Te Kelir At Oyacyir - The Will to Live

by MyDirtyLittleSecret

Summary:

Din Djarin has been hearing whispers for weeks from the Dark Saber. He refuses to listen. Worse still, he refuses to take up the title of Mand'alor. In fury and frustration, the Dark Saber decides to bring forward another who is worthy to wield it and reunite the Mandalorian people.

(Updates every Wedneaday and Sunday)

Notes:

I know I promised a sequel to my other SW Jaster/Din story, but my brain went "you know what would be more fun? Future forward Jaster fic" so here we are. Unlike my previous rarepair story for this duo, the entire thing is not written. But I have several chapters already done and I know exactly where it is going. I have a handy outline! XD However, because I do not have the whole thing written, I will be updating it every Sunday. Give me time to write and clean up each chapter to post ahead. The chapters will be somewhat short and varying in length as well.

Any parallels to other stories are unintentional. I'm just out here doing my own thing.

This story picks up at the end of TBOFB. I will be fiddle fucking with Season 3 of the Mandalorian, because I hate what they did with it. Fuck Bo-Katan in particular. Unlike my previous story, I will be respecting Din's Tribe. They still have problems but we'll address those.

Divider is from @saradika-graphics on Tumblr. The moodboard graphic is my own.

The title and quote comes from my husband, who is a combat veteran. He went through combatives, and this was the one thing they were repeatedly warned to guard against. Never under estimate an opponent, particularly one facing certain death and not ready to die. The lengths a person will go to survive are astounding.

Chapter 1: The Dark Saber is Displeased

The most dangerous person in the fight is the one with the will to live. - Taught in US military combatives

A sharp, startled gasp disturbed the dark stillness of the room. Din's eyes flew open. His heart pounded in his chest while his lungs struggled to steady his breathing. The lancing fear of the dream, no nightmare, was still embedded in his nervous system and branded at the front of his brain. The pitch dark of the room was almost jarring to the red and orange planet he'd been on in his mind before waking.

He'd watched a mandalorian in black and red painted armor, with yellow sideways triangles on either side of his karta beskar, be gunned down with no chance to fight back. It was a cowardly attack. A poor way for any verd to die, but particularly for this one. Din could sense this man's significance. It shook Din to the core to stand by, unable to help or move, while the verd died in the red mud and orange dust. More startling was the green armored verd that ran up to drop to his knees beside the dying mandalorian. Din's fists clenched at the verd removing the helmet of the fallen mandalorian.

The man's beneath the helmet was a mask of pain, blood, and tears. His black hair was blastered to his skull with sweat. His nose had clearly been broken more than once in his life time. His thin lips trickled blood at the corners. The sounds of his lungs drawing air in rattling wheezes were a death knell. The man wasn't long for the living.

"I'm sorry, Jaster. I should've had your back," The green armored verd sounded so young and disturbingly familiar.

The last thing Din remembered was the man's tearful, pained space dark eyes falling on Din. Watching the man take his last breath had shaken Din to the core. His horror had been what startled Din awake.

Maybe it was the utterly dishonorable way the mandalorian had been gunned down, or the stark familiarity of that name that Din couldn't quite place, but the dream stayed vivid in Din's mind.

It'd felt REAL.

Din had been there. He couldn't shake off the sick feeling settling in his gut or the residual horror that jangled along his nerves. He couldn't lay there a moment longer.

Din carefully pushed up to not disturb the sleeping child. Grogu grumbled only a little. He settled once the blanket was draped back around him. Din reached for his helmet on the bedside table. He donned it. The HUD flared to life. It was easy after that to kit up.

His hand landed on the Dark Saber. He nearly dropped it in surprise. It was hot to the touch and vibrating against his bare palm. Shivers broke out down his spine at the sudden whispers that tickled at the edges of his hearing. There was a dark, ominous tone to the voices. It felt like a warning was being given but he couldn't understand it. He quickly clipped it to his belt. The whispers cut silent when he took his hand off it.

He sighed in relief.

Every time he touched the Jedi kad it did that. He didn't know if he was losing his mind or if it truly was speaking. He'd asked Boba if he could hear it once. Boba had denied it and given Din a worried look. Din never brought it up again.

Din set the comm link on the bed near the child in case he woke while Din was gone. Quietly, the silver mandalorian slipped from his bedroom. He stepped out into the hall. Soft orange lights kept the passage bright enough without being to glaring.

Boba Fett had put a lot of credits into upgrading Jabba's palace. The dim, stinky, dusty place had been thoroughly gutted, scrubbed, and made more hospitable to non-slug beings. It now had a warm, cozy feeling in the housing quarters where Din had been given a room. It was still some what stark but Boba was steadily working on changing that. Murals were being painted down the corridors of Tusken myths and gods on one side, and Mandalorian geometric art reminiscent of stained glass and metal windows on the other.

Din ran his fingers over the geometric shapes, that were beskar hearts when viewed up close, painted on the wall between Din and Boba's room. In the center of the mural was the stylized Mythosaur skull, like the one on Boba's left pauldron, that had been created for the Haat Mando'ade. Boba considered it the sigil of his family heritage and history. He was proud to display it in stark relief, bold and black, against the light sandstone wall.

Din wandered through the halls into the throne room. He was not at all surprised to see Boba behind the great bar that dominated the right side of the room. Black Krrsantan was seated in front of the bar along with Fennec Shand and Cobb Vanth.

Din didn't question any of their sleeping habits. Bounty Hunters and mercenaries kept strange hours and when they did sleep it was rarely for long or restful. Such a life was not an easy, safe, or trauma free one. But it gave them something to bond over in the wee hours of the night. Din was not expecting to see Cobb awake though.

Din slid down to sit on the bar stool next to the Mos Pelgo sherrif. "Thought you had another day in bacta?" His eyes dropped to the prosthetic durasteel arm on Cobb's right shoulder. Guilt twisted in Din's gut. He doubted it would ever go away.

"I do. But I needed a break and some fresh air," Cobb smiled wanely. "A good ale helps sooth the ache too." He patted Din's arm. "Stop making that face, Din. I'm still alive. Gotta pay back the debt I owe to Boba for all that expensive bacta and surgery."

"I told you, no debt," Boba plunked down an ale in front of Din with a straw. "I owe your town for their help."

Cobb hummed, taking a swig of his ale, "Guess we'll just have to work something out, huh?"

Fennec groaned. "Can you please flirt in private? I've no stomach for it."

Krrsantan rumbled a chuckle while the other two men glared at her. Though neither tellingly denied her claims. Din smiled behind his visor. He fitted the straw under his helmet to take a long draw. His dry mouth and throat relished the soothing wet.

"What has you up, Din?" Boba asked curiously.

Din tapped his fingers on the bar top. He debated only a moment before admitting. "Nightmare...I think."

"You think?" Fennec arched an eyebrow.

Din hesitated. He looked around at all of them. He'd fought alongside each one. He trusted them with his life. So why not the truth of himself? "I have dreams some times...that are like... premonitions."

Every set of eyes shifted to him abruptly.

"Explain, vod," Boba crossed his arms and leaned on the bar top.

"I knew our village would be attacked before it happened. I woke up crying that night," Din confessed. "I knew Mandalore would be attacked. I knew about Grogu." He twisted his straw between his fingers. A moment of silence passed. They waited for him to continue. He sighed, "It's not often. Just significant moments that I only realize after or when it's happening. And it's usually to late to do anything other than acknowledge I knew it would happen. It tends to feel like deja vu."

"Sounds like you got a touch of the Force, friend," Cobb remarked.

"Star touched, or Manda blessed is what the Mandalorians call it," Boba explained.

Din frowned. "They do?"

"Did your Tribe not have any?" Boba frowned.

"No. I've never heard of this," Din's fingers squeezed around his beer mug.

"Would explain why you and your little one are so close," Fennec said in consideration.

Krrsantan rumbled impatiently. What's the dream about?

Din wet his mouth. He explained about the red planet. Seeing a Mandalorian get shot and bleeding out. Watching him die. He paused to glance at Boba before divulging about the verd in similiarly colored armor that sounded like a younger version of the Daimyo.

Boba's fists clenched. "Describe their armor in detail." Din did. A pained noise escaped Boba.

"Another clone?" Fennec hazarded to guess.

Boba shook his head. "I think your future dreaming is broken, vod. That's the past. It's already happened."

"How do you know?" Din asked, leaning closer.

