Swear a New Creed

by howaboutcastiel

Summary:

After the events of Find a New Way, there is still healing to be done and new battles to be won.

Notes:

This story likely won’t make much sense if you haven’t read Find a New Way. Which you should. It’s good.

Chapter 1: Cobb

It was just shy of nine in the evening. Cobb was running late, and he was dead on his feet. There was no one but himself to blame for staying so long at the sheriff’s station—no excuse to give his partner, Din, or the child they were raising together, Grogu. It was bad enough that Cobb had been late two other days this week, but today he had not even managed a call home to tell anyone he was running behind. Din was bound to be worried sick. The kid would be an anxious mess, too, if he’d managed not to have a full meltdown by now. 

Cobb chewed his lower lip as he pulled into the gravel driveway. He was meant to be home three hours ago, not puttering in after the sun was long set and Grogu was likely already put down for bed. He wondered if the kid would have insisted on waiting for him. Cobb wouldn’t be surprised. He had gotten braver over the last year, but Grogu still needed constant reassurance—both that he was safe where he was, and that his loved ones were not going to leave him. 

As Cobb’s headlights shone onto the house, he could see Din in the rocking chair on the porch, waiting for him. 

The kid was bouncing in his lap, clearly fighting sleep. He looked happy that Cobb was finally home, even a tad bit excited. Din, on the other hand, looked angry. Cobb couldn’t fault him, and the warmth left his chest as his partner stared him down. 

Cobb shut off the engine. 

He swung his bag over his shoulder and pushed himself out on the gravel. Cobb was trying to think up something to say that wouldn’t dig him deeper into this hole he’d made for himself, but Grogu filled the silence long before he had to speak for himself. 

“Hello!” Grogu’s voice was high and measured—he said the word the same way every time, sing-songy and bright like the way he’d been taught. “Waited on you!”

Cobb grinned. “You sure did, buddy. Thank you.”

He forced himself forward, not letting the pain in his knee turn his steps into limping. By the time Cobb made it to the bottom of the stairs, Grogu had weaseled out of his father’s grasp. He greeted Cobb with a giggle that buzzed all across his tiny frame. 

“You had a good day at school, bub?” Cobb asked. The child nodded, toying with his fingers like he couldn’t decide whether to sign or to speak. Cobb reached out and ruffled his hair, huffing as he lifted himself up the short staircase. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

Grogu reached out to clutch at Cobb’s pants, a quiet request for something Cobb couldn’t decipher. When he bent to pick him up, Grogu backed out of his grasp. Cobb didn’t have much energy left to figure out just what it was Grogu wanted. 

He prompted Grogu to speak his mind. The kid didn’t, so he asked him instead to sign it. Grogu only whined in response. Cobb looked to Din for an answer, but the man only stared with the same grudging expression as before, utterly unhelpful. 

It wasn’t until Cobb had convinced Grogu to go inside and pick out a bedtime story that Din finally spoke. He didn’t rise from his chair, and he didn’t back off the aggressive stare-down that he was giving his partner. 

“You’re late,” he grunted simply. 

Cobb gritted his teeth. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Din wasn’t going to ask for an explanation and, even though it would only hurt his case, Cobb wasn’t going to give him one. By now, the late arrivals home had become too frequent to pass off as coincidence. Din had tried once already to coax an explanation from Cobb, but it hadn’t much worked then, and it wouldn’t now, either. 

And now, Din was pissed. Not to mention worried out of his mind. He raised an eyebrow, waiting–though he must’ve known it was in vain–for some kind of excuse. Some reason whether it was good or not. 

But Cobb couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth of it, let alone fabricate some lie he’d have to hold to. He’d hardly been honest with himself about it, at this point. He wasn’t ready to say it. Say anything.  

So, Din only sighed, accepting the silence for what it was. 

“Your dinner’s cold,” he provided, instead of some insult Cobb probably deserved. 

Cobb nodded. “I’ll microwave it once I’m done with the bedtime story.”

Din made to stand up, clutching Cobb by the forearm before ducking past him and into the house. 

“Don’t do this again,” he warned. 

He knew he couldn’t promise it, and Din knew that, too. Din gritted his teeth.

“Sugar, I’m sorry. ” Cobb leaned in for a peck on the cheek, and he dodged him.

“At least fucking call next time.”

Din let the door slam behind him. 

~•~

Grogu didn’t say another word the rest of the night. Cobb read him what he’d picked out—a tale of a stuffed bear that Cobb’s own mother had read to him when he was young. Corduroy. Of course, it’d been brand new, then. The only book that wasn’t a hand-me-down of Anakin’s or Owen’s or even Omera’s. 

Something had been going on with the kid lately. Din and Cobb hadn’t talked about it yet, but it was harder to ignore with every passing day. It was like he was moving backwards—undoing milestones they’d worked hard to achieve over the last few months. 

Back in June, he was talking full sentences, eating three square meals and making friends with the other kids his age. Hell, he was dancing and singing, and playing pretend in the toy kitchen they’d gotten him for his birthday. Now, Grogu was hardly that hyper and brave. Din was lucky to get him to eat half the food on his plate, and no one could coax more than three or four words from the kid in a day, let alone at one time. 

Grogu hugged Cobb and kissed his cheek once the story was finished. Cobb tucked him into bed, planted a kiss on his forehead, and considered it one battle won. 

He turned off the lights and headed down the hall to he and Din’s shared bedroom. The battle there, which Cobb hardly had the strength for, was at a stalemate of several weeks’ making. Cobb couldn’t say it was all his fault, but he’d be a damn liar if he said that he didn’t feel guilty—that he shouldn’t feel guilty. 

