2Authors note - I do not support Gina Carano in any way, but I like Cara as a character and I like the idea of Din having friends.
Also, on a serious note, I've done something in this fic that terrifies me - I've put something of myself in it. Call it ptsd but I've always done everything in my power to avoid anything resembling the dreaded 'self-insert' - but so much of the OC in this resonated with me and after a lot of thinking I decided that I've never seen a fic with someone with my condition in it (i literally created the tag) and goddamnit I'm going to write it. So like me, this character has something called Hypermobile Elhers Danlos.
As always, I have no Beta so hopefully this isn't a hot mess!
Even he was surprised the ship still flew.
He'd narrowly managed to escape his previous colleagues, twisting and turning through the stars as they followed him - regretting the pitstop he'd made, the quick diversion. It was risky, too risky, and he'd almost told Cara no, that he couldn't come help...but then she'd mentioned the Mandalorian tech that had been helpfully 'confiscated' from a scavenger; and the need for a favour in return, and he knew it was too good an opportunity to let go. Plus, she was the closest thing he'd had to a friend in a pitifully long time, and she'd stuck her neck out for him enough times that he owed her the favour.
Unfortunately it was too populated though, and regardless of the care he took they still found him. He couldn't fault them, he'd been one of them for far too long to expect anything other than a constant, ruthless hunt. He didn't even want to think about the bounty that was on him and the Kid now. Their inexperience didn't matter when they had such numbers though. One or two, he could outfly easier, but they shot after him one by one, like a swarm. Large and small ships, the dented, patched hulls showing a recklessness that made him uncomfortable. He'd been in the business long enough to know they either fell into two categories. Fresh and desperate, unable to afford the repairs, or fast burning flames. Reckless, careless, and out for the blood that funded a loud, expensive lifestyle.
Most wouldn't live to become one of the greats, but would still be an issue for him now.
He'd seen the asteroid belt ahead, and had known it was their best shot at survival. Had told Cara to buckle in, pushed the Crest as quickly as it could go towards the ongoing wall of death. Most had instantly pulled back, deciding it wasn't worth it; but some followed, too dumb or cocky to know it was smarter to pull back. The child had screamed with glee as the ship twisted through the busy sky, lit by the blaster fire that followed. He'd been proud, smirking as he pushed them through, as he managed to get through with only the lightest of scrapes - a considerable achievement considering the size of the ship. The hold would be in a state later, and they'd have significant organising to do, but he'd looked at his sensors and knew they were almost clear, that he would be able to drop altitude and pop out of the bottom safely.
It wasn't the bullets that got him though; that sent his sensors screaming, but debris from the idiot who followed him...straight into an asteroid. The explosion had been large enough to tell him the mercenary had been mixing his fuels, and had knocked him off course as it sent all his lights flashing red. He'd narrowly corrected, avoiding meeting a similar fate. He'd been able to feel the glare from Cara - knew from her shouts that she regretted asking him to turn around after he'd left, to help decode the piece of mandalorian salvage.
Considering the damage from blaster fire, debris, and the horrific repairs that he'd paid an extortionate amount for in Trask, he'd sighed, plotting coordinates into the crest and setting the ship onto autopilot. Cara had asked where they were going, but he silently reassembled his hold, not feeling like responding.
He'd turned the tech over in Cara's quarters, knowing he wouldn't be able to figure it out. Knowing only one person who could. They needed to go to Calodan, and Cara wanted to drop at a planet on the way without being on any official records...He knew Bo-Katan was an option, but something within him was still uncertain, not entirely comfortable with delivering a piece of their heritage. He wanted to savour the small piece of history, to have it for himself; selfishly. Plus, wherever they'd gone in their much faster ship, he wasn't entirely sure the Crest would get there in one piece.
No...
There were a thousand reasons to drop down at the planet he'd coursed them towards, perfectly logical ones - there was a mechanic there with a mind for tech he'd never seen on anyone else. A specialist in Mandalorian technology. Someone who would be able to fix the buggyness of his vembrance, the hideous repair job on the Crest, who would love to fix the computer Cara had taken control of…
If he honest with himself though, he just wanted to go there. Bo-Katan's words had hit him, hard. They swum in his head now as he organised, as he withdrew into himself.