"Because the mandalorion that you saw die was Jaster Mereel. And the green armored verd...was my father, Jango Fett," Boba replied, voice strained with emotion.

Cobb sat back. "Hells, man."

"You remember my chain code, Din?" Boba asked.

Din nodded slowly. Boba tapped a few buttons on his vambrace. A mini holo projector displayed the chain code again. This time, Din's eyes honed in on Jaster's name glowing there, whereas last time he'd been drawn mostly to Jango's name. Boba tapped again. A mandalorian with his helmet tucked under his arm stood there in the exact black armor as Din described. The man's jet black hair was short, wavy curls, his eyes were black as space, and his smile was bright and mischievous.

"Handsome fellow," Fennec murmured in appreciation.

"He was the Mand'alor of the Haat Mando'ade. Killed on Korda Six in 52 ABY. Died in Jango's arms after being betrayed and shot with an ion cannon fired by Tor Viszla, leader of Death Watch at the time," Boba explained. Boba pointed to the sigil on the right top of his cuirass with his free hand, while the holo stayed active on his opposite vambrace. "Jaster was once a Journeyman Protector for Concord Dawn, where he was born and raised. He was a true Mandalorian to the core, an honorable and fierce warrior. It's been decades since his death."

There was no doubt that this was the mandalorian in Din's dream. "Then why...?" Din stared at the holo, feeling somehow more shaken by this information and his own confusion.

He flinched at the sudden whispers that welled up and grew quickly in volume. On his belt the Dark Saber vibrated. Din dropped his gloved hand to the kad. He hissed in pain at the sharp burning sensation, even through his glove, and snatched his hand away. "The kark!?"

"Din?" Boba reached for him.

"Can you hear it?" He asked in alarm.

The whispers were angry.

You won't take your rightful place, Mand'alor. You refuse. None others are worthy in this time. We will bring him.

"Bring who?" Din asked, the voices like a crescendo in his ears.

"Vod?" Boba’s hand closed over Din's wrist.

We will bring him. He is worthy. He can unite our people.

"What? Who's worthy?" Din pressed a hand to the bridge of his helmet. Pressure was forming behind his eyes: a migraine the likes of which he never felt. It made his breath hitch hard.

We will bring him. Go get him. Go
Now. GO NOW!

"Go where!?" Din bit out between clenched teeth. The voices were a cacophony, overlapping and so intense it rattled through his skull, making Din curl over the bad.

You know where. Go NOW! NOW!!

The voices, pain, and the pressure abruptly ceased.

"Din! Din!?" Boba shook his arm roughly.

Din drew in a shuddering breath. It felt like a hook had latched onto his ribs below his heart and was yanking to hard to ignore. "I need to go to Korda Six." He abruptly stood up.

"I just told you Jaster Mereel is dead," Boba frowned, shooting the others a worried a look.

Din clenched his fists. "The Dark Saber wants me to go there."

"The Saber-!?" Cobb's brow scrunched.

"I'm going," Din started to stalk away.

"With what ship?" Boba's pointed question stopped Din up short. "Tell me what's going on or I will cuff you to the wall!"

Din sighed. He turned back. "The Dark Saber has been whispering for weeks. I thought I was hearing things. But I'm not. And it's been getting louder and angrier at me because I refuse to be Mand'alor. But just now," he looked at Boba, "It said "We will bring him and to go get him"."

"Who?" Fennec frowned.

Boba's mouth pinched. "He's dead, Din. And a sword shouldn't talk."

"It did. And I know what I dreamed," Din shot back. "I'm going."

Boba shook his head and sighed with exasperation. "Dinii...fine. Take the Slave but Fennec is piloting."

Din nodded. "Fair. Let's go." His helmet turned to Fennec.

"What, now?! Seriously?" She glanced at
Boba.

"Just bring him and my ship back in one piece," Boba nodded, waving them away.

Fennec shoved up. "I'll meet you at the landing pad, Din."

Din nodded. "Thank you. I'll be there soon as I get the child."

He hurried down the hall. There was an anxious knot in the pit of his gut. A sense of urgency now felt like it was hounding his steps. And that tug in his chest nearly hurt. He didn't understand it. But he'd gone on hunts with just as little to go on. That at least wasn't new but it was the strangest way he'd been given information.

Grogu didn't even grumble when Din lifted him to place in the pram. His trust in Din was implicit. It warmed Din to know. The child simply rolled over and settled back into a deep sleep.

20 minutes later, Slave 1 jumped into hyperspace. But it would be several days travel to Korda Six. Din only hoped whatever this feeling was would let up when he arrived. And he hoped that whatever was yanking him toward
Korda Six wasn't a trap of its own.

Chapter 2: The Moment to Live

Summary:

Korda Six was in no way a nice planet. Din had been to some skug hole planets. This one was definitely in the top 5 ugliest.

Notes:

First of all, thank you for all the comments and kudos! I am excited so many of you are excited for this story! It's been steadily eating my brain since the beginning of August.

Second, I apologize for some editing errors. I had to fix the main relationship tag (Thanks Sequeltolife!), and add the fact that this is multiple chaptered. XD Listen, I got excited to post this. I've no idea how many chapters this monstrosity is going to be, so please don't ask. I DUNNO!

Third, again, this updates Sundays.

Korda Six was in no way a nice planet. Din had been to some skug hole planets. This one was definitely in the top 5 ugliest. All of the plant life looked blasted, thin, and surviving out of sheer spite (which Din could respect). There were so many signs of damage from war that it was sad and pathetic. The beings who lived here had scoured and scorched the surface in great swatches, so nothing no longer grew. The red sun only added to the planet's hellish aura.

Grogu whined worriedly, face pressed to the window, while Fennec skimmed the surface. Din was watching the landscape speed by, scanning rapidly.

"Do you know what we're looking for?" Fennec asked in frustration after nearly an hour of skimming the surface. "Everything looks the same."

"No, just keep heading that way," Din replied curtly, gesturing vaguely west.

She cut her eyes over in annoyance. Din knew he was getting insufferable. Days in space pinging from anxiety and the yank of "hurry, hurry, hurry" behind his breast bone had made it hard to eat or sleep. He was exhausted and emotionally wrung out. He needed to purge this feeling before it drove him crazy or led him to snorting Spice.

Ahead, a deep trench was scoured into the earth.

"Here!" Din exclaimed suddenly. "Land here."

"Finally," Fennec grumbled, setting the Slave down.

"I'll go look. Keep the engines running," Din advised.

The assassin responded, "Sounds good to me."

Grogu let out a worried "mwep."

"You stay here, buddy. I don't know what's out there," Din scrubbed his fingers over the child's head.

The little green imp grumbled irritably.

"I need you to keep, ba'vodu Fennec safe, ok?" Din cajoled.

"Come up here, Grogu. You can help Aunty Fennec blast anything that moves," the assassin grinned.

"Patu!"

Din shook his head. The little green child truly did have the heart of a Mandalorian. Din headed down into the hull. He checked the charge in his blaster and that his vibroblade was tucked in his boot. His spear had been left with Boba, feeling like it would be cumbersome for this trip, and Din didn't trust simply leaving it locked in his room. He ran his fingers over the Dark Saber on his belt. It was nearly burning again with heat. Din snatched his hand away.

Hurry! Hurry! Go NOW !

"I am," he hissed at the damn kad.

He hit the ramp release and stalked down. Black scouring from blasters, ion cannons, and bombs marred the landscape. Din moved cautiously, following the tug in his chest. He scanned around. It felt like he'd stepped right into his dream. His feet followed a path through the trench up into the scrubby, thin forest he felt he'd already traveled once before. It was deja vu when he stepped out of the trees to the edge of another deep trench.

There was no one here.

The trench was a barren wasteland. A sense of death still hung like a pall in the air. Skeletons of beings lay scattered where they'd been killed decades before. Deep tracks from a tank were dried and cracked on the surface. Everything was eerily still.

He's coming.

Din stumbled forward, feeling yanked by the Saber on his belt. He picked his way down into the trench. Moments later, he stood over a spot still stained with the residue of dark dried blood. A man had died here. Din felt like he could almost see the Mandalorian's corpse.

A cold sweat broke out on his brow. Dizziness struck him, making it feel like the world was shifting from under his feet. Pressure in his head suddenly exploded behind his eyeballs. His vision tunneled. His stomach roiled while his heart raced.