If Din had anything else to say, he kept it to himself while Cobb brushed his teeth and changed into his sleep shirt. It was one of Din’s—soft and worn and slightly too big for Cobb. He wished the feeling was as reassuring as usual. He crawled into bed beside Din in utter silence. Sleep was pulling Cobb in with no mercy, and he was quick to make it to the edge, his thoughts starting to wander into half-anxious dreams. 

Then, Din’s voice broke the quiet. 

“Is it the Watch?”

It was a whisper, barely, but startled Cobb even so. Cobb tipped his head toward Din slightly, unable to see much in the low light. 

“What, darlin’?”

Din sighed. His breath shook.

“Is that why you keep staying so late at work? Have they come up somewhere?”

“No,” Cobb gave automatically. “It ain’t them.”

For a moment, Din was quiet. 

“Then what ,” he urged, finally. “Is there someone you’re seeing? Someone else?”

“Din, no!” Cobb was offended he would even ask. 

“I’m at my wits end here,” Din provided, like he understood the scowl on Cobb’s face. “You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. This is the third time this week you’ve come home late and you won’t give me any indication why. What do you want me to think?”

“I don’t want you to worry about it.”

“Too bad!” Din’s voice hiked considerably above the volume it had started. “You’re scaring me sick, here.”

“Well,”

Cobb huffed, 

“Sorry.”

“That’s not enough, Cobb.”

Cobb turned back over, settling into his pillow. “I’m sorry for that, too, then.”

A low note came from behind him, almost a growl, and then Din settled, too. It was quiet again. 

This time, sleep took its sweet time pulling Cobb under. He tossed and turned and, when he finally managed to fall into a ragged, shallow sleep, his dreams were less than pleasant. 

~•~

It wasn’t Cobb’s own nightmares that had him waking up in a freezing sweat. 

The kid’s cry was an ear-piercing scream—one of agony and terror that had both men out of bed in a second. Din was down the hall and into Grogu’s bedroom before Cobb had so much as rounded the bed. The deafening sound barely softened when Cobb reached the door, even as Grogu leapt into his father’s arms and held on for dear life. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay, baby.” Din shushed the child and rubbed circles on his back, a go-to comfort when Grogu was overwhelmed. 

Cobb reached out beside Grogu’s bed and turned the switch on his rocket-shaped lamp. The pale glow of the nightlight was overtaken with a brighter golden cast across the room. Where Grogu’s face was illuminated, Cobb could see steady tears rolling down his cheeks. He was trembling almost violently, whimpering loud enough that the strength of it seemed to force the air out of his chest. 

This had become somewhat common now, too. More often than not, Grogu’s dreams would turn to nightmares and steal away his sleep. On better nights, he would sneak into Cobb and Din’s room and crawl into their bed. On worse nights, well…

This. 

“You’re okay. You understand? It’s just a dream,” Din soothed. He turned around to sit atop Grogu’s bed and Cobb followed suit. When Cobb brought a hand up to card through Grogu’s hair, the kid gasped a few desperate breaths in. 

“We’re right here, kiddo.” Cobb offered a smile. The child clung to his papa harder. “Not goin’ anywhere. It’s alright.”

They sat for a while, Grogu attempting to settle as his parents alternated reassurances in low voices. It became clear after a moment that Grogu’s sobs had turned to wheezing, his shallow breaths only growing more distraught. 

Din looked over at Cobb. “Do you mind—?”

“I got it,” Cobb finished. Grogu’s inhaler stayed in the front pocket of his bookbag, easy to access for moments like this one. Technically, he was meant to turn it in to the front office at school each day, but Cobb had enough pull with the principal to circumvent that. The less it moved around, the less likely Grogu was to misplace it. 

Sure enough, when Cobb ventured to the hook beside Grogu’s desk and picked up his backpack, the inhaler was right where it should be. He brought it over and gave it a good shake while Din sat Grogu up straight on his knee. 

“Ready?” He prompted. Grogu nodded, teeth worrying his bottom lip. Cobb lifted the inhaler to his mouth, waiting for Grogu to latch onto it. “Slow, deep breaths, remember? 

Even with the medicine’s help, it took the child several more minutes to calm down enough to be anything less than distraught. If anything, Cobb knew the rescue inhaler would only serve to amp up the kid, not help him to relax. One of them would have to stay up with Grogu for a while, and it was Cobb’s turn this time. 

“Why don’t we read somethin’ else?” Cobb offered, giving Din the out to go get some more sleep. “You wanna pick a book out for me?”

“No,” the child signed. His hands trembled. “Sesame Street.”

Cobb stifled a grin. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to watch tv in the middle of the night.”

“Let him do it,” Din chimed. 

Cobb scoffed. 

“Din—”

“He’s going to be awake anyway.” Din leaned forward, shifting the child’s weight from his lap to Cobb’s and planting a kiss on his forehead. “One episode won’t hurt anything.”

“You sure you wanna set this precedent?” Asked Cobb. 

Din sighed, exhausted. 

“I’m sure I want to do whatever will soothe him.” He ran his palm across his face, catching the stubble. “We can talk about precedent in the morning.”

“Sure, darlin’,” Cobb relented. He had to admit, he didn’t mind settling into the couch while the television kept Grogu calm and quiet. Cobb paid his fair share of taxes anyway; PBS could babysit for a little while. 

Din returned to their room, and Cobb and Grogu laid up on the couch after Cobb quickly set up a VHS of Sesame Street and turned the volume to low. Grogu curled up on Cobb’s chest, his head over Cobb’s heart and his hands tucked into the fabric of the sleep shirt. 

This time, when Grogu’s breath evened out and he began to softly snore, Cobb managed to fall into a dreamless sleep deeper than he’d had in months. 

