Chapter Text
Din woke with a scream caught in his throat, memories turned into nightmares of battle droids in his mind. However, no sound escaped him, and he calmed himself with the familiar sleeping bunk of the Razorcrest. He knew it wouldn’t be a good day for using his voice. Hopefully, Grogu wouldn’t mind.
Thinking of the child, and worried he might’ve woken him with his abrupt awakening, he turned his head toward the little hammock- only, it wasn’t there. As his panic rose back to the surface, he noticed that the sleeping bunk almost seemed… bigger, somehow.
He started to stand to find his child when something fell in front of his eyes. It took him a moment, but he realized it was his own hair. He froze. He had just cut his hair the other day, while Boba and Fennec watched Grogu at the palace…
He was struck by another wave of panic as he realized his Razorcrest was nothing but a pile of ash on Tython.
Slowly, he looked down at himself. His hair fell into the edges of his vision as he saw himself as he had not been in decades- as a child. The dead giveaway was the singed red cloak, the one he was wearing in his dream, in the memory of his village’s destruction and his parents’ deaths. He put his hands on his face, flinching when he touched his own skin.
What was going on?!
His thoughts raced. There was no way all of that had been a dream, decades and decades worth of memories. The Clone Wars, the Purge, Nevarro, Grogu, and everything that came after…
Had he really dreamed it all? Was his mind so twisted as to have convinced himself he had already lived a life with a foundling and friends who cared for him, even when he was cast out by his own covert? Was it some sort of warning not to mess up the future by repeating his mistakes?
He shifted, and felt something made of metal poke into his side. He hovered his hand over the spot. He moved his cloak aside, finding the object was attached to his flight suit. He unclipped it, and stared.
Dank Ferrick. There was no kriffing way…
So it was real then. There was no other reason for this karking piece of metal to be here otherwise. He felt he didn’t have a reason to possess it in the first place. He had only been trying to defend his child’s life from that demagolka. Still, there was no reason, no reason at all, why a child as young as him should have it. He put it back where it had been, hidden, unless he drew it out.
So, it was all real, which meant Grogu was in danger.
The entire rest of the galaxy was in danger too, for that matter. It was too bad he didn’t know a lot about how the Empire came about. If he was here, a foundling, then the Clone Wars should have already started, not that he knew anything much about them either. He probably didn’t have much time to save Grogu.
He needed a plan, and to see if whoever else was on the ship Remembered anything. He had to consider the possibility he might be the only one, or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe everyone Remembered, and a whole new kind of chaos would engulf the galaxy as people began to panic.
He sighed in frustration, clenching his fist for a moment and letting it go. He couldn’t just leave Grogu’s fate up to chance. He had to find him, or die trying. First he needed to find out where, and more importantly, when, he was.
Cautiously, he clicked the button to open the door of the sleeping bunk, unsure of what awaited him on the other side. To his surprise, it really was his Razorcrest. It perfectly matched how he remembered it as a child, before the carbon freezing chamber was installed. It wasn’t new or pristine by any means, it never had been, but he knew it was the same ship he had used for years.
But who was piloting the ship?
Not wanting to go up to the cockpit unarmed (and refusing to let the sword be his only weapon), he opened one of the service panels, revealing a few emergency weapons. He took a vibroblade, tested it, and hid it beneath his cloak when he deemed it serviceable enough. He almost went through the armory, but stopped himself. It was probably someone he knew up there. Even if it wasn’t, they likely knew he was down there, and would be listening for any abnormal sounds. The armory opening would be a dead giveaway something was wrong, and would bring the pilot down to him. He might know how to fight, but without armor, without being as strong as he had been, he needed the element of surprise on his side. He needed to face them on his terms, and the cockpit would be a much better place for any kind of confrontation.
He quietly walked over to the ladder and began to climb, a little distracted by how off it felt due to his small stature. As he approached the top, he saw an armored Mandalorian in the pilot’s chair. Din watched for a moment, assessing the situation. The other looked to the side, opening a message he couldn’t see. They clicked a few more buttons, turning from side to side in the chair. Din’s eyes widened, and he hoped he was correct when he thought he recognized the armor. He exited the ladder, cautiously and quietly approaching the pilot.