The Dark Saber vibrated so violently that it shuddered through Din's whole body. He could feel the heat radiating off it. Voices: vast, angry, excited, and LOUD made Din cringe. There were too many voices to track what was being said. But there was a sense of urgency. Their volume grew in intensity until it thrummed like the beat of a bass drum through his whole body. His heart HURT.

Agony exploded through him. It felt like someone reached into his chest to the very soul of him. He couldn't move, breathe, or think. He was riveted in place. A pulse of pure power and energy burst along every nerve. It was like being hit with the highest caliber stun gun. A scream of pain was lodged in his throat.

Someone else was screaming.

Abruptly, it all stopped. Din collapsed to his knees like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He gasped, chest heaving to suck air into his aching lungs. His whole body trembled from the sheer force of whatever had struck him. He blinked through the tears in his eyes.

A body lay in front of Din: a Mandalorian in black and red armor. They were scrambling desperately at their cuirass. Their screams stopped, cut off, like they were bitten silent behind clenched teeth. For a moment, everything was still and eerily silent again. Slowly, that red-lined T-visor tilted toward Din. That was the only warning he had.

The verd rolled, pushed to his hands and knees, before lunging forward. It was all done in one smooth, swift move. Din was tackled onto his back in the dirt. His vibro blade was snatched out of the top of his boot and thumbed on. Din barely had time to get his vambrace up. The vibro blade screeched across his beskar. Din shoved back, scrambling to get up, but unable to do more than get to his knees. The verd was too quick to allow Din to snatch for his own weapons. It was all he could do to fend off the other Mandalorian's attacks from his disadvantaged position.

They grappled and wrestled across the blasted earth, red dust kicking up around them. Din couldn't get his feet under him. There was a ferocity driving the other Mandalorian. It was a feverish kind of intensity Din knew all too well—the desire to survive in the face of certain death. Din knew the fervor that came with personal knowledge. It didn't make it any easier to fend or fight against being on the other side of it.

It was everything Din could do not to be stabbed by his own damn blade. Fighting through the residuals of whatever Force osik that happened, had caused exhaustion to slow and dull Din's reactions. He was tiring. The breath rushed out of him when he was slammed down onto his back again. The tip of the vibroblade hummed at Din's juggler. He wheezed under the weight of the other warrior.

"I'm not marching with you!" The Mandalorian screamed down at him, bearing all his weight and strength down on Din. His fear and desperation were so powerful they seeped into Din and burned like acid in his mouth. "Not today! I refuse to die like that!"

"Jaster Mereel!" Din gasped out, lungs aching and arms trembling to hold the verd off. "Stop! I'm not here to kill you!"

That made the other verd still. "I saw you before I—" The verd's voice cracked with anguish.

"You died," Din stated flatly.

"You're not here to take me marching into the Manda?" The other verd's voice sounded strained with too many intense emotions.

"No."

A shuddering breath buzzed Jaster's vocoder. The tip of the vibroblade wavered. Some of the weight and strength eased out of his press downwards. "I don't know you."

"No."

That red T-Visor tilted to the side in confusion, "Who are you?"

Din stared up at the other Mandalorian. It made him cringe to give his name, but this verd needed honesty. "Din Djarin," he grit out.

One of Jaster's black gloved hands caught on the chin of Din's helmet. Din jerked. The vibro blade nicked his throat.

"Don't!" Din rasped, anxiety spiking through him. "I'm creed-bound!"

Jaster's hand stilled. "What group are you with!?" His hand tightened on Din's helmet.

Din swallowed hard. "The Way of the Mandalore...the Children of the Watch!"

"The Watch..." Jaster leaned forward, vibroblade once more a buzzing threat at Din's jugular. Jaster grit out accusingly, "That tribe's Clan Viszla that broke away from Tor Viszla and his Death Watch. Are you Viszla?"

"House, yes," Din answered honestly.

Jaster snapped, "Where are we!?"

"Korda Six."

"What did you do to me!?" That black gloved hand shook Din's helmet roughly.

Din's com pinged. "Din! You got incoming. Looks like a dozen or so locals. I'm coming to get you! Stay put!"

"We need to go," Din stated as calmly as he could manage. "I came here for you. I swear you no harm. Haat, ijaa, haa'it!" They stared at each other for a long moment. The vibro blade clicked off. "Hostiles are coming."

Jaster shifted to sit up, straddling Din's waist. He tapped the side of his helmet by his range finder. "I see them."

Din's gut did something funny. It'd been a long time since he'd had another Mandalorian on top of him. Never one that had beaten him so thoroughly since he was a teen. Heat bloomed in his chest. He breathed past the shaky sensation skittering through him. He wasn't really sure what this response was or what to do with it, but now was certainly not the time to address it.

"My weapons are gone. A vibroblade isn't gonna do much against those ape beings," Jaster shifted his gaze back down to Din's.

Din reached for his belt and unclipped the Dark Saber. "Take this." He shoved it into Jaster's cuirass. "You won it."

Jaster glanced down sharply at the chime of beskar against his armor. "The Dha'kad?" His hand closed around the hilt and Din's fingers.

Din swallowed hard. There were too many mixed feelings and sensations jangling through him. The roar of hostile ape beings shattered the strange tension between them.

Jaster jumped to his feet. Din was up next to him a moment later. He drew his blaster. His first shots dropped three of the advancing hostiles. The Dark Saber blazed to life, singing fiercely in Jaster's hands. He surged forward to meet the charging hostiles. His first swing took off an arm, the second beheaded his target. Din kept on firing, taking out those still further back, to keep Jaster from getting overwhelmed by their numbers. Jaster fought in close range, ensuring hostiles didn't get past him to Din. They fought in flawless tandem, natural and easy as breathing. Only Fennec and Boba ever felt so comfortable fighting alongside.

The screaming pitch of the Slave soared in overhead, 100 yards off the ground. It was as close as Fennec dared get without landing on top of them. Jaster slashed across the belly of one of the hostiles. It dropped with a choked scream. The Slave's ramp lowered, and it spun mid-air to allow entry.

"Din! Let's go!" Fennec yelled over the comm.

"Jaster! Airlift!" Din shouted over the pitch of the skirmish.

Jaster disengaged. Din grabbed him around the waist. The jet pack flared to life. They shot upwards, boots clanging on the ramp moments later. They stumbled into the hold. The ramp sealed shut with a loud hiss of hydraulics. The Slave shot straight upwards, slinging them backward into the sealed ramp door. Din held tight onto Jaster. The ship rocketed up through atmo. As soon as it hit open space, Fennec punched it into hyperspace.

Jaster yanked himself out of Din's hold. He fumbled to yank his helmet off. His black eyes were wild. His face was pale and sweaty. "I'm gonna throw up."

Din grabbed him by the elbow to rush him to the vac tube. Jaster dropped to his knees, soon as he was in front of it, and vomited. The Dark Saber and his helmet clanged to the floor. His whole body heaved. It was several long moments before he was able to ease back, drop the lid, and clear it. He shoved back to lean against the wall, panting and shaky. Din handed him a breath freshener, knowing the mint would help soothe the man's sick stomach, too.

"Vor'e," Jaster gasped.

"Guess I understand why you don't have a jet pack now," Din remarked wryly.

Jaster chuffed, smiling wanly, "Severe motion sickness." He swiped a trembling hand over his mouth. "Montross, my second, he left me when I asked for an airlift before I was shot..." He pressed a hand to his stomach. His breath stuttered. He swallowed thickly. "I died..."

Din nodded. "Yes."

Jaster turned glassy, dark eyes to Din, "I went into the Manda. I felt it. How...?"

Din shook his head. "I don't know—"

"Patu?"

They looked over.

"What...?" Jaster's gaze shifted down, and he blinked in confusion.

"Grogu," Din scooped up the child. "My foundling."

"Ah, hello, ik'aad," Jaster smiled shakily. "I'm Jaster." He held out a trembling hand.

The little green imp didn't hesitate to wrap a clawed hand around Jaster's fingers. The man's expression was one of such gentle warmth. Din's heart squeezed, and relief swept through him.

"We good down there!?" Fennec yelled.

"Yes!" Din called.

Boots hit the deck and came over. Fennec's face peered around the corner. "Huddle party in the vac tube closet?"

"Best place to make friends," Jaster joked.

She snorted, easing all the way into view. "Seems like I missed the invitation."

Jaster snickered weakly. He was still pale and sweaty.

