Chapter Text
Since his last trip to Mandalore, Din had acquired a new-and-improved Razor Crest, courtesy of the New Republic. Following his adventures with Rotta the Hutt, he sent Bo a private message letting her know about his latest mishaps on Nal Hutta. She voiced her immeasurable gratitude to Grogu for taking care of his dad and insisted that Din show the child how to call the Mandalorians for help. Because Bo wasn’t always on the next planet over like the last time on Kalevala.
After defeating Moff Gideon for good on Morak, Din connected the Adelphi Rangers to the leaders of Sen’tra & Protection Services, Mandalore’s government-funded organization encouraging less-violent means. However, few of their warriors took an interest in openly working with the New Republic. Most preferred to stay neutral and independent, which Din could understand. So far, Din was the sole Mandalorian working closely with the Rangers.
Din probably should have been more careful himself. His recent missions were definitely not as peacekeeper-ly as he would have liked them to be -- despite his own insistence of that fact when he originally proposed the idea to Captain Teva. But the Twins threatened his son! And what’s worse, they took off Din’s helmet. Even though it shouldn’t have mattered because he walked both worlds, Din abhorred that it wasn’t done on his terms.
With his other face reveals, he was the one calling the shots. Had Din been any other Child of the Watch, the action would have stripped him of his Mandalorian title and dishonored him greatly. So in his mind, the Twins got what was coming to them for even considering disgracing a fellow Mandalorian. It was the principle of it!
While regrouping with Bo and a few others in Nevarro’s sector for a rescue mission, he picked up an extra passenger. Mayfeld needed to remain on the run and off the New Republic’s radar, which meant the man couldn’t easily join Din on the Rangers’ missions. Fortunately, his arrangement with the New Republic was flexible, so Din took a break from the independent contractor work. Instead, they picked up some bounties for them to go after as a crew.
🔫 🔫 🔫
“Put. Him. Down!” The Mandalorian spoke sternly, tone insistent.
Mayfeld hadn't heard that voice in a while.
To his own surprise, the ex-mercinary’s own protective instincts were kicking in, and he also wanted to shield the little green guy from harm. The subject in question was currently being held at knifepoint by a Class-One bounty hunter. Grogu blinked sleepily and stared around in a daze. Had the kid been at 100%, he could have handled his captor just fine, but the poor guy exhausted himself only several hours ago and was supposed to be taking it easy.
Grogu whined weakly, extending his arms towards his dad, and the bounty hunter’s grip on the child tightened.
“Do not harm the child.”
Mando -- no, Din; old habits die hard -- growled, his words barely audible over the pattering rain. It was a warning, daring the other to disobey. For now, Din’s hands were held up in front of him, showing that he wasn’t armed and still willing to bargain. Although to Mayfeld it looked like the arms were slowly lowering towards his weapons.
The humanoid bounty hunter said something in response.
Din seemed to understand enough because he snarled, “If you harm him, it will be the last thing you do.”
Mayfeld furrowed his brows and shifted his weight behind the Mandalorian, and the bounty hunter realized Din had backup. Technically, the hunter was outnumbered the moment it picked a fight with Din Djarin, Mayfeld thought with derision. The bounty hunter changed tactics and pressed the knife to Grogu’s throat, making the kid whimper at the sting of the blade.
In a blur, the Mandalorian brutally smote the bounty hunter at close-range. Din sheathed his vibro-blade before its lifeless body fell to the ground, leaving Grogu in Din’s arms.
Per the updated guidelines from Mandalore, they didn’t normally resort to killing on their recent missions, but clearly, extenuating circumstances presented themselves. Mandalorians protect their own. And quite fiercely at that.
“You alright?” the gentlest voice spoke from the helmet.
Even months later, Mayfeld still couldn’t believe that the other man could turn the killer instinct on and off that quickly. The ex-mercinary approached the pair and peeked around the man’s shoulder. The little creature nodded weakly. With considerable effort, Grogu squeezed his eyes shut, strained, and the cut healed… mostly.