“Buir?” He said it so quietly he wasn’t even sure he said it at all.
The Mandalorian jumped slightly, and spun the chair around as they dropped to a crouch on the floor. Their helmet tilted to suggest a smile, “Din’ika.”
There was so much warmth in their voice. Din felt himself freeze.
“Are you alright?” they asked softly.
His eyes burned for a moment, for the parent, the mentor he hadn’t seen since he was a teenager. He was certain every one of his conflicting emotions were showing on his face, his shock, his fear, his hope. Part of him was glad about it. He wasn’t great at acting, but foundlings, especially newer ones, were always confused and scared. At least he didn’t have to pretend like nothing was wrong, even if he couldn’t talk about the true reasons for his fears.
He forced himself to nod slightly, “nightmare.”
He still couldn’t speak at a normal volume, and to his surprise his old accent had returned. Basic was his second language of many, even if his native language was all but dead. He knew he hadn’t been a foundling very long since he still had his red cloak, but the accent was another sign.
The Mandalorian across from him opened their arms in an inviting way, offering physical comfort without forcing it. Unwilling to refuse a hug from his long dead buir, Din slowly walked forward to the side of one arm in a way to only ask for some contact without rejecting it outright. The feel of the armor was far more comforting than it should have been. His caretaker gently wrapped their arm around his back, leaving space for him to retreat.
No wonder Grogu found this so comforting. He had always worried his armor was too hard.
Din took a moment to let his facade completely fall as his head pressed against his buir’s pauldron. He realized everything he could do, everyone he could protect, Grogu, his covert, his people, his friends…
If he could only figure out how.
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“Let’s get something to eat, yeah?”
Din nodded, watching as the other stood and clicked a few buttons on the console to ensure the ship’s course. They both went down the ladder, and Din awkwardly avoided the table and settled on the floor as his caretaker started rummaging around for food.
Normally Din was the one trying to make sure Grogu had enough to eat, and didn’t have to eat ration bars all the time. Din was more than happy to eat the bland ration bars if it meant his child got something fresh. He thought back to reheating meals given to them by the residents of Sorgan, and how much Grogu enjoyed the blue krill and frogs.
He was broken from his thoughts as he was handed a plate of warm food. He caught the glint of a ration bar in their other hand, which was quickly put into a pocket of their utility belt to eat later. He hadn’t been officially adopted for a year or more from what he remembered, so right now his caretaker’s helmet had to stay on around him.
A memory struck, of how he used to get around that as a foundling. He couldn’t ever do it with Grogu because, if he was honest with himself, Grogu would’ve looked. Sometimes the child could be far too curious for his own good.
Din opened his mouth, but no words came out. His brow furrowed, frustrated when he remembered he couldn’t use Tusken signs since he wasn’t supposed to know them. He gestured between his food and his caretaker. They watched for a moment, and figured out what he was trying to say.
“It’s alright,” they reassured, “I’ll eat later.”
Din shook his head, and walked behind the other, gesturing for them to stay still. He pressed their backs together and managed to whisper, “I won’t look.”
He walked over to their designated dining area and sat down facing toward the bunk he slept in. He began to eat slowly, still listening for any sounds of approval or rejection of his idea. His feelings wouldn’t be hurt either way, but he had to offer. He knew the struggles of finding time to eat alone, especially around those who did not understand why he needed to.
A few moments later, there were slow steps as his caretaker approached, turned, and sat. After another few moments of quiet, there was a soft hiss, and clink of metal on metal. Din, who had frozen for a moment, resumed eating.
There was a shuddering sigh, followed by the sound of a ration bar opening. Din smiled.
————————————
When they were both finished with their meals, they went back to the cockpit. Still unsure of his voice, Din pointed to the front of the ship, toward their destination, and tilted his head.
“You want to know where we’re going?”
A nod.
