| Soundwave could do nothing but nod at his own words being echoed. Almost unconsciously, he grabbed at Shockwave until he was balanced on his partner’s still moving peds. Shockwave continued to sway and step slightly, whether because he had not been told to stop or because he didn’t want to, Soundwave didn’t care. He felt lifted and seen. He felt engulfed in a cool breeze and familiarity. He felt secured by the arms that held him and safe in their gentle sway.
He felt himself falling in the best possible way. |
When I 1st read Chap 5 I was giggling and kicking my feet over this cuteness
Rereading all I do is smilebdudhdh
*CRYING* THEY ARE SO CUTE. LIKE WHY IS THAT UP TO CHAP 19 ITS ALL DIDHDBE IT NICE DESPITE THE STRUGGLES DUDHE
*glaring at Chap 20* I'm not ready. I'm not ready when I draw.
Also also
I had to re-upload it as a gif BC I HAD TO LOWER THE QUALITY TO UPLOAD IT ON YOUTUBE IM SO MAD MY SONG FOR THEM NOOO. It's fine I'll just at it to my list as I cry silently
Had a blast working on this Doropetra Cinderella AU for this year's fe3h femslash exchange! Go check out the collection over here for some truly fantastic wlw content!!
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore. Stay safe!]
The morning of the long-anticipated fracas broke blessedly clear.
You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders and got to your feet, tiptoeing past the still-sleeping shock trooper.
Someone had hung your clothes up to dry. A certain cape and flight suit were also slung over the indoor line, and beskar armor was laid out in uniform rows on a blanket off to the side.
Your eyes fell on the form that was currently propped up beside the door, his arms crossed and the chin of his helm resting on his chest. All he wore at this point was a thin liner shirt and compression leggings; for some reason he had kept his gloves and boots on. Again, you were uncertain if he was actually sleeping, or simply being very still. You chose to err on the side of caution and carefully, so carefully, you crept to where your clothes hung.
They were still a little damp, but you could definitely put them back on. The mud was gone as well. Rinsed out with the rain, no doubt.
Risking another glance at the downright underdressed Mandalorian (he hadn't stirred), you yanked your threadbare intimates off the line and quickly shimmied back into them under the cover of your loaned tunic. Moving as swiftly as possible, you hauled up your pants and then jerked the oversized tunic over your head to trade it out with your own. There was a heart-stopping moment where your elbow got caught in the tunic's shoulder before you managed to free yourself without any excessive noise, stumbling slightly.
The whole process took maybe three harried minutes, but when you looked over to the doorway again you noticed with a jolt of horror that the Mandalorian's head was now tipped against his shoulder slightly, as if to turn it away from where you were standing.
"Sorry." You whispered, feeling silly for worrying when you received no reply. Your hands neatly folded the borrowed tunic and you tucked it under your arm as you heard the child wake up. "Good morning, sweetheart." You murmured to them, tracing a finger over one of their oversized ears while they yawned and rubbed their eyes. "Let's get some breakfast and leave these two to rest a little more. Big doings today. Need to be at our best."
The baby wriggled in their bassinet, tiny hands clasping at your tunic when you lifted them up.
You turned to depart, but paused by the door curtain. "Hey, say goodbye to your papa." You urged them softly, freeing up one of their hands to flap it enthusiastically at the slumbering man on the floor. The baby giggled, clearly enjoying this new game. "He's working really hard, so we have to work hard too, okay?" You informed the child gravely, beeping their nose afterwards. "Can't be whining about Nevarro. We've got to be strong."
...
The Mandalorian took the child off your hands shortly after he emerged fully-armored from the barn. He didn't actually say anything, he just extended his arms and you got the gist.
You watched him walk away, gloved fingers gesturing animatedly at the baby. It was as if they were having a conversation without words, the baby offering him contemplative noises in response to his motions.
Winta, Omera's child, tugged on your sleeve. "Mama asked me to come and get you. She said you have a really important job tonight so she wants to make sure you're okay." The child relayed.
"Lead the way, kiddo." You replied, your brow furrowing in confusion. What could Omera possibly want with you?
After her child brought you to her, Omera sent the young girl on her way and then indicated for you to sit on the porch alongside her. You were silent for several minutes while the woman patched a hole in one of their sieve baskets, unsure if she needed the time to gather her thoughts.
"Winta's father, my husband, was a strong man." Omera murmured, her brown eyes far away. "He believed he could protect everyone, much like your Mandalorian seems to believe. But…" She inhaled, turning to look at you. "He was not invincible. A moment came where a choice needed to be made, and he sacrificed himself for the greater good."