The two of them didn’t budge again until morning. 

~•~

It was Friday now, finally. Cobb and Din both would be off tomorrow. That fact somehow made the morning bearable, even with Cobb having skipped his dinner and slept only half a night on a decades-old sofa with a toddler on his chest. 

Din was no more talkative than the night before, and Grogu was signing faster than Cobb could keep up, but he wasn’t speaking, either. It was an empty sort of feeling in the house, almost like a year ago before the boys had ever shown up. 

Cobb hated the feeling. Hated being alone. He’d been far enough removed from it, now, that he’d forgotten the misery of it. 

When he was nearly on his way out the door, the phone rang—the landline, not the clunky cell in Cobb’s pocket. He picked it up, half expecting Boba Fett to have called, asking for Din. Instead, he heard a much younger voice. 

“Uncle Cobb?”

Poor thing sounded hurt. Scared, even. 

“Luke?”

The boy—young man, now, Cobb supposed—hesitated a moment. “I didn’t know who else to call.” 

Cobb felt the hair on his neck stand on end. 

“What’s wrong, son?”

Luke’s voice wavered. He paused again, gathering himself. 

“Can I—can I spend the night on your couch?”

His answer was instant. 

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

Cobb hated that he knew exactly what it meant. 

Notes:

I know its been almost a year... I have been struck by the ao3 curse.
I changed immunosuppressants, then I had a house fire and I was displaced for three months, during which time my aunt died. I moved 90 minutes away and started a new job, I got diagnosed with migraine and changed antidepressants (withdrawal not fun) so I could go on migraine medication. Disease flared again, and then end of july my mom had a heart attack and was on life support for two weeks, now she's doing rehab and we had to install a ramp at my parents' house. Now we're beginning to discuss changing my immunosuppressant again. Not to go into all of that tho...
I love Find a New Way and I never stop thinking about it so here's the sequel.

Chapter 2: Din

Notes:

This is a more exposition-heavy chapter, I believe. Let me know your thoughts.

Din wouldn’t admit that he struggled to fall asleep without Cobb in the bed beside him. 

From the time Cobb took Grogu into the living room onward, Din did nothing but toss and turn. He may as well have taken the child instead of Cobb. They both knew Cobb was losing more sleep than Din these days—not that he’d ever been a well-rested man in the time Din had known him. 

Maker, Din couldn’t help but worry. His mind went to all the worst places, knowing Cobb was a cop and knowing the general fates of the people that Din called family. Cobb hardly went out in the field, though, he assured Din. He said he left that to the young folk—the ones with more spring in their step and less scar tissue at their joints. Din wasn’t sure he believed him, especially now. Cobb was keeping something from him for sure. If he had this one so-blatant secret, what else was he hiding?

Din wasn’t sure he wanted to know. 

Far short of first light, somewhere just before six, he pulled himself out of bed. He wasn’t sure he’d slept a wink and, even if he had, his body screamed at him that he was running on empty. Din crept down the hall and into the dimly-lit living room. The television had static on screen, the noise constant but low. Judging by the soft snoring coming from the couch, it seemed that one or both of Din’s boys had fallen asleep before the tape had finished playing. Cobb was flat on his back and Grogu on his stomach. Cobb’s arm was wrapped loosely, protectively around the child. They were both sound asleep. 

Din switched off the VCR and the television, and he drew back the curtains to let in the eventual sunlight before heading to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. 

About quarter to six, he helped Cobb move out from under Grogu without waking him. Tried to, anyway. By the time Cobb had gotten in and out of the restroom, the kid had noticed the change. Din guessed the whole house was up, now. 

Ten minutes later, the house phone rang. Cobb answered. Less than a minute later, he’d hung up. 

And another twenty minutes, still well before the sunrise, there was a knock at the door. They hadn’t expected it so soon. 

“Hey, partner,” Cobb gentled to his nephew. Luke didn’t say anything in response. “A little early, ain’t it? We’ll fix some breakfast for you.”

Cobb motioned him inside. Once Luke stepped over the threshold, he started to tremble. Cobb pulled him into a hug, and the kid let him. He shared a look of sympathy with Din. He held onto Luke for a long time.

“You hungry?” He asked, after a while.

Luke shook his head. No.

“Have some orange juice, at least.” Cobb pulled away and looked the kid in the eye. He glanced over at Din, and then back to Luke. The kid looked barely-composed. “Reckon you’ve still got growin’ to do.”

“‘M eighteen,” Luke murmured. 

Cobb smiled. “That don’t always mean you're through. Just ask your daddy—he shot up another two inches in the year after he graduated.”

Luke didn’t return the smile. He seemed to flinch at the mention of his father, Din noticed. Cobb steered him toward the counter. 

About halfway through frying bacon on the stovetop, Din was interrupted by the phone ringing once again. This time, it was Boba Fett on the phone. 

“Sir?”

“You’re not on house calls until this afternoon,” Fett began. He wasn’t much for small talk and formalities. “I forgot to have you trade out your van yesterday. The gear shift is still sticking.”

“I can manage a stiff gear shift,” offered Din. 

“I’d rather you take it to the shop,” Fett countered. “A real shop. No offense to Peli, but she’d charge you twice as much knowing it was my money.”

That was true, Din had to admit. As much as Peli was a babysitting lifesaver, she was less than honest when it came to market prices. “You have a preference for which mechanic?”

“No point in you bringing it all the way back to Mos Espa. I feel sure that Anzellan’s can have it fixed before noon.”

“Alright, sir.”

“Enough of that,” Boba tutted. “You call me sir one more time and I’ll put you on weekends.”