Their helmet tilted in a friendly way, “we’re going to see an ally of mine. He asked me to bring some supplies, and now he says he has some work for me. It’s very safe, and he has a son around your age too. We don’t have to stay long if you get uncomfortable, okay? We can go back to the ship, or the covert, if you want.”
Din nodded again. Although he still didn’t know their destination, he did know more about what was going on. But he didn’t remember ever going on a trip like this before. Something felt off about it, but hopefully there would be something on this planet that could help him gather information about recent history. He needed to learn how he should go forward to best protect himself, Grogu, his people… and whatever else he could manage. He already doubted his own ability to make positive changes on account of his age and lack of resources, but he couldn’t give up, not yet at least. The thought of having to slip away from his caretaker did make him feel a little bad.
But he did have to find Grogu. In the worst case, he could always find Grogu and break him out of the Jedi’s hold- but he may not want that, especially since he probably wouldn’t Remember any of their shared past. Maybe that was a bad idea, actually. The Jedi would probably kill him before he got close.
“Ad, we’ll be there in a few hours, okay? You can sleep for a while if you want.”
Din knew that even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
————————————
When they dropped out of hyperspace, Din went ahead and strapped himself into the passenger seat. Even when it was relatively newer, the Razorcrest was never too smooth at landings. His caretaker looked over at him, nodding in approval at the straps, and they descended into the clouds. As lightning flashed in the clouds surrounding them and rain began to pelt the ship, Din felt his apprehension building. The planet below was entirely covered in water. He rarely visited ocean planets. As long as there were no Mamacores here, he could probably handle it.
The landing was far smoother than he thought it would be, as the dock was already ready for them, and was well marked to accommodate for the weather. The ship settled smoothly, and Din unstrapped himself and stood up.
His caretaker grabbed a few things and stashed them in their various pockets as Din went down the ladder. The last item grabbed, other than various weapons, was a box Din knew held beskar cleaning supplies. Curiosity bloomed, but he kept his mouth shut. He still wasn’t feeling great so even if he wanted to, he probably wouldn’t have been able to say anything much. It was probably for the best, anyway. Every time he opened his mouth, there was a chance he could reveal something was wrong.
“Ready?” His caretaker asked. The boy nodded, following as the ramp lowered. They paused at the edge, the last dry spot before the distance to the domed buildings. Din stuck his hand into the rain, feeling the cool droplets on his skin. He tried not to think about the last time he felt rain like this.
“Do you want to run through it?”
The question did not startle him, but he turned abruptly. He shook his head. The other accepted this, and they stepped into the rain. Din followed, and they both approached the now open door. He had no idea what to expect to be waiting for them on the other side.
A species Din had rarely seen stood at the door. Her neck was long, with pale gray skin, a tall stature, and large eyes. She could probably see wavelengths most couldn’t, he noted. She closed the door behind them, “good afternoon, guests.”
Her voice was a little unsettling, though he wouldn’t admit it.
“Would you like some help drying off?” Droids approached with devices designed to dry excess water, and Din couldn’t suppress his flinch.
His caretaker, however, was quick to react, “we appreciate the offer, but we decline.”
She nodded. She gestured toward the hallway in front of them, “do you need help navigating to your destination?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
She tilted her head, “alright. Let us know if you are in need of any assistance.”
She departed, and the Mandalorian turned to Din to make sure he was still by their side. They started to walk down the pristine hallways, tracking some water from the Mandalorian’s armor and both their boots. They walked for a few minutes, with a turn every now and then, and finally stopped in front of another round door.
With a quick glance at Din, his caretaker knocked on the door. A few moments later, it slid open. A Human boy, not much older than Din, he guessed, greeted them. He had wavy hair down to his shoulders and blue clothing, but something about him seemed almost familiar to Din.
“Hello, Mando,” the boy seemed a bit relieved, “and Mando’s foundling. Dad! Your visitors are here!”
He called the last part behind him, and then stepped out of the doorway so the others could enter. The Mandalorian dipped their head and thanked the boy as they walked inside. He closed the door, made sure it was locked, and looked at them for a moment. He swiftly grabbed a towel from a well concealed compartment by the door, offering it to Din first.
