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This had not been part of the plan.
Vanth still felt numb.
The child had not stopped crying, not since mere moments after they had all felt the shockwave of the underground blast. He’d screamed and thrashed in the speeder bag, his vocals turning a brutal pitch, and Vanth’s stomach had sank where he still sat on the ground. The dragon had gone under and not come back up, but he had still hit the detonator.
What the hell was he thinking?
The sand people were beginning to dig. Vanth and the villagers stood nearby to watch, and while some were able to cry in relief and hug each other, the child had still not stopped crying. It had only somewhat calmed to broken hiccups, lying flat in Vanth’s arms and gone limp. Vanth brought him up to his shoulder, to hold him better, and a wet face buried into his bandana. The child’s grief was almost projected, almost overpowering, and Vanth stared at the ground like he had lost a loved one, too. The sensation was unbearable.
He stayed numb.
The villagers returned to the village on the backs of their banthas, processing home before the suns could set. Vanth stayed. He had his speeder, anyway. And Mando’s. He had…
He had to stay.
The skies had gone dark when the baby calmed, and Vanth had almost thought it the tiniest of possible victories before realizing that the child was not calm but asleep. He’d passed out in Vanth’s arms with a wet face covered in tears and snot, getting it all over the bandana but that seemed like the least important thing in the world when dealing with a child who had just lost his father. The sand people had brought lanterns and continued to dig through the ground. Vanth remembered Mando translating that they had wanted the carcass. He wondered how deep the creature had gone, how deep the Mandalorian was buried, and wondered if the explosion allowed for anything that could be buried proper.
Wonder if the beskar could survive it.
He watched them dig.
I’m a horrible person.
It wasn’t until the suns rose again that the Tuskens had been successful.
Vanth woke to the sunset, still feeling the cool morning winds blow past him. He was lying on his back near the speeders, his broken jetpack cast aside and his cuirass removed to tuck the baby into his shirt. Mando had done it during their night with the Tuskens before and seemed the best solution when the kid had started shivering in Vanth’s arms. Exhausted now, he lifted the kid out and redressed.
They had uncovered the dragon, and it was not as deep as Vanth had expected. Its midsection was blown to nothing, ribs exposed, but that had allowed for sand to collapse into it and the exhausted-looking Tuskens were trying to slowly shovel it out. Vanth stood at the top of the created ridge and looked down into it. The entirety of the dragon was not yet exposed, a handful of raiders working their way towards its head. As the suns rose, Vanth tried to look for any shimmer of silver beskar.
He got nothing.
The baby began to stir, and broke the monotony with his low, garbled howl.
Vanth sat in the sun hours longer. The baby eventually squirmed out of his arms, kicking and scratching enough that Vanth had to let him go. The kid still sobbed. He stumbled towards the edge and the nearest Tusken stepped to stop him from falling, but he crouched at the edge instead and stared down. He let out a low, deflated cry, staring at the dragon’s corpse, and all fell silent.
The Tuskens stopped working.
The baby wailed again.
There was no response.
Please, Vanth thought. Oh, stars, please. He desperately wanted the Mandalorian to burst out of the dragon. That somehow he’d had a healthy supply of oxygen to survive the night and not breathe in the gases, that he’d just been stuck and the Tuskens could dig him out, the jetpack could add a lot of bulk. But the Tuskens were getting to the head now.
The day was stretching long.
The baby did not get a response, and he collapsed to the ground as he let out a scream.
It was shrill and painful, both to hear and to come from the child’s vocal cords. Vanth had thought himself to be tough, but the sound made his heart shatter, and tears pricked at his own eyes as though feeling the kid’s same pain. He wiped them away quickly, and the Tuskens looked just as unsure as him. Some were ready to drop of exhaustion; they had been up for more than a day. Vanth took a shaky breath and pushed forward onto his hands, crawling the few feet to the baby, who had stopped only to scream a second time.
“Kid—“
He reached down. His fingers almost brushed the baby’s clothes when something threw him backwards and he gasped before landing on his back, sliding in the dirt. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut, the breath knocked out of him, and sat up to stare at the kid.
The baby curled up to sob.
Down below, some of the Tuskens dropped of exhaustion, while a small group abandoned their immediate tasks of gathering meat to instead come to the head. They packed themselves near the mouth and began trying to stick their tools in to pry it open. Vanth watched, then began to crawl back to the kid again, who had devolved into a series of sobs.