He had an apology to make.
The three of his own kind he'd met on the godawful sea planet had shaken him. And...he had no-one else to turn to. None of the other foundlings' locations were known to him after their sacrifice. He was alone. Well, him and The Child, and Cara now - but he couldn't talk to either of them about what he'd heard, the truth that had been sighed at him in that exasperated tone.
The closer they got, the quieter he got. He could feel Cara watching him as he cleaned every gun in his collection, always a clear sign he was in his own head. She'd finally asked what was wrong, and he'd answered simply,
"I didn't think I'd ever come back to this planet"
She'd nodded, knowing from his tone not to ask more. It had been years, at least 3 since he'd dropped down into this atmosphere… since he'd settled on a lush planet chasing a familiar voice with offers of help. Since he'd stepped from the ship with butterflies in his stomach and sweating palms, glad for the armour to shield him from his own nervous response. He'd been tired, and hungry, with a ship full of carbonite and far less scratches. His armour had been painted, and far more banged up, and the message had come through to his ship, bright and white on his interface.
I heard you were piloting something old, but that thing must be pre-empire…
The code was one he hadn't seen since years before; a code he'd half expected to never see again.
Harder to track. Are you on this planet?
Her answer had been delayed, and he'd absently started running a scan of other ships in the atmosphere. Had they lost each other, as soon as she'd been found?
I am
Two words, and he'd felt the bubbling feeling. Another of his kind, and after so long. One he'd grown up with, apart from. One he'd used to feel…strongly for. As strongly as he could, desperately keeping it hidden within himself.
Can I stop for respite?
He'd felt her bubbling laugh in the response.
It's safe, if that's what you're asking. I have food, water, shelter.
A message that felt like it was carefully worded; but so much of their culture was. The co-ordinates popped up almost immediately, and he'd been let down into the landing port without so much as an identity check. Just a voice, crackling through the intercom.
"Head to Clem's, off the main strip; you'll find Wren there"
He'd been surprised to hear the name, not the usual 'Mando' or 'The Mandalorian'. Their identities were guarded, closely. She must have been close to the people here for them to know something so incredibly private. He'd wondered so much as he'd dropped down out of orbit, as he'd followed their directions onwards. Would she be in the same armor, lean form encased in orange and grey armor as she'd always been, or would she have switched to another colour? She'd often talked of adding a pink streak to her helmet, and he'd been able to picture it in his mind as he walked. It was hard to imagine her lean, strong form in anything but, her cloak lined in orange - hand sewn, the inside patched together from bulletproof fabric scavenged during their teen years. Would she have taken on a Clan, or still be a solo rock?
He'd left as quickly as he'd arrived, the butterflies replaced by something hotter, angry and raw. Hadn't even paid for the fuel they'd pumped into his ship in his haste, in his anger.
And now he was in the same atmosphere, filled to the brim with uncertainty. Would she still remain on the planet? Would the natives allow him to dock, given that he'd stolen a filled tank of fuel last time he'd landed? Would they simply shoot on sight after what he'd done the last time he'd docked?
He truly had no choice but to stop somewhere though. The very expensive repairs that had amounted to rope were failing, The Child had no bassinet, his fuel had been leaking for the last few parsecs from the debris explosion and this was the only place, the only person he could turn to to get answers.. To... to get himself righted, if he was honest.
They repaired what they could when he'd stopped to pick up Cara at Nevarro, and she'd flown like an absolute dream at first... until she hadn't. Until a shot or two had hit him, until the explosion had forced him to launch the star charts, to see how far they were. The reach of the empire was wide, but they were finding him with far too much ease.
She'd apologised gruffly as they were stalked, as they headed away from Nevarro and towards the familiar planet; but that was what you did when friends sent you messages asking you to hang fire, to double back once the cover of night had fallen. To take a look at machinery pulled from a scavengers cart that just happened to be made from bescar. When said friends help take down a laboratory filled with the child's blood, then ask for a simple lift to complete an errand nearby.
His mind was distracted, occupied as he got closer and closer to the small planet, mind hardly even focusing on the task as it flitted between how he'd react, what he'd do. What he'd say.
How he'd apologise.
The ship grew as steady as it could manage; hobbling through the galaxy, and his company quiet. He kept half an eye on the comms system before him, wondering if those same numbers would appear, if any text would greet him.
