The Firefighter - Chapter Sixteen: Sanctuary
The Mandalorian AU Series: Firefighter!Din and NursePractitioner!Omera
Series summary: When Din Djarin, a firefighter in the small town of Nevarro, responds to an abandoned warehouse fire on the outskirts of town, his life is forever changed.
Chapter summary: Din has a bit of a recovery ahead of him, but he’s never alone.
Warnings: Injuries, medical jargon, angst, sappiness.
Word Count: ~6 K
Foreword: THE FINAL CHAPTER!!! Wow, I can’t believe we’re here! I really hope you enjoy! This was very sentimental & bittersweet to write. Thank you again for following with this story & for all of the love <3 Writing this and interacting with you has gotten me through some tough times in the past few years. Sending so much love <3 Please enjoy the warm fuzzies ahead!
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[[Link to Tumblr Masterlist]] | [[Link to A03]]
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Omera slowly awakens on a stiff bed that's definitely not her own. The gentle whir of an IV pump and the hiss of oxygen gradually fill her ears. Bleary eyes adjust, focusing on the dimly lit hospital bed next to her, and the injured man still fast asleep inside it.
Din.
Events from earlier come rushing back, clutching her lungs like talons.
It's unbelievable. Overwhelming.
To have nearly lost him…
With a deep breath, she smothers the anxiety billowing in her chest.
Everything is ok. He's here. He's alive.
She slowly exhales, opening her eyes to the irrefutable proof of this fact right in front of her, to the man who had endured and survived the unimaginable. The vitals on the monitor relay every contraction of his heart, his pulse, his oxygen saturation, his blood pressure, his respiratory rate. He's very much alive. Her eyes wander from the nasal cannula delivering oxygen, down his neck and to his chest, where wires snake underneath the collar of the hospital gown. She watches the rise and fall, predictable and even.
He's going to be ok.
However, he still had some recovery ahead. When they'd arrived at the ED, she had ensured higher-level imaging was ordered - an echocardiogram with bubble test, a cardiac MRI with contrast, a chest CT with oral contrast - just to verify that everything had healed properly from what had been a fatal stab wound to the chest. To her complete astonishment and relief, it's as though the hole in his chest had never even happened. His heart was in perfect health, and his esophagus, spinal column and surrounding tissues were perfectly intact. The imaging had, however, revealed a few small hairline rib fractures and a mild hemothorax consistent with blunt force trauma as well as mild pulmonary edema likely due to recent smoke inhalation - the latter two kept him hospitalized for treatment and monitoring, on top of first degree burns to his forearms and a third degree burn to his thigh. Otherwise, there were no remnants of the fatal wound.
The boy had truly performed a miracle. Her mind still couldn't wrap around the incredible, supernatural happening. But whatever the boy had done, it had without a doubt saved Din's life.
She admires her firefighter now resting comfortably in bed. He looks so peaceful, dark lashes resting against his cheeks, hair tousled. She fights the urge to run her fingers through his soft curls, wanting him to continue the healing rest his battered body needs. She glances at the analog clock.
11:43
It's been almost 16 hours since Gideon's arrest and Din's ambulance ride from Empire Incorporated's facility. She had held his hand the entire time as the EMTs fussed over his injuries and vitals, and the sleepy boy had refused to leave his side.
She cranes her neck, just barely glimpsing the little one who's nearly buried in blankets. He'd thankfully been completely unharmed in the ordeal, and the county was allowing him to stay with Din as long as she was present given the firefighter's current state. A warmth floods beneath her breastbone. He looks incredibly content, and safe.
"Good morning," a parched voice greets her ears.
She smiles, heart filled with joy and eyes connecting with his in the gentle glow of the medical equipment. The cot groans in protest as she shifts upright, careful of the slight kink in her back.
"Good evening," she replies in correction, lifting herself from the creaky frame. "It's actually almost midnight."
A scruffy grin breaks across his tired face, sleepy eyes glimmering in the pale light.
