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The bounty was supposed to be an easy catch. It wasn’t supposed to turn into a horrible nightmare.
And yet.
That’s what is happening.
He doesn’t know when, but at some point in the last half hour of chasing after the bounty, first to the edge of town and then into the jungle that lay outside, he’d been hit with something. Something that was knocking him out on his ass. It was some sort of poison, that he knew. He felt like his skin was on fire and his head was foggy. His armor felt more like bricks that were tied to his person, pulling him deep underwater, instead of the layer of protection that they usually left him feeling.
Luckily he could still follow the bounty through the trees, but only by tracking their heat signatures. He knew they had the upper hand, he just hoped that they didn’t realize it as well.
Never going after an alleged spice runner again.
The Mandalorians vision begins to wane the more he stumbles through the underbrush of the jungle, from the corner of his eye he sees a flash of a person, turning quickly he fires in the direction, but there’s no one there. Another flash of someone in the other direction. He turns, fires. And again no one. He dizzies himself spinning around, looking, hoping that someone will actually be there.
Stop it. Shake it off.
He tries to continue following the bounty’s path but he's confused, disoriented. He feels as if his skin is even hotter now, sweat beading on his forehead, dripping down, blurring his vision even more.
Leaning against a tree he tries to stabilize himself but the poison’s rushing through his body now. His mouth turns dry as his tongue feels coarse against his lips. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears, the thrum of it gradually drowning out the natural sounds of the jungle until all that’s left is a high pitched ring.
Blaster fire jostles him out of his trance, there’s a hit just above his position, it splinters the trees and wood splatters out around him.
The Mandalorian turns and fires in the direction the shot came from, swaying where he stands but grip never faltering on his weapon.
He makes his way over, hoping to catch the bounty unawares as he lumbers through the underbrush. Feet not as light as they should be, breath heavy, he fears he’s making too much noise. They’re going to get away. They’re going to get away and he’s going to be left here, poisoned and sweaty in this kriffing jungle unable to get back to the Crest.
Back to the kid.
Back to you.
Back home .
Blaster still raised Mando comes around the trees the bounty was hiding behind and sees them crouched down, their back to him. Their form seems familiar. Like he’s seen it before. Like he’s watched it, studied it, craved it before.
“Stand— Stand up.” His voice hurts , it’s dry and croaky and he hates the way he’s slowly losing control of reality. He takes a step towards them when they don’t make an effort to move, “I said, Stand . Up .” He has to support himself against a tree before his knees buckle below him, all his strength goes into keeping his focus on the familiar form in front of him and not on the fact that his vision is fading. That he is fading.
Finally— finally they turn, and he wishes they hadn’t. It’s you. Of course, it’s you. He could pick you out in a crowded cantina in the dark if he had to.
Why didn’t he recognize you?
But more importantly, why are you here? Why aren't you on the ship?
Are you his bounty?
No.
That’s not right. That can’t be right.
“Wha—?” Pain rips through the right side of his body, with a sharp cry he drops his weapon and collapses to the ground. Fire scorches through his veins and it’s hot, hot, hot. There's nothing but pain.
Always pain.
And then darkness.
——
In the darkness, he dreams.
He dreams of the brightness of the sun, the light that it brings, the warmth of its touch, the life it gives. He dreams of the inky blackness of space that swallows everything whole. And yet, the light of the stars still pierce through. Still as bright and beautiful as they’ve always been. As they always will be.
And he dreams of you. How you are all of those things, and yet you are still so much more. You have to know what you mean to him. Right? You have to know that you— that you’re his home.
That you’re his life.
That he loves you.
Right?
Right!?
——
There's a faint beeping that draws him out of his dreams, but the panic that follows is what fully makes him conscious. The kid. He has to get to the kid. They’re going to get them. He attempts to move but his body rejects it, instead, he just lays there against the tree as waves of panic and anger roll off him.
And then it’s you. And you’re there in front of him and he doesn’t know how, but here you are.
You’re here—you’re here—you’re here!
You’re not an illusion this time. You’re real and tangible and crouched down beside him putting pressure on his wound whispering words to him that he can’t focus on. His heart is bursting with emotion he doesn’t want to give a name to. He tries to reach up to touch your face, to show you some comfort, to wipe away the tears that you don’t realize are falling. But he’s weak, he’s so weak. He just can’t.
He tries to speak, his voice coming out rough and broken, “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay I’m here, we’re here.” You croak out barely able to contain the worry and fear gripping your voice. Gently grasping his hand in yours you place it over his wound, “You'll— you’ll be okay.”
The child is with you, you placed them in the carrying bag, along with some supplies you luckily thought to bring, “You… you have to stay awake, okay?” With one hand keeping pressure on the blaster wound, the other searches through the bag for the bacta spray you keep for emergencies. The kid worryingly coo’s, ears drooped and big sad eyes look up at you as you rummage through the sack, “It’s okay. He’ll be okay, we’ll take care of it.” You attempt a smile as you speak in a frantic whisper, but you can tell your worry bleeds though and doesn’t do anything to soothe anything in either one of you.
Finally finding the spray you are able to close up his wound enough to make it back to the ship. With the baby in the backpack, you carrying the Mandalorian, and being on the lookout for any danger, you aren’t sure how you made it back to the Crest but the three of you did.
Once the Child and bounty hunter are set down you set the security alarms and hurry back to Mando to finish dressing his wounds. Gathering the rest of the med pack you settle down next to him pulling out a bandage to cover where he was hit.
Your hand rests just above the wound along his rib cage, even through the beskar and layers of clothing you can feel his body heat. If this were a different situation. A different time. If this man, who you have come to know, come to care about, wasn’t just on death's doorstep you might have been inclined to explore him. To see where he was ticklish, to find and caress and kiss all his scars. To see if when he blushed, did it run all the way down his chest or did it flow over the tips of his ears.
But you can’t. Now is not the time. And you don’t know if it may ever be the time.
You are about to place the bandage on him when his hand comes up to stop you, his grip loose on your wrist, ”I… Thank you.” You can tell it takes a lot of effort for him just to say that with the way his voice brakes.
“I wasn’t sure,” He clears his throat, “I wasn’t sure I would be able to get back to you.” His grip on your wrist tightens.
“To the both of you.”