Work Text:
Whispers are everywhere.
Through every street, between each stall, beneath each roof and shared from every mouth.
Whispers carried rumors.
Whispers carried secrets.
This town had many.
- ₪ -
The Mandalorian appeared as quickly and as mysteriously as he always did, with his cape fluttering behind him after every step and his beskar armor sharp under the cloudy sky.
The child was observing everything from his bag at the Mandalorians hip, eyes wide with curiosity and ears quirking at every new sound. A sudden shadow in the gloomy place caught his attention from a passing alleyway, but was gone just as quickly, so he didn't pay it much more mind. His guardian waded through the scarce crowd easily, his eyes searching beneath his T-shaped visor for a cantina he could get information from.
Drinks and secrets went well together, from his experience.
He was directed to a pock-marked building by its neon sign and expertly shielded the child from any prying eyes. The inhabitants of this particular cantina weren't friendly by any means, but then again when was that ever really the case for people like him? However with hostile planets often came underground gossip and deals, both of which the glaring Mandalorian was in need of.
He ordered the cheapest drink on the board and took a seat at the bar, his back leaning against it for a better viewpoint of the place. He the typical patrons for places like these, seedy criminals, smugglers, murderers, and youngers that looked too young for the pain in their eyes. Like usual, Din ignored them in favor of getting comfortable and listening.
When men like him came into town, rumors spread. And if he was still enough, they forgot he could hear them.
There wasn't anything interesting at first. Economy issues, trade route delays, and bets gone wrong, but with the hours that passed, the Mandalorian began to reap the reward for his patience.
"-have you heard of the things he's done?" A masked figure murmured to Din's right, seated at a table of four. "Horrible, horrible things to those girls. He'll take every species he can get his hands on just for those sick experiments of his. Can you believe it?"
"Heard he's got a buyer too. The trades are coming up soon. How many do you think they have this year?" Another asked.
"Too damn many." The third muttered waspishly into their drink.
Din pondered this information. It didn't sound related to his bounty, but that didn't make it any better. It sounded like a nasty business, and unfortunately one he was used to in his line of work.
Maybe if he just...
Another voice, darker and on the other side of the room, crackled in his helmets' ears.
"Yeah, I've got the ammunition. Just give me the credits and we'll call it square."
Weapons dealer. That's him.
Maybe next time, Din thought as he departed with the first conversation, his bounty soon within his sights.
He had a son to provide for, after all.
- ₪ -
Like the dozens before you, you had fought for your dignity. For your rights and autonomy, you clawed for every scrap you could call victory in the Sith Hell's pit you had been dragged into.
But he'd taken the time to watch you, know you, degrade you.
It had taken years, but still, he had won.
You would never be more ashamed than you were that day, bleeding and broken at his hand. That hand that groped you, probed you, hurt you beyond what should be comprehension.
That damned, scaly hand that grabbed your chin and forced it towards the mirror in front of you once he was done, showing you what you had become. What he had made you.
Finally, a monster.
And now that you were 'complete', now that he was done with his favorite little plaything, he would sell you off to his highest bidder and start his next 'project', the next stride to 'perfection'. It was all a disgusting game for men in power, for their sick, corroded satisfaction.
It was horrifying, just as you had become under his care.
But there was one thing he had not accounted for, even with his genius and wit and intellect.
Just because you are broken does not mean you are any less desperate.
And by all the little gods, were you desperate.
Your Master's friend was coming today. The transaction would occur, and from what you had gathered from his bragging, you would be taken outside.
You had not been outside of these walls since he took you. You have not seen proper sun in five years.
But now you were painfully desperate with nothing to lose. Now, you had a plan.
The guards all had their weak points, and unless they were stupid enough to anger your Master and get killed, they never changed. You knew both of the men that would be in charge of your tradeoff, and you knew how each one would fall.
The first was Carlasta, a humanoid barely taller than you even with your...modifications, and a man that lusted after anything with a pulse. You knew that all you had to do was distract him. It wouldn't even take much, slimy bastard.
His partner Tobile on the other hand, you knew took no interest at all. He was stoic and harsh but, funnily enough, fainted at the slightest drop of blood.
Drawing blood was a small price to pay for your freedom.
The day of your move you were running it all through in your head in your cell one final time, your shoulders hunched within the uncomfortable fabrics you had to call for clothes and your ragged hair tangled over your face.