"Hope I didn't awaken you," she offers him some water, bending straw to his chapped lips. He takes a few long pulls, and she notes he's having no apparent swallowing difficulty and his sats stay steady.
"Thank you," he clears his throat, adjusting slightly. "You didn't wake me."
She sets down the styrofoam cup.
"How are you feeling?" she asks quietly, maneuvering to sit on the bed next to him.
"Doing well, thanks to you…and to him," he speaks softly, looking down at the precious boy sleeping soundly, cuddled securely against his side.
Next to Din is, in fact, the safest place - she's certain of that. She's elated they're both ok. It had almost turned out so very differently…
Her mind drifts to the warehouse, the image of Din's lifeless body, how he had felt so still as she sobbed against him, how her breath was being sucked from her by an emptiness that had threatened to consume her.
His strong, calloused hand grasps hers, pulling her from the horrific memory.
"You ok?" Concerned eyes implore her.
She blinks away the sting of tears, trying to swallow the dreadful lump in her throat. A meek smile comes to her face at how considerate he is - here he's the one who had literally died and is currently laying in a hospital bed, bruised, burned, and bandaged, and he's asking her how she's doing. She squeezes his hand back, careful of the IV currently delivering fluids.
"I'm grateful." She forces a grin, eyes still watering. "Din - I-I…" Her voice breaks as something shatters inside of her. It pours from its confines and falls from her eyes.
He pulls her into his chest, and she sobs, uncontrollably. She hadn't fully been able to process everything that occurred. The weight of the situation, the tremendous horror of facing the death of a loved one - it had all crept up on her, simmering silently inside until it reached the boiling point, hemorrhaging from her.
He hugs her closely, secure arms anchoring and enveloping her. She allows her emotion to flow from the darkest depths into the light, against his sturdy, unflinching shoulder.
She'd almost lost him.
.
.
.
Almost.
It was ok.
He was ok.
The boy was ok.
She tells herself this as the catharsis of her tears wash away the festering visions of death. Slowly, her breath returns, calming like waves on a sleepy lake.
"I-I'm sorry," she finally speaks, voice nearly as hoarse as his.
Silently, he hands her a tissue from his bedside table. She wipes her dripping eyes and nose. She must look like a mess.
"For what?" There's genuine concern in his voice.
"For breaking down like this," she blots the corners of her eyes, feeling guilty for putting him through her surge of emotions. "And for getting your gown wet." She dabs the tear-stained fabric.
He stills her hands, holding her more tightly and she sinks further into his side, surrendering to his kindness. She cuddles against him on the bed not quite big enough for two, opposite side of the boy who thankfully still sleeps despite the commotion.
Her head settles comfortably against the crook of his shoulder, and his arm cradles her protectively. She allows tense muscles to relax, molding against his warm, very alive body.
What did she do to deserve him?
Beneath her ear, his heart beats strong and healthy. She savors the comforting cadence, everything sounding as it should. Gently, she rests a hand against his chest, the solid warmth beneath her touch grounding her farther. The gown's thin material allows her to feel everything beneath: His heat, his muscle, his heartbeat...her fingers then catch over something. It's definitely not an EKG lead.
She props herself up for a better look.
"Something's there," she explains, running her fingertips over the area in question.
With a quizzical brow, his fingertips brush over where hers had been.
"May I?" she asks permission, reaching for the snaps on the shoulders of his gown and he nods.
Curiosity of what's beneath surges as she exposes his chest.
What the?
At first, she's not quite sure what she's looking at. Perhaps her eyes were being deceived in the dim light and shadows.
"Bright light," she warns, turning on the head-of-bed light.
Eyes sting as they adjust, and she squints, examining the area. In disbelief, she gently traces her fingers over the ridges of the fresh, darker tissue. She's never seen anything like it before. It seems a large scar had formed in the center of his sternum, approximately where she remembers the fatal wound had been. It looked intentional in its near-perfect lines and symmetry, an oblong hexagonal shape with a narrow elongated rectangle in its center.
