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experimentalmadness · 4 years

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Cin Vhetin Ch. 1: Deserter

Heyo! So I decided to post full-text to my blog as well as just the links to Ao3 as I think this is a far friendlier way to post. I’ll do a catch up here of up to ch 3 and then moving forward I’ll always have a link + full text. Feel free to like, reblog, or reply, or go do so on A03.

And here’s the link!

Pairing: Din x OC/Reader (however you prefer to read it) No warnings for now

Summary: Trying to lay low after the imperial attack on Nevarro, Din finds himself pursued by a new and dangerous hunter. When circumstances force them to make an uneasy truce they discover that the two are stronger together than apart. Din sees potential in the hunter, but she has a few secrets of her own that threaten to shatter the fragile bond forming between them.

***

The nearby green-dusted planet of Raydonia was a welcome sight after a couple days of hyperspace. Pulling the Razor Crest into a slow dive to enter the atmosphere, Din Djarin hazarded one quick glance over his shoulder.

“What do you think? Good enough for a few days?”

One long green ear waggled as the baby gave a curious babble as it tried to lean over its seat to stare down at the approaching forests below.

“Yeah, me too.”

Bouncing from planet to planet wasn’t exactly ideal. Maybe he was just paranoid. Better to be overly cautious than risk ambush. The events of Nevarro were only a few weeks into the past, but retaliation from the Imps would be swift...if it was ever coming. He’d rather scramble their location as much as possible before beginning his next proper course.

Which was…what exactly?

Forests and canyons began to take proper shape as the Razor Crest pulled down slowly for a landing. There was a small settlement not far that he knew of. Backwater, out of the way. Perfect for a supply run and then back again bouncing through the Outer Rim until he felt secure enough that he wasn’t being followed.

The kid was babbling behind him.

Where did he even start to find where the child had come from? He couldn’t train it yet, the kid was way too young. He’d never seen another of his species before that he could recall. What was he going to do? Wander the galaxy asking if anyone had seen anything like it but older?

“Hey, careful,” Din grabbed the kid as it tried to climb up over the dash to lean against the window. He strapped it back into its seat even while it grumbled at him. “If you keep doing that you’re gonna fall.”

Once securely on the ground, Din switched the engines off and unstrapped his restless charge from his seat. The kid was off like a shot, truddling out of the cockpit. Din had to be fast to grab it before it tried to climb down the ladder. You’d think the kid would know by know its legs were too short to get down that thing. But everytime…

“Okay,” he set the child down as he opened the doors, lowering the gangplank. “Supplies, fuel, and then we’re out of here. Got it?”

The kid looked up at him with an eager smile, ears perking up, ready to stretch its legs. The minute the plank was down the kid was off. Din sighed. At least here there wasn’t much change of it getting into too much trouble.

***

The settlement was exactly as Din remembered it. Small, innocuous, but surprisingly well stocked from the steady cargo freighters that visited. Most of the residents had stayed out of the Rebellion, preferring to remain neutral and work the surrounding land. The Empire had never bothered with Raydonia much either. Almost everyone overlooked it.

And that suited Din fine.

It was, however, slightly more diversified than the last few times he had visited. Ex-pilots of both republic and imperial make had joined the settlement. Deserters most likely. Old loyalties didn’t seem to matter too much here. He clocked a few of the former imps but as long as they were content to ignore his presence he could tolerate theirs. Didn’t stop him instinctively reaching for his blaster when one drew too close.

“What do you want?”

“Uh,” the woman went a bit pale in the face. “You put in a supply order, right? My-my boss says we can send it to your ship.”

Din relaxed and gave the needed directions sending the skittish woman away. So not all the deserters were fighters here. That one was probably just some glorified bureaucrat. More annoying, but not nearly as dangerous.

The outdoor cantina provided a centralized location to people-watch while the order was fulfilled. The settlement was even smaller than the one on Sorgan, which was saying something. Across from the table the kid was banging its now-empty cup on the table. “You want more?”

He took the babble for a yes. “Stay there,” he said, taking the empty cup back up to the counter for a refill.

At the bar there was a small congregation of ex-Rebel fighters. One wore an old bomber jacket, the other a modified helmet favored by the X-Wing fighter pilots. Red and black, with a tinted visor grafted over the usually open, transparent one. A black respirator covered the ex-pilot’s mouth. Definitely fighters. Maybe Cara even knew them once. Neither one glanced his way.

His breath came up short when he turned back to his table only to find it completely empty.

Damnit, couldn’t that kid stay still for one second?

He slammed the cup down on the table and scanned the area. It couldn’t have gone far, not on those little legs. Careful to not outwardly project open panic, Din made a circuit of the catina.

“This one with you?” A raspy, modulated voice echoed out from behind him.

It was the pilot. They were holding the green nuisance in their arms. “Think he likes my helmet,” they said, plucking tiny claws away from the tinted visor as they tried to hand it off to him.

“Thanks.”

The pilot just waved him off before going back to her companion. “Keep an eye on it, easy to get lost around here.”

Din waited until the pilot was out of earshot before berating his charge. “Right, now that we’ve made ourselves known here I’d say it’s time to get going.”

The kid gurgled agreement.

***

The requested barrels of fuel and a crate of new supplies were already waiting for Din when he arrived back the Razor Crest. It took a couple of trips to get it all loaded up, and to keep the kid from trying to help by levitating one fuel cell off the ground.

With the doors sealed up, Din went back up to the cockpit. He’d fly low and land again some distance from the settlement before calling it a night. Just three days of that and then they’d go offworld.

Powering back up Din tried to take them out, but the engine gave a whirring groan in response.

What the…

He tried it again. His ship only gave a lazy lurch and a sputtering whine. Kicking the consol, Din checked on the fuel output. Empty. Impossible, he just replaced it. The kid gave a concerned coo.

“I don’t know,” he replied, exasperated. “Stay here, I’m checking the engines,” he stormed out of the cockpit before reappearing a second later, wagging a finger at the kid. “And I mean it this time!”

He climbed back down, running through a mental checklist of things that could possibly result in the fuel cell failure. He opened the doors and made his way over to the aft engine.

“Hey there,” a familiar, modulated voice said from behind.

He looked over his shoulder. The ex-pilot with the red and black helmet was there. They pointed up at the engine in question, casually. “Ship trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Sure you don’t want any help?” the offer was friendly, even if the modulator in their flight helmet made it sound disinterested. “I’m good with ships.”

“I’m sure,” Din snapped. “Thanks,” he added a beat later, turning his attention back on the engine.

“Been a while since I saw a Razor Crest,” the pilot went on. “Older model. Older ships always get engine trouble. Fuel cells go in, but you know the wiring can sometimes get loose. Sometimes a panel comes out, something gets in and it’s just done.”

Instinct made Din slowly reach for the vibroblade he had up sleeve, flicking out the handle so that it met with his palm, but he did not turn around, making a show of examining the engine instead. “You gonna keep talking until I let you help aren’t you?”

Something that almost sounded like laughter rasped out. “No, but I am going to need you to put down that knife.”

Slowly, Din turned about to find himself face-to-face with a blaster. The pilot stood almost lazily to one side, keeping him within their sights. “No hard feelings,” they said with that same constant disinterest. “Just doing my job.”

And they fired.

#The Mandalorian #Mandalorian #Din x oc #Mandalorian x oc #my fic #Cin Vhetin

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