Din only hummed and ended the call. 

They decided it made more sense for Cobb to take the van into the shop. It was only a block and a half from his office, and Din would bring his truck to him at lunch. By that time, the van would be ready to drive for Din’s house calls. Din wouldn’t have to spend the morning out, and Luke wouldn’t have to spend the morning alone. 

Other than the few minutes of scrambling to get Grogu dressed and ready for school, the house was somewhat quiet up until Cobb left with Grogu. Din gave them both a kiss on the cheek on the way out, and he could feel Luke’s eyes on him when Cobb reciprocated with a kiss on Din’s lips. It wasn’t an unusual goodbye, but Cobb didn’t much like to be affectionate with Din in front of other people, so the gesture surprised him.

Once the door shut behind him, Din turned back to Luke. 

“Can I get you something else to eat? We have cereal.”

The kid shook his head. “No, sir. Thank you.”

Damn. Now he knew how Boba felt. 

“You can just call me Din,” he offered. “I’m going to try and catch some more sleep, then, if you don’t mind. The TV’s all yours. I’ll leave the bedroom door open—if you need me, just call out.”

“Oh,” Luke responded. He seemed… disappointed. “Alright.”

Din tilted his head. 

“Unless you’d rather I stayed in here?” 

Luke raised his brows absently. “No, I… that’s okay.”

Din felt himself sigh. 

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, unlike himself. “I’m not much for talking, but I can listen well enough.”

The kid didn’t say anything for a minute. He stared off, searching for the words, and Din took the opportunity to usher him into the den. While Luke took the couch, Din opted for the armchair that sat angled beside it. It normally did nothing but collect dust and, for the record, Din thought it clashed awful with the rug and the faded red couch. It was comfortable enough. 

Luke opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally saying something. He avoided Din’s eyes. 

“Last night I was…” He worked to get the words out. “I was with this boy.”

Oh. Din didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. 

Luke continued, his eyes glossed. “We met over the summer—worked together at an internship my mother set up for me.”

Dim couldn’t say he was surprised. 

“This boy. He’s… more than a friend?”

A visible wave of fear passed over Luke. He blinked a few times, steadying himself. 

He nodded. 

“We were in his room last night. Playing music, fooling around. Nothing serious, but then his dad walked in. Wanted us to turn the radio down, or something, but he didn’t knock. I guess he didn’t really think he had a reason to, so he just—”

Luke put his hands up, an aborted gesture of frustration. “He got really angry. Started yelling and throwing things. I didn’t know what to do, so I just started to leave, you know? I got scared. But Mr. Antilles said he was going to call my dad as soon as he—as soon as he’d dealt with his own son.”

Din started putting the pieces together. “Your parents don’t know.”

“Of course not,” Luke scoffed. “I think my father would kill me. I know he’d kill me. I half expected to have a shotgun pointed at me by the time I made it home. But I guess Mr. Antilles decided to wait until morning. Probably tired himself out pretty good. I didn't want to be there when he did call, so I started packing a bag, soon as I got home.”

“How did you get here?” Din asked. He didn’t know what else to say. 

“Leia’s boyfriend. He’s gotten pretty good at sneaking out of our house under my parent’s noses. He gave me a ride here on his motorcycle.”

“A motorcycle?” 

“Han doesn’t like to drive slow,” added Luke. “I guess Leia likes the thrill.”

Din hummed. “If I didn’t have Grogu, I’d love to fix up a bike. Never rode one before.”

Luke’s mouth twisted into a half-smile. “He’s a cute kid.”

“Yeah,” Din agreed. “He is.”

They sat in not-quite-uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. Luke switched on the television and turned the volume low. 

After a while, Din figured he should offer some reassurance. Say something to the poor kid. 

“You are safe here,” he stated. “I’ll try to help in any way that I can, alright?”

Luke nodded.

Turned the words over, then asked aloud, “I wonder if he’s called by now.”

Din chewed the inside of his lip. 

The kid continued. “I wonder if dad even noticed I’m gone.”

There was nothing Din could say to comfort him. Nothing to help. It was so far from what he’d been through himself, and Din was nowhere near healed from his own past. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he said. He didn’t know if it was true. 

Luke turned his head. “What was it like when you told your father? Or, I guess, when he found out.”

He sighed, heavy. 

“He died when I was a child.”

Luke winced. “I’m sorry.”

Din waved his hand in dismissal. He continued, “I don’t think he would have minded. There’s no way to know, now, but I try to keep the idea that my parents would be proud of me.”

The kid nodded. 

“Dad used to be proud of me. Hasn’t been lately, though. I’m sure this will be the last straw, if he does get a phone call.”

“What about your mom?” Din had only met her once. Padme was… enchanting, in a way, but he didn’t know anything about her, or why she would be with a man like Anakin. 

“She isn’t much like herself,” Luke said woefully. He didn’t elaborate, and Din got the notion he shouldn’t ask. 

“And Leia?” He said instead. 

Luke finally met his eye.

“She knows,” he said. “She has my back. It hasn’t changed anything.”

“That’s good,” Din breathed. 

“Yeah,” Luke echoed. His eyes faltered. “Too bad she’s headed off to basic training soon. She’s one of the only parts of Mos Espa that doesn’t suck.”

“I didn’t know she’d enlisted.”

“I was supposed to go, too. Kind of expected in the family. I thought Cobb would have explained it to you.”

Din shook his head. 

Luke continued. “Owen’s the only one who hasn’t. Something about his heart—they said it disqualified him from the service. Mom, Dad, Omera, Cobb, and both my grandparents served at some point. Even Beru was a military nurse for a while. I think my dad’s the only one who hasn’t let it go, though.”