"That's…new," Din raises his brows, wide-eyed and puzzled, tucking his chin to see.
"Does it hurt?" She studies him for any signs of discomfort as she palpates, checking for foreign bodies, but finding none.
"No." He looks from the marking to her, touching it with his own fingers. "Can barely feel it."
It must have appeared sometime within the last few hours - it hadn't been there earlier when he'd undergone testing. Perhaps it was a side effect of the child's powers? Or perhaps a result of the strange technology used to inflict the injury? She doesn't think she'd ever get a definitive answer, but as long as it wasn't painful and there wasn't any impact to his thoracic organs, she'd try to worry less. Although, it was something to keep an eye on.
Her tension dissipates, melting into a smile. She's so relieved he's ok. Swept in her emotion, she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
His cheeks flush, the rosiness spreading down to his chest, inspiring a blush of her own. She smiles, admiring his kind eyes while caressing his face. Timidly, he reaches and tucks a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek. Her eyes close as tingles run down her spine from his gentle touch. Turning her face into his palm, she kisses the work-hardened skin there. But his heart rate was already high, she needn't drive it higher and alarm the overnight nurse.
"Let's get more rest," she smiles, sweetly kissing him on the cheek this time.
He nods.
Glancing over Din, she spots the little one, still fast asleep with slow small breaths. The boy has been through so much too, more than any child ought to. She reaches and strokes a stray strand from the boy's forehead, causing him to stir just a little, coaxing a large yawn and stretch before he drifts back asleep.
"Good night little one," she hushes as she shuts off the light.
Before she can return to her cot, Din wraps his arm around her. She suppresses a laugh of delighted surprise. With no protest to give, she surrenders to his pull, settling back into the crux of his shoulder, careful of his ribs and lines. The gentle rise and fall of his breath and the steady drum of his heart lulls her blissfully to a state of near-sleep in less than a minute.
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He cannot begin to express the love he has for the woman laying against him. His heart swells beneath aching ribs, drawn to her. But guilt soon erodes his adoration - he's remorseful of the trauma she had endured, the incredible risk he had exposed her to, and what she had witnessed.
He knows that, at one point, he had been dead. Not only because she had told him so, but because he remembers - not everything, but enough.
Death had felt like a dream. Swallowed by darkness and a strange weightless peace, he had drifted through a forest of tall, murky figures, propelled forward by some unseen force. At one point, he recalls standing on a vast, inky precipice and looking down into an otherworldly, ethereal glow. He had been drawn to its beauty and comfort. He teetered, ready to fall into whatever it was. That's when Omera's voice echoed from behind him, warmer and lovelier than the glow before him. He vaguely recalls trudging backward through heavy black, trying to reach her. Her voice, a bright star-like light, guided him through the dark; a tingle in his chest grew, an energy that felt like the kid, burning hotter and hotter as her voice became clearer, louder - and that's all he recalls before waking in her arms, solidly back in reality. He knows with certainty that she and the kid had brought him back from death.
They'd saved him.
Unfortunately, there had still been a cost in all of this.
Kuiil.
He should have seen it coming, should have anticipated a strike from the Empire. His military training had taught him better than that.
He wonders how the older man is doing, if he'd survived.
He tries not to dwell on the difficult topic and the 'what ifs'. Instead, he focuses on Omera's gentle, warm presence and the kid sleeping soundly against him - the two reasons he's alive. It doesn't take long before the lingering meds in his veins help him drift under.
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He makes a second lap around the unit without too much difficulty, but he still requires supplemental oxygen, and his heart rate accelerates a bit more than both she and the physical therapist would like.
"Try to focus on your breathing, your lungs are still healing," the therapist, Abdi, reminds. "It's ok to take breaks."
Din nods as they return to his room. Clearly winded, sweat glistens his brown and nostrils flare around the nasal cannula. She can tell he's in pain with the slight limp in his gait - the burn wound on his thigh was large and painful, but he was declining pain medication. He's definitely pushing himself, but maybe a bit too much.