"I see Din was right then. He had a reason to drag us to Korda Six," She remarked shrewdly. "I'm Fennec Shand."

"Jaster Mereel."

She nodded solemnly at him. "You look and smell like you could use a sonic."

Jaster grimaced. "Sounds wonderful."

"Din, let him use Boba's quarters. There's a spare set or two of clothes in his drawers. I'll dig out some rations," She stepped back.

Din pushed to his feet. He reached down to haul Jaster up. "This way." He cradled the child in the crook of his left arm. He showed Jaster to Boba's sleeping quarters, climbing up the metal rails, opening the hatch to get into the room. Jaster followed him up. Both barely fit in the tight quarters. Din showed the other man the pull-out lockers Boba stowed his gear and clothes in. "Take as long as you want. I'll use the fresher after you."

Jaster stood awkwardly in the middle of the cramped space. His gaze locked on Din's T-visor. "Thank you...for everything."

Din nodded. "I'll explain what I can later."

He squeezed around Jaster, climbed out, and shut the hatch. He walked back into the main hull. He took the ration bars and protein shakes from Fennec. She climbed back up to the cockpit. Din finally sat at the table with the child in his lap and began to relax.

Only then did he realize the knot of anxiety that had been living in the pit of his stomach for the last few days was gone.

 

Chapter 3: These scars don't lie

Summary:

Somehow, despite having been shot three times through the chest and gut, Jaster lived. Or maybe was reborn? He didn't quite know.

Notes:

Yeah, I'm upping my posting rotation to Wednesdays and Sundays. I have enough written that I've got a cushion.

I'm also using song lyrics for titles hence forth. You get a cookie if you figure out what song and band. ;)

Here is a great youtube video on the specs of Boba/Jango's ship, the Slave 1. Because if you're like me, looking at that thing is hard to picture the inside of:

 

https://youtu.be/SUtKgDWqUxY?si=PalEmZWsy6fNra2F

Soon as the hatch closed, Jaster stumbled back to sit on the narrow bed in the cramped cabin. He was still shaky and struggling to catalog everything that had happened to him. He sucked in several slow, steadying breaths. He slipped his gloves off to rub his palms over the rough woven blanket he sat on. He looked around in a slow scan to catalog every detail. He worked to ground himself to the present, and convince himself this was all real.

He was alive.

Somehow, despite having been shot three times through the chest and gut, he lived. Or maybe was reborn? He didn't quite know.

He remembered the stunning shock of pain that overcame all his senses as the ion shots passed through him. When he had fallen to the ground, everything had already been going numb. He would never forget the helpless feeling of knowing that he was dying then the submission to the inevitable. Even the mightiest warrior could not fight death when it came. Jango's final words of regret had rung heartbreakingly in Jaster's ears.

He remembered his vision darkening. Then there had been a presence that suddenly appeared. Another Mandalorian in shining, unpainted beskar armor that not even the red sun of Korda Six could dull the shine. A manifestation of the Verd be Kyr'am come to take him onward into the Manda.

Jaster remembered the myth of the warrior of death, who came to calm the dying and lead them to march with their ancestors. All mandalorians were told that fable of the shining Verd be Kyr'am with no clan sigil or color, because in death they were stripped of such things. All were mandalorians within the Manda and all marched together to guard over Mandalore and their people.

Jaster had believed that was who Din Djarin had been. He had no reason not to at the time. Jaster had felt his heart stop. Breath stop. Everything went quiet, bright, and warm. Peace had swept over him. He was going to be with his ancestors. He had regrets. He hadn't been ready to die. But there was nothing he could do about it. He only hoped his legacy aided in uniting his people.

Then abruptly as being thrown in an ice bath he was jolted back into awareness with his entire being in agony. His very soul felt like it had been on fire. The inferno reaching into his breast bone through his karta'beskar to his core to yank him out of the Manda. He felt like he'd been dead only moments, but he had no idea how long it has truly been. The same silver Verd be Kyr'am had been on his knees beside Jaster. And the intense horror, grief, and panic at his helplessness for having his life and his legacy stolen from him had welled up.

He had the chance to deny death. This time he'd fight. He would not go betrayed, shot by a coward, and left dying in the red mud hole of Korda Six so easily again. This time death would have to drag him fighting and screaming back to the Manda. He'd rage against the injustice and not go quietly like last time.

It wasn't until he was straddling the other verd and made him bleed that Jaster believed what his senses were telling him. That this mandalorian was real, and Jaster was alive. Not just alive but had won the Dha'kad!

Jaster took the Dark Saber off his belt. He held it in his palms. It felt warm and hummed like the happy purr of a great feline. The title of Mand'alor was now his in more than just name by an elected few clans. With this sword he could unite his people like he longed too. End the lawlessness, greed, and factions that threatened to tear them apart. He could bring pride and honor back to the mandalorion people.

Was this what he'd been brought back for? Had the Manda willed him to live for the good of his people?

He swept his thumb over the Saber's hilt, rubbing off the red dust. It made him distinctly aware of his filthy state. He had not one clean inch of kute, boot, or armor. He wrinkled his nose. He stood up to strip down. Everything was left in a pile on the floor to be cleaned later. He walked into the tiny 'fresher with its little sink, vac tube, and closet sized sonic. He turned on the sonic and climbed in. Every ache made itself known from the sonic waves rippling over his skin to slough the grim off him. He looked down to see three round scars marring his chest and belly where the evidence of the ion blasts remained. His breath stuttered. He pressed his fingers to them and flinched at the dull pain. Another scar was left in his upper left thigh as well. Proof that this body was his own and survived what had killed him.

When he stepped out he felt significantly cleaner and far more grounded within his own body. He found a tooth cleaning capsule, chewed that, before rinsing his mouth of lingering grit. Back in the cramped quarters, Jaster dug through the built in, slide out wall drawers. He found a set of worn, soft woven blue shirt and pants. He had to pull the drawstrings on the waist as tight as it could go before tying it. He'd always been trim in the hips and lanky. This Boba apparently was much stockier than him but thankfully similar in height. Jaster didn't want to put his filthy boots back on. He hunted some more until he found socks and slippers.

The bed looked deeply inviting. His stomach grumbled loudly. There was no ignoring that. He sighed. He opened the hatch before climbing back down into the main hull. This time he paid more attention since he wasn't desperately trying not to retch. To his right, three clear coffin like cages were stacked against the wall. Further past the holding coffins was the vac closet Jaster had used and a massive weapons locker. To the left, a bunk had been set up similar to the one in the cabin with set of half-wall lockers above it. Just past the bunk was a small table with three chairs and a little kitchenette with a sink, hot plate to cook on, small cutting board built into the counter, cabinets, and a fridge.

Din sat at the table, in the chair facing the cabin, with his child in his lap. His helmet tilted up to acknowledge Jaster's presence. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you," Jaster answered.

"Good. There's a ration bar and protein shake for you." Din nodded at the items on the table.

"Vor'e." Jaster sank down into the chair across from Din.

"My turn to use the sonic." Din stood with the child tucked in the curve of his left elbow.

Jaster stared blatantly up at the other mandalorian. Now that they weren't fighting he let himself fully take in the creed bound warrior. Din was perhaps an inch or two taller than Jaster. He was much broader in the shoulders and through the chest than Jaster. Though Din did have a tapered waist, a little thick in the middle, and some of the nicest thighs Jaster might have ever seen. The only splash of color on his kit were the blue triangles on his kom'rk. And now that he was looking, the Mudhorn sigil was starkly apparent on his right pauldron. Those big hands in their orange tipped gloves had held him so securely when Din had air lifted him to safety. A stark contrast to Montross. Din had called to Jaster and rescued him. Heat bloomed in Jaster's chest and spread into his belly like honey diffusing in hot tea. This mandalorian was quite literally his verd in shining armor, a handsome figure in unpainted beskar.

"My dirty things are still up there," Jaster said, apologetically, forcing himself to focus back on the conversation.

"You can have the cabin back to rest after I'm done," Din assured.

Jaster shook his head. "Aren't you creed bound? You use the cabin. I'm good to sleep here." He gestured back at the bunk behind him.

"If you're sure?"

Jaster could hear the relief in the other verd's voice. "I insist. We can talk after some rest. I'm about to pass out."

Din nodded. He began to turn away.

"I can watch your ik'aad, if you'd like?" Jaster offered. Din paused, t-visor turning to regard him. Jaster kept his gaze up and expression sincere. He meant the offer. "So you can clean up in peace."

