#djaryn

the clearing has enough space only for him and the still thrumming ship. he waits patiently for the engines to fall silent and the door to open. his favored hunter steps out and boba approaches, noting the squirming motion between the unpainted gauntlets. 

“you brought him with. good.” a gloved palm is offered to the little one, a furled and relaxed curl of fingers. when the tiny fangs find purchase in the worn-out leather, he cants his helmet at din. “this is for him to see too.” 

     cycles-- how many cycles of the brothers had it been since you last saw him? the armor looks different, the gleam it catches off the suns the first noticeable difference: but you recognize him all the same, he’s unmistakable by this point. your excitement gets the better of you, and you sign in large, exaggerated gestures as the mandalorian approaches.

something  like  laughter  fogs  in  his  visor.  ‘no,’  the  hunter  concedes.  ‘and  you’re  welcome.’  he  hates  long  good-byes.  much  preferred  is  the  way  a  jawa  would  scurry  off  with  their  prize,  no  acknowledgement  necessary.  his  kind — mandalorian  or  otherwise — always  tend  to  draw  these  things  out.

‘can’t  promise  i’ll  be  seeing  you  around.’  he  sighs  with  finality,  the  sudden  movement  producing  a  murmur  from  the  pouch  at  his  back.  ‘if  it  means  another krayt  dragon,  i  hope  i  don’t.’  here,  djarin  offers  a  hand.  thanks  to  this  stranger,  there’s  a  suit  of  armor  slung  over  his  own,  a  battle-scarred  helmet  propped  under  his  free  arm.  it  isn’t  what  he  came  here  for,  but  what  more  could  he  expect?

‘i  know  what  it  meant  to  you,’  he  says,  meaning  the  beskar,  meaning  the  scraps  of  mandalorian  remains  that  are  weighing  heavier  by  the  thought.  ‘thank  you  for  taking  care  of  it.’

Without hesitation, Cobb grasps the hand offered him and shakes, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself even as he releases him.

Is he disappointed to have to part with the armor? Yes, and perhaps a bit apprehensive besides. After all, that armor had helped him to protect his town, his folks, from bandits and raiders and all other manner of scoundrels and scum that thought they would cause a ruckus and stir up trouble.

But… He gave his word, and he’ll hold to it. He’s not a Mandalorian, but he has his own sense of honor.

And at least the krayt is dead, and the Tuskens… they might leave the town and the mine be now. That will make life easier for all of them.

“Well… while I do hope our paths might cross again, I will have t’ agree with you that if there’s a krayt involved, I’d just as well skip it,” he says with a chuckle before his gaze shifts to the armor, smile turning a bit wry.

“… Guess I should be tellin’ your people thanks for the loan. Kept a lot of good folks outta the sort of trouble that nobody ought t’ have.” That he knows all too well. After all, his own trouble had been branded and lashed into his skin.

“And as for you… You can just tell your people that I wasn’t the one broke that.”

There’s a beat and then he nods and turns to walk away only to pause and look back. 

he stops by the foot of the steps. above him, din studies the scorched wall. the symbol of death watch is painted in black and red, asking to be interpreted as a threat. boba waits patiently. his presence will be acknowledged. inside the dented helmet, eyes roam from one mural to another, one battlefield to another. shame or glory, mandalorians seem to hold on to both. 

as they stand in silence, he thinks about the throne he left behind. the desert lies gutted and bleeding, not much left he can do to it anymore. now, it has to heal and become stronger. but that’s not his business anymore. nor fennec’s. the next step he takes won’t be alongside her. there’s no reason to pretend like there’s still any debt between them. as he thinks about what to tell her, djarin finally shifts. the silver helmet turns towards him. 

the green chestplate rises and falls in state of sudden restlessness. but his feet don’t move and the distance remains as mercy. they look at each other. this next step arrived sooner than he thought.

“i think we could do it.” the mand’alor speaks. he swallows, the next sentence sounds strangled. “find peace and build a home out of it.” ( x )

he doesn’t reply. din insists on making his way down the stone steps, a commitment to the words that just left him. they’re on the same level now and that’s how boba knows he can’t pretend that this ‘we’ meant ‘mandalorians’. 

silence again. neither of them speaks until they are ready, that’s how it goes.

coruscant has seen better days. he almost berates himself for that obvious thought like it’s a misuse of his concentration. of course it’s seen better days. once the capital of the galaxy, now just a haggling bauble for the new republic and the crime syndicates. nobody knew what to do with the world that saw the rise of the empire. ignoring it seemed like the most comfortable course of action. 

his helmet tips up as he attempts to see where the cloudcutters above him end but with their lights turned off, they perfectly blend into the dark sky. the neons he remembered from his youth are gone, so are the blaring screens and hurrying speeders. coruscant went from a planet without five minutes to spare to a complete standstill. 

suddenly he’s very aware that underneath every mandalorian helmet there are just scraps of meat and bone. 

how easy it is to make them spill their contents. he doesn’t remember seeing blood but would he be able to spot it on red sand? red on red, he paints it to this day. 

this isn’t djarin’s intention, to omit. to ignore the color on his gauntlets, the color around his visor. but it is red that frames all of fett’s vision, so he steps closer, helmet held high, teeth bared. 

“i don’t find comfort in promises no-one in this galaxy can keep.” he holds that gaze, keeps the loop of two visors reflecting. and then he leaves, as fast as he approached. “we’re just men.” he reminds them both. 

he’s known this kind of silence for a long time now. crushing, if you notice it. stay quiet and you’ll meld into it. that’s one way of stopping it. just let it roll over until it becomes the default. the state of being, instead of an event. which has never bothered him before, but seeing it from an outsider’s perspective is jarring.

fett glances over his shoulder at the seat in the back. just how could the other mandalorian sit so still? his gaze returns to the stars before them. silence inside, silence outside. and this time, he’s the one who breaks it.