The door groaned open. One pair of hands grabbed the manacles while the other took your shoulders to shove you out of the room. Soon you were being marched down the hall made of blinding white tiles, a guard on either side. You pretended to be tired, steps slow but uniform, hitching under your weight every so often to sell the bit.
The halls were almost identical, but thanks to your Master, you could hear things now you had not before, your ears twitching as the sounds of the outside world grew closer, the shuffle of uncoordinated feet becoming louder.
Your nose quivered as new (old, really, but so painfully unfamiliar by now) smells wafted past closed doors and brick-laden walls.
Almost there.
You could practically taste it.
With a subtle but steadying breath, you stumbled.
Carlasta caught you by the arm, then paused to fix the sleeve that had fallen down your shoulder, his hands lingering along with his eyes for too long. You bared your teeth in a mockery of a smile, turning your head so he could see your pointy filed teeth and, unbeknownst to him, his fate.
You lunged before he could move any further, sharp teeth gnashing at his throat and puncturing the skin without any resistance. Hot blood spilled out of your mouth and down your own throat as a result, your hair becoming matted with the sticky liquid in a matter of seconds. You ripped away, taking the guard's voice box with you as you whipped around in Tobile's direction, spitting on him with no small amount of the blood and gore curated in your attack. He gasped and choked, immediately falling on his own alongside his dying comrade with a clamor of armor.
Wiping your mouth against the collar of your shirt, you snatched the keys off of Carlasta's waist and the fairly unbloodied cloak from Tobile's neck, quickly wrapping it around your own and drawing up the hood.
From now on, you wouldn't have much time.
With the fear of dozens of girls in the past and the desperation of yourself, you set every sense on following the clues from the outside, and ran.
Finding the door took more time than you cared to waste, but you did find it quickly. It was plain and white, just like everything else that wasn't stained red in this forsaken place, but you could hear the people and smell the food and see just the smallest sliver of sun peaking in through the cracks...
You held up the fob from Carlasta to unlock the door, praying to every god you had ever even heard a whisper of that it worked, that it hadn't been reported yet, that they would be too late.
The light flashed green.
The door slid out of your way.
You ran before your eyes even adjusted to the sunlight.
You wandered the unfamiliar streets precariously, but not once did you stop. With enough time and rapid blinking, your vision became clearer along with the colors of those around you. The clothes, the buildings, the people. None of it was really bright, nor would it be considered special, but by all the gods it had to be the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.
But there was someone that didn't belong.
A tall and imposing figure in the thrall of the crowd, but one that could never be lost with their shiny silver armor. They turned their head to the side as they passed a gaggle of strangers, presenting the black T-shaped visor of their helmet.
A Mandalorian.
Your heart beat faster with hope.
You had heard stories of Mandalorians shared among the women enslaved along with you before they too were killed or sold away. They were a warrior people yet a dying breed. They were strong and clever and the best fighters most had seen.
They were a people of honor.
Your eyes were set on your salvation, and you ran towards it at full speed.
- ₪ -
Din could feel eyes on him, but while he remained alert, he wasn't too concerned. Loud noises and haggard characters were common in markets like these, so he didn't pay attention to any raised voices coming out of nowhere.
Not for a while, anyways.
"Sir! M-a'am! Ugh, you with the helmet! Tin can! Mando!" Someone tugged at his cape in an attempt to slow him down, seemingly ignorant of the unconscious body slung across his shoulders. He reached for his blaster in instinct, but the hand was already gone, his cape free to sway behind him as he turned to the voice.
A hunched, cloaked figure stood there, their head ducked low behind a large hood and shadows, though they still remained half a head taller than him. Always on the side of caution, he paused, angling his hips to hide the child at his side and keep his blaster within view.
"Please." The stranger pleaded, hesitantly drawing back their clawed and furry hand. "Please, you have to help me." Their tone was higher, more feminine if he had to guess.
"You got credits?" He would humor them. His shoulders hurt, but this shouldn't take long. Begging civilians were not new to him.
"I-I-" Shaking their head, the stranger sighed heavily, shoulders slumping further and losing about three inches of height. He saw a fluffy tale sweep from beneath their cloak, the fur mistreated much like the rest of them seemed to be. "My body. You can- can- do whatever you want. Just- please, get me away from here. Please, save me."
Commotion began to appear further behind them, the people beginning to part in the face of resistance. Armored men were surging forward, weapons glinting in their hands. The person in front of him seemed determined to hide in plain sight, shoulders shaking ever so slightly, but it barely appeared in their voice.
