running and it allowed him to bring a ration of meals to his people?

What had he ever done to deserve someone such as yourself willing to let down your walls and allow him entrance? He had been at internal war, whether or not to turn you in the second you spoke Mando’a to him, healed him, saved him from that second raging Mudhorn even when you had to reason to do so. You easily could’ve let the cut on his arm fester, let the rampaging creature take out his already spent form.

But…it wouldn’t have been easy, he knows now. How you cared for those around you: from friendly vendors to women you seemed to see yourself in, to children who are simply hungry and have no choice but to steal, to ad’ika in bounds and waves, to him. The constant swivel of your head while out in crowds and among people, sousing out threats and people who may be on the lookout for you. The swiftness with which you turn into a fighter when threatened and your freedom is at stake.

The thoughts swirled around and around in Din’s mind as the ship traveled toward your home world. The last known location of your mother and potentially holding clues as to who she struck a deal with. The now dead bounty hunter not having gotten a name, only concerned with the exchange of credits for your capture. No questions, no concerns. The quarry’s capture the only thing that mattered. The man had taken the job and completed it. Had died as a result of it.

Din had been like that too, not that long ago.

Could have easily been the one being imprisoned while someone who cared about a quarry sought answers and revenge. But he was the one realizing how fragile things where, had been since taking two fobs from Karga and altering the very meaning of his life.

Something about the wide, beseeching eyes of the child had activated his heart. Opened it up and made room for the small being to fit into. The uncertainty he had sensed from the child once its eyes had looked into his own, spurring a sense of concern from the armored man over its life well beyond the need to deliver it to the client healthy and alive.

“She asked for something, for a…kiss.”

“But…your helmet.” Cara weakly argued, knowing how strongly he adhered to his Creed. Not even removing it in the face of grave injury and offered aid. Not even removing it in the threat of death.

“I know,” His words were carried on a heavy sigh. He sat heavily in the seat beside her, the hull holding a small set up for longer travels. Ad’ika crawled from her lap and over the table, situating himself in Din’s arms, claws reaching for the helmet to try and sooth the man. “She- she called me ‘jatne vod’ before she fled from the ship.”

The cracking of his voice was not lost through the modulator.

“She must’ve felt so rejected, so unwanted. And I- I just stumbled over my words so badly she ran.”

“She knows you care about her, Din.”

The sound of his name from her lips, so different from when you spoke it, whispered it, breathed it, was too much for him.

“I really messed up, Cara.” He admitted with shaky words.

“We’ll fix it, I’ll help you fix it.”

K’ath was a beautiful planet. All endlessly sprawling ocean, sandy beaches, and small clustered villages.

Simple. Life here was simple. Crops being tended to, the oceans being fished in, no signs of the war other than an abandoned base on the edge of the largest cluster.

Din hadn’t ever wanted to enter the planet’s atmosphere, to step foot on the sandy land. It was a place that held painful memories for you, the crumbling of a life you had been hopeful to return to in the wake of losing everything that ever meant anything to you. A hopeful refuge after a life of hardships, but it had only provided you with more. The stripping of your freedom and the control over your own body.

It was simple enough to find your home, your mother’s home. Asking after the armorer, claiming he was in need of repairs. A Kath woman had been kind enough to try and use her broken Basic to tell them where he could find the store front, but that no one had been tended to it for some time now. That the woman who was known to run it could be approached at her personal residence. That she was kind and could be persuaded to help even though she’d long retired from working.

It was empty, signs of disuse obvious from the outside. Tall reeds of grass sprouting up at the foundation, the windows thick with grime. It was humble, despite the ways in which Din had seen you return from a shop front, a bag heavy with credits in your possession. A skill that you learned from your mother lending you a way to support yourself and indulge in all the things you had to go without for so long.

There was only one transmission on the communication radio set up in the corner that Cara had rushed to once the door had creaked open. Sand was collected in the corners, another sign that no one had occupied the residence for some time now.

“She’s on Maldovan.” Cara shuffled into the bedroom from the main one, aware that the man was focused on something she couldn’t see. He was as still as a statue, peering into the darkness of the doorway in front of him.

The visor allowing him to take in the room you had been held captive in. There was bedding on the ground, no frame for it to sit upon. A chair on the opposite side, close to the door. No windows, no other entrance or exit. A small room that was bathed in darkness lest someone bring a lantern into the room with them.