He stiffly lowers himself on the bed and they take his vitals. The child babbles thoughtfully in her arms, watching everything happening to Din very carefully.
"Blood pressure is good. Just have to work on your breathing and keeping your heart rate down," Abdi relays, ripping off the cuff. "I'll be back this afternoon for round two."
"Thank you, Abdi," Omera smiles, bouncing the talkative boy.
"Thank you," Din nods politely, but expression distant as the therapist leaves. His gaze trails downward, and he fidgets with his hospital bracelet.
He's clearly dismayed.
"Hey." She sits next to him on the bed, setting the boy in her lap. She rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You did great."
His face remains solemn while a few long seconds pass.
"I'm so weak."
Oh Din. She knows this is hard for him. He's used to being independent, having his full strength. He's used to helping and not necessarily being on the receiving end. Gently, she grasps his hand.
"You're getting stronger," she encourages with an ardent smile. "It'll take a little time, but we'll be with you every step of the way. Won't we, little one?" The boy fusses, squirming and reaching to get to Din. She plops the child in his lap, away from the burn.
"Hey buddy," he smiles, supporting the boy's back as big brown eyes look at him. "I'm ok, promise. No need to heal me if that's what you're thinking."
She smiles watching Din's eyes light up with joy from the boy's affection. Warmth blooms in her heart, warmer than sunshine on water.
Suddenly, her phone vibrates with a notification, and she grabs it from her pocket to check:
New Message - I.G., RN
She's been hoping to hear from him and eagerly opens it:
Kuiil made it out of surgery, past the riskiest stage, but he remains critically ill. Time will tell if he pulls through. I hope the firefighter is well. Thank him again for rescuing my father.
"I have news." Omera shows him the message.
He smiles, a little forlorn as his eyes scan the text. "I hope he makes it."
"Me too."
"Do you think he's awake?" he asks.
"I don't think so, but let me ask." She begins texting I.G. back.
"No need to bother," Din dismisses.
"I.G. will appreciate the concern," she smiles, finishing her text message, then pocketing her phone. She hopes everything turns out ok - her heart goes out to her friend; she knows Kuiil is the only family he has. She can tell Din is taking it hard too, and unfairly blames himself entirely for the tragedy.
"I think the kid's hungry," Din announces, breaking her train of thought.
She finds the kid reaching toward a box of blue teething cookies on the bed stand - the box quivers. Laughing a bit nervously, she grabs the box before it goes airborne. The boy chirps in disappointment.
"We should all eat, it's lunchtime anyway," she decides. But she can't deny him a little snack, breaking a cookie in half as something to tide him over. The boy happily takes his treat, cooing contentedly as he gnaws.
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Lunch isn't the most appealing meal he's had, but he's had worse, much worse. Hospital food beat military rations, although not by much. He could stomach just about anything and the complimentary Ensure drink was somehow the perfect thing to wash down the bland meal. Thankfully the kid seemed to enjoy his food well enough, so much so he was wearing half of it.
He watches Omera clean the little rugrat, tickling and teasing him in the process, making him giggle. It's one of the cutest things he’s ever seen.
How it makes his heart feel so very full.
"Hello Din, Omera." A familiar tall nurse appears in the doorway. "I was in the area and thought I'd stop by."
"I.G." Omera turns, setting down the washcloth. "How are you?"
"I am physically ok - emotionally I am still processing." The nurse stares blankly.
"Is Kuiil…is he ok?" Din asks.
"He remains intubated with minimal sedation, but neurological status is a concern. He's unresponsive except to noxious stimuli," the nurse explains.
Din takes it that he's not awake.
"Your heroism provided him a chance to fight, and I cannot thank you enough for that," I.G. adds, a small, fragile smile on his gaunt face.
Din forces a small smile in return. He wishes he could have prevented this in the first place. A sinking weight sits heavy in his stomach and likely won't leave until Kuiil is fully out of the woods. He owes the man so much for the success of the kid's rescue.
