Grogu continued to develop his skills in healing as well as the years went on. Din frequently told him he wasn’t obligated to help people at his age, especially at a detriment to himself, but Grogu made it quite clear that it was something he wanted to do because he felt people’s pain so deeply that he was compelled to help out of compassion and care for others. At his age and stature there were very few things he could do for other people, he’d said, but this was one area where he had the talent and means to do some material good that others couldn’t provide. How could he justify not helping those in need?

As time progressed, Grogu studied physical means of healing too in order to better understand the bodies and systems of each of the beings whose paths they crossed, and as their cadre of connections and friends and allies grew, the types of needs he saw expanded and required other forms of healing that Grogu was unable to attend to with the Force: on a mission to Nar Shadaa, Fennec Shand was injured and out of commission longer than she might have been, had they had the access to someone with a more complex understanding of cybernetics.

Though she recovered well with Fett’s aid once they were back on Tatooine, it troubled Grogu to know that there was an area of healing and physical care that was a complete blind spot to him. Din may have been able to teach him the basics of repairing mechanical and electrical systems, but cybernetics were much, much different, and how they were incorporated into an organic body puzzled and troubled Grogu. There was something in cybernetic systems that just didn’t translate when he tried to study them, some disconnect between what he saw and sensed and understood, and it was frustrating not knowing what he didn’t know. He didn’t even know where to start or what questions to ask, and it was only after several months of frustration and discussions between them that a lightbulb went off and Grogu told Din he knew exactly who they should go to.

It took a considerable amount of time (not to say the least of a few favors) for the three of them to arrange a meeting, their lives as busy and fraught with peril as they were, but Grogu and Din were finally able to meet with the Jedi they’d briefly crossed paths with all those years ago; Luke Skywalker, a busy man and largely self-trained Jedi himself, had the kind of teacher’s patience, understanding of the Force, and experience caring for his own cybernetic prosthesis that made him ideal for Grogu to finally get a starting point. Luke may not have been a healer the way Grogu was, but being able to marry the understanding of the Force with the incorporation of inorganic medical components gave Grogu the opportunity to begin filling in the blanks for what he was missing. The Mandalorian remained nearby, watchful and curious as his ward followed the Jedi’s teachings.

Understanding that Grogu could use a mentor who understood him in ways very few others could, even if Grogu didn’t feel called to be a Jedi the way Luke was, Luke gave the Mandalorian and child the means to contact him so if there were ever any questions, they could reach out for help and further advice. Grogu still cared about people and wanted to help in what ways he could, and his aptitude for connecting with the Force had not faded with age. They made new contacts, did more research, and Grogu was able to continue refining his skills, bridging the two sides of learning together as he did.

The Mandalorian was getting on in years, but still felt relatively comfortable continuing to work. He had begun to suspect that the boy may have had something to do with that; he’d discovered early on after the start of their journeys together that the child had a habit of tending to Din’s injuries when he was asleep and couldn’t stop the boy from taking care of him. He’d made it clear to Grogu that he didn’t have to heal him (especially when it came at the expense of overexertion), but whether the child hadn’t understood at the time or he simply wasn’t going to do what Din told him to, Din didn’t know. It was a mild point of contention between them once they were finally able to communicate properly, but Grogu had made it clear that even if he were to try, Din wouldn’t be able to stop him anyway, and that he should accept help when it was offered because people like being able to help others. That wasn’t a characteristic only humans felt.

Even so, Din still felt considerably more spry for his age than he knew he should have been, all things considered. His memory and skills were still sharp. He was almost as active as he had been in his thirties and forties, and his stamina hadn’t waned how it should have with his advancing age and choice of profession. His eyesight hadn’t faded, he didn’t have any considerable ailments, and his joints were in remarkably— unrealistically— good shape.

Understanding and accepting change and loss are not lessons exclusive to the Jedi’s way of life.

When Din tried to broach the topic of the child’s care for his wellbeing, Grogu would change the subject or handwave the discussion away, evading Din’s efforts to address the inevitable. It was unfortunate that it took a sharp word and subsequent heated argument for the two of them to finally address the topic of whatever small amount of time they had left together, but Din insisted that they address it now before it was addressed for them and Grogu didn’t have a choice but to contend with the grief that loss brings with it, and contend with it alone.

I know what grief is, he’d told his father. You are not the first one I will have lost, and I will have the rest of my life to deal with it. Please don’t muddy the time we do have together.

They compromised after that, Din agreeing not to bring it up as often as long as Grogu didn’t heal him when it was unnecessary and he could recover fine with regular means. Grogu didn’t like it, but Din was happy to see him studying more as a result, honing his technique and repertoire of skills.

That being said, Din did not like Grogu suggesting technical reinforcements.

The Mandalorian and his ward were in hyperspace. The extraction job they had taken at the behest of a friend had nearly cost Din an arm; it was only by luck (or the will of the Force) that Grogu was nearby to halt Din’s adversary and keep it from being completely severed.

Grogu sat on the table in front of his father, carefully tending to the layers of injury Din had sustained. Din insisted he practice more of the traditional methods since he had the time and opportunity; Grogu had given what Din had come to understand was his equivalent of a sharp look, but dutifully went about tending the wounds, briefly using the Force again to ensure he’d stopped the worst of the bleeding.

The Mandalorian saw his boy turn to notate something in the small datapad beside him; Din largely couldn’t read most of it, but he’d started to see patterns in what notes were pulled up when Grogu took them down with him. There was one column that deepened the wrinkles beginning to line his face: he’d seen enough to know what theoretical solutions Grogu was looking at, given Din’s most-often encountered injuries, and the droidlike diagrams of different body systems and prosthetics soured his stomach.

“I don’t need them,” he murmured. “I have lasted this long without them, and I don’t want them.”

Grogu’s look of concentration deepened to disapproval. He finished cutting away Din’s sleeve and methodically cleaned his arm, clearing the way for him to work.

I may not always be able to heal you. What happens if we are apart?

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it, come what may.”

They are a tool, Grogu said.

“Maybe, but they’re not for me,” Din said. “I’ll manage.”

You don’t have to, Grogu replied. There may come a time you have no choice.

“I won’t accept them.”

The boy looked up at him, disapproving. He stood on the table to tap three times on Din’s helmet. You may not be awake when someone comes to help. Hit your head often, you do.

Din grumbled something indistinct, flexing his hand. The boy sat back down, hand hovering over the now-clean open wound as he focused his energy on reversing the damage. Stubborn.

“I know.”

Take better care.

“I’ll try.”

Do. I do not like when you are hurt.

“… I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to worry about me.”

I will, always.

“You don’t—”

Grogu smacked his arm twice. I will. Always.

Din smiled crookedly, gently resting his hand on the boy as he worked. “Stubborn.”

I follow your example.

Grogu sat back, finishing with the closure. He looked up at the Mandalorian, wide brown eyes solemn and thoughtful. He thought of how many years he’d had with his father, but he knew no matter how many there were, it would never be enough.

Grogu reached up to rest his hand on the edge of Din’s helmet, and Din removed it to set it aside. The boy stood up on the tips of his toes to reach Din’s face and bring it down to his, pressing his forehead to Din’s as Din rested his hand on Grogu’s back.