"I'm not a taxi service." He said to by time, sneering in disgust at whatever circumstances would force them here with nothing else to offer but their suffering.
"I understand that, really, ha. But- please, just a few planets. You don't even have to go out of your way, you can drop me off wherever you're going and- and you'll never have to see me again!"
The guards were getting closer, and the sense of urgency in the air became so palpable that he felt his instincts flare along with the child's whines. He hummed so quietly that his vocoder didn't pick up on it, and he watched silently as your anxiety grew with the twist of your hands and the shuffling of your feet.
"Please. I'll do anything, please."
The child hit his leg, the action more like a tap than anything, but when he looked and saw his frustrated glare, Din knew he didn't really have a choice.
Finally, he nods.
"Come with me."
"Thank you."
He notices your lack of second guessing him and his intentions with a heavy heart but moves away anyways, allowing you to walk beside him through the rest of the market.
If the people separated for the guards quickly, they moved even faster for the Mandalorian. You made it to the shipyard in record time, your steps quick and long to match Din's purposeful stride.
In a ritual of routine, the bounty went in carbonite, Din lowered the child in the co-pilot's chair, and he flipped the switches that would send the Razor Crest into the air. You followed him unassumingly, silent and expertly out of the way while he took control of the ship's controls. You sat in the chair opposite the child, seeming surprised at his presence but doing well not to mention it.
Din kept half an eye on you while he navigated the ship, but you only sat on the edge of the seat, unmoving in your position and posture until you'd broken the atmosphere and set out safely among the stars.
He busied himself with getting into hyperspace and leaving the dangers of your planet behind, the motions easy and familiar as you escaped. When he activated autopilot and turned around, it was to find you with your hood down around your shoulders and your eyes locked firmly on the floor.
The first thing he processed was the unruly mane of hair surrounding your face, knotted and bloody where it tangled around your head. From what he could see, your nose was slightly misshapen, a bit too long, smoothly merging with your forehead but obviously previously broken. Fur patched across your jaw and cheeks, fluffing up from your collar. Your eyes were just a bit too bright, your teeth too sharp, your ears too tall.
You were humanoid, but only just. He had never seen a sentient quite like you, and he had the strange feeling all of this wasn't natural. That it had been...done to you.
Among his observations, he noted growing stains in your cloak, rusty but definitely red.
"You're bleeding." He said. You looked startled and looked down, humming once you saw what he was referring to, nonplussed.
"It's a bit old. Scab must've opened."
"I have bacta."
You looked wary but also too smart to reject his offer. You needed to be on your top game, especially when in an unknown place with an unknown person for an unknown amount of time. You nodded once, eyes tracking his every move keenly as he stood and reached behind the child's seat for the medkit. Once it was retrieved, Din went back to the pilot's chair and turned it to face you, helmet tilted in a silent question.
Your mouth twisted, the expression strange when sharp canines poked out over your lips, but eventually you let out a low breath and unclipped your cloak around your neck. The fabric slid down your shoulders and settled around your lap. Your clothes were ill-fitting, too loose and tattered even with the extra matted fur that puffed up along your chest and arms. Scars cut through your fur at your joints, or where your limbs twisted in a way they almost certainly shouldn't be. Your arms, for example, were too long at your forearms, like an extra bone was added. Your legs, too, were bent to the side at a strange angle with your tail laying over the edge of the chair. Where your ankles should be were longer bones, curved and scarring into your bare feet which, much like your hands, were misshapen and clawed.
He felt his stomach churn at the picture you painted, rumors creeping to the surface the longer he stared.
"-He'll take every species he can get his hands on just for those sick experiments of his."
Experiments. Mutilation. Torture.
"The trades are coming up soon..."
Slavery.
"Were you a part of the slave trade?" He asked, just to be sure. A stream of starlight passed over your face, expression unmoving. He saw a film take over your pupils, making them glow in the dim lights of his ship. Eyeshine.
Briefly, he felt like prey. Like a predator was sitting silently across from him, waiting, watching, wondering about the perfect time to strike.
And then it passed, your eyes - though still bright - softening into simple caution, the predator easing away.
"...almost."
"How long were you with them?" He opened the medpack, finding the container of bacta spray quickly.
"He had me for years. Five, I think..." You looked away now, watching his hands work instead of squinting at his helmet to discern something it couldn't give.