"May I visit?" he asks, hoping he's not overstepping with such a request.
"As long as your condition allows," I.G. glances at Omera.
"I think it's a great idea," Omera nods. "Plus, it would be good exercise if you walk there."
.
.
.
After letting his nurse know, Omera helps him from bed and disconnects his IV pole from the outlet. She switches him over to a portable monitor and oxygen tank, connecting them to the pole as well. He's grateful for the assistance but feels guilty for all of the effort and resources involved.
"I'm sorry I'm so much work," he apologizes.
She smiles kindly, momentarily taking her eyes from the equipment's settings to meet his gaze. "You're not too much work - I'm happy to help."
He honestly can't tell her enough how much he appreciates her. If only he could express his gratitude more than a simple 'thanks'. He owes her infinitely more, but the simple phrase is what he settles for.
"Thank you."
I.G. offers to take the sleepy boy from him, and Din's hesitates for a brief, reluctant moment - Omera is the only other person who's held him since the incident. He knows I.G. is trustworthy, but it was still hard to hand the kid over.
"You be good for I.G.," he commands the kid who just blinks innocently and adorably in response.
"You're in good hands, little one. I took an oath to nurse and protect," I.G. relays, grasping the kid from under the armpits.
Omera chuckles at her colleague. Seeing the big smile on the rugrat's face put him at ease, and Din felt he didn't have to worry at all with the kid in the lanky nurse's arms. He can't say that about most people.
Slowly, he stands up from the bed, reacclimating to being upright and adjusting to the sharp tug on his left thigh - he's still not one-hundred percent, as frustrating as it is. She stands close and he grips the IV pole.
"Feeling ok?" she checks.
He considers for a moment, letting his sore muscles adjust. "Good."
Omera checks his monitor once more before giving the final ok.
"Remember to focus on your breathing, it'll help your heart rate," she reminds. "And remember it's ok to take breaks."
I.G. carries the kid while Omera closely trails him with a wheelchair as a precaution. He feels fairly steady on his own two feet, his leg seems to be improving. Although, he's slightly lightheaded and thankful for the IV pole to hold onto. He tries to be mindful of his breathing as the therapist and Omera have been reminding. So far, his heart rate seems to be behaving, but he can feel it beginning to pound in his chest.
They continue forward and down to the elevators. He's thankful to lean against the rails inside, momentarily offloading some weight from his burning leg as they take it down to the second level, to the ICU.
"You doing ok?" Omera asks worriedly.
He nods, stifling a pained grunt. He refocuses on his breathing to recenter himself and slow his runaway pulse. The kid coos sadly.
"Hey pal, I'm ok," he reassures the kid in the tall nurse's arms.
The moment they enter the critical care unit, the whir and chirps of machines resonate, like mechanical creatures keeping the ill alive. It's colder here than his room and he fights a shiver. It felt grim. Dismal.
"His room is just ahead on the left," I.G. gestures, kid glommed against his shoulder.
With heart racing, Din enters through the large glass doors, unprepared for the reality.
The man looks sicker than he'd imagined. Pale. More lines, wires, bandages, and machines than human. A breathing tube comes from the small man, hooked up to the ventilator that does the work for him. He looks fragile.
"Here," Omera prompts, patting the wheelchair for him to sit.
He lowers himself down, grateful for the break as he catches his breath with burning lungs. He's afraid to even touch the man, not wanting to disrupt any of the things keeping him alive. He wasn't one to pray, completely unsure about the existence of a higher power, but he figures it wouldn't hurt. The kid is proof that there are things he cannot begin to understand. Proof that there's a sort of force, something that connects them all.
He closes his eyes, gripping the bed railing as if an extension of the man laying motionless before him.
"Thank you," he whispers hoarsely, meaning his gratitude deeply, from the center of his being. They never would have found the kid without his help, and Din will forever owe a debt. The guilt he feels for Kuiil's critical condition is immense. It hurts more than having been stabbed in the chest.