There was more silence, then. Din had nothing to say. Luke seemed tired by the words he had already spoken. He flipped through tv channels just to fill the space with something. 

Maker, Din wished he could help. He wished he had some kind of answer, or even advice. There was nothing he could think to make it better—no wisdom to impart. 

So, the silence dragged on. 

~•~

Din hadn’t realized he had dozed. The short sleep wasn’t restful. 

The slam of a car door had him up within a second. He didn’t know why it startled him, until he peered out to see who it was. 

Fuck. 

Luke had the realization at the same time. 

“No!”

Din only just managed to pull the curtains closed before Anakin could glance in the window. As far as the man knew, there was no one in the house at this hour but, well, probably Cobb. With Cobb’s truck being the only one home, why would he assume anything else?

When Anakin started to yell from outside the front door, it became clear that this was in fact what he believed. 

Without thinking, Din moved to put himself between Luke and the door to the kitchen.

“Don’t pretend you’re not in there,” the man yelled at the front door. His voice was an almost petulant level of anger. “I know he called you! Your caller ID is on my fucking house phone!”

“He can’t—I can’t talk to him—” Luke stuttered. 

“You don’t have to,” Din soothed. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I will handle him, okay? Go wait in Grogu’s room. I’ll send him on his way.”

Luke shook his head. “He won’t just go.”

“I’ll make him go,” Din insisted. 

Something about his tone had Luke more convinced this time. The boy stumbled backward into the hall. Din nodded at him to go the rest of the way. 

Then, he headed for the front door. 

“Cobb, you fucking pansy, I swear to God—!”

Anakin stopped shouting abruptly when Din opened the door. His face contorted in confusion. 

“Why are you here?” He spat. 

Din raised his eyebrows. “I live here.”

“Where’s Cobb?”

“At work,” Din provided. “Can I help you?”

Anakin’s eyes narrowed. He huffed. “I know that Luke called here this morning. He’s here, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid I’m the only one here. Grogu is at school and, like I said, Cobb’s at work.”

“Why did he call, then?” The man’s tone was skeptical, at best. 

Din didn’t even have to lie “I couldn’t tell you. The only phone call I’ve taken this morning was from my boss.”

“Well, he called, and someone answered,” Anakin retorted. “And Luke isn’t at home. So where is he?”

Din’s expression didn’t change. 

“How would I know? He’s your kid.”

“You’re lying.” The man moved forward, and Din blocked the doorway. 

Anakin peered over his shoulder, trying to look inside. Din allowed him to survey the empty dining room and kitchen from where he stood. 

“Satisfied?”

“Let me through,” Anakin seethed. 

Din held his hand out, pushing him back by his chest. “No.”

“It’s not your fucking house, fag.”

Din leaned in closer. He tilted his head to make up the difference in height, and smirked, just a bit. 

“It’s not yours, either.”

Anakin looked ready to take a swing, but Din stood his ground. After a long, long moment of wondering whether the man was going to blow up, Anakin took a step back. He was gritting his teeth. 

“Are we done here?” Din hummed tiredly. 

Anger ran across the man’s face. “You people disgust me.”

“I’m not going to ask what you mean by that,” Din provided, “but I’m not fond of you either. You should be on your way.”

“Stay away from my son,” Anakin spat, moving back toward the steps. “I don’t need you putting ideas in his head.”

Din just raised his chin, encouraging the man to leave quicker. 

“If I find out he’s with you, you’re gonna be in a world of hurt.”

“Take your threats somewhere else.”

Din slammed the door behind him, making sure to lock it back. 

~•~

“You can stay here if you want,” Din offered again, making sure his wallet and keys were in his pocket where they belonged. He fiddled with the collar on his work uniform. 

“That’s okay,” Luke murmured. “I’d rather not be alone.”

“I can’t blame you for that.”

He ushered him toward the truck. 

The plan was to pick up an early lunch and park the truck at the sheriff’s office. The three could eat together and Din could walk the two blocks to get his van. Luke would stay with Cobb at his office. 

They made it as far as the gravel driveway, and Din hopped backward with a start. A thick, obviously-spooked copperhead stared back at him, wrapped around the mirror and laid across to the handle. 

“Fuck.”

He would say he was more annoyed than scared, but that would be a lie. Din hated snakes. 

He’d left his gloves in his van. 

“What’s the—?” Luke rounded the truck and stopped short. Din motioned him away, but Luke didn’t seem concerned. “Oh. Poor little guy has himself all twisted up.”

He reached his hand out, and Din grabbed it. 

“It’s a copperhead,” he hissed. Luke’s expression didn’t change. He added, “They’re venomous.”

“That only matters if they bite you.”

That only—what?

He kept reaching forward. 

“Luke, don’t!” Din didn’t dare grab him again. With his luck, it would only spook the snake further. 

For a second, the copperhead looked poised to attack, but then it seemed to… calm. Or freeze, more likely, Din supposed. It was utterly still. 

Din watched as Luke took hold of the snake below its head, gently feeding its body through the handle and unraveling it from the mirror with his other hand. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

Snake in hand, Luke walked to the edge of the drive, lowering the snake to the ground and watching as it slithered off away from the house. 

Din was dumbfounded. “How did you do that?”

Luke shrugged. 

“You just have to know how they want to be handled.”

That did not clear anything up. Without another word, Luke rounded the truck and climbed in the passenger’s side. After a beat, Din did the same and stuck the key in the ignition. 

“You just might be helpful to have around here, kid.”

The boy just smiled, reaching to turn the radio up and drown out any of the thoughts that tried to form in Din’s head. 