Manda, the awful things sentients could come up with.
"I have a friend you can stay with. She'll take care of you, and you can go off from there." Peli would put you to work, but she wouldn't be cruel. She was safe and able to get just about anyone to like her. You'd get along, he thought, and you'd have ample opportunity to recover while gaining skills for a life if you chose to leave.
"Really?" You perked up, ears twitching along with the motion. "Thank you!" You grasped the arm that was in the medkit in gratitude, but quickly apologized and returned your hand. He stared at where you had touched him, where hand-like paws had clutched just above his vambrace with h/c fur and dulled claws, before looking back at you and holding the bacta up as a peace offering.
"Would you like me to...?"
Your hands flexed against your armrests, but you nodded anyways, never taking your eyes off of him when he leaned closer and gently carded his gloves through your fur to clear the area around the first wound bleeding sluggishly down your arm.
A high pitched whine ripped through the silence, making his eyes snap up to where your eyes were squeezed closed and eyebrows drawn taught. Instinctively, Din rubbed his thumb on your skin, humming softly in an assurance he could only offer the child.
Speaking of-
"Buh?"
You both turned to look at the child at your feet you had placed a small claw of his own against your leg. Din saw you flinch away but still completely afterwards, gazing down at the green creature with open curiosity.
"What is it?" You asked raspingly, voice raw and hoarse. Din continued doctoring any wound his could see within reach.
"He's my son." Moving carefully, he took your hand to inspect the bruised (but not cut) marks around your wrists. "He is a foundling. I have been watching over him for some time, in search of his people."
"And who are they? His people." You were talking just to talk, he knew. A distraction from his touch and the sealing of wounds. He let you.
"They are called Jedi."
"Hm." He glanced up at the sound, your eyes distant in memory. "I've only heard of those in myths and fairy tales. They have magic, don't they? The...Force?"
"Patoo?" The child cooed, pressing more insistently against your fur. His wrinkled face took on a look of determination, eyes closing as he focused.
"What is he-" You gasped as the child babbled unintelligibly, hand twitching in Din's hold along with the rest of your body before it went limp, like a doll cut free of its strings. "Oh."
The child sat heavily, sighing softly with lowered ears. Tired but content. Your expression was not unsimilar, eyes half-lidded and ears drooping naturally. Not out of aggression or fear, but in the state of almost sleep you were suddenly in.
"He does that." Din offered quietly, doing a scan for any more greivous injuries before returning the bacta to its container.
"Magic indeed." You concluded, slumping down in your seat. Din chuffed a laugh that barely surpassed his helmet as he tucked the medkit away and settled the child back in his seat before returning to his own.
Your breathing had gone steady and rhythmic, almost perfectly in time with the child's sleepy snores. Din wondered when you had last been able to rest without fear of being taken advantage of. He wondered when you had last been safe. He wondered how many were like you, broken and changed but desperate to live. He wondered how many had already given up.
"Are there others?" He asked tonelessly into the quiet of the cockpit, not entirely expecting you to answer. He heard the scoff you kept in your throat, the answer obvious even in your groggy state.
"Of course. There always is."
The Mandalorian was silent, and then he sighed. A heavy sound, coming straight from his core.
Well, he probably would have been a bounty eventually anyways. Din's just getting ahead of the game. Less work in the long run, really.
"I'll go back."
"You will?!"
You jerked upwards so quickly that he had to look over his shoulder to make sure you were okay when a loud thump followed.. The way your eyes lit up with hope made his heart beat faster, but he didn't think too hard about that. Not in the face of your tears and excitement.
"After you're safe, I'll come back." Turning back to the controls, Din stared straight ahead, allowing you the privacy to cry. "Nobody like that nerfherder deserves to live."
"Thank you, Mando." He heard you sob into your palms, no doubt pressed against your face to stifle it. Slowly, and with great care, he reached behind himself to pat your knee, his touch light and flighty, not daring to clamp down.
"Call me Din."
"Thank you." It was said quietly, but no less earnest than that first time on the street. "Thank you, Din."
"This is the Way." He intoned, staring resolutely at the stars. A clawed hand, larger than his own, enclosed around his glove. Warmth seeped through the fabric, and he squeezed once, a silent promise.
You fell asleep not long after, your snores louder than the child's, but Din still listened fondly, the proof of rest and life a comfort in his armored heart.
This is the Way.