"I'm sorry," his voice cracks and tears prick his eyes. He's angry with himself, angry at what Gideon's bidding had caused. As much as he wishes he could go back and do things more cautiously, strategically, he can't. There's nothing he can do but hope.
A weak but noticeable pressure squeezes his hand. His eyes shoot up immediately.
"Kuiil?"
The man nods, eyes now open. He continues to squeeze Din's hand, unable to speak with the breathing tube in place.
Omera and I.G. immediately begin checking him, explaining where he's at, orienting him to time and place. Din takes back the kid, who seems quite sleepy, a little too sleepy.
Did he heal - ?
In a blink, his nurse rushes in, breaking his thought. She explains how this is a dramatic improvement in his neurological status. He's now following all commands where hadn't been before.
Din is so relieved.
Something tells him that the old man will pull through.
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"Din!" a familiar voice calls from the door.
He looks over to find Nina, along with Jonathan, Lana, and Tamara - the Peds nurses who had taken care of the kid.
A smile immediately grows on his face and the kid squeals at the visitors, now apparently no longer sleepy from their earlier visit with Kuiil.
"We heard you were hurt!" The group files into his room.
"Omera!" Nina heralds, hugging her friend tightly and they start chatting, exchanging med jargon almost right away.
"Oh hi little one! Hiii!" Lana squeals, immediately setting down the basket she's carrying to scoop him from Din's arms. The other nurses circle around to fawn over the rugrat.
Star of the show, he chuckles to himself.
"How you feelin'?" Tamara asks, nearing his bedside.
"Good." Truth be told, he's feeling a little sore after his long walk, but a good kind of sore.
"Well, I bet Omera's taking extra good care of you," Jonathan winks.
He blushes, glancing over at the wonderful woman in question. Omera has indeed been pampering both him and the kid.
"We're so glad you're both ok," Nina takes his hand, giving a strong squeeze.
"Ahhhh! The gift!" Lana excitedly realizes, setting the kid back on his chest. He grunts from the jarring of his ribs and the kid coos sympathetically.
Lana grabs the basket and practically shoves it in Din's face.
"Careful with the poor man, Lana! He doesn't need more broken ribs," Jonathan reprimands.
"Sorry," Lana grimaces sheepishly. "Are you ok? I'm just too excited!"
"I'm ok," Din chuckles.
"Thought you could use some treats," Tamara says. "Make being laid up less sucky."
He peeks inside the woven basket, lined with a soft teal blanket. The kid helps explore the gift with curious hands as well, grabbing at the various treats inside. It's filled with goodies, from cookies, trail mix, and protein bars along with some garden-fresh produce.
"To help you heal," Jonathan smiles.
"And keep that muscle!" Lana squeezes his shoulder.
They have done so much for him and the kid already. He can't think of what to say other than, "Thank you."
He nods, feeling special for the visit and very generous gift. His chest swells with warmth, thankful for everyone's kindness and undying support.
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It's 8am, day three of his hospital stay. He's ready to leave…he was ready three days ago.
Omera had to do something downstairs and would be back shortly, letting his nurse go through his morning assessment. The doctor even said he was looking very good, his lungs sounded much improved and O2 sats were normalizing, all after being completely off supplemental oxygen overnight. It was so much easier to breathe and he was overall feeling better, more energetic too. It's possible he'd discharge today - just the possibility filled him with such hope and lifted his spirits. And his burns were even healing ahead of what had been anticipated - the worst one on his thigh that had likely needed skin grafting was miraculously healing to the point such treatment was no longer needed. He can't help but think the kid had a hand in it all, as if bringing him back from the brink wasn't enough.
He watches the little rugrat play with the leftovers of his breakfast, making sloppy, smeary handprints on the tray liner with sticky grape jam as the art medium.
Din chuckles. The master of mystical healing right there.
"You're gonna need a bath." He shakes his head, wrangling the messy fingers playing keep-away, but he can't go too far with the bed railing corralling him in. Washcloths out of reach and no napkins available, he opts for using the edge of his second hospital gown that hangs from him like a cape to wipe the gooey mess. He figures it's better than the kid rubbing it on every square centimeter of the hospital room and he didn't want to do that to housekeeping.