Chapter 3: Cobb

Summary:

“You got any cobbler to spare?” Cobb asked slyly. People in Freetown turned their heads when he walked in anywhere. No need to rile them with any suspicion. “I’m getting too scarce around here. Startin’ to crave your peach cobbler something awful.”
Not to spare,” Issa answered, just as calm. “But I can add a senior discount on your veteran’s rate.”

“Alright,” Cobb leveled. He nodded, then stepped back. “I’ll take three—no, four cobbler slices, then, doll. If you don’t mind.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Four, now?”
“Don’t start with me,” he said. “The house is packed like sardines.”
“I reckon it’s good for you.” She winked.
He took his food, paid, then strode out the door.

Notes:

I'm going to be thoroughly updating the tags for this fic before the next chapter drops. That being said, they are accurate so far. If you're wondering about this chapter's inspiration, all I have to say is worry about your OWN mommy and daddy issues

A lot could happen in a day. Cobb knew that. 

A lot could happen in a week. A lot could change in a week. The way things in life were going right now, Cobb felt like each week held the weight of a decade. Things with Luke, things with Din, things with Grogu? There was enough change to have Cobb’s head spinning, let alone all the things that were his. The things he didn’t talk about when there was so much his family had to deal with already. 

Yeah, a lot could change in a day. 

A lot changed in a matter of minutes, just five days after Luke showed up at Cobb’s doorstep. Five days since it became clear that Luke wouldn’t just be staying one night. Those days had been their own decade already, in Cobb’s mind, and then he’d gotten the phone call from his mother. 

It wasn’t much of a surprise, but it came on quicker than they’d all thought it would. Cobb wouldn’t say it was the best time for something like this to happen, but there was never a best time. There was no decent time at all, as a matter of fact, for an old and already-senile Vanth family patriarch to have a heart attack. 

As far as Cobb was concerned, though, Sheev picked one of the worst days to fall dead during a late breakfast. Well, not permanently dead, but when they got his heart shocked back into a rhythm, the doctors said that any time he had left was precarious. Unpredictable. For lack of a better term, borrowed. 

They estimated a generous month, if he woke up at all. 

Cobb wasn’t sure if he wanted him to. 

They hadn’t spoken since Christmas. Cobb had only spoken twice since then to Aika—only a handful of times to the rest of the family, apart from Omera and Winta. The two of them visited weekly, if it could be helped, and Cobb made sure to keep their line open now that he’d rekindled his ties with his sister. Not to mention how Grogu adored the woman and her daughter, too. 

So, of course, when Aika called him the first time, he didn’t pick up. He was knee deep in it at work—got a lead that could finally get him somewhere. He didn't have time to talk. 

She tried again, ten minutes later. He was right on the edge of something big in the case he was working. Cobb barely managed to make himself answer on the last ring. He knew she wouldn’t be calling unless something was wrong. Not now, not anymore. 

So he picked up. 

When she asked him to come to the hospital, Cobb said he’d go after work. The exact words she said were hard to make out, but Cobb could understand that it wasn’t good enough. She wanted him there now. 

He said no. 

“Sorry, Momma.”

But he wasn’t much sorry at all, really. 

He told her he would see her after work. Said he loved her, then hung up the phone when she started to spit and yell—to call him those same ugly things that the rest of them did.

And he got back to work. 

~~•~~

Grogu had woken up from another nightmare early that morning. It was an odd thing, not because of the dream, but because of who made it to his bedroom first this time. 

It was Luke, of course. 

Cobb and Din looked at one another with shock—nothing else they could do when the teenager managed to calm Grogu in a matter of seconds. He spoke in low tones, quiet enough that Cobb couldn’t make it out. Without his hearing aid, he wasn’t sure how Grogu could make it out, but whatever Luke was murmuring had him down from a panic in minutes. No need for his inhaler, even. 

Cobb might have called it witchcraft if he himself was superstitious. He wondered what word Din would use, but they didn’t talk about it. Din just nodded at Luke, ruffled the little guy's hair, and headed back to bed without a word. 

“Goodnight, boys,” Cobb had said, then followed behind Din.

When they got back in their own bed, they still didn't talk about it.

Cobb had laid awake for a few minutes, but settled more quickly than he had in weeks. In fact, everyone in the house slept as soundly as ever until morning. 

~~•~~

He hit a dead end around two—figured now was as good a time as ever to drive to Mos Espa. Cobb planned to head there, let his mom cry on his shoulder a few hours, and be back home in time for dinner, for once.

As if it was ever that simple. 

Cobb’s father was still unconscious when he made it over. Omera explained everything. Aika was too overwhelmed to talk about it, and Anakin had nothing at all to say to Cobb, either way, but his eyes were just as red-rimmed and glossed. He didn’t know where the rest of the family was. Didn’t much want to think about it, to be honest with himself. 

“He’s on life support,” Omera said in a whisper. “There’s a tube down his throat, and his heart isn’t pumping strong enough on its own, so they have him hooked up to all kinds of machines and tubes.”

They had him under sedation, a heavy cocktail of painkillers and sedatives and heart medications. Even when he woke up—if he woke up, Cobb didn’t have to be told again just how slim those odds were—he’d be nothing like himself. Brain and lung and heart damage aside, Sheev would be high as a kite if he opened his eyes. He’d barely be in his body at all. 

Cobb knew what that felt like. 

Still, Aika insisted they needed to talk to him. It would help him recover to hear all their voices—words of encouragement and endearment could keep his spirit going even if he wasn’t awake to listen. Omera had been in already. Anakin, too, by the looks of it, and Aika hadn’t ever left the room once they first let her in. 

“You need to go in,” Omera told him. “For mom.”