Din glanced down at Grogu. The little green child reached out towards Jaster with a coo. Din shrugged and held him out. Jaster happily accepted the child. He'd always wanted an aliit of his own. He had been more than pleased to adopt Jango. Growing up in an orphanage though, Jaster loved children of all ages, the ik 'aade held a special place in his heart.

"Don't eat his food, Grogu. He needs it," Din warned.

Jaster tucked the child against his belly. "You can nap with me, how about that?"

Jaster pet over the child's fuzzy head. Grogu purred happily. Jaster looked up to see Din watching them. His orange tipped fingers curled inward towards his palms. Jaster wasn't sure if it was from worry or something else. He was quick to reassure, "I'll take care of him, Din. You have my word. Ori'haat."

Din dipped his helmet in acknowledgement. He turned and made his way up into the cabin above. Jaster quickly ate and then climbed onto the bunk. He curled up on his side with the child tucked against his chest. Grogu cuddled in. His quiet, thrumming little purrs helped Jaster's whirling thoughts go silent.

Jaster drifted off to sleep.

A quick sonic helped blast Din awake enough to get through the few tasks he needed to accomplish before getting some sleep. He dug through Boba's cabinet under the sink to find the dry foaming fabric cleaner. His and Jaster's kutes were sprayed down then hung in the sonic on the low cycle. While those cleaned, Din used one of the teeth cleaning caps and rinsed his mouth out. The disturbing amount of orange dust he spit out made him grimace.

The sonic finished. He pulled on his kute, and hung up Jaster's in the cabin. His and Jaster's underclothes and socks were the next to go through the sonic. Din wiped down his helmet while he waited. Once that cycle ended, he tucked Jaster's underthings into the man's kute. His underthings he left on the bunk to re-don later. Din slipped his helmet back on and put on his boots.

He would clean the rest of his armor later. They were safe enough in hyperspace. He needed to send a call to Boba.

Din left the cabin, and climbed down into the main hold. He stopped. Jaster was curled on top of the blankets on the bunk. Grogu was snoring peacefully under the other mandalorian's arm and his little face was buried in the man's chest. Din had never seen the child take to anyone so quickly. They looked so peaceful. It was a gentle, sweet image. Din's heart ached. He smiled. The fierce ruthlessness in Jaster on Korda Six was a stark dichotomy to the care he was cradling Grogu, even in sleep. This man clearly had the spirit of a true Mandalorian.

It was difficult for Din to force his feet to continue on to the cockpit. Fennec's head turned to look over her shoulder from where she sat in the pilot seat. She scanned his beskar-less form and arched an eyebrow. Din shrugged before dropping down into the co-pilot seat.

"Did you call Boba yet?" He asked.

"No, figured I'd let you do the honor of telling him you rescued his re-alived grand dad," she smirked.

Din sighed heavily. This one would definitely be fun to explain. Even he didn't understand what had happened. But Boba deserved a heads up. Din input the Daimyo's comm code. It connected after a long minute.

"Beroya," Boba's helmetless visage appeared in holo blue. He greeted as he always did when unsure of other listeners to respect Din's privacy.

"Boba. We're on our way back."

There was a beat of silence.

Boba prompted. "And?"

"We have Jaster Mereel aboard," Din stated simply.

Boba stared unblinkingly. "His corpse?"

"No."

"Alive?" The wary disbelief was not surprising.

"Very much so."

Boba blinked slowly, "Force Osik."

"Yes."

Boba glanced to Fennec.

"It's him, Boss. Looks just like the holo pic you have of him. Introduced himself that way too," Fennec responded to his unspoken question.

"Is he...?" Boba's voice tapered off like he wasn't sure what to ask.

Din took an educated guess. "He seems unharmed."

Boba rubbed his hand over his mouth. He didn't seem to know how to react. He shook his head. "Get back quickly."

"We'll be there in a few days," Fennec assured.

"Ret." Boba nodded.

"Ret." Din hit the end call.

"Where's the kid?" Fennec asked curiously.

Din pushed up. "With Jaster, sleeping."

Her eyebrows arched. "Really? You trust him that much already?"

Din shrugged. "Grogu does. That's enough for me."

Fennec hummed in consideration. After a moment, she waved him away. "Go get some sleep. I'm good up here. You look like you're about to fall over."

Din nodded. He climbed down from the cockpit. He moved through the main hull, quietly, to not disturb the sleeping duo. He climbed up into the cabin. He sighed in relief when he slipped his helmet then boots off. He dropped on to the cot and flopped down to lay sprawled out much as he could. He rarely got to anymore. He reached up to press the soft overhead light off. He was asleep in a matter of minutes.

Chapter 4: I'm livin' in an empty time

Summary:

Jaster learns when he is and some of the harsh truths of his current reality.

Notes:

Once again, kids, if you ever think "gee, writing a Star Wars fanfiction sounds fun". There is a demon whispering in your ear. Please go get holy water and rinse your ears out. Deny the temptation. The devil truly is in the details, which in regard to SW is often ret conned and ridiculous at best…

I say this as I am at 11 chapters written and have yet to crack into the full blown plot of this monstrosity. It's both glorious and horrifying. I only pray the muse keeps chugging and I don't lose focus, drive, or desire to write this piece. Your comments feed the muse and keep hope alive. XD

Another interesting thought/tidbit for you. When you dream you've died, it's typically a foreshadowing that something big in your life is about to change or happen. I wrote Jaster's reaction to dying and coming alive again on an extremely vivid dream I had many years ago. I died. I felt it and knew it. And when I woke up, I was shocked I was alive. A week later, I found out I was pregnant with my son. Wild, weird shit…

Author notes are for learning about the author, right? Feel free to follow me on Reggiesfitlthylittlesecret on Tumblr, where I repost random shit and occasionally silly post about my personal life.

Jaster woke to the sound of crunching. He blinked, reaching up to wipe the sleep crust out of the corners of his eyes. He sat up with a jolt. He twisted to see the child sitting on the table with a bowl in front of him and a spoon in one hand. Fennec was also staring at him blandly, eating from her own bowl. Jaster sighed in stark relief.

"Not too many places this kid can get lost on a spaceship in mid-hyperspace," the woman remarked drily.

"A child that size and age is very good at getting into things they shouldn't," Jaster replied. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk.

"He's 50."

Jaster blinked. "Regardless...he is a child. They can and will cause mischief when bored." He clambered to his feet to pad over to the vac closet to make use of it.

When he came back, a bowl and a spoon were waiting for him. He dropped into the chair across from Fennec. He gratefully helped himself to a bowl of what looked like bran flakes and granola. He scrutinized the blue liquid in the jug. "What is this?"

"Bantha milk. Harvested by the Tuskens on Tatooine," Fennec answered, around a mouthful of cereal.

"Ah... " He poured some over his cereal. His eyebrows arched in surprise after the first bite.

"Good, right?"

"Surprisingly, yes."

She grinned.

"We're headed to Tatooine?" Jaster surmised.

"Mhm. Ever been?"

"No." He answered. He chewed his cereal while he pondered there destination. "That's a long way from Korda Six..."

She nodded but didn't offer any additional insight.

"Din's still asleep?"

She gave him a shrewd look. "He gave you his name?"

Jaster nodded. "I know he's creed bound. I think he did to offer some trust."

"Huh," She mumbled. She answered his previous question. "He doesn't sleep enough. I decided not to wake him."

"What's his profession?" Jaster frowned in consideration.

"Bounty hunter. Best in our parsec. Legendary even," She smirked. "It's how we met."

Jaster hummed. "You don't look like a bounty hunter. Mercenary?"

"Worse. Assassin."

"Ah, that is worse."

She chuckled. "Heard about you. Mercenary turned Mand'alor?" She questioned him.

"Still a mercenary. Have to fund a movement somehow," He remarked ruefully. "That's how my Haat'ade and I ended up on Korda Six. It was supposed to be a contract helping the locals against a violent uprising. Now…I can see it was an elaborate ruse."

She shrugged. "Hind sight, and all that."

His mouth twisted with unfortunate agreement. He narrowed his eyes at her while his brow furrowed. "How do you know about me? We didn't work within any of the guilds."

A wry expression of amusement crossed her pretty face. "My liege lord told me about you. The Daimyo of Mos Espa: Boba Fett...your grandson."