"Knock knock."
Din smiles, turning to see her tall, lovely silhouette at the door, sun illuminating her in a soft golden glow. A smaller frame appears from behind, bounding toward him in a blur.
Winta - that's what Omera had been up to.
The spirited girl jumps on him in a crushing hug with far more strength than he'd expect from a girl her age. The wind is knocked clear from him.
"Hey Winta," he grunts with a smile, patting her back.
Omera mouths an empathetic "sorry" behind her daughter.
He smiles back, trapped in the vice-like grip - but he truly doesn't mind. Thankfully his ribs feel a lot better today, something he also credits the kid with.
"I'm so glad you're ok," she muffles into his chest, clinging with even more vigor. Her words sink straight into his heart, stoking tears he hadn't realized were brimming his eyes.
"Me too," he chokes. The kid coos, crawling closer to the both of them.
All at once Winta releases him, turning her attention to the boy.
"Greg!" The girl pats the kid's wild bed head, eliciting a giggle followed by a thunderous burp that resounds from the little eating machine. Winta laughs uncontrollably, and Din and Omera chuckle too. The mark of a successful breakfast he supposes.
"Din Djarin," a familiar strong voice draws his attention to the doorway.
It's Thea Armada, the social worker who had tipped them off about Gideon. Instinctively, he wraps his arm securely around the kid. His heart teeters, ready to sink like a stone in water at what news he suspects she brings.
"May I enter, or is this an inconvenient time?" She glances suspiciously at his visitors.
"No, come in." He's as ready as he'll ever be to rip off the most painful bandage. The child coos softly, little fingers grasping Din's hospital gown.
Her stern gaze softens and it confuses Din for a moment. But he still couldn't quite read her intentions, her face quickly returning to its stoic, mysterious visage like a mask.
"It has been deemed for the child's psychological well-being that you, Din Djarin, are the most suitable caregiver in this unique situation. If you so choose, you would be granted official guardianship of the child," she speaks with strength and authority.
He can't believe it.
Did he hear her correctly?
Omera squeezes his arm and Winta is jumping in place.
"Well, Din Djarin, what is your decision?" she raises a brow in inquiry.
The kid babbles innocently in his arms. Tears form in his eyes, looking back at the boy - his son.
He's speechless, so nods instead.
"This is the way," she produces the hefty stack of paperwork from her satchel and a large metallic pen fit for a forge hammer.
It's entirely dreamlike as she walks him through page after page and he only half-hears what she's saying at times.
"Legal name for the child," she prompts.
Oh. That is important, he supposes. What is his name?
He thinks for a brief moment and smiles to himself.
Of course.
He writes it down. Winta was right all along.
After what feels like both an eternity and a blink of an eye, he finally finishes signing the mountains of paperwork.
"The child -," Thea Armada begins.
"Greg," Din corrects.
She pauses, the semblance of a smile tempting her impassive face.
"Greg is now in your care. You are his father," the woman speaks wisely, nodding. "If you require any assistance, do not hesitate to contact me." She hands him a metallic business card.
He nods. "Thank you."
The stern woman leaves and Din swears he sees her smile for a split second. His head is spinning. He can't believe this just happened. He looks down at the kid - Greg - in his lap.
"Stuck with me now, huh?" he grins at his ward.
Greg smiles back, reaching up to Din's face, and his heart nearly explodes.
He's his father.
"Congratulations!" Omera beams, planting a quick kiss on his cheek and hugging him tightly. He's pretty sure his face has turned brighter than the Razor One fire engine.
"Ewww," Winta hams it up.
"How do you feel about getting out of here?" Omera asks.
What? He's not even sure how to respond, his thoughts are still whirling from the adoption.
"Like discharging?" he finally asks.
She smiles knowingly. “You are officially cleared for discharge. I ran into your doctor and your nurse already went over your discharge summary with me."