He hesitated for a moment, then wiped the water from his face and hair. He turned to his buir and gently touched their gloved hand. They crouched down to his level, and Din slowly reached forward to wipe the water droplets from their visor. When he had finished, he stepped back and handed them the towel after that. He also noticed that the boy had been watching their exchange with a soft look on his face.
Footsteps made all their heads turn as another fully armored Mandalorian entered the room. Din sucked in a breath, seeing the shiny beskar, only to realize that it wasn’t entirely unpainted. His caretaker stepped forward, and they two clasped elbows, a warrior’s greeting. The adults stepped apart, but he couldn’t get his eyes off the other’s armor. There were warning bells going off in his mind, but about what?
“It’s alright,” his buir was at his side now, “he’s another Mandalorian, like me.”
The unfamiliar Mandalorian knelt down similar to how his own buir had before, resting his arms on his knees, silently inviting Din to take a closer look. So he approached cautiously, studying the armor. He had seldom seen any Mandalorian with a set as complete as this- himself included- but something was familiar about the beskar’gam. He paced around the armored man, ignoring his own buir’s chuckles, and he found himself looking at the flickering lights on the chestplate. Then, his attention was drawn to the vambraces. Finally, he looked at the helmet, staring at the blue-painted visor, and for a moment he imagined a dent on the side.
Din gasped, stumbling backward and practically tripping over himself in haste. His head whipped to the boy, who was looking at him strangely. He had to take a chance.
“Boba?!”
The boy’s eyes narrowed, and his expression turned serious and deadly in a way that was far too familiar to Din.
“Do you Remember?” He took a step forward, and the boy- Boba’s- eyebrows shot up in surprise.
He was quiet for a moment, then, “I don’t recognize you.”
Din sighed, “you shouldn’t. I would be upset if you did.”
“If we’re from the same time, you’d probably be able to figure out who I am with the right clues. But he,” he pointed toward the Mandalorian Din now knew had to be Jango Fett, “didn’t say a word. So how did you recognize me?”
“Your armor,” Din gestured toward Jango. “He’s wearing your armor!”
Boba’s expression turned to plain shock for a moment, before he tilted his head in disbelief, “Din?!”
Relief he had rarely felt so strongly passed over him as he nodded, grinning widely. The two ran forward to meet each other, clasping one another’s arms. To his surprise, Boba briefly pressed their heads together in a forehead kiss.
Before he could say anything else, Boba guided him to his father, “Buir! I want you to meet Din Djarin, my greatest friend, and the best Mandalorian I’ve ever met. He’s mandokar through and through.”
To his surprise, Din found himself embarrassed. He had never imagined a scenario in which one of his best friends would be showing him in such a positive light to one of the most respected and feared bounty hunters to ever exist. He desperately wished for a helmet to cover his face. He couldn’t look into the visor, and instead looked at the stripe of black paint just above it.
“Is that true?” Jango’s familiar voice warped a little as he removed his helmet, grinning at his son and his friend.
“He fought a Krayt dragon for our armor, and carried it across the desert without even knowing I was alive to claim it.”
Jango’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “you didn’t mention that part earlier.” He turned to Din, who continued to avoid his gaze, “it’s no wonder you recognized my armor then.”
“Boba saved me from being stranded, and helped me take down a light cruiser to save my foundling after we just met. I owe him more than you can imagine,” he said, just above a whisper.
Boba put his hand on his shoulder, “you know there’s no debt between us, except for mine to you for your assistance during the battle of Mos Espa.”
Before Din could protest, Jango chuckled, “you still owe me those stories, you know.”
Quiet shifting reminded them they weren’t the only ones in the room. Din’s caretaker had shifted into a confused, almost defensive stance, unsure of what they should do, “what’s going on?”
Jango stood back up, “well, it looks like our kids are some kind of time-travelers.”
Din cringed at the bluntness, even if it was true. Boba crossed his arms, “dad! You can’t just say that!”
“Hmm, maybe not.”
Din and Boba looked at one another; they sure had a lot of explaining to do…