Jaster's spoon clattered into his bowl, sending droplets of blue milk splattering across the table. Grogu made a confused, worried sound. Fennec's dark eyes glinted with wicked entertainment.

"Fennec, you can go rest," Din's raspy voice cut through the tense, sudden silence.

Both their heads turned to see the other Mandalorian standing there with his hands on his hips. Jaster blinked. The other verd was without his kit and only had his helmet on. Not one inch of skin was bared. Yet, being able to clearly see the true lines of the verd's very nice figure had Jester's gut somersaulting, and the room suddenly felt like someone had turned the heat on. No one had a right to have that kind of hip to shoulder ratio. It was entirely unfair…

"Gladly," Fennec stood. She quickly rinsed out her bowl, dried it, and put it away. She breezed past Din to climb up into the cabin.

Din sighed and dropped his hands. He crossed the scant space of the hull. Din huffed softly when Grogu looked up, mouth dripping milk onto his tunic. Din picked up a towel to wipe Grogu's face clean. Only then did he sit in the chair Fennec vacated.

"You're getting better with the spoon, buddy," Din praised, adjusting the child's claws around his wooden spoon.

"Maw!"

"I know you've been practicing," Din's voice was pleased and amused.

Jaster forced himself to finish his cereal. He was not one to waste food. But Fennec's comment had soured his appetite. When he was done, he got up and cleaned his bowl. After putting his bowl away, he sat back across from Din.

"Was she telling the truth?" Jaster asked.

Din's fingers curled into fists on the table top. Jaster's gaze lingered on those telling hands before looking up into that blank T-Visor. Grogu's gaze shifted back and forth between them.

"Yes."

"And Jango?"

Din paused a moment before admitting. "Dead."

Grief felt like it would crack his ribs. Jaster squeezed his eyes shut. He was afraid to ask, but he had to know. "And the Haat Mando'ade?" His voice was thin and strained.

"Wiped out decades ago."

Each word was like a blaster shot through Jaster's heart. He bit his lip. He didn't want to know, but he needed to. "And our people?"

"Nearly extinct. Mandalore laid to waste. I thought my tribe was all that survived until recently," Din dealt out the hard truths without preamble.

Tears welled up and spilled over. Jaster curled over, arms wrapping around himself in an attempt to self-soothe. Stuttering breaths ached in his lungs. His chest felt like it was in a crusher. Sorrow like he hadn't felt since the death of his parents tore at his soul. Everything he had ever worked for seemed gone, along with everything he had ever known. For a horrible moment, he wished he'd remained dead.

Why was he brought back to grieve the utter loss of his people?

"When am I?" He forced himself to choke out because he had to know.

"Near as I can tell, it's been some 60 years or so since you died, according to Boba," Din replied. "The current New Republic calendar is 10 ABY."

Jaster's heart ached. He swiped at the tear tracks on his face. He took a shuddering breath as deep as he could manage. "Tell me everything."

Din sighed heavily. "I'll tell you what I know. But I am not well informed. My tribe was sequestered even before the purge of Mandalore. I've been in the outer rim ever since, far removed from most major political and historical events. We were just trying to survive."

"Tell me what you can then," Jaster conceded. The idea of being that uninformed was unfathomable to him. But he was a historian by education. He knew most beings were not as critically analytical about history and major events that impacted the galaxy.

Din placed the child down on the floor. He handed Grogu a small silver ball. The child rolled the ball happily across the floor before giving chase. Din got up to get two sip packs of water. Only then did he begin to catch Jaster up on all that had transpired since the battle of Korda Six that he knew enough to speak on.

Jaster felt scraped raw by the time Din caught him up. What was worse was Din admitting there were chunks of history he just didn't know. The Watch had survived the purge from being on Concordia, which did not surprise Jaster. Mandalore's moon had been held by the Viszlas for centuries. He knew the Watch had been there even before the civil war broke out between Death Watch and the Haat'ade. Din said little had changed in the outer rim. That offered Jaster little solace.

"Boba can better tell you about when and how the Empire rose and fell. He's older than I am by handful of years. From what he's told me, he was more involved. He's also more interested in history," Din shrugged.

Jaster blinked, feeling flummoxed. "How can you not find history interesting? Or track current events?"

Din shook his head, "I'm just trying to provide for my tribe... at least I was."

That sounded like a landmine. Jaster didn't think he could handle any more of those for several hours. His head hurt, his chest ached, and his eyes itched from the tears of grief and devastation.

Jaster abruptly stood up. He needed a break from the sorrow and thinking too much. Grogu looked up when Jaster dropped down to sit a few feet away.

"Can I play with you, ad'ika? I need a reason to smile," Jaster gave the child a hopeful look.

"Patu," Grogu answered, then rolled the ball across the floor.

Jaster caught it under his palm to roll it back. The child grinned, chasing it to roll it back. His little feet made the cutest pattering sound on the metal hull floor. That did bring a smile to Jaster's lips.

Din soon dropped down to join them. There was no set pattern as they rolled the ball between them. Din and Jaster took turns trying to trick the child into guessing who the ball was getting rolled. Grogu never fell for it. He was disturbingly perceptive. It made Jaster wonder. His best friend, Myles, had been star-touched by the Manda. Maybe the child was the same. If he was, Jaster wondered if Din knew. He didn't feel like he knew enough about Din yet to ask. He'd leave it alone for now.

Grogu finally seemed to tire of that game. To Jaster's surprise and delight, the little imp let out a high, squealing cry before charging at Jaster. The child sprang up to bowl right into Jaster's chest. He fell back to the deck, catching Grogu, and pretending to be felled by the child's might. Giggles burst out Grogu then probably what was supposed to be a fierce growl. He hopped on Jaster's chest, baring his claws and teeth.

"Mighty warrior have mercy!" Jaster cried, stifling his grin, to plead.

"Raaawr!"

Jaster reached up to tickle the child's sides and belly. Grogu let out shrieking giggles. Jaster laughed right along with him. They played a few minutes more until every last worry and fear drifted out of Jaster's mind. A big yawn suddenly had Grogu falling back on his rump to sit on Jaster's belly.

"Ah, verd'ika, I think a nap is in order," Jaster subsided. Grogu pouted. "I know, but we can play again when you wake up," Jaster assured. "But sleep is good to make you big and strong. All warriors know when to rest." He sat up. He smiled gently. "Thank you, Grogu, for playing with me. I needed that."

Grogu patted his chest. Din shifted and got up. He took the child from Jaster before offering a hand. Jaster grasped it and let himself be helped to his feet. His knees cracked, and he winced. Grogu's ears swept back.

"Just getting old, ad'ika," Jaster sighed.

Din tucked Grogu into the bunk in the corner. Jaster took the chance to use the vac closet again. Din gestured to the cockpit. Jaster nodded. Din slipped into the vac closet next. Jaster took the liberty of grabbing two sip packs before climbing up into the cockpit. His eyes widened with intrigue. He'd never seen a ship quite like this before. The viewport alone was massive. The tech looked rather advanced though admittedly he'd never been a pilot.

Din climbed up behind him, skirting past, to slide into the pilot's seat. Jaster slipped into the co-pilot's seat. The whirl of hyperspace was a little dizzying. He elected to look at Din instead. The other verd's helmet reflected the dance of light in a beautiful, shifting array. Once again, he looked like something out of a dream sent by the Manda even without the rest of his armor. Jaster couldn't make himself stop staring.

"How do you feel?" Din asked abruptly.

Jaster frowned, "How do you mean?"

"Physically. I never checked earlier to make sure you're not hurt," Din sounded upset with himself. His t-visor turned so that Jaster could tell he was being regarded intently.

Jaster pressed a hand to his belly over where two of the scars remained. "I'm fine, but it weirdly aches where I was shot. Like a phantom wound." He swallowed thickly. "To bad the Manda didn't repair my bad knees," He joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Can always borrow Boba's bacta tank when we get there," Din's smirk was evident.

"He's gotta bacta tank?!"

Din nodded. "Threw me off too. Those are—"

"Expensive!" Both said together, then snickered in unison.

"I'm...relieved you're physically alright," Din said after a moment.

" 'Lek. The rest...I'll just have to adjust. Not much else to do," Jaster sighed deeply and shrugged.

Din nodded, a slight dip of his chin. "Adapt, adjust, overcome."

"Went through the fighting corps too, huh?" Jaster was pleasantly surprised.

"Yes."