"What…" You gulped, your words suddenly refusing to cooperate. "Wh-What happened?"
"A contingent of Klatoonians circled around to the hut that we had hidden the younglings in." The older woman said softly. "Winta's father made the choice to protect the children and provide them a distraction so they could escape."
Your heart ached for her. No wonder many of the villagers seemed to look upon Omera as a leader of sorts. Her husband had paid the ultimate price to save the future of their settlement, a price that left her counting the cost every day. And now…
The realization dawned on you that the reason for this conversation was...that future had been entrusted to you.
"Nothing and no one is getting past me. I swear." You promised her, meaning every word. "We've all trained for this. With Cara and the Mandalorian, and everyone's planning, I know that-"
"Are you prepared to make the same choice my husband made?" Omera interrupted, her question devastatingly pragmatic. "Are you prepared? What if one of your friends must make that choice? What then?"
"I…" you hesitated. Friends. "I don't really know. All I know is that I'm going to do everything I can to keep everyone safe. No matter what it takes." You clenched your fist. "You have to count the cost and take the plunge sometimes."
"Let's both hope that our costs will be low in the light of tomorrow's dawn." Omera extended her hand and you clasped her forearm, her own fingers cupping your elbow. "Your Mandalorian seems to care for that child very much." She observed, seemingly at random until you followed her gaze to where the armored man was sitting on a rock.
He was shifting his weight back and forth, absently knocking out a rhythm on his cuisses. The child played in the grass at his feet, waving their arms as the man aimed more of those odd gestures at them. His fingers were strangely nimble for someone wearing such thick gloves. You wondered privately if it was some kind of secret bounty hunter code.
"If you don't mind me asking, was...was your husband good with children?" You queried.
Omera shook her head with a wistful smile. "Maker, no." She chuckled. "At least not at first. Until we had Winta, he was a nervous wreck around the younglings. But once she was born, he…" She trailed off, her smile fading. "Excuse me, I'm sorry. I'm still...it's-it's difficult to talk about him." She squeezed your arm apologetically. "Hold on to your friends for as long as you can. You're still so young."
A lump of uncertainty swelled in your throat and all you could do was nod in response. Could you even call them friends?
The Mandalorian suddenly barked, "spit that out!", the sharp order making both you and Omera look up. When you glanced over, the armored man was on the ground trying to wriggle what appeared to be the business end of a mudjumper out of the child's mouth.
You snorted, struggling to stifle your giggles and almost succeeding. Until Omera erupted into peals of laughter, that is. The Mandalorian's shoulders shot up around where his ears would be, and he slowly turned to look for the source of the noise. As strange as it was to say, you could tell he was sheepish just by the little two-fingered wave he directed at you.
The armored man scooped up the child once the mudjumper crisis had been averted, long strides carrying him to where yourself and Omera sat. "You two see something funny?" He asked. Maker, was he being playful?
"Nope!" You squeaked. "Nope, nothing at all."
"Does the little one do that often?" Omera inquired, smiling again when the Mandalorian heaved a sigh and nodded rapidly.
"Ask them, they're the ones that ended up keeping him from choking most of the flight here." He replied, tilting his head in your direction.
"He's young, everything is new and interesting." You surmised.
"He's fifty." The Mandalorian said flatly. "This is a little old man in nerf's clothing. Don't be fooled."
"No he's not." You crooned, taking one of the proffered tiny green hands and gently swinging it back and forth while the baby babbled happily. "With those eyes? They're just a sweet innocent little baby convor."
"With the killer instinct to match." The Mandalorian retorted. "Did you see that mudjumper? This kid has a slimy body count."
"Do you?" You asked the child, smiling when they shrieked in reply. "Have you got a body count, baby bird of prey?"
"For tonight." The Mandalorian said, suddenly back to being all-business. His rapid changes of conversation would be the death of you. "I know you're stationed with the little ones. If everything goes as planned, you won't even see action."
"I can hope, but I'll be ready either way." You murmured. Omera's hand squeezed your arm again and the widow got to her feet, waving goodbye to the baby before she departed with her mended basket. "Her husband had my job and he…" You trailed off, swallowing. "I-I guess I'm a little worried." You admitted quietly.
"I don't want you pulling any heroics." The armored man grunted. "Enough of these people are hellbent on being the front lines. They've never been able to think about revenge before, and now that they are, well." He turned, actually looking at you. "You have the important job. Foundlings are...excuse me, younglings are the only way this place will live on."
"I understand." You hesitated, then asked, "can I hang onto that vibroblade for tonight? The one I've been practicing with?"