He's so relieved.
"But…there is one catch," she warns.
That piques his attention.
"You have to be monitored for the next few days." She rests her hand against his chest, gazing into his eyes. "Would you stay at our house until you fully recover?"
His heart surges at the prospect. "Are you sure?"
"Yes she's sure!! Greg can stay in my room!" Winta jumps up and down, latching onto his arm. "Please stay," the girl pouts.
He didn't need much convincing just as long as he wasn't a bother. But the way Omera smiles and awaits his answer tells him she doesn't mind in the least. And he finds he can't say no to Winta's brown eyes any more than he can the kid's.
"Ok," Din agrees.
Winta rejoices, loud enough to wake the entire hospital, and the kid giggles wildly. Omera shuts the door to spare the hallway some of the excitement. She draws near, sitting next to him on the bed as Winta dances around, providing ample entertainment for the kid.
"Are you sure you can handle the energy?" Omera chuckles, squeezing his bicep.
He smiles. "Definitely."
"Then let's get you out of here." Omera plants a warm kiss on his cheek, his heart fluttering in response. He looks forward to more.
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After a few laps around the neighborhood ponds, he settles into the patio chair, crossing his ankles and catching his breath. He was getting stronger and stronger every day.
"How are you feeling?" Her voice like sunshine warms his ears.
Before he can respond, her long, soft hair cascades against his torso and she seals her lips over his.
It steals his breath more than his jogging had.
"Mmmmm," he mumbles against her soft lips, dizzy with desire for her. He pulls her down on his lap and she giggles in surprise. "Made it four times around, no breaks."
She claims his wrist to check the smart watch she'd gotten him, a routine by now.
"Impressive. Heart rate is looking good too." She gently kisses the palm of his hand, no doubt driving the readings higher. "You'll be back at the fire station in no time."
As much as he misses his fellow firefighters and serving the community, a large part of him will sorely miss the unlimited time with her and the kids when he finally does return to work. But that was still a couple weeks away at the earliest.
"I have some good news."
"Yeah?" He eyes her, wondering what it could be.
"Kuiil was transferred out of the ICU," she tells him. "He's likely to make a full recovery, after a few weeks of therapy."
"That's great news," he beams, feeling an immense weight lift from his chest. He'd love to visit the old man again, and bring the kid along as proof of what his help had achieved.
He holds Omera a little more tightly and she rests her head back against the crook of his neck - it's like that spot was made perfectly for her. He presses a kiss to her crown, the floral scent of her hair fills his nose.
Winta and the boy soon join them in the backyard. He and Omera watch the kids play, Winta hopping along after a frog as Greg attempts toddling after her. He could sit here with Omera, gazing out at the tall grasses and woods, watching the kids have fun for hours on-end and never tire of it.
He hadn't known he'd been missing anything until that fateful fire-call all those months ago. He hadn't known how large of a void had resided within his heart. He hadn't known he needed this - a family.
And now, he couldn't imagine a life without them. They are his heart. They are his soul.
They are his sanctuary.
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Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience with my writing 🙏 this chapter fought me tooth and nail - I've been working on it for nearly 9 months and rewrote it countless times! It was originally supposed to be a more simple epilogue but it turned into a whole other chapter, cheesy & sentimental ❤️ I guess I had some more I wanted to say 😁 I really hope it was worth the long wait!!
Thank you again for continuing to follow with this story and for supporting my writing despite the inconsistent writing/posting schedule ❤️ it truly means everything 🙏 this story is near and dear to me and hearing from all of you that you like it too is just ahhhhh! It's so inspiring & lovely. Truly, thank you!
Also, Happy belated New Year 🎉 may your 2023 be filled with good health, joy, and more Mando 😍🥰 I'm so ready for Season 3 🙌
Thank you again for taking time out of your busy lives to read this little story ❤️ All the love 😘
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P.S. I hope to release short stories here and there of snapshots into Din & Omera’s happily-ever-after, including a sick-fic I had promised a friend <3