"What age did you go?" Jaster asked.

"14 until I was 17."

"I went 15 to 18. I had a hard time finding a sponsor to pass my verdgoten. I went on to be a journeyman protector for my home world, Concord Dawn, after I graduated," Jaster told the other verd.

"My vod, Paz, and I went. The Fighting Corps was the last training program still functioning in defiance of the Pacifist government that had taken over Mandalore. We went to learn what we could from them, then we went back to our Tribe. I apprenticed to be the next bounty hunter," Din divulged. His voice sounded a little scratchy.

Jaster shifted in his seat to get more comfortable. "I can tell you're not much of a talker."

Din chuffed, buzzing his vocoder. "Never have been."

" 's fair," Jaster closed his eyes. "You don't have to entertain me. I don't mind silence."

"Good." Din's relief was stark in his tone.

They lapsed into easy quiet. Jaster clasped his hands over his belly. He stretched his legs out under the console, crossing his ankles. The white noise of hyperspace and the hum of the engines had Jaster dozing off. He didn't notice the way Din's helmet didn't shift away from him for a long time.

Chapter 5: Fallin' through space

Summary:

The hyperspace journey continues...

Notes:

Thank you so much to everyone thus far who are so on board for this story! I'm so glad so many of you are digging this idea. Because it's gonna take me a while… >.> Like…it's looking past 30 chapters at this point. #sendhelp

I promise we're gonna get to the point of Jaster meeting Boba, but we need…bonding…

This chapter is dedicated to the two years my husband and I spent on nights together in the Air Force as Security Forces (military police). When you're posted on patrol or watch with someone for hours, especially if you're rocking a big crush, you will talk about anything and everything. It's nigh on impossible not to bond. So you might say our 18 years together started with Stockholm syndrome. XD

Also, the fact that Jaster is just chilling out in a blue set of clothes (*cough*Jango's set from Kamino*cough*) or his kute, and Din in just his kute is pretty much the equivalent of hanging out in your underwear with other mandalorians. Fennec has no clue and will not be told. Meanwhile, Jaster and Din are eyeballing each other like…omg I can see your clavicle…le gasp! *clutches pearls*

Am I reusing names I previously used in my other Jas/Din story, yes, yes I am. Names are a pain! And I like the ones I made up for the Viszla lineage. So they're now my head canons.

(Have any of you guessed the song in the chapter titles yet??)

Hyperspace travel for more than a day made time a disorienting thing. Most try to stay on a schedule, while others allow their bodies to set the rhythm. Din used to be the latter type, but having an ad'ika had put him on a schedule. His own body had become an unreliable narrator of telling him when he was hungry or tired after years of being suppressed or outright ignored. Not so oddly, Grogu had taught Din to eat more healthily and put his bodily needs back on track. Of course, to his somewhat amazement, he felt better. 

Din had also long ago learned that hyperspace was the safest place to rest, recover, and care for equipment. Which is why Jaster now sat across from Din at the little table while they cleaned their kits. Jaster was back in his black kute to keep from staining up the blue clothing set he'd previously borrowed. Din tried to pretend that he didn't notice how the kute hugged the other Mandalorian's body.

Korda Six's red and orange clay and dust were a chore to scrub off. So much so that the scrubbing with caustic chemicals was taking chunks of paint off Jaster's armor, with how stubbornly the muck was clinging.

"Gonna have to just strip all of it and repaint," Jaster lamented when another chunk of black paint chipped off.

Din hummed in sympathy.

"Suppose that's one reason for your unpainted beskar?" Jaster glanced up to confirm.

Din nodded. "Yes." Then he admitted after a beat. "I didn't feel like I deserved to paint it."

Jaster frowned. Din waited for the question to come. Not surprised when it did, since most Mandalorians wondered.

"Why? How did you come into so much beskar for nearly a full kit?" Jaster inquired.

Din debated on the answer he should give. Few knew the real story. He'd never truly told it in its entirety, either. He was still somewhat ashamed. He paused. He looked up into Jaster's face. There was no judgment or accusation, just genuine interest. And that was what loosened Din's tongue. He told the story, in clipped pieces, but the whole thing.

Not once did Jaster interrupt or show anything but pure focused interest. It warmed Din's chest. He felt heard. And that was novel. So few took the time to listen, not to respond, but to learn. They seemed to be similar in this way. Din appreciated it more than he could articulate. The only part of the story he held back was Grogu's powers.

Easy silence fell for a short time after Din finished his tale. The sounds of their cleaning were a soothing background noise. This felt intimate: the cleaning of kits. It was something typically done only with trusted vode or clan in Din's tribe. Maybe this ritual didn't hold as much significance to Jaster. But it was a rare treat to have the peace and time to clean kits with another Mandalorian for Din.

"The black, as you know, is for justice. For myself, and of course, for our people," Jaster remarked. And he told Din of murdering his supervisor after finding him trying to assault a woman, how Jaster had been tried, and banished from Concord Dawn without due process. He told Din of the rot that had taken over not just his home world but the whole Mandalore sector. The Pacifists were pushing their reach further out than Mandalore, clashing with the other planets in the sector, which allowed the rise of corruption and criminal activity while the focus was turned away before it could be quelled. Jaster had been treated so severely because the supervisor he killed was the heir to a powerful clan. At the time, the banishment had felt cruel.

Yet, it also gave him the push to finally go to Mandalore University to study history like he'd longed too. After graduating, he'd been empowered to a calling. Their people deserved better than being reduced to mere shadows of themselves and torn apart from the inside out. He knew he needed to be stronger to achieve his goal, though. He turned to the Mandalorians, one of the last functioning Ori'ramikade squadrons, doing mercenary work while he tried to find a way to fix the ills of their people. It was with the Mandalorians though that he realized honor was being lost just for the excuse to wear their ancestral armor. While he tried uphold their tenets and set an example, he soon realized that it would take more than him, but a movement. One that he'd have to lead, and using the codex he created to restore honor to their people's way of life. Throughout it all, he'd advocated for his reinstatement to return to his home world. And so black had been chosen to represent the justice he sought and fought to regain.

"And the red... which parent?" Din dared to ask after listening raptly to Jaster's history.

"Both. They were killed on our farm during a raid. The clans started to turn on each other. Even in blood feuds, such cowardly behavior was not tolerated. But things on Concord Dawn had been steadily falling to lawlessness. My parents just thought we were far enough removed from the cities for it not to reach us.

Our land was seized because I was too young to be granted heir to it. I know now that it was done on purpose. I became a ward of the governor and was placed in an orphanage. Too old for many to want to adopt. I tried to gain my lands back when I reached majority, but was beaten and chased off. More abuse was layered on after what I suffered in the orphanage. I joined the fighting corps to learn to fight, then the Journeyman Protectors to finally gain my lands back and protect our citizens," Jaster snorted. "Neither worked out. The Haat'ade were created to try to make change too, which apparently didn't work either..."

Din's heart hurt for the pain and sorrow he could see on Jaster's face and in his voice. There was a defeat in that handsome face that didn't belong there. Din could feel it like they were his own feelings, burning in his chest and tightening his throat. Jaster sighed, rubbing his thumbs over his yellow pauldron with the stylized mythosaur skull. Din's fingers twitched. He wished he could offer comfort, but he didn't know what would be accepted. And he could give no assurances either.

Instead, Din decided to offer his own history. Perhaps hearing his would keep Jaster's mind from slipping too far into melancholy. "My first kit was dark red. For my parents, and my village."

Jaster looked up, focusing on Din's T-Visor. Din felt accomplished to regain the other man's attention. He was surprised that it felt good to have it, and he wanted to keep it. So he told about his past the best he could. Again, a tale Din had never offered in its entirety to anyone. But Jaster made Din want to. And it was a strange desire, but he couldn't resist it. Found that it actually felt good to share. And feel SEEN. Din had so few he felt this close to, and yet still not on this level or so quickly. Not even Boba, whom he'd sworn to die beside.

"I bet you looked good in red," Jaster stated like it was a fact.

Din cleared his throat. "It was often scuffed and chipped, too. A hodgepodge set of durasteel and duraplast. It was always needing fixing and replacing."

"Durasteel is pretty hardy," Jaster knocked on his cuirass. Din grinned behind his helmet. The other Mandalorian looked back up from his pauldron. "You must've beat the hell out of yours."

"It doesn't hold up well to mudhorns," Din replied wryly.