Pondering the irregular pockmark marring the child’s skin, Din gingerly collected the knife off the ground.
The father tucked Grogu to his torso, wrapping his cape around them. Feeling warm and safe snuggled up to his protector, the child allowed himself to fall asleep against the armor.
Enveloping their surroundings with a gray haze, rain continued to fall. The skies darkened ahead of the expected twilight, and the deluge unsympathetically beat down harder. “Dank farrik," Mayfeld heard the other man muttering in displeasure as they trudged on to the Mandalorian’s gunship. Tugging at his neck, Din removed the cape and wrapped it tighter around the kid. The raindrops rapped audibly on his armor.
They’d encountered nuisance after nuisance today, so Mayfeld understood the other’s exasperation. He readjusted his own cloak to cover his entire being, but the wind pelted the moisture into his face anyway. Mayfeld grimaced.
In addition to the ghastly weather, once their latest bounty disappeared into the jungle, its thermoregulatory abilities proved a challenge to their hunt. Unfortunately, the infrared detector in the Mandalorian’s HUD was no match for their target’s natural ectothermic traits. Disgruntled that even his fancy gadgets weren’t enough, Din planned to use the long-range sensors on the ship to track the bounty. They were on the way there when the Class-One hunter struck; it must have witnessed Grogu using the Force earlier in the day.
Finally back at the ship, Din tugged off his sopping wet gloves with some effort. He then shook the excess water off his gear and disappeared to the med cabinet. In the meantime, Mayfeld figured he’d go prepare Canto Slots for takeoff. He wouldn’t mind using this opportunity to warm up in the small enclosed space of the cabin either.
When they became traveling companions, Mayfeld reverted to calling the gunship a “Canto Bight Slot Machine,” mostly just to rib the Mandalorian. Over time, he’d shortened it to “Canto Slots,” and despite fighting it at first, Din seemed to begrudgingly accept that this was a battle he wouldn’t win. The Mandalorian still insisted on calling it the “Razor Crest,” but Mayfeld was willing to bet a hefty sum that the new nickname would wear him down sooner or later.
The falling darkness and softening rain on the canopy signaled the passage of time. Eventually, the patter turned to periodic plinks. Of course, the man noted with annoyance, the rain only stopped once they got inside.
Several minutes later, Mayfeld heard steps on the ladder behind him, and Din remarked, “That was not a simple blade.”
Turning, Mayfeld studied the green creature from the pilot’s seat.
Grogu slept without the usual ear twitches. If Mayfeld didn’t know any better, he would have said the kid had been knocked out. As they both had seen, the actual cut stitched itself easily enough, but a thin dark line remained as proof of the lingering effects of whatever that knife was laced with. That poison coursed through the little one’s system.
“I used a decent amount of bacta, but the cut’s still not healing properly. Nor is he waking when I try to rouse him. Grogu knows his limits by now and that he shouldn’t overdo it, so I’m pretty sure this state is due to whatever was on that blade.”
With a sigh, Din lowered himself into a passenger seat, cradling the child to his person. Mayfeld regarded the man out of the corner of his eye and noted he still wore the sodden flightsuit and gear. His fingertips were an angry red.
Bo-Katan was right. With Grogu in trouble, Din became a bit too self-sacrificing.
Taking pity on the concerned father, Mayfeld fetched an extra blanket and wordlessly dropped it on the man’s lap.
With a sweep of cloth, Din cocooned himself and Grogu, and Mayfeld could have sworn he heard a shudder. The ex-mercinary rolled his eyes, hiding a lighthearted smile. A parent should take care of themselves first!
“Thanks.”
The Mandalorian never let Mayfeld fly his new hunk of junk, but apparently, today was the day he didn’t give a kriff. Sensing the mood, Mayfeld tentatively asked, “so… where to?”
“I don’t care,” but after a glance at the star map, Din added, “Actually, Ord Mantell. That way, we’re near a trading port if need arises.”
And off they went, their elusive bounty momentarily forgotten.