“I don’t know that planet.” Din admitted, shifting from where he was standing at the doorway of what had been the locked room hidden behind a large wardrobe to look over his shoulder at her. The shifting of it had popped a drawer open, revealing needles and syringes, vials that had been long emptied. All signs that this was truly the home you had been kept in.

“Is that-?”

“Where San was kept locked up, yeah.” He was surging forward, hands reaching for the chains secured to the walls above the bedding and he pulled. Using all the strength he had to rip them from where they were bolted, the wall cracking and splintering as he did so. The heavy chains fell to the floor with a clang, metal that sounded eerily familiar as it collapsed on itself. Kneeling down, Din reached for one of them, the cuff in his hand heavy and he sucked in a breath as he realized why such a simple contraption had been able to hold you: the chains were made of pure beskar.

Far too heavy for your drug addled body to fight against.

Programmed to shock you should you move too much, the sensors lining the inside of the cuffs telling him as much. With a shout he tore the second, lower set of chains from the wall, throwing them across the room in his rage.

The image of you shackled to the wall of this dark room, consumed with thoughts of ending your life kept him on his knees, forced his arms to support him as he crumpled to the ground completely. His modulator crackling with the heavy breaths.

Surging up, he activated bright flames to flow from his vambrace. Intent on tearing down the entire house to the last stud and beam. Cara was quick to retreat back outside, letting the man do what he felt was necessary. She stood behind him as he made his way outside, the structure entirely lit up and beginning to collapse in on itself.

Dark smoke whipped around in the breeze coming off of the nearby shoreline, doing nothing to quell the licking flames. Cara was doing her best to sooth an equally agitated child in the bad slung across her shoulders. Though she knew it would take time for them both to come back from seeing the evidence of your heavy past.

They watched as it turned from burning wood, the outer stone walls crumbling from the heat that had been trapped inside, to a pile of rubble and ash.

He knew it was against the Creed, that it was a sin to leave behind something of his people. But the beskar that had contained you glowed hot amongst the ash, left behind as he walked away from the plot of land and back to the ship.

“The holonet has little information on Maldovan. Citing that it’s a desert planet with white sands, crystalline oceans that bring in a lot of visitors.” Din announced as he exited the control room, the ship constructed of only that and one other room off the hold space. One level, but enough for them to be comfortable traveling. Cara had tried to get Din to retire to the room once they returned to the ship and left K’ath behind, but he had insisted he was fine. Though the door to the cockpit had been closed and locked for hours now, well into the trip since the ship had been jumped into hyperspace.

“And their walled city.” Cara added, as she brought up a hologram of the planet to life from her cuff. She had reached out to Karga, asking him for any aid he had to provide them on the place they were traveling to.

“Yes… and if her mother knows about you then it will be hard to make a plan. Your armor isn’t exactly common and I’m sure she’s told the royal guard to keep an eye out for you.”

“Haran.” He cursed, knowing Cara’s words were true.

Shit.

It was entirely possible, and he wouldn’t put it past the woman he personally knew nothing about, going off of the words of her that you had shared with him. But surely the only city on the planet wouldn’t go out of their way to screen the many tourists that sought out the picturesque world.

Time seemed to be moving slowly and far too fast all at the same time. Thoughts continued to consume Din, all the possibilities of what could occur, what had already occurred making him feel like he was a child once again who knew nothing of the world or how it worked. The ship’s system beeping before it shifted smoothly from traveling through hyperspace and back to sublight settings.

The planet in view was covered in vast expanses of white sand and bright blue. An ocean planet as much as a desert one. It was small, a moon to a larger planet visible in the sky even within the atmosphere as the ship descended. The only city was surrounded by a large wall, protection from the two outcroppings that looked to be a racetrack and the well-established tourist destination on either side.

Maldovan was known as a resort destination, an entire smaller sector off set from the main city. The sector looked to be abundant with hotels, spas, shopping, anything and everything to keep individuals occupied and a steady supply of credits flowing into the local economy.

Cara had suggested she be the one to guide the ship through the planet’s atmosphere, handle the communication with the intake group, and land the smaller ship into the hangar. She suggested he stay behind on the ship while she registered the ship, paying the station fee for several days. And when she returned, there was a frown on her face and a worried furrow to her brow.

The woman was frustrated, that much was obvious. Din merely watched her as she closed the ramp, turning to him and explaining what information she had gathered during the short interaction.

There were two glaringly obvious problems:

Everyone wore light, flowing coverings and outfits in order to gain access into the main part of the city.

And there were wanted posters depicting Din’s armored form.

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dividers: by the lovely @cafekitsune

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