"It's yours." The Mandalorian answered firmly.
"What, no, that thing's power cells alone probably cost a fortune. Just let me use it ton-"
"I said. It's. Yours." The man growled, propping his boot up on the porch. You got the impression that he was glaring. "You need it, you use it, you keep it."
"I hope I don't have to use it." You mumbled, wishing you didn't sound quite so scared.
"For your sake, I hope you can use it if it comes down to it."
…
I hope you can use it if it comes down to it.
You scoffed to yourself, pacing back and forth in front of the hut doorway. More than anything, you prayed that the front lines would hold. You prayed that everyone would stay safe and that you wouldn't have so much as a glimpse of action.
Your prayers appeared to go unanswered when you heard the crash crash crash of ground-shaking footfalls. The children began to whimper amongst themselves, one girl bursting into tears when a thunderous salvo went off. That would be the AT-ST.
You knelt beside the little girl, doing your best to soothe her panic. "It's just loud. Just noise. Like thunder, you know?" You reasoned quietly, relieved when she blinked back her tears and nodded.
There was the sound of running outside, and the guttural yells of the raiders began to reach your ears. That boded poorly. The barricades were supposed to funnel them to the villagers, had the place already been overwhelmed?
Your brow furrowed. "Stay put, and stay quiet." You instructed Winta, doing your best to keep your voice steady. "You're in charge of the others if I have to leave at some point. I'm counting on you, Sneaks."
The little girl nodded solemnly, holding the baby in her lap. The large-eared being blinked up at you with those enormous eyes, lower lip quivering slightly.
"Hey now, it'll be okay. Don't you worry!" You cajoled, rising to your feet with an easy smile. You turned on your heel to go check the doorway again--
You caught a fleeting glimpse of a hulking form and then the stock of a blaster rifle slammed into your stomach, crushing all the breath out of your lungs with a single, calculated blow. You crumpled to your knees, retching. The world spun in grayscale, a set of boots dizzily coming into your field of vision.
The barrel of the blaster pressed against the side of your head.
The younglings.
The younglings! Move, damn it!
All of Cara's training rushed to the forefront of your brain and you lunged into the raider's legs, knocking him flat on his back. His shot went wide, blowing a hole in the ceiling overhead. In the breathless second before he comprehended that he had missed, you managed to draw the vibroblade. Swinging from the side with all your strength, you watched his face tear under the brutal assault of the steel.
It was terrible. It was so much worse than you could have imagined. What had you even been thinking, getting involved in something like this? This was nothing like the brawls you had gotten into over mining deposits or repair jobs. This was a thousand times worse.
A moment came where a choice needed to be made, and he sacrificed himself for the greater good.
Could you make a choice like that? Did you trust yourself with a choice like that?
A soft whimper from behind you effectively put an end to your moral quandary and your eyes narrowed.
You staggered back up, sucking wind, your shaky fingers tearing the knife loose. Armed with the whirring blade, legs akimbo over the limp form, you weren't even afforded the time to move forward before another Klatoonian made their way through the door.
You lowered your head slightly, gripped the vibroblade a little tighter and gritted your teeth. The raider foolishly wasted his opportunity to attack you immediately, deciding instead to leer at the terrified younglings behind you. That is, until he seemed to notice the body you stood over, his eyes widening and the blaster he held jerking upwards.
At that point it was too late. You were already on him like a wild nexu, yowling and snarling as you used the momentum of your attack and lower center of gravity to tackle him backwards out of the hut. Your elbow rammed into his arm, knocking the blaster to the side before he could use it.
Half of the fight is the noise you make. If you're louder, you're stronger! You're scarier! Cara's instructions rang in your head.
You braced the pommel of your blade with your palm and shoved it home between the helmet and armor just like the Mandalorian had shown you. It was strangely simple, the raider gurgling and flailing their arms before collapsing.
You yanked the blaster from his limp hands, fumbling to find the trigger on the unfamiliar weapon. This was bad. They weren't supposed to have even gotten this far! Something must have gone wrong on the front lines. Had Cara or the Mandalorian been taken out?
Focus. Don't panic. Focus. You inhaled, staggering a bit as another bombardment from the walker rocked the ground. That was the problem. They hadn't gotten rid of the AT-ST yet. No doubt all manpower was currently dealing with that issue, leaving gaps in the front line that the raiders were exploiting.
You tore your eyes away from the body in the dirt beside you, glancing around. The Klatoonian raiders appeared to have the upper hand. The AT-ST loomed in the distance, its two red viewports glowing like the eyes of a massive beast. Everywhere you looked, you saw villagers engaged with the raiders. It was chaos.