Cobb couldn’t say no to that—couldn’t say no to her. Not to Omera. As much as he hated it, he nodded when she asked. 

He stepped into the room. 

“Charlie,” his mother breathed. He let her pull him down into a hug, shaking and tearful. Cobb himself didn’t feel much like crying, but he felt awfully cold looking down at the bed where his father was laying. 

“Hey, momma,” he said. Nothing else to say, really. 

“You came early,” she squeaked. 

He squeezed her tighter. “Got some deputies rounded up to cover for me.”

“That’s good,” she sighed. She pulled back to look at him. “That’s good.”

Cobb wasn’t going to wait for her to apologize. He knew that would never happen. They would never speak of it again, actually—never acknowledge what she’d called him over the phone. And if it ever came up, somehow, somewhere, in the future, she would say it never happened. That he had dreamt it up and convinced himself it was real. 

She would convince herself it wasn’t real. 

But it was real. It always was, and he had plenty of scars to prove it, on the inside and out. 

And god, he was standing in front of her now with not a damn thing to say. 

“I’ll give you a minute with him,” she mercied. It took her a long moment to make herself move toward the door, and another to open it. 

It had just barely latched behind her when Cobb turned back to the bed. He wanted to get this over with, as soon as he could. 

He felt his mouth move before he could think. 

“You’re a mean son of a bitch. You know that?” 

Sheev offered no indication that he had heard him. Cobb stared at the still, quiet body. The only movement was the force of the machines. Artificial. Empty-like. 

He felt himself wanting to laugh, and stifled it quick. Not because it was funny—there wasn’t a damn thing funny about this, but there was some kind of irony. 

“Look at you now,” Cobb murmured. The seconds ticked by, and he could only stand and grit his teeth. It made his jaw hurt. “I used to be more scared of you than anything. More fear of you than fear of God. That’s how you wanted it to be.”

There was no stronger feeling than anger, if Cobb had to identify the sunken heat in his chest. Nothing else that he could name. Or rather, nothing else he would. 

Cobb didn’t fear God anymore. Not for decades now, half his life or better. He would be lying, though, if he tried to claim that he wasn’t still scared of Sheev. Even here. Even now. 

“I hope you wake up,” he said. He leaned over the bed, his hands bunched into fists. Cobb made sure he got close enough to make his point. “I want to see you wake up, so that you can die slow. I want to see that.”

He righted himself. Unclenched his hands. Cobb moved toward the door and cleared his throat, and let his mother back into the room. 

~~•~~

Given the way the day was going, Cobb would have let it go in any other circumstance, but Issa-Or called him outright. 

"Something's different this time,” she warned him. “Calican is all out of himself. Talkin’ out of his head.”

Cobb had sighed, low and deep. “I’ll run through. It’ll be a few minutes. Try to keep it from escalating, please.”

“I always do, don’t I?”

He was on his way back home from Mos Espa. He’d been there too long already, and he was pressing it to get back by dinner like he’d promised. It would be out of the way to go to Issa-Or’s, but she only asked when she truly needed him. 

Cobb had at least managed to call Din this time. He’d called him just after leaving the hospital room. Din had been quiet, taking it in. He’d asked if Cobb was alright. 

“Of course I am, sugar.”

He’d asked if he needed anything. 

“Not a thing. See you soon, alright?”

Din hadn’t believed it. 

“I love you, okay?” Din had said. 

Aika and Anakin wrinkled their noses when Cobb echoed it, even though they couldn’t hear the other end. 

“Love you, too, darlin’. Don’t worry about me.”

And that had been all. 

Cobb figured it was best left at that. 

He didn’t need to call again. 

It would only take a few minutes. He would be home in time. Nothing to worry Din more over. 

~~•~~

Sunset was dragging down the sky when Cobb pulled into Issa Or’s. He spotted Calican instantly. Cobb watched while the young man stalked back and forth by the side entrance, some hop in his step that Cobb went pale just seeing. 

As soon as Calican saw the sheriff, he spooked. Cobb only walked past the nervous wreck and stepped inside the diner. Folks were trailing in for dinner rush now, and Cobb could see why Issa had called. It was a matter of time before the kid got into the wrong customer’s space. 

“You got any cobbler to spare?” Cobb asked slyly. People in Freetown turned their heads when he walked in anywhere. No need to rile them with any suspicion. “I’m getting too scarce around here. Startin’ to crave your peach cobbler something awful.”

“Not to spare,” Issa answered, just as calm. “But I can add a senior discount on your veteran’s rate.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” he grinned. He got closer, talking quieter. “How long’s he been out there?”

“Off and on since late lunch,” she matched tone. “Ran him off twice, but he keeps creeping back toward the street.”

“He never came in?” Cobb asked. 

She shook her head. “I’m thinking he ain’t much hungry.”

I’m sure he isn’t. 

He looked out the window. Calican had stopped his strutting back and forth in the parking lot. He was headed down the sidewalk toward the mill houses, not that it was any relief. 

“Alright,” Cobb leveled. He nodded, then stepped back. “I’ll take three—no, four cobbler slices, then, doll. If you don’t mind.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Four, now?”

“Don’t start with me,” he said. “The house is packed like sardines.”

“I reckon it’s good for you.” She winked. 

He took his food, paid, then strode out the door. 

When he got in his truck, Calican didn’t seem to notice—almost like the kid was stuck in his head, which Cobb reckoned wasn’t far from the truth. The way he trembled wasn’t usual for drinking, and drinking was Calican's usual. 

He didn’t seem to notice when Cobb’s truck circled the block, or how it seemed to make the same turns he did. For almost ten minutes, Cobb tailed him like the easiest thing in the world, until he stopped at a house. 