He wasn't sure why he felt a rumble of sadness when they didn't. It remained quiet, blinking with the memory of a voicemail he hadn't yet deleted; the quiet tone that had angered him when he'd first heard it and merely settled within him as a heavy mass now.
They hit the atmosphere and hadn't even begun to consider their descent when his intercom crackled into life and a decidedly male voice came through.
"Confirm your ship name and reason for visit, for the records"
"Razors Crest" he replied, "coming in for repairs and support"
The line hung for a moment, and Cara came up beside him, taking in the tense line of his shoulders. "Think we're in for a fight?" She asked, gripping the shoulder of his seat. He chuckled at her tone, low and quiet. "Not the kind you're hoping for"
The static kicked in. "Son, you must be desperate to try and land here again"
He sighed. "I am"
"You might as well land then, but there's only one auto shop in the town, you know that, right?"
He didn't answer. There was no need to, not as a raspy chuckle echoed through the quiet of the cockpit and he ignored the pointed look on his companions face.
"Should I prepare for us coming in hot or what, Mando? Was there really nowhere else we could turn to figure out what that hunk of wiring has saved in it?"
He remained quiet for a moment before speaking. "This is our best hope" he responded, looking up at the rope holding his ancient ship together. "And the Razors Crest. She needs repairs"
"They don't seem too friendly, even for you. What happened here?"
He sighed, unsure how to respond. Cara gave up, shaking her head at his silence and checking the blasters at her hips just in case before strapping herself in for what was undoubtedly going to be a bumpy landing. She glanced up at the sound of his helmets modulator coming online, at the modified voice finally answering her question.
"It was a few years ago, and I…"
Eyebrows raised, Cara cut him off. She'd not known him to start a sentence he wasn't intent on finishing and saved him the trouble of starting now. "Don't sweat it Mando, as long as we're not coming off this ship to blaster fire you can keep your secrets, okay?"
He stayed silent, eyes fixed on the stars above, the somewhat familiar bright green of the planet below them. Repeated the wish for the ship to hold together like a mantra as they dipped, as the landing gear whirred beneath them, ready to deploy. The ship shuddered as it bounced to a rough landing, and he winced at the sound of something falling to a crash behind them. He still moved with purpose though, scooping the child up and heading towards the door as if approaching a fight, forcing himself to move forwards. The door stuck as it opened, and Cara sniggered behind him as he had to tuck the Child into a carrier and tug the door open, the three of them slipping out of a single door as it opened.
An older man appraised them, two younger women next to him trying to hold back laughter at the sight of the odd repairs, scuffed metal and jimmied door.
"You've got some nerve kid, coming back here"
He could feel Cara's eyes on him, the child squirming in his holder to be let down. "Are you here to continue the same avenue as before?" he asked, taking a long breath in between his teeth. "Because if so, you're stupider than she gave you credit for"
"I'm here to ask a favour"
"A favour!" the man laughed, a great barking sound that boomed, drawing a squeal from The Child. "What do you think you're playing at, Kid, coming here with a youngling and a half destroyed ship hoping we'll look upon you with Mercy, after the way you treated our hospitality before?"
One of the women spoke up, lighting a cigarette as she spoke. "Your armours changed, but your ship hasn't. Well. Apart from the fact it looks like it's falling apart"
He sighed. "Can you fix it?"
"We can. If you get the boss's say so"
Mando sighed, knowing he needed to speak to her anyway. To confront his words last time. "Where is she?"
"Same place as before" the man smirked, leaning back against the metal railing and picking at one of his oil smeared nails. "You'll have a good amount of time whilst you walk there to figure out how you're going to apologise"
He could feel Cara's eyes on him, and finally sighed, shaking his head. "I don't want to talk about it"
"Really?" she chuckled, "That's so unlike you"
"We'll just stay until the repairs are done, and the equipment is appraised. Then I'll drop you at Lamet"
"Don't worry about it" she smirked at him, humor in her strong face as she looked towards him and then the cantina before them, eyebrows raising as she took in the hand-painted sign reading The Happy Fighter. "...This whole situation here seems far more interesting than rumors of an Imperial informant. And believe me, I'm in no rush to socialise with Imps"