You pulled the trigger as a knee-jerk reaction when a raider rushed at you. The gun had more kick than you expected, bucking hard against your shoulder and the raider was still coming for you. You frantically fought with the trigger, realizing almost too late that the gun needed to be primed before it could be fired.
You braced yourself better this time and your aim was true, dropping the raider what felt like bare inches away from you.
Count the cost and take the plunge.
Your back straightened up and you returned to your origin point, nervously shifting your weight back and forth on trembling legs. Despite your fear, despite your inexperience, you vowed you would not be moved from this spot. Protect the younglings.
The fight felt like it just went on and on. You pulled the trigger again and again, your shots missing more often than not, and when the gun ran dry you fell back on the vibroblade. It didn't matter whether you entirely stopped the raiders that were running by the hut, you reasoned, as long as you took a chunk out of them on their way through.
It was not...particularly glamorous. Your knees were shaking, stomach rolling, jaw clenched. Nothing at all like the propaganda imagecasts, where there was always brilliant sunlight and wind blowing while someone gave poetic rallying speeches. This was an ugly fray in the dirt, a true skirmish, and you were scared out of your mind.
Nothing and no one is getting past me. Nothing and no one is getting past me. Nothing and no one is getting past me. The phrase cycled like a mantra, something for you to latch onto as you struggled.
Like you were doing the drills with the Mandalorian, you could practically hear him barking louder! and you obeyed, snarling and snapping your teeth when you engaged the enemy. You operated on sloppy muscle memory from all the training, all the instruction that had been crammed into the last few days carrying you through the fray. Several times you missed your openings and then you panicked, resorting to brute force to deal with the problem at hand. You knew you were too stiff, constantly flexing your fingers to keep them from cramping up.
The vibroblade was getting hard to hold, its handle slick with blood and the sweat from your own palm, but you doggedly kept at it.
Your arms were so heavy.
How the hell does he manage this in full beskar?!
Several villagers came to your aid at different points, blaster fire briefly taking some of the paranoid burden off and reminding you that you weren't alone in this. You were grazed in the shoulder by a raider's shot when you missed another strike, the pain bright like lightning behind your eyes, but it wasn't as if it made your arm any heavier. Shake it off and keep going, rookie! The adrenaline will hold the pain!
You would take care of it later.
Right as your second wind was abandoning you in the dust, there came the high shriek of abused metal. The walker, it seemed, had finally taken the bait, toppling into one of the ponds. Not two moments later, it exploded spectacularly in a massive fireball.
Your ears still ringing from that, you almost didn't catch what happened next. You glimpsed a helmeted form climbing up one of the barricades, and then-
"Kote!" The Mandalorian roared triumphantly, slamming his gauntlet into the center of his beskar chestplate. The metal rang like a bell, echoing across the battlefield and drawing all eyes to him. Gods knew he certainly cut an impressive figure, silhouetted against the burning walker.
The Klatoonians seemed to slowly realize that their largest advantage was now a smoldering pile of refuse, and the ones left alive began to flee back into the woods in a panicked rush. The villagers pursued, borrowed weapons and makeshift spears urging the raiders off of their land with deadly force.
You dropped to one knee, your breath wheezing in your chest with every inhale. That whole event blew Cara and the Mandalorian's drills clean out of the water. You felt like you could sleep for a year.
Younglings.
You got back up.
There were only six bodies littering the ground around you, but it had seemed like an insurmountable force while you were fighting. Now you were a little embarrassed at your level of exhaustion. Again, you wondered how in the world Cara or the Mandalorian managed while lugging their various armaments and protective gear.
You stumbled back inside the hut full of children, startled when two more of them silently crawled into your lap alongside the kid once you plopped down. "It's all but over. Few more minutes. You all did so great." You praised them, smiling tiredly and bumping their foreheads with your own. "I know that was pretty loud stuff, but you guys kept your cool. I'm very proud." Your throat burned, voice grating painfully from all the no-doubt incredibly intimidating noises you had made.
"Are they going to come back again?" One of the little boys asked, his eyes wide.
"I don't think so. Your parents did a fantastic job at keeping you all as snug as womp rats in a haystack." You bit your lip, a little overwhelmed with the myriad of tiny, tear-streaked faces staring pensively up at you. Maker only knew how bad you looked right now. "Hey, the words to that song I taught you all got spooked right out of my head. Can you guys help me remember it?" You asked, grasping desperately for something to distract and occupy.
"Will you pay, can you pay…" Winta trailed off uncertainly.
