An outlet for obsessions

They were on Nal Hutta.

Rich swamp smells, loam and river-weed, moist tree bark, springy moss and shading fern. Sounds of the deep fens, droids on patrol, frogs chorusing, the swell of countless insects droning. The feel of earth beneath his palms, his toes squelching in the puddles.

The way his father’s chest rose up and down, up and down, fast and shallow. The rattle of his breathing.

What if it had come out different?

What if he never found the kind man across the river? What if he never got the medicine?

He pulled at his father’s shoulder, tapped his armor frantically, listened for his heartbeat under beskar.

All was silent — all was silent — and he was alone —

*

Grogu woke up in the dark on Nevarro. He would know the closeness of their little home no matter what, the little hum of their security defenses in the background, the smells of caf and cookies, the way the air hung just so within four prefab walls. It was secure now. He could feel it in the Force.

But the dream was still so scary and so fresh. He froze, then pulled his blanket over his head. He stayed like that a minute before peeping his head out, ears brushing against the soft fabric. He called out, shyly, just once.

No answer.

He told himself he would be okay if his father slept through without realizing. They had been through so much these past days. They both needed rest. Grogu sighed and turned within his blanket, shivering a little, determined to fall back asleep on his own.

A hand, warm and steady on his back in the dark. “Hey, kid. You okay?”

Grogu hesitated.

He’d been okay after the assault on the Imperial warlord in the snow. Chilly, excited, but fine.

He’d been okay after they locked him in a cage. His legs were tired and he was embarrassed and worried about his dad, but they’d both been all right.

He was okay after he got his dad home safe again. They’d both fought so much, so hard, and they had won!

He was getting stronger. Better at helping his dad. Better at saving his dad. He knew that he was brave and that he’d done good.

“Grogu?” his father asked quietly, his voice rough. He clicked on Grogu’s glow-lamp. In the dim light, Grogu could see he had taken off his helmet, something he did only very rarely, when it was just the two of them in their clan and the world was quiet. His father’s face was lined and tired and kind. “You all right?”

Grogu shook his head no, and he held out his arms.

I’ll stop I’ll stop I swear come back

He's definitely concussed.

Din Djarin and Grogu, sharing a tender moment. Based off an artwork I found on Pinterest... If anyone knows the original artist, please let me know so I can credit them.