It was slow, but Vanth reached down and began to slip his hands beneath the baby. This time, he was not thrown by some magical force, and instead he lifted the child into his lap. He curled around the baby in the tightest hug he could manage, and the baby squirmed against him before finally settling. He buried his face in the bandana and little claws scrabbled against the slippery beskar.
They found him, still in the dragon’s mouth.
The Tuskens handled Mando with more respect than Vanth would have expected from anyone towards a Mandalorian. They were slow and careful in moving him until they could lay him out, but the lack of movement told Vanth enough. As the baby again exhausted himself, Vanth dared to approach.
He was completely covered in the dragon’s saliva and the effects of it for so long were not pretty. It had eaten through his clothing, leaving acidic burns on his exposed skin. The beskar had lost some of its shine. Vanth’s own breath trembled and he knelt down beside Mando, and with one hand he brushed away some of the slime from Mando’s chest.
The baby turned.
Vanth eased him to sit down on the Mandalorian’s chest. The baby did not move, did not cry, only stared down into the visor of his father. Slowly, he reached forward to touch the rim of Mando’s helmet, ears back. He patted against it. “B… Buh,” he whined. “Buh. B… Boo.”
Vanth watched.
The Mandalorian was gone.
The baby placed a hand against his chest and closed his eyes. He remained like that for a few minutes before he sat back with tears in his eyes. “Boo,” he whimpered before he laid down and flattened himself against the Mandalorian’s chest. He planted himself there.
He did not move.
When Vanth reached for him, to try to feed the kid some of the meat the Tuskens had cooked, he was once again shoved back by something but with less intensity. When another sand person tried to do the same, they were also pushed back.
There was no separating the two.
Eventually, the child fell asleep, and Vanth picked him up if only to wrap him to keep warm as the suns set. The Tuskens spoke among each other, looking down at the body, and Vanth had a bitter thought that of course the one of them to die was the only one who could translate.
A little later, the baby woke and was willing to take meat then.
Vanth did not notice the sand people at Mando’s body until one came over to where he sat. The Tusken held a pile in his arms and it took Vanth too long to realize that he was being given the beskar armor, wrapped in linen, neatly piled. His stomach churned, and then he was angry.
“You took it off him?” he demanded.
The only piece missing among the beskar was the helmet. It remained with him. The Tusken spoke in their guttural language but Vanth was hot with indignity.
“It’s his armor! You can’t—“
The Tusken shook their head. They began to sign.
“I don’t understand!”
The Tusken paused. They then gestured to their own body, and the armor. They pointed at Vanth, and gestured to the cuirass he still wore. They made a crushing gesture and now pointed to where the baby slept on the ground. They stopped. Then, a hand pointed back towards the body, now to the nearby fire.
“You’re going to burn him,” Vanth said, breathless.
The Tusken looked at him.
“You’re—” Vanth stopped. “Is… is that what Mandalorians do?”
The Tusken gestured to the pile of armor again and pointed to the child. Body to fire. The Tusken held out the armor.
Vanth was slow to take it.
It was put off for as long as they could. It was clear, without language, that no one wanted to completely separate the father and son. The baby clung to the Mandalorian’s flight suit for every second. The Tuskens continued to work on the dragon, and celebrated when they found its pearl. They packed as much meat as they could, setting aside a massive chunk that Vanth could bring back to Mos Pelgo.
Eventually, it was time to leave.
The baby seemed to sense it.
He did not throw a tantrum. He watched, instead, as Mando’s body was placed into the flames of a roaring fire, shadows dancing against the hills. The Tuskens let out shrieks and calls, and Vanth could feel the farewell behind them. The baby watched the flames in silence, and soon, a raider walked over to hand Vanth the helmet.
Vanth stared down at it. He had never seen the Mandalorian’s face. Somehow, that suspended curiosity felt… right. He was not meant to see the Mandalorian’s face and even in death, Vanth did not want to violate that wish.
When he looked at the baby, he was chewing on something. Vanth shifted his grip to look at the object, gently tugging it away, and Vanth looked down at an amulet in the shape of a skull. It was made of beskar. Vanth stared at it before realizing it was a mythosaur.
Vanth looked into the helmet again.
“I’ll take care of him,” he promised.