Only then, he snuck around to the side entrance. Instead of searching for a set of keys or turning the handle on the screen door, Calican just knocked and waited. Cobb couldn’t see who opened the door from his angle, but he saw well enough what was in their hand. 

Just as important, he saw the wad of cash in Calican’s, and saw the way his fingers clutched desperately around the small package that he traded it for. 

Cobb remembered back to his desk before lunch, remembered that just-out-of-reach lead he’d had to set aside. The sheriff knew for sure now. He hated—dreaded—who and what had been brought to his town. 

He wouldn’t have it. 

Calican turned back toward the street, God forbid back to Issa-Or’s or anywhere close to the night life. Then, he finally saw Cobb and put it all together. Calican thought better—or worse, really—of it and made a sharp turn. He sprinted out toward the woods. As uncoordinated as he was in his state, Cobb knew he couldn’t chase after him on foot. 

He grabbed his gun from the glove box. Left the truck running. Cobb at least had the forethought to radio in some approximation of the address, but he couldn’t be sure who was listening, if anyone. 

Not that it mattered. He wasn’t waiting for backup. 

His knee already burned when he crouched around the side yard. He kept his head low, kept his back safe. There wasn’t much noise inside, but Cobb could hear a television cutting through. It was on the evening news—national, which meant Cobb was certainly late for dinner now. 

The solid door was open behind the screen. Cobb listened as best he could for someone in the room, but there was nothing. He heard chatter, now. Real voices outside of the broadcast, somewhere in the house. He couldn’t quite make it out, but it was far enough away that he dared to turn his head to look in the window properly. 

To his luck, there was no one staring back. But that was where the good ended. He saw the tattered kitchen and the mess and the grime, and it was the least of his worries. He saw the tools and the gloves and the bags. He saw cash counted out and wadded up, but that wasn’t what scared him. Not any of it. 

On the table, surrounded by trash and ashtrays and God only knew—a living breathing little thing. Barely ambulatory. Fussy. 

A little girl. Less than one, Cobb could figure. 

Although, knowing what Cobb knew, he feared she could be older than that, and small for reasons like Grogu. Reasons he couldn’t bear to think. 

He stared for too long. 

The kid—the baby—looked back at him with big, curious eyes. Hazel, like Cobb’s, and locked straight on him. She reached out, tilting the table with what little weight made up her body, and Cobb didn’t think. 

He threw himself in the screen door, barely catching the table and, more importantly, the child. 

She started crying anyway. 

There was no time to right himself. Cobb balanced the child on the ground so she held her own weight again. He tried to pry himself out from the way the table half-collapsed over him. When he heard the man yelling, he couldn’t help but hesitate to draw out his gun. 

He didn’t want the noise to hurt her little ears. 

To his advantage, the table shielded him from whatever direction the man approached him. Cobb pushed his body into it, hitting the man with just enough force to knock him backward. Just barely, Cobb managed to scramble to his feet by the time he recovered. 

They fought for half a minute, maybe. Cobb got in one good punch, and maybe half-landed a kick to the junk. He wasn’t exactly keen on fighting fair. He wasn’t keen on much at all. He couldn’t think. Didn’t think. 

He just saw red,

Saw hazel, 

Heard those scared wailing cries in that high-pitched voice.

Cobb thought maybe he’d managed to crack the man’s knee and got himself some desperately-needed leverage. The next thing he knew, though, he was on the floor, face pressed to the tile. There was pain. There was screaming. He was screaming. 

Something sharp hit his side, just under his ribs. His reflex tried to reach for it, but his arm wouldn’t stretch. The short move he did manage sent agony all the way up, from his fingers to his throat. 

He looked down and saw blood. He couldn’t make out where, or who, or what or how— he couldn’t keep his eyes open. The pain only kept ramping up, even as he lay still. His breath started to shorten. He gasped for air. 

He couldn’t get enough in. Each draw in his lungs felt like punching up into him. Sounded like it, too, although his own whine felt far away in his ears. 

The room was quiet, except for him. Just his agonized battle for air, the blood pounding in his ears, in time with his quick heartbeat. He tried to cough, but his throat burned. He tried to get his legs under him, but he couldn’t find the strength. 

Something seeped down his side, Cobb vaguely understood. It was warm, spreading around just one of the slew of places he felt immense pain. He tried again to reach for it, tried to feel it with his fingers and identify it. His arm outright refused this time, and he tried instead to get his other hand out from under him. 

When Cobb pried his eyes open again, he was alone. No trace of the man he’d barely gotten a look at, no tiny child whose face lingered in his mind. The both of them were long gone. 

He felt the force of his breath becoming too much. Despite the need for it, his lungs started cutting his gasps even shallower. They shortened, no mind for how he fought with everything he had to deepen them. Glitter danced at his periphery until it turned black. 

Then the black danced inward. Slowly, steadily. His panting grew further away. The pain itself kept on growing, however. It was everywhere at once. It built and built until he felt like it had no more room. As if the pain itself would break him open, more than a man’s poor body could bear until it snapped. 

When his mind had decided it was too much—when his vision and hearing were well on their way to having outright abandoned him—he felt a strong pull. A tug inward, downward. It took the pain with it.

It helped. 

But it took his breath, too. It sucked and pulled and reigned him in until he had to go under. He had two thoughts, both at once, right before he stopped thinking altogether. 

I will not die before my damned father does,

And of course,

I should have called. I’m sorry, Din. I should have called. I’m so sorry. I should have called. 

Notes:

Don't worry, I'm neither Neil Druckmann or Craig Mazin. I wouldn't do that to you.
...Probably.

Also, I'm on prednisone again :/ plz help

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Find A New Way