Jaster chuckled. "Certainly sounded like you found that out the hard way."

Din chuckled too.

"What about your buy'ce? It looks like pure beskar. Was it yours since your verdgoten?" Jaster asked curiously.

Din nodded. "It was Pax Viszla's. The one who saved me. He adopted me. but I elected to keep my family name in their honor. Paz got his grandfather's buy'ce, and I got Pax's after he died defending the tribe. Paz is rather bitter since he wanted the buy'ce to keep for any ade he might have."

"Hmm. Who was Pax's buir?"

"Tre Viszla."

"Ah," Jaster murmured.

"Knew him?"

To Din's surprise, Jaster nodded. "Went through University with him and Tor. They were twins from Concordia. Tor was always loud, brash, and a... " He glanced at the child, "Sha'buir. I stayed away from him as much as I could. Knew he was bad news even then." Jaster set down his pauldron to take up his vambrace. He cursed softly at the caked-up mess around the buttons and wiring. "Tre was quieter, intense, and honorable. A stark contrast to his arrogant brother. I liked Tre quite a lot. We had a lot of similar beliefs. Spent hours debating with one another."

"I heard he was an honorable warrior and a scholar," Din remarked. He held his hand out, "Here. Let me do that piece."

"Trade?" Jaster held out his vambrace.

Din passed over his thigh guard. His stomach fluttered at the intimacy of another cleaning his kit. The reverent way Jaster ran his fingers over the beskar made Din's breath catch. He had to swallow down the strange desire of wishing those fingers were touching him. The room suddenly felt far too warm. He wondered if he needed to check the circuits in his kute to make sure the cooling function was working properly. 

"This is beautiful work. The armorer who made this is impressively talented," Jaster tilted the thigh guard this way and that to study the angles.

"Yes, my ba'vodu certainly is."

Jaster's gaze shot up to Din's in surprise. "Your armorer is your ba'vodu!?"

Din nodded, "She gives me no special treatment, though. All verde are treated equally in the Tribe."

"I'm not surprised to hear that," Jaster remarked thoughtfully.

Din's brow scrunched. "How do you know about the Watch?"

Jaster chuffed and smiled. "Tre was the first to read my rough draft of the Codex I wrote. He actually helped shape it. It was my final thesis for my history degree. We were challenged to write rules for the perfect society we would like to see created for the Mandalorian people."

Din's hands stilled. "That's why your codex felt familiar."

"You've read it!" Jaster's eyes lighted up.

"Yes, Boba gave me a copy. He lives by it. We've discussed my creed and your codex similarities," Din answered, a bit taken aback by the other man's excitement.

Jaster leaned forward, expression all bright delight and intrigue, "I would love to have such a discussion. Tre's creed was his thesis and was quite intriguing. He and I always argued about the strict rigidity of certain rules he took from sects of Neo-crusaders, mirroring his "society" after. While I respected the philosophy, I doubted it would work for the Mandalore populace as a whole. In fact—!"

Grogu's grumpy whine cut in abruptly. A moment later, Din's vambrace chimed for mid-day meal. Jaster laughed, not at all upset to be interrupted.

"Sorry, ad'ika, I get carried away. Food does sound like a good idea," Jaster set down the armor in his hands to scrub his fingers over the child's head. He glanced up at Din with hopeful eagerness, "Maybe a discussion for another time?"

Din smiled behind his helmet. "Sure, I would like that." Jaster's answering grin made Din's belly do something funny.

"There's gotta be something more than rations aboard this ship." Jaster shoved up. "I need real food."

Din frowned in confusion. "Rations are real food."

"Oh, verd. No... no they're not. Your taste buds and digestive system have been abused if you think so," Jaster admonished with a teasing smirk.

Jaster raided the little pantry and conservatory. He came up with powdered eggs, butter, cheese, and crusty bread. "This is perfect... now I need... Ah ha!" He brandished a pan and spatula. He set the pan on one of the small burners. "Egg sandwiches coming up. And for the ad'ika, eggs in a hole!"

Din kept cleaning while watching Jaster cook with the same care and attention he'd given to cleaning armor.

"Fennec!" Jaster called. "Food!?"

"Yes, please!" She yelled back.

Jaster made the child's lunch first. He served it up and set Grogu on the table. "There you go, Ad'ika! You can even eat this with your hands..."

Grogu let out a happy noise. He snatched up the food and laid into it. Jaster made Fennec's next. Din delivered it to her. She looked delighted, then happier still when she took a bite. Din passed along her thanks. He was promptly handed a grilled egg and cheese sandwich. Jaster gestured at the freshly filled carafe of caf. Din happily filled up a travel mug. Jaster waved Din off to the cabin to eat. He was once again busy making another egg in a hole for the child.

Din took his food and drink up to the cabin. He slipped off his helmet. The smell of the food instantly made his stomach gurgle. He took a bite. He closed his eyes at the nostalgia that swept over him. It was such simple fare, but he'd not had a sandwich like this since his mother made it. The cheese was perfectly melted. The toast was just a touch charred from the butter. The caf was bitter, dark perfection. Din slowed down to enjoy each bite and sip.

Din wondered if Jaster even realized what he was doing. Cleaning armor in their kutes and cooking food for one another were courting rituals in his Tribe. And while they'd been in hyperspace for 3 days now, and Jaster was nearly a stranger, Din felt... comfortable with him. Safe, even.

They clicked, like finding a missing puzzle piece Din didn't know he needed. It was almost disconcerting. This wasn't him. He was getting ahead of himself. He'd never connected quite like this with anyone. Even Grogu.

He took a few minutes to calm himself before heading back down to the main hull. He stopped when he saw Jaster holding Grogu with one arm curled around the child's belly at the sink. Jaster was teaching Grogu how to wash his plate. Really, it was more the child splashing in the sink. Both of them were giggling and getting thoroughly soaked. Jaster's smile and laughter was so bright and joyful. Din's insides melted at the sight.

In this moment, the two were carefree and happy. Both deserved that so much. Now that Din knew more of Jaster's personal history, the grief and the dark shadows in those space black eyes the last few days made Din's chest ache. And right now, the man was truly, breath stealingly handsome. Din was not prepared for the myriad of feelings and reactions ricocheting in him. Most of it, he had no name or understanding of, since he'd never experienced it.

Din forced his feet moving again. He stopped a few feet away and just out of splashing range. "Care to wash mine next, buddy?" Din smiled at the child.

"Bah!" Grogu made grabby hands.

Din handed over his plate. Grogu dunked it in the sudsy water with a squeal and a splash. Jaster laughed. The two washed the plate, then drained the sink to rinse everything in clean water. The plates were set in the rack to dry. Jaster stripped off the child's soaked robe. Grogu squirmed while he was dried.

"Alright!" Jaster laughed, leaning down to set the child on the floor. Grogu scampered away with a giggle after wriggling out of his small clothes. "Be free, little naked imp!" Din shook his head. Jaster shrugged with a sheepish smile. "Little children think it's so fun to streak. Doesn't matter what species."

"You're really good with ade," Din complimented lamely.

Jaster flushed lightly, clearly pleased, and hung the towel up to dry. "I always volunteered to watch the ik'aade in the orphanage while I was there. Made staying more bearable. Tried to make it better for them too." He looked back at Din. "You don't think you're good with kids?"

Din shook his head. "Never was around them much. Grogu's been a learning curve."

"You two have a close bond, though. It's very obvious."

Din dipped his chin in acknowledgement. "We're been through a lot. Separated a few times but we always find each other again."

"Sounds like the Manda willed it so," Jaster remarked.

Din hummed in consideration. He had never thought of it like that. But there had been a knowing when he met Grogu that this child was important. He hadn't been able to leave Grogu like he should have after a hunt. It hadn't just been because Mandalorians valued children. It was more intense then a sense of duty. It had been a feeling in the pit of his gut that he'd made the wrong decision. He'd gone back for the child because his instincts had been screaming he must.

He turned away from Jaster to scoop up the naked child. Jaster snickered at Din's attempt to wrangle the child back into his small clothes. Jaster wrapped a spare dry towel around the child to ward of the chill of space until his robe dried. Once that was accomplished, Jaster looked up at Din.

"You ready to finish cleaning our armor?"

Din nodded. They took back up their positions at the table to work in comfortable silence. They continued swapping their kit pieces. Grogu batted his metal ball and scurried after it. The ship continued on, and time slipped by.

Notes:

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