"Calamari flan!" Another child supplied helpfully, wiping their eyes. "Build a ship as best as you can." More variations. You felt yourself getting a little misty, but you chalked it up to a combination of relief and exhaustion.
The children slowly curled up around you, little voices arguing sleepily over the lyrics in a matter of seconds. The baby snuggled into the crook of your forearm, their tiny thumb tucked into their mouth.
Stars, you were tired.
Your eyes kept sliding closed only for you to jerk them back open seconds later. Your mouth was still dry and sour with leftover adrenaline, every muscle aching from the exertion of the earlier battle. The younglings drifted off one by one, their discussions dissolving into nothingness.
When Cara shoved open the flap of the hut she looked fresh as a daisy, if a little damp. "Holy sh-stars." She whispered, just barely curbing her swear in time when she spotted the mangled raider. "How did you-?"
"Can you round up parents?" You requested softly, indicating downwards at your full lap. "I don't think I can move currently."
She nodded, retreating from the hut. You buried your face in the sleeping baby's robe, inhaling their clean scent in an effort to ground yourself. They were fine. The younglings were safe. You had succeeded.
Somehow, somehow, you had succeeded.
The Mandalorian was the next one in, his dark and bulky form sparking a momentary rush of panic. You had your knife out and in front of you before you could even think, the vibroblade whining in your tight grip as you clutched the children close.
"Easy." The beskar-wearing man breathed, raising his hands. "Just me. Just me." He glanced around, then crouched and leaned in. "Parents are on their way. There's some wounded, but no dead."
"No…?"
"Yeah." A sob rattled your aching chest at his affirmation. "Steady. It's over now." He rasped, easing the knife out of your trembling hand and switching it off. "I saw your work outside. You're really something, aren't you?"
You were positive you were hallucinating the warmth in his tone. "Had to...keep them safe." You reasoned sluggishly. Then, "How do you move in that stuff? Feel like my arms are going to drop off."
"Practice." He replied. His helmet tapped your forehead and you realized you had dozed off for a second. "Stay with me, stowaway. We're almost done."
"Mmhm." You mumbled, obediently keeping your eyes open. He didn't move away though, simply maintaining the even pressure of his cool helm against your heated skin. It gave you something to focus on, something to help you stay conscious.
Battered, weary parents filtered in one by one, children getting picked up or ushered out still half-asleep. Omera hugged you fiercely tight before she departed with Winta, her gratitude warming your whole body.
"Sleep now?" You asked the Mandalorian hopefully as he rose.
"We need to know how much of this blood is yours." He muttered, pulling you upright. He grunted in surprise when you nearly collapsed, quickly grabbing hold of your belt to steady you. "Focus, stay with me. Do you remember getting hit?"
You cast your mind back over the disjointed memories of fighting, scrunching your eyebrows in thought. "My shoulder hurts." You remarked intelligently.
"Is that the only spot?" The Mandalorian questioned, his fingers already prodding.
In reply, you scooped his hand up and proceeded to thump it clumsily on the middle of your chest. "Burns to breathe."
All you remembered after that was the way that the world tilted and your cheek pressed against his breastplate.
…
It was raining.
Rain was so rare on Nevarro, a gift and a curse. Places flooded rapidly, but the moisture farms would flourish for months. Divining was regarded with a healthy amount of superstition, for in the water witchery of dowsing rods one could theoretically gain enough insight to keep their wells from drying and their steads from peril.
You hummed sleepily.
Rain was so, so rare. You should get up to watch it.
When you opened your eyes, you realized you were not on Nevarro. The memories came hot on the heels of your realization, the younglings, the fight-
You sat bolt upright, wincing in pain when your shoulder protested the rapid movement. "Ah, ouch-"
"Don't you even think about getting up." Cara's stern voice made you flinch guiltily, and you tucked your leg back beneath the blankets. The soldier loomed over you, a broad smile softening her features after a moment. "Glad you're awake. You snore like a bantha, y'know."
She passed you a tankard full of water and you hungrily gulped, the liquid dribbling down your chin. "Where's-" you rasped.
"Shush, you're so bad at this. Everyone is fine. Everyone." Dune stressed. "You just sit where you are and keep your shirt on." She settled down onto a small stool beside you, leaning forward and clasping her hands. The thick waves of her dark hair hung over her face as she joked, "It's good to have you kickin'. That baby's been gettin' on my last nerve. Oh, and the one with the big ears, too."
"I'm sorry." You whispered, ludicrously feeling as if you had been shirking.
"Don't apologize." Cara chided you. "I'm sure Mando'll come breezing back in here with at least two brats in tow. You can feel sorry then."
"How long did I sleep?"
"Through the night, half into the afternoon." Cara waved a hand. "Usual rookie nap. You probably blew through your calories for the entire week just from shaking, right?"
"How'd you guess?" You mumbled, a little embarrassed.
"You know, I haven't always been this much of a badass." She laughed at the incredulous look you sent her way. "I'm serious! I know it's hard to believe that I wasn't assembled in a factory, chiseled from the Maker's own marble to slay, but the truth is that I am human. I've been scared stiff loads of times." Her hand landed on your good shoulder. "The important part is still going to work, even when you're scared stiff. So I'd say you succeeded."
Your stomach growled, making you grimace. "Speaking of calories…"
Cara got to her feet, moving to the doorway. "Hey! Mando! They're awake! Stop playing in the mud and get me some stew!" She shouted.
"How are the younglings holding up?" You asked.
"They're fine. Resilient little buggers. With some luck, most of the younger ones will think it was a nightmare." Cara sighed, her shoulders slumping. "They bounce back."
You heard steps sloshing through the puddles long before you actually saw the armored man, and you couldn't help your smile when he did come into view. He was covered in mud up to his thighs, his flight suit spattered liberally across the knees and elbows.
"Good to see you conscious." He greeted you, handing Cara a steaming bowl. "The sleep after battle is the best kind."
One of the children dragged at his arm, their body also covered from head to toe in grime. "Come on Mando, we have to keep learning!"
"Learning?" You asked curiously. "What are you teaching them?"
"Something important. It's," the Mandalorian hesitated, one large hand resting on the child's head. "It's a little like that song you showed them."
"Can you pay, can you pay, Calamari flan?" The child grinned, hammering out a rhythm on the Mandalorian's beskar-plated forearm. "Clean my ship as fast as you can!"
"Yeah. Like that. But different." The armored man shrugged, not seeming overly bothered by the little one currently beating a tattoo on his arm. "Rest up while you can. There was some significant structural damage during the raid, so we'll have our work cut out for us over the coming weeks."
Strangely, the implication that you would be staying didn't cause you distress. "I don't want to be dead weight, so you'd better not do too much without me." You requested, offering him a wry smile.
He cocked his head to the side, then nodded. "'Course."
…
Over three weeks of laborious rebuilding later, you found out what he had been teaching the younglings. There had been some secretive fumbling, a few slip ups that had you suspicious, but you were just as surprised as everyone else when the children all filed into a line in front of the evening bonfire.
The baby was there as well, held in the arms of one stoic Mandalorian. The children all bore old pots and pans, salvaged from the makeshift target range, and your brow furrowed as they dropped into strange stances.
"They wanted to learn." Was all the Mandalorian said, shrugging and carefully setting the kid down on the ground. Then, he raised his hand and struck himself on the chest like he had done during the battle.
The beskar rang out and the younglings started their performance, Winta carefully enunciating a string of words in a language you could only assume was Mando'a. The children stomped and reeled in unison, each one hammering enthusiastically on their own 'armor' and then the armor of the next child in line to keep time.
Cara whooped and started clapping along when the Mandalorian actually moved with them, his greaves rattling as his boots scuffed their way through the motions of the dance. For a dance it was, wheeling and enthusiastic. His modulated voice quietly echoed Winta's, prompting her occasionally when she got stuck on certain words.
The baby squealed and waddled around, waving their arms in delight at all the commotion while the other adults began to clap in time. The whole display had your emotions knotting in your chest. The younglings had clearly put a lot of time into learning all the steps of this particular dance, their little faces scrunched up in concentration. And overseeing it all was the sturdy form of the Mandalorian, his beskar glowing orange in the firelight while he chanted softly. It was beautiful, achingly familiar and yet alien all at once. Comradery, children at play, songs you didn't know the words to…
You watched his hands as Winta shouted, "Oya, oya manda!", realizing that his careful gestures were lining up with the cadence of the song. He was saying things with his hands. That was what he had been doing at the kid before! You felt a little stupid for not putting that information together sooner, but now you were seized with a burning desire to know. What other secrets did he keep close, tightly wrapped in beskar?
The kid wandered your way and you scooped them up, holding your palm flat so they could beat their tiny hands down onto it as if they too were clapping along. Their massive ears perked up and they babbled madly at you, making you smile anew.
When you glanced back up, you could have sworn the Mandalorian was looking at you.
Then again, it might have merely been a trick of the wavering light on his helmet.
...
It wasn't until much later in the evening that you finally mustered up the courage to enquire about the song. After you had tucked the kid into bed, you quizzed him on it. "What is that called? The song and dance, I mean."
"It's a piece of my culture." The Mandalorian informed you solemnly. He had posted up at the doorway by Cara, one ankle slung over the other in a relaxed pose. "The Dha Werda Verda. We're taught a few verses when we're young so we can learn how to move in sync with one another. If you step wrong, oftentimes that means you're punching your neighbor in the head. We try to learn how to avoid that early on."
"Oh. So it's kind of a training thing?"
"In a sense, yes. But at the same time…" He paused, brushing his thumb absently down the center of his breastplate. "It's tradition. The Mandalorian culture is not a peaceful one by nature; our expressions of art are made for war." He tilted his head towards you. "There are over seven hundred verses in the Dha Werda Verda alone. It serves as both poem and battle cry."
"And you just taught it to a group of younglings." You deadpanned.
"I taught them a little." He corrected you. "Just like your song that you taught them. They'll make their own versions of mine soon enough, and theirs will be associated with peace. With safety." He shifted his weight, staring off into the darkness. "I did not...I didn't have anything else to offer them."
"I wouldn't say that. It's because of you and Cara that a lot of them still have parents." You pointed out. "I bet these people will tell stories about you two!"
The Mandalorian cocked his head, looking back at you. "It's thanks in no small part to you that they still have younglings to pass the tales along."
Well, that was a weighty thought. You silently mulled it over, concluding, "I don't need them thinking about me like that. I'm not really...well, you know. Heroic. Not like you and Cara."
Cara spoke up from her position on the porch, dryly saying, "take the damn compliment, will you? Not every day that a Mando wants to share glory."
The Mandalorian huffed, muttering something under his breath that had Cara reaching over to punch him in the arm. You chuckled at their antics while you watched them bicker with one another, a strange sense of peace coming over you.
"So, what happens if you take that thing off?" Cara asked suddenly, her head tilted slightly to look up at the armored man. "They come after you and kill you?"
"No." He was silent for an inordinate amount of time and you thought that was the end of his explanation, but then, "You just can't ever put it back on again."
Cara raised an eyebrow at him. "That's it?" She sounded disappointed, and you couldn't really blame her. After the gravity of everything that you had heard regarding Mandalorians and their helmets, it was a little anticlimactic.
The Mandalorian nodded.
"So you could slip off the helmet and go settle down with that beautiful young widow?" Cara gestured outwards at the village with her bright blue glass of spotchka. "Raise your kid, sitting here sipping spotchka?"
You took a noisy slurp of your own spotchka for emphasis, grinning at Cara when she chuckled.
He scoffed, shaking his head. "We raised some hell here a few weeks back. That's...too much action for a backwater little town like this. Word travels fast. We might want to cycle the charts and move on."
Cara murmured, "I wouldn't want to be the one that's gotta' tell him." Her hand waved vaguely towards the bassinet where the child slept peacefully. "The kids love him, y'know."
"I'm leaving him here." Both you and Cara gawked up at the armored man, startled by his announcement. "Traveling with me...that's no life for a kid."
It was a reasonable thing to do. Practical, even. He was a bounty hunter. That didn't exactly scream 'conducive to child-rearing', last you checked. But why did he sound so torn about it if he had already made up his mind?
"I did my job. He's safe. Better chance at a life." He continued stiffly after a moment.
"It's gonna' break his little heart." Dune's tone was faintly accusatory.
"He'll get over it." The Mandalorian replied quietly. "We all do."
The three of you stared out into the darkness in silence for a good while after that. This felt...strange. On the one hand, you could understand not wanting to endanger the kid any further, but the idea of making them sad about anything...this concern was a new phenomenon.
You had always been a firm believer in the notion that children were smarter than adults gave them credit for. It had made it easier to justify not saying goodbye to any of them when you headed off on your next grand adventure; you reasoned they would put it together on their own and really, there was no need for long, drawn-out farewells.
But now, for the first time you could remember, the idea of leaving was...it made you anxious. And it wasn't even you that was preparing to leave!
"Wh-When do you want to-"
"Two days, maybe." He cocked his head at you, "I can't bring you back to Nevarro. But you don't have to stay here if you don't want to. I'm sure if I put you on a platform, someone can get you to Nevarro."
"I...can I think about it?" You implored, relieved when he nodded.
"Give me your answer tomorrow."
…
"Thanks for coming along."
"It's no trouble. About time I started pulling my weight in the security department anyhow." You checked your knife for the hundredth time and Cara grinned at you.