There was nothing happy about the return. The baby was quiet, and they returned on Mando’s bike with Vanth’s following just behind on a tether. The villagers watched from their homes as Vanth began to unpack it all with the baby in a satchel by his hip.
He brought the meat to Hafa’s house. He would know how best to split it up for the townsfolk. He carried the armor into his own home, a humble space meant for just himself. He placed the pile on his table, then guided the speeders around to their shed, making sure that any of Mando’s possessions left on the bike were brought inside.
The baby did not make a sound. He did not look at Vanth, react to food, react to water. The little guy curled up on Vanth’s pillow but without any response to Vanth’s attempts at something.
“You gotta drink,” Vanth said, his voice soft. “Please, kid. You lost a lot with your tears.”
The baby didn’t understand, or he didn’t care.
That night, when he’d finally gone to sleep, Vanth headed straight for the cantina.
He needed a drink. Desperately. A few others lingered around, silent when he came in, and he slumped into a seat at the bar. “Whatever gets me drunk faster,” was his order, and the Weequay was hesitant but Vanth soon had a line of shots. They burned his throat but it was the effect he wanted.
“So, are you its dad now?”
Vanth lifted his head from his arms, glancing at Ralli who had taken the seat beside him. He half-glared at the miner. “The dragon ate his dad,” he snapped. “I’m just…”
What was he now?
“I’m just here.”
The transition was not fun. Not for the kid, not for Vanth, not for the town.
The baby needed the helmet to sleep. It was awkward at first; Vanth had one bed big enough for himself but now had to cram in both the toddler and the Mandalorian’s helmet. But sacrifices could be made, and he could give an extra foot between himself and the wall to let the kid sleep well. It took days before reality seemed to set in for the child and he began to eat again, drink again, and he looked healthier for it.
It took two weeks until Vanth walked out of his home, now with a little shadow following every step.
It was slow, and it was painful, and it was fraught with nightmares each night. Vanth lost his whole nights of sleep, interrupted now by the cries of a distressed child. It left him tired and grumpy but never once did he think to react in any way other than comforting; when he was woken by shrieks or a little hand patting his face, he pulled the baby in close to hold him.
Hangar in Mos Eisley.
Mando had mentioned it off-hand. Vanth had asked about a ship and been told that yes, Mando had one, but it was undergoing some repairs at a hangar in Mos Eisley. That it was an old Razor Crest gunship that Mando was barely holding together. But the hangar number hadn’t been mentioned, and Vanth hadn’t thought to ask, because asking would have been weird when it was useless information.
It wasn’t useless any longer.
Vanth was losing the light and getting frustrated. He had circled Mos Eisley several times now, walked through, but the hangars he checked were closed or were not currently housing a Razor Crest. He hadn’t planned this out far enough to find himself a place to stay, either, so he was going to have to travel on foot and knock on doors to find any open bunks anywhere.
Did he actually need Mando’s ship?
Part of him said yes. A ship with living space could have more of the baby’s things that he would need before really settling in with the townspeople. Toys, clothes, any preservable food. The kid’s diet seemed to be primarily meat. He would also admit to himself that he wanted to find anything more that he could about the Mandalorian, or the Mandalorian people in general, anything at all. A name. A history. A collection of messages. Even if he could access the Holonet and find out about Mandalorian burial practices—
The guilt was still eating at him.
He was facing another dead end when the baby began to squirm in his bag. Vanth stopped and looked down, then saw the baby’s gaze directed towards a door. He made a little whimper. Vanth walked closer — then realized that the building was another hangar. 3-5. He looked down at the kid, then went inside.
He was met with a Razor Crest. The baby cried out — not just a wail, but a call.
“Bright-eyes!”
Vanth stopped. A short woman with curly hair stepped into view with a grin, but it dropped. Instead, she took a step backwards and her hands dropped to a tiny blaster on her belt. Vanth stepped back, too, instead grabbing the kid to hold him up. It was clear that she knew the kid, and knew Mando by extension. “The Mandalorian is dead,” he said. “I was… I’m looking for his ship.”
The mechanic’s blood drained from her face and she covered her mouth before turning away.
The baby was crawling about the ship, energized somewhat from the environment of what must have been his home. Peli had gone near silent since Vanth told her of Mando’s fate and only spoke to answer his questions, instead sitting nearby to watch the kid.
Vanth sat in the cockpit, trying to find the stored messages. Admittedly, he didn’t know his way around a ship, not really. He’d never left Tatooine and there were a million buttons and switches in front of him. He was preparing to go ask Peli for help when he finally bumped a switch and a hologram popped up.
“Din.”
The woman’s voice made his head pop up and he stared at the hologram. It was a woman with short dark hair, wearing armor that wasn’t Mandalorian but more casual. His eyes were drawn to the tattooed stripe around her upper arm, and he could sense that it meant something, though he wasn’t quite sure what.
“Checking in, since you’re such a worrier.” The woman had a slight smile that spoke of familiarity. “Rebuilding is going well here. We’ve got the hunters returning, and taking pucks again. Karga is ready to have you back whenever you decide to return. I’ll reluctantly say that I miss you. Hope the kid is behaving, and hope you get some progress on finding the jedi. Dune, out.”
Vanth stared at the holo as Dune disappeared, the light fading with her.
The Mandalorian’s name was Din. Whether that was a first or last name, he wasn’t certain, but it was something to pass on to the baby one day. He wasn’t sure about a lot of the message, like this Dune woman — if she were a friend or a lover — but that one intimate detail felt like it was worth everything.
He searched through more messages. He found more from Dune, short check-in messages and then some from Karga. When he went back far enough, he found the ‘Karga’ person who spoke of a quarry. It wasn’t difficult to realize that the Mandalorian had once been a bounty hunter, and it wasn’t all that much of a surprise. And somehow, his last job had been messed up, and Karga had been angry with Din.
Din.
It felt odd to think of the man by his true name.
Vanth got up, and down below, Peli was sitting with the sleeping child in her lap. Vanth walked up to her, looking down at the two, and he shifted his weight. “Do you want him?” he asked, his voice soft to not wake the boy. “D… Mando asked me to take care of him. But you seem to know him already.”
Peli looked at him for a long time, then at the baby, and she let out a sigh. “... I love the little thing,” she said. “But I ain’t… really the motherin’ type. You’re a day away, and say you’ve got a whole village to help raise him.” She made a pinched expression. “... I think you’re the better option, here.”
Vanth understood. He couldn’t deny that some part of him had hoped this woman could take the responsibility of raising the child. “What will you do with the ship?”
“I dunno. Most ship owners don’t die on me.” She sighed. “Usually. But he’s got weapons and gear if you want it. At this age… ship might be scrapped.”
“If it still flies…” Vanth paused. “He has friends elsewhere. I found messages. Dunno if you could make contact and see if those friends want it.”
“Hm.” Peli nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Vanth found the weapons closet. In another scenario, he might have been delighted to see so many shiny new options, especially ones of Mandalorian grade. Instead, he took what he thought he could use whilst hoping that the Mandalorian would not mind from his afterlife. He took a few guns, ammo, charges, extra whipcord length. He hoped his gratitude for the items was enough.
He parted when the child woke, now with a few gathered toys, both of a child’s kind and a Mandalorian’s. He said goodbye to Peli from where she had disappeared into the cockpit and took his leave. At his speeder, he piled the weapons on, seeing by the city’s torchlight.
He would drive through the night.
What was routine?
It had become the only thing Vanth knew.
In the morning, they woke up, usually around the same time. They ate a meager breakfast, like they always did on Tatooine, and soon would start the day. For Vanth, it was checking up on things and ensuring it all ran smoothly. Settling any disputes before they could turn from arguments to fights. Chatting with the residents, to stay caught up on things. This was his normal, although now, he had a little shadow.
The kid had become their deputy, was the joke.
Months after the dragon incident, the kid was still plagued by nightmares. Vanth would hold him close in quiet comfort. Which he did not think of himself of a parent, ‘father’ seeming like a title that he had no right to claim over Din, he couldn’t help but think of the kid as his in some way. Even if he were just his ward. His ward who… could move things with his mind.
Vanth didn’t know what to make of it, so he didn’t try to.
One day, they had a visitor. A young man, stumbling lost in the desert, almost didn’t think Mos Pelgo was real until they got him some water and a bed. When the Weequay brought him a meal, the baby had tagged along at his heels. Vanth was coming to inquire about the stranger’s identity when he heard voices.
“Who’s he?”
It was new. The stranger’s voice.
“Him?” said the Weequay. “That’s the marshal’s kid.”
“Oh.”