"Nervous?" She teased quietly.
You winced. "Is it that obvious?"
"Listen, you've got nothing to worry about out here aside from falling asleep due to boredom. I promise." Cara assured you, giving your shoulder a light tap. "I just walk the perimeter out of habit at this point. There's been no issues for weeks."
"I know, I just…" You were loathe to continue, certain that you would sound like you were whining to this veteran of a soldier. "I guess I'm still a little uneasy from the big, uh. Fight."
"The first sip of real action usually leaves a bitter taste in your mouth." She murmured. "I'd be concerned if it didn't."
Oh. You glanced sidelong at her, studying her face. "Does it fade away after a while?" You questioned.
"Yes...and no." Cara seesawed her hand with a grimace. "Everyone reacts differently. Some people can process it, some people crush it down into a little ball until it explodes." She shrugged. "You never know." Her eyes focused on a point somewhere behind your left shoulder and she came to an abrupt halt. "Who…?"
You turned to follow her line of sight and your brow furrowed. It was not someone from the village, but it also didn't appear to be a Klatoonian. Not nearly bulky enough. The long-barreled rifle on their back caught your eye.
"Stay close, we're following them." Cara whispered, already stalking forward.
The two of you flitted from tree to tree, pursuing the oblivious figure. They had something in their hand, something that you could see blinking red every now and then, and they were heading towards the settlement at a steady pace.
They finally stopped at the edge of the treeline, slinging the rifle off of their back. It took them a few minutes to get set up, nimbly attaching a scope before hoisting the gun and beginning to calibrate the viewfinder.
Cara motioned for you to stay put, the soldier slinking ahead to the next tree. You had a death grip on your vibroblade, finger hovering over the button. A quiet, persistent beeping noise drew your attention and you searched for the source, locating it a second later in the form of a tracking fob attached to the person's hip. It blinked red and you realized that this person was a bounty hunter.
A bounty hunter. Did that mean they were after someone in the village?
A shot rang out and you cringed back against the tree, only realizing after a moment that it had been Dune who shot first. A commotion rose from the village, the sound of the blaster no doubt attracting the attention of anyone who heard it.
You rushed forward to Dune's side as she rolled the smoking body over with her boot. The fob on their belt continued to blink and beep softly even after she yanked it free. "Who were you tracking, buddy?" Cara mused aloud, very clearly unphased by the fact that she had just ended this individual's life. That made sense, though. How many times had she done this before?
You heard a rattling sound that seemed to be rapidly approaching from the direction of the village. Beskar. "Oh boy." You said weakly.
"What, what's-" Dune paused, obviously hearing the noise as well. "Oh. Well, brace for impact." She grimaced. "Mando drop inbound."
With a resounding crash! the Mandalorian stormed the treeline, not even bothering to break his stride so he could maneuver around the underbrush. He somehow exuded fury, his tense body language screaming danger danger danger!
Unconsciously, you shifted so Dune was between you and him. She shot you an amused glance, standing her ground with her arms crossed.
The armored man slowed only marginally once he appeared to notice the two of you, his shoulders slumping. "What happened?" He called, his voice rasping through his modulator.
"We caught a hunter." Cara replied, waving the tracking fob. "Fob doesn't sound like it's for you or me. Or for this lovely person who is currently cowering behind me." She ribbed you, making you huff in embarrassment and shuffle out from the safety of her shadow.
He obviously wasn't on the offensive anymore but Maker, he was terrifying when he was! The Mandalorian extended a hand to take the fob, moving in a slow circle and then halting when he faced the village. "It's for the kid. They're...they're after the kid." He gritted out a word you didn't know, "Osi'kyr," then dropped the fob on the ground and crushed it with one violent stomp. "I have to take him and leave." He said after a moment of staring down at the destroyed object.
"They'll keep coming?" Dune asked.
"Where there's one, there's more." The Mandalorian sighed heavily, "I know hunters." He pointed at you suddenly. "Choice?"
It took the barest split-second of thought. "I'm with you." You hesitated, then added, "I can help keep the baby safe."
"Good." He sounded like he was relieved, of all things. "We have to move fast."
Singing is one of the greatest things, putting music at full volume and just singing, even with instrumental music it's just one of the best feelings in the world.
i really like how michael's very physically affectionate. it works in tandem with his very expressive hand gestures — he hugs, he gives comforting touches on the shoulder, he'll let you physically lean on him... i think he would enjoy like. taking someone's (cough. my) hands a lot. not necessarily the conventional kind of hand holding but the kind of hand holding where he can pull that someone closer to him