Vanth forced himself through a quick recovery from those words before stepping inside. The words gave him some kind of warmth, to think that the people of his town saw him as a father to the boy. The title was still not his. But he might be doing something right.
The baby cooed when he saw Vanth.
Something right, indeed.
“Are you going to name him?”
Vanth looked towards the kids, playing together out in the sand, from where he stood in the kitchens. Maina was making his food — and she was a damn good cook — but fixed him with a stern gaze. “It’s been long enough,” she added. “He has no name at all.”
Vanth swallowed. She was right. The Mandalorian had never said the kid’s name, if he had one, and they had since been referring to the child by names of ‘the kid’ and ‘the baby’. But now one of the women was expecting a baby, the most exciting thing to happen since the dragon, and titles like ‘the baby’ were not going to be effective for very long. It had been eight months now. It was long past time.
“Southside has been clear, sir.”
Vanth glanced over at Lancel. The young stranger who had stumbled upon their town knew how to pay his dues and was useful in helping Vanth keep an eye on things. Often, Vanth just sent him to observe from the perimeter or their town or talk to people to build relationships. Or, Vanth needed a babysitter.
“Thanks.”
“Marshal.”
“Uh.” He glanced at Maina again, then out towards the baby. He was easy to spot, the only green in the sand, different from all the other children. He was throwing toys with his powers and giggling, to the other children’s delight, and a few adults walked past with fond smiles. Vanth shifted his weight. “A name.”
What options did he have?
Then, the answer came.
“Din,” he said. He turned to face Maina, now with a bit more certainty. “Kid’s name is Din Vanth.”
“Cute,” Maina said with a smile.
“Recognize this place?”
Din stared up at him and Vanth wondered how much of his dad was reflected in the kid.
They stood in the same valley that the dragon had taken residence in and the baby seemed to recognize it indeed. Din made a soft whimper but followed Vanth to the still-dug hole where the skeleton of the dragon resided. Vanth sat near the edge to look down. The kid stepped near the edge, too, and Vanth took hold of the back of his new tunic to make sure he didn’t slip. A bit of his fear faded with curiosity taking its place and he cooed.
“It doesn’t look so scary anymore.”
Din made another coo, then turned back and climbed up into Vanth’s lap, looking up at him. Vanth smiled and brushed his knuckles over the kid’s head and an ear. “Still remember him?”
The baby trilled and looked around.
“I’ll make sure you do.” Vanth took in a breath, looking around as well, and stroked the kid’s other ear. “Been over a year now and you still ain’t much bigger. Guess your species lives long. You might still be a kid when it’s my time.”
Din looked up at him.
“If I do one thing right, it’s to make sure you know about him.” He glanced towards the opening of the cave. Though winds had shifted the sand, he could still pick out where they had built the fire to burn Mando’s body. Sometimes, when he thought too hard, the guilt could start to eat at him again. He still didn’t know if they did it right. If they did it with the respect he deserved. The Tuskens seemed sure, but there was a language barrier between them, as hard as Vanth was trying to learn the signs. For a long time, he had anticipated more Mandalorians showing up, looking for the kid and the armor, and Vanth could get his answers then. But no one has come. He just still thinks…
The armor still sat in his home, gathering dust. He took it out to clean occasionally. He just…
He wasn’t sure.
He didn’t know.
He was just trying.
Din closed his eyes. He turned and settled against Vanth’s side, and Vanth stroked his back. His guardianship was a complete accident that, in some scenarios, maybe should never have happened to him. The twists of fate that led to this exact moment now seemed so convoluted and ridiculous that Vanth wondered how all those little moments managed to come together in that order. How Mando had ended up in their town at all. How his plan had gone wrong, but not before he asked Vanth to take care of the kid. How Vanth had managed to find the mechanic with his ship, how the mechanic had said no, how Vanth had found his name—
Din’s hand reached out. Vanth turned and watched as he began to lift a few rocks nearby. They were barely larger than pebbles, but he watched as the rocks began to float in one direction. Vanth sat in silence. The rocks settled down in one spot together, in a small pile, and Vanth sucked in a breath as he recognized the spot of the pyre.
The baby lowered his hand. He turned and looked up at Vanth, tears shining in his eyes. Vanth drew him into a tight hug that was careful not to squeeze him too hard and the child whimpered, hiding his face once again in the bandana.
“It’s going to be okay,” Vanth